decay of the front courtyard. Then Marla reached into the plaid tote bag and handed Willa a large envelope like the one she’d given her in the hotel lounge the first time Carver had seen them together. Another article to be copyedited and word processed?
Marla reached into the bag again and lifted out what appeared to be a wine bottle. She gave it to Willa, and both women laughed and chatted a while longer. Carver used the camera to get a shot of them, then backed up the lens to include more of the building to establish locale.
He thought they’d part there by the dysfunctional fountain and that would be that, but a few minutes later Marla followed Willa into the building.
He could see the windows of Willa’s apartment from where he was parked, but the lowering evening sun reflected off them in a golden glare that made it impossible to see inside.
More waiting. It was what his line of work was mostly about.
He switched on the radio and listened to an all-talk station while he sat watching the apartment building. A listener called in and claimed that the evidence indicated the same person was behind the J.F.K. and Robert Kennedy and Martin Luther King assassinations, and that person was Charles Manson. It was something Carver had never considered.
In the soft light of dusk, Willa Krull and Marla came out of the building together. Marla no longer had the wine bottle or plaid tote bag, or else they were stuffed down inside her big purse. She and Willa stood talking again almost where they had stood before, Willa raised a hand slowly, tentatively touching her mousy brown hair above her ear, as if reassuring herself of an elaborate and delicate bouffant that had the fragility of meringue.
Marla said something to her that made her smile and duck her head. She turned and started to move away, but Marla reached out and touched her shoulder, stopping her and drawing her back without any discernible physical effort. Then she kissed her swiftly but firmly on the mouth.
Willa pulled away again, twisting her body with unexpected grace and dexterity, but she was laughing. Marla said something else to her, then turned and walked beneath the rose trellis and toward the street and her car. She paused once, looked back, and waved to Willa.
Willa stood motionless with her hands at her sides, watching Marla as she crossed Fourteenth Street, climbed into the little Toyota, then drove away.
Carver stayed where he was. He couldn’t follow Marla without driving past Willa and risking being recognized by her.
He waited a few minutes after Marla’s car had disappeared. Willa still hadn’t moved.
Finally he started the LeBaron and backed it into a driveway, then emerged to aim the gleaming white hood in the opposite direction, away from the apartment building.
As he drove away he caught a glimpse of Willa in the outside mirror, still standing motionless by the dry fountain in the amorphous shadows of dusk.
27
“I don’t see what it changes,” Beth said beside him in bed that night. They were both lying on their backs, contemplating the day’s events as the warm breeze from the window played over them.
“Marla’s apparently a lesbian,” Carver said.
“Maybe they’re only good friends and were being affectionate.”
“No, it wasn’t that kind of kiss.”
“That bothers you?”
“It surprises me.”
Carver stared into the darkness. He’d never been able to bring himself to be judgmental about people’s sexual orientations. As long as everything was consensual and no children or animals were involved, it was all right with him. If any of it was evil and harmful to society, as the fervently devout proclaimed, it was probably a lesser evil than a society that policed its bedrooms.
“Why’s it surprise you, Fred?”
“I’m not sure. I think because if Marla is being stalked by Brant, I’d assumed it evolved out of some form of sexual attraction. Something she must have done, some kind of behavior that maybe even she wasn’t aware of that turned him on to her. That seems less likely if she isn’t interested in men.”
He heard Beth give a low chuckle. “You mean if he’s after her to kill her, it’s partly her fault?”
“No, I wasn’t talking about blame. It’s just that sexual attraction is a two-way current.” He knew what Beth was thinking, knew he was only getting more and more entangled in his inadequate male rhetoric. But damn it, he didn’t mean to blame the victim, didn’t want to sound like the male chauvinist pig Beth had recently told him he wasn’t. It was just that if a woman was attractive to men, it was sometimes because she was attracted
Beth said, “Oink.”
“Meant for me, I suppose,” Carver said glumly.
She touched his bare arm, leaving her hand there. “OK, I’m being too rough on you, Fred. I told you before, you’re actually a feminist, and I meant it. Though you do have lapses. But even if Marla’s sexual orientation might somehow change Brant’s motive-or Marla’s, considering she might have been trying to lure him into a trap because of some sort of black-widow complex-it still doesn’t get us any closer to knowing who’s the genuine stalker. For that matter, Marla might be bisexual. And have you thought about Gloria Bream?”
“Thought what about her? You mean her sexual orientation?”
“No. I guess I’m not really sure what I mean.”
The effects of pregnancy, Carver figured. “The other woman, Willa Krull, told me she was a rape survivor.”
“Which sort of illustrates my point about Joel and Marla,” Beth said. “I doubt if the rapist asked Willa about her sexual preference before attacking her.”
“Rape isn’t easy for any woman, but might it leave more of a mental scar in a lesbian or bisexual?”
Beth thought about it for a few seconds. “I don’t know. It’s an interesting question. Here’s another one. Rape’s an especially serious physical assault. Would it have left more of a scar in you if the person who beat you up in your office had been a woman?”
“Yes,” Carver said. It hadn’t required a lot of thought.
“Men,” Beth said. “They’re wired different from women.”
He scooted sideways on the mattress and kissed her cheek. “Thank God for that.”
With his lips still against her flesh, he felt her smile.
“Finally, Fred, we agree.”
It had rained in the early morning hours, and the sun broke through hot and brilliant enough to cause steam to rise from the damp ground. After a breakfast of scrambled eggs, bacon, and coffee, Carver drove into Del Moray with the film containing the shots of Marla, dropping it off where he could get it developed and printed by noon.
Marla apparently hadn’t told McGregor she was bi or lesbian, though in a case like hers it might be considered pertinent. Carver decided he wouldn’t mention it to McGregor, either. McGregor seldom passed up opportunities for prejudice and persecution. In fact, he valued them like unexpected trinkets found on the beach.
At 11:3 °Carver picked up the prints and sat in his car outside the lab to study them. He’d gotten a good, clear shot of Marla outside the liquor store. Foliage concealed her face in one of the shots taken when she was standing with Willa in front of the apartment building on Fourteenth Street, but the second shot showed both women’s faces. Marla’s expression was amused, her lips twisted in a half-smile as she spoke, while Willa seemed to be listening with an intentness that bordered on the religious.
Carver ate lunch at Poco’s taco stand on Magellan, then smoked a cigar and read the paper until almost two o’clock, when he thought some of the bars on Victor Street might be open. There weren’t that many gay or lesbian hangouts in Del Moray, only the three or four on Victor, and one that was more upscale on the east side of town. It shouldn’t take long to check them out and perhaps discover more about Marla.
