Guided by a compact mirror, she powdered, painted every vestige of twelve-year-old out of her face. She shaped her lips with one tube, coloured her cheeks from another. She pencilled the rims of her eyes, blued the lids, sprinkled her neck with 4711; attached pearls to her ears and donned her dark glasses; thus armoured, and after a displeased appraisal of her manicure‘s shabby condition, she ripped open the letter and let her eyes race through it while her stony small smile grew smaller and harder. - P116
Holly, however, did not want to admit that she saw; yet her face, despite its cosmetic disguise, confessed it. ‘All right, he‘s not a rat without reason. A super-sized, King Kong type rat like Rusty. Benny Shacklett. But oh gee, golly goddamn,‘ she said, jamming a fist into her mouth like a bawling baby, ‘I did love him. The rat.‘ - P117
‘Just what kind of pills have they been feeding you here? Can‘t you realize, you‘re under a criminal indictment. If they catch you jumping bail, they‘ll throw away the key. Even if you get away with it, you‘ll never be able to come home.‘ - P119
‘Well, so, tough titty. Anyway, home is where you feel at home. I‘m still looking.‘ - P119
She was impressed, however; her eyes were dilated by unhappy visions, as were mine: iron rooms, steel corridors of gradually closing doors. - P120
Certain shades of limelight wreck a girl‘s complexion. - P121
Even if a jury gave me the Purple Heart, this neighbourhood holds no future. - P121
Uh, uh, I don‘t just fancy a fade-out that finds me belly-bumping around Roseland with a pack of West Side Hillbillies. - P121
The sky was red Friday night, it thundered, and Saturday, departing day, the city swayed in a squall-like downpour. Sharks might have swum through the air, though it seemed improbable a plane could penetrate it. - P122
Never mind why, but once I walked from New Orleans to Nancy‘s Landing, Mississippi, just under five hundred miles. It was a light-hearted lark compared to the journey to Joe Bell‘s bar. The guitar filled with rain, rain softened the paper sacks, the sacks split and perfume spilled on the pavement, pearls rolled in the gutter: while the wind pushed and the cat scratched, the cat screamed - but worse, I was frightened, a coward to equal José: those storming streets seemed aswarm with unseen presences waiting to trap, imprison me for aiding an outlaw. - P124
The more she cajoled him (Ah, Mr Bell. The lady doesn‘t vanish every day. Won‘t you toast her?‘), the gruffer he was: ‘I‘ll have no part of it. If you‘re going to hell, you‘ll go on your own. With no further help from me.‘ - P125
Holly stripped off her clothes, the riding costume she‘d never had a chance to substitute, and struggled into a slim black dress. - P126
I was stunned. ‘Well, you are. You are a bitch.‘
We‘d travelled a block before she replied. ‘I told you. We just met by the river one day: that‘s all. Independents, both of us. We never made each other any promises. We never -‘ she said, and her voice collapsed, a tic, an invalid whiteness seized her face. The car had paused for a traffic light. Then she had the door open, she was running down the street; and I ran after her. - P127
and she shuddered, she had to grip my arm to stand up: ‘Oh, Jesus God. We did belong to each other. He was mine."
Then I made her a promise, I said I‘d come back and find her cat: ‘I‘ll take care of him, too. I promise.‘ - P128
She smiled: that cheerless new pinch of a smile.
‘But what about me?‘ she said, whispered, and shivered again. ‘I‘m very scared, Buster. Yes, at last. Because it could go on for ever. Not knowing what‘s yours until you‘ve thrown it away. The mean reds, they‘re nothing. The fat woman, she nothing. This, though: my mouth‘s so dry, if my life dependedon it I couldn‘t spit.‘ She stepped in the car, sank in the seat. ‘Sorry, driver. Let‘s go.‘ - P128
But in the spring a postcard came: it was scribbled in pencil, and signed with a lipstick kiss: ‘Brazil was beastly but Buenos Aires the best. Not Tiffany‘s, but almost. Am joined at the hip with duhvine Señor. Love? Think so. Anyhoo am looking for somewhere to live (Señor has wife, 7 brats) andwill let you know address when I know it myself. Mille tendresses.‘ But the address, if it ever existed, never was sent, which made me sad, there was so much I wanted to write her: that I‘d sold two stories, had read where the Trawlers were counter-suing for divorce, was moving out of the brownstone because it was haunted. - P130
But mostly, I wanted to tell about her cat. I had kept my promise; I had found him. It took weeks of after-work roaming through those Spanish Harlem streets, and there were many false alarms - flashes of tiger-striped fur that, upon inspection, were not him. But one day, one cold sunshiny Sunday winter afternoon, it was. Flanked by potted plants and framed by clean lace curtains, he was seated in the window of a warm-looking room: I wondered what his name was, for I was certain he had one now, certain he‘d arrived somewhere he belonged. African hut or whatever, I hope Holly has, too. - P130
|