slam the door.
She wore a bra.
They all did these days.
She got in front and he pulled away from the shoulder. He punched in the cigarette lighter and drew out a Winston.
“How far are you going?” she asked.
Her voice was breathy. He was disinclined toward breathy.
“Pretty much all the way up the coast,” he said. He laughed. “Some godforsaken place called Dead River. You?”
“Portland.”
He nodded. “There’s an exit right off here.”
“I know,” she said. “Thanks.” And finally she smiled. “Nice car,” she said.
“Thank you.”
There wasn’t much traffic. He drove easily, carefully, edging it up to sixty-five again and no further.
The lighter hadn’t popped. He pulled it out and it wasn’t even warm. The goddamn thing was broken. He felt like throwing the goddamn thing out the goddamn window. He took a pack of matches out of his jacket pocket and lit the Winston.
It was getting on to dusk, and though he had no need of them yet, he switched on the headlights.
“What’s in Portland?” he asked her.
She was biting at one of her fingernails. “My boyfriend goes to school there.”
The girl had a boyfriend.
The girl was getting laid.
The girl took off the bra and the boyfriend sucked her nipples
.
“You’re a student too?” he asked.
“I quit for a year. I wanted to work for a while. I go back in September.”
“Sure. Plenty of time for work,” he said.
She nodded. “I guess.”
Plenty of time
, he thought.
I ought to know
. Military academy to college to law school to practice practice
practice
. . .
She bit her nail again.
Marion did that.
A very bad habit.
He had caught her doing it this very morning, sittingin bed with the sheet up over her lap, leaning down squinting at her stocks listed in the morning paper so that her long thin breasts lay over the roll of fat in her middle and her tousled black hair hung over her face. She was chewing at the nail of the index finger of her left hand, and when she bit it off she put it in the ashtray next to her Virginia Slim Menthol Light.
He saw her doing this just as he stepped out of the shower, and he was already wondering what to do with her by then, in fact he’d been wondering since the night before when she told him they would no longer be able to use him at the firm past the end of the month, either on or off the books, that the plan to rehire him was scotched now once and for all because Linfield had seen him in the office last week and Linfield was complaining to her as senior partner that here was this person still working for them who had lost him a fucking bundle, and what in the hell was he doing there. He would not forget. He would not be convinced or mollified and Mr. Cocksucker B. Linfield was their third fucking biggest client. Sorry
.
He was thinking what to do about her—about someone who wanted his cock in the dark of night but had no allegiance and no honor while the cigarette burned and the fingernail smoldered in the ashtray. He could smell it. The smell of burning flesh. She was naked and fat and checking her stocks in the newspaper
.
His hands gripped the steering wheel. He eased them, flexed the fingers.
The girl was frowning.
“You know? I think I know Dead River,” she said. “Isn’t that up near Lubec? Way up near the border?”
“I don’t know about Lubec, but it’s nearly all theway to Canada, all right. Actually I’ve never been there. I just looked at the map and figured you could take Ninety-five up to around Brunswick and then cut over to Highway One, past Boothbay Harbor on up.” He flashed her a grin. “Sound about right?”
She nodded. “I have an older cousin who used to work the fishing boats up that way every summer. Earned himself some money for college. That’s why it’s familiar.
“It’s pretty nice country. Why didn’t you just fly?”
“Fly?”
“Sure. I mean, it’s a really long drive. You could have flown to Machias. At least that far. And I
She wore a bra.
They all did these days.
She got in front and he pulled away from the shoulder. He punched in the cigarette lighter and drew out a Winston.
“How far are you going?” she asked.
Her voice was breathy. He was disinclined toward breathy.
“Pretty much all the way up the coast,” he said. He laughed. “Some godforsaken place called Dead River. You?”
“Portland.”
He nodded. “There’s an exit right off here.”
“I know,” she said. “Thanks.” And finally she smiled. “Nice car,” she said.
“Thank you.”
There wasn’t much traffic. He drove easily, carefully, edging it up to sixty-five again and no further.
The lighter hadn’t popped. He pulled it out and it wasn’t even warm. The goddamn thing was broken. He felt like throwing the goddamn thing out the goddamn window. He took a pack of matches out of his jacket pocket and lit the Winston.
It was getting on to dusk, and though he had no need of them yet, he switched on the headlights.
“What’s in Portland?” he asked her.
She was biting at one of her fingernails. “My boyfriend goes to school there.”
The girl had a boyfriend.
The girl was getting laid.
The girl took off the bra and the boyfriend sucked her nipples
.
“You’re a student too?” he asked.
“I quit for a year. I wanted to work for a while. I go back in September.”
“Sure. Plenty of time for work,” he said.
She nodded. “I guess.”
Plenty of time
, he thought.
I ought to know
. Military academy to college to law school to practice practice
practice
. . .
She bit her nail again.
Marion did that.
A very bad habit.
He had caught her doing it this very morning, sittingin bed with the sheet up over her lap, leaning down squinting at her stocks listed in the morning paper so that her long thin breasts lay over the roll of fat in her middle and her tousled black hair hung over her face. She was chewing at the nail of the index finger of her left hand, and when she bit it off she put it in the ashtray next to her Virginia Slim Menthol Light.
He saw her doing this just as he stepped out of the shower, and he was already wondering what to do with her by then, in fact he’d been wondering since the night before when she told him they would no longer be able to use him at the firm past the end of the month, either on or off the books, that the plan to rehire him was scotched now once and for all because Linfield had seen him in the office last week and Linfield was complaining to her as senior partner that here was this person still working for them who had lost him a fucking bundle, and what in the hell was he doing there. He would not forget. He would not be convinced or mollified and Mr. Cocksucker B. Linfield was their third fucking biggest client. Sorry
.
He was thinking what to do about her—about someone who wanted his cock in the dark of night but had no allegiance and no honor while the cigarette burned and the fingernail smoldered in the ashtray. He could smell it. The smell of burning flesh. She was naked and fat and checking her stocks in the newspaper
.
His hands gripped the steering wheel. He eased them, flexed the fingers.
The girl was frowning.
“You know? I think I know Dead River,” she said. “Isn’t that up near Lubec? Way up near the border?”
“I don’t know about Lubec, but it’s nearly all theway to Canada, all right. Actually I’ve never been there. I just looked at the map and figured you could take Ninety-five up to around Brunswick and then cut over to Highway One, past Boothbay Harbor on up.” He flashed her a grin. “Sound about right?”
She nodded. “I have an older cousin who used to work the fishing boats up that way every summer. Earned himself some money for college. That’s why it’s familiar.
“It’s pretty nice country. Why didn’t you just fly?”
“Fly?”
“Sure. I mean, it’s a really long drive. You could have flown to Machias. At least that far. And I
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