Frank, eyebrows raised slightly, had shrugged, accepting it. She did know. But she sold out, covered the smile and was contrite. What was so funny? What did a skinny little girl with hardly any breasts know about the seriousness of business? That was her mistake right there, selling out and accepting Frank's blueprinted view of the world.
Why had he married her? Because he knew she'd always back off from a disagreement. No, he wasn't that perceptive. He never sensed what was in her head or was even curious about what she thought. He married her because she qualified, just as he did, and if marriage became monotonous that's the way it was; there were plenty of things to do to keep busy.
See? He missed the point. It wasn't a question of keeping busy or having 'nice things.'
Her mother said that. 'My, aren't you lucky? You have such nice things.' Her dad said, 'How's my princess?' Bo said, 'Why do we have to eat this casserole junk all the time?' Frank said, 'Why don't you get interested in something, for Christ sake, like all the other wives.'
All that kind of stuff, you could grin and nudge somebody or you could take it seriously. Frank didn't know that.
Mickey turned into the drive, eased past the hedge and stopped abruptly in the backyard. Frank's Mark V was parked in front of the garage door, the trunk lid open.
Chapter 22
HE SAID, 'ARE YOU ALL RIGHT?'
'Yes, I'm fine. How're you?' Like two strangers. Mickey dropped her purse and keys on the breakfast table. Frank answered her, stooping at the counter to get something from the lower cupboard, but she didn't hear him clearly. The trip went well, or it was hell, something like that. He came up with a bottle of vodka. There was a tray of ice on the counter, tonic water, a lime, an iced-tea spoon and a paring knife.
'You want a drink?'
'Fine,' Mickey said. 'When did you get back?' Wondering who would finally break it open.
'I just walked in. Oh, you mean the flight? I got in at 11:45; it was twenty minutes late. Then I stopped by the office on the way.'
'Did you see Bo?'
'On the way back, no, I didn't have time. We've got a few more problems on the Grandview job. All the sod was supposed to be in a month ago?
They're not half finished. I come back, none of the landscaping's done.'
'Or would you rather talk about golf?' Mickey said.
Frank stared at her, for a moment curious. 'You asked me why I didn't see Bo, I'm telling you. Because I've got nothing to do outside of getting a hundred goddamn units sold before the end of the summer and I didn't have time down there to play any golf.'
Or else he would have told her about it. She said nothing and used the silence, letting it settle, as Frank began to cut lime wedges with the paring knife. Now:
'Did you pay them?'
Frank glanced at her, the knife still for a moment. 'No, I didn't have to. They backed off.' 'When did they back off?'
'When? When I wouldn't pay them. They were trying to pull something and they were in way over their heads.' He was squeezing the lime wedges, dropping them in the glasses. 'It was a bluff and I called it, that's all.'
'What if they weren't bluffing?' Mickey said.
'But they were.' He was stirring the drinks now with the iced-tea spoon, concentrating, as though so many stirs were required and he was counting them. 'I could see there wasn't anything to worry about.'
Mickey reached across with her left hand and swept the drinks from the counter. They struck the base of the wall by the telephone, exploding in a burst of glass, liquid and ice, but Mickey didn't see this. She was watching Frank and saw his head snap up and his eyes open in a startled expression she had never seen before.
She said, 'What if they weren't bluffing, Frank?' 'Christ, what's the matter with you?'
'Answer me, goddamn it!'
He seemed concerned with broken glass--glancing over at the wall and the floor--a mess in the kitchen.
'You're a little upset, I can understand that,' Frank said. 'But if you'd listen, I said I knew, after talking to them, it was a bluff and they'd never go through with it.'
'When did you know that,' Mickey said, 'the first time they called? Monday? How could you possibly know it? A voice on the phone tells you if you don't pay they'll kill your wife.'
'That isn't what they said, they'd kill anybody.'
'How about, you'll never see your wife again? Are you going to argue about words? What were you thinking? Tell me. When you made up your mind you weren't gonna pay.'
'I think you're a little hysterical,' Frank said. He got a lowball glass from the cupboard, poured vodka into it and dropped in an ice cube.
'There had to be that moment,' Mickey said, 'when you made the decision.'
'I told them right from the beginning I wasn't gonna pay.' He raised the glass and drank most of the vodka.
'No, you didn't. You said nothing. For three days, nothing. I want to know what you were thinking.'
'I don't believe this,' Frank said.
'You don't believe it? For Christ sake, Frank, what about me? I find out my husband's gonna let somebody kill me and you don't believe it.'
Frank shook his head, weary but patient. 'It wasn't like that at all.'
'Did you go to the police?'
'No, I couldn't. They said if I did--that's when they threatened your life.'
'I thought you knew it was a bluff.'
'It's not--it isn't a simple thing to explain,' Frank said. 'At first I didn't do anything, I didn't call the police-- see? even when you get into that, what police. In Detroit? Freeport? You see what I mean? Because they did threaten your life, yes, at that time. But then after, when I talked to them again--where you going?'
Mickey walked to the breakfast table and got a pack of cigarettes from her purse. 'Go on, I'm listening.' She lit one coming back to the counter.
'So then after, when I talked to them again, I realized it was a bluff and if I didn't do anything, stayed relatively quiet but firm about it, well, by this time I was convinced they'd back off. These guys, who are they? Probably somebody, some loser, who used to work for me and was fired. He talks to a couple of friends in a bar--I knew that as soon as I talked to them, I knew they'd back off and there was nothing really serious to worry about, outside of course, what you went through--I imagine you had a pretty frightening experience.'
'You imagine,' Mickey said. 'Do you want to imagine it or do you want me to tell you about it?'
'Well, they didn't ... actually harm you, did they?'
'You mean did they screw me?'
'Jesus Christ,' Frank said, 'what'd they do?' 'Is it important? I mean would it make any difference?'
'Yes it's important. I want to know what happened.' Indignant now, his rights on the line.
'I'd like to know something too,' Mickey said. 'You're not going to tell me, but you know what you did and so do I. So that's all that matters, isn't it?'
'I think after a couple of days--get some rest you'll feel better,' Frank said. 'When'd you get home, yesterday?'
'You mean when did they let me go? Thursday.'
'Well, the reason I ask--since you've been home, has anyone delivered some papers? From the Oakland County Circuit Court.' He said then, 'You might as well know.'
'What kind of papers?' Mickey did know as she said it, as she saw his bland expression, as though he had nothing to hide--the son of a bitch, instead of coming right out and telling her.
'Say it, Frank.'
