what was happening to her and study it. She could perch up there wherever she perched and look at the whole scene, calmly watch what was going on and direct herself if she wanted to--yes, exactly--and give herself lines and use them. Say what she wanted. She didn't have to worry about a nice mom image. No points for nice moms here. She could be herself.
That was interesting. Mickey looked over at the triple mirror, at her reflection in the large center panel. She said, 'Who are you?' She studied herself and said, 'If you don't know, you're gonna find out, aren't you?'
She liked the feeling, being excited and calm at the same time.
Chapter 11
SATURDAY, two days before they brought her, Richard had drilled holes in the doors at eye level and hung little framed silhouettes over the holes: a girl on the bathroom door and a boy on the bedroom door. He could move aside the silhouette, hung on a nail, press his eye to the hole that wasn't any bigger than a shirt button and see fine into either room.
The trouble was, the woman only had the clothes she was wearing, so there was no reason for her to take them off. There was nothing else for her to put on unless--Richard was thinking--he offered her one of his mother's nightgowns or a robe. All his mother's stuff was still in the drawers and closet and that might be a way to catch the woman naked.
Richard pressed his eye against the bedroom peep-hole and watched her pacing around, folding her arms and unfolding them, looking at things.
She'd sit on the bed and then get up and pace some more and then sit in the rocking chair and rock fast at first, then slow it down and would seem calm. She was usually pretty calm. He wondered why she didn't turn on the TV. Richard would say to himself, Come on, take off your clothes and let's see what you got. He pretended he was inspecting a woman for breeding purposes. He'd look her over and decide if he wanted her to have his kid or not.
Maybe if it got hot enough in there she'd strip. Once, she reached in her shirt and scratched her left tit and adjusted her bra. That was as good as the show got, so far. He wondered why she never had to go pee. Maybe if he gave her a pitcher of ice water--
Finally, a little after five o'clock, she came toward the door. Richard moved the silhouette over the peep hole and stepped back. There was a knock on the door. Richard said, 'Yeah?'
'I want to go to the bathroom.'
Hot dog, Richard thought. He said, 'You got your mask?'
'Oh--' Then after a moment, 'Yes, I've got it.' 'Put it on.'
'How'm I gonna ... do what I have to do if I can't see?'
'I'll help you.' Richard grinned.
'Forget it.'
'Just till you get in the bathroom.' Silence. 'You still want to go?'
'Yes, please. Open the door.'
'Wait a minute.' Shit, Richard had to get his mask. He came out of the war room wearing the rubber Frankenstein Monster face, his white T-shirt and his uniform pants. He wanted her to see him, but didn't know how he was going to work it. The monster face, the coon, Ordell, said was just in case. Like if she pulled her mask off.
She had it on, standing there waiting. She pulled back a little when Richard took her by the arm, then went with him the three steps to the bathroom. Richard said, 'Here you go. When the door's closed you can take your mask off and do your business.'
'Thanks,' the woman said, not sounding as though she meant it.
Richard moved the girl silhouette aside and pressed his monster face to the peep hole. Now maybe he'd see something.
She looked at herself in the mirror first. Then ran the water and washed her face and hands, Richard thinking, Do that after. She was looking in the mirror again, running a finger over her front teeth. Come on, Richard urged. She turned to the toilet. Now. Undid her belt and the top button of the slacks, unzipped the fly. Right now. Pushed her panties down with her slacks and sat down all in one motion, her shirttail dropping down, covering her and, shit, all Richard got to see was a flash of her left bum. Goddarn it, her secret thing, her little nest right there and the goddarn shirttail was in the way. She was peeing now, he could hear her, then reaching around to flush the toilet--
Louis said, 'What in the hell you doing?'
Richard got the silhouette in place as he turned and faced Louis in his monster mask. Louis squinted at him, then brushed past him to the door, lifted the silhouette aside and pressed his face close to the door. When he turned to Richard he said, 'Jesus Christ--'
Richard said, 'It's my house, ain't it?'
Mickey could hear them on the other side of the door--not words but voices, kept low. The one who smelled had brought her in here. Now one of the others was with him. She stepped close to the door, about to press her ear to the panel to listen, and saw the drilled hole--freshly drilled, particles of unpainted wood sticking out from the round edge close to her eye. But she couldn't see through the hole. And she couldn't hear them now. There were footsteps on the stairs, going down.
When she knocked and the one who smelled let her out, taking her arm again, she returned obediently, in silence, to the bedroom, entered, heard the door close and took off her mask.
There was a hole in the bedroom door.
She saw it and looked away, walked over to the Sony and turned it on. Mike Douglas was talking to someone. What was his name? Always wore the dark T-shirt, long hair combed back--Carlson. George Carlin. She liked him. Frank had said, Who? He'd never heard of him. She sat on the bed and went through her purse, feeling the one who smelled watching her. The heavy policeman in the funny uniform. Except he wasn't funny. This wasn't funny. Now what was she feeling?
She was mad. She was mad as hell. The fat smelly son of a bitch. She remembered Peter Finch, the nutty newscaster in the movie, in his raincoat. 'I'm mad as hell and I'm not going to take it any more.' She groped inside her purse, feeling for something long and thin with a pointed tip--like a knitting needle--but knowing she carried nothing long and thin. Lipstick. An eyeliner brush. No pencil, not even for eyebrows. A cigarette.
There were four cigarettes left in the pack of True greens. She said to herself, Don't think. Light it.
She stood up, walked over to the Sony, switched to Channel 2--to a police car moving, just what she needed--and back to 4. She snapped her lighter and lit the cigarette, moved back to the bed, lingered, moved past the bed to the closet, then to the blond dresser against the front wall, next to the door. He wouldn't be able to see her now.
Mickey reached out, inching the cigarette along the door panel, brought it almost to the hole and stopped. Then inched it again, close--and jabbed into the hole, losing part of the burning ember but feeling the cigarette go in cleanly and hearing, instantly, the scream on the other side of the door. Surprise, pain--Mickey wasn't sure. She moved close to the hole, withdrawing the broken cigarette, and said, 'How do you like that, officer? You want to look in my basement?'
Almost at once she thought, You shouldn't have said that.
But it was done. She ripped the black tape from one of the eyes in the mask and pressed it over the peephole.
'This guy, I don't know, he thinks he's in the fucking Gestapo or something,' Louis said, 'looking through the hole when she's in there. Guy watches her take a leak.'
'Yeah, maybe he's playing that,' Ordell said. 'Or see, Richard ain't getting much, he prob'ly forgot what a pussy look like. Wanted to refresh his memory.'
'There's something wrong with him,' Louis said.
'Sure there is,' Ordell said. 'His head got turned around or something or his mama dropped him out the window when he was a little baby.'
