Read Online The True Detective by Theodore Weesner - Free Book Online
Authors: Theodore Weesner
Ads: Link
“Hullo.”
“Vanessa there?”
Silence follows; Matt’s heart starts dropping away. “May I ask who is calling?” the black lieutenant colonel says.
“Matt Wells?” Matt asks.
He knows I’m white, Matt is thinking. Jesus. Now he’s going to let me have it.
But the voice says, “Just a moment, please.”
When the receiver is picked up, a fluid voice says, “Matt, hi.”
“Hi.”
“You still in town?”
“I took off from Cormac. He’s such a jerk.”
“Color line bother you like it does your dopey friend?”
“No. No, it doesn’t.”
“This ain’t just a guilt call?”
“No. You’re—ticked off I guess, aren’t you?”
“Well, yeah,” she says. “Barbara’s mad at me, too. I get us put down like that. Yeah, my feelings were hurt. They still are.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I thought you were cool, in school, you know. Then me and Barbara get served up a plateful of humiliation.”
“I never knew he was such a jerk.”
“That why you called?”
“Not just that. I . . . wanted to talk to you. I don’t know. I wanted to say something to you.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. I forgot.”
“Come on, you didn’t forget.”
“I wanted to say hello.”
“That’s all?”
“Well . . . I like your rings.”
“My rings?”
“All that gold. You might get stolen.”
“That really why you called—say you like my rings?”
“Yeah.”
“Man, what about me?”
“What do you mean?”
“You don’t like me? That ain’t got nothing to do with why you called?”
“Sure, but I like your rings, too.”
“Between my teeth and my fingers I’m a walking gold mine. You think the rest of me is worthless?”
“Sort of.”
“Funny, Matt.”
“I think you and me . . . got a lot in common, you know.”
“Baby, it’s you and I.’”
“What?” he says.
“Nothing. The grammar. I shouldn’t do that.”
“Well—you called me baby.”
“It’s just an expression. Don’t get carried away.”
“I am, though,” he says, his heart lifting suddenly.
Pausing, she says, “This ain’t a social call then, an apology?”
“What do you mean?”
“You called to be friends?”
“Yes.”
“You call back then sometime?”
“Sure. Tomorrow.”
“Okay, I have to set the table now. Slaves ain’t all been freed yet.”
“I’ll call,” he says.
Hanging up, Matt holds still a moment, as if to get his breathing straight. God, she’s neat, he says to himself.
CHAPTER 11
H IS HOUSEMATES ARE DRINKING . P ERHAPS THEY ARE DRUNK ; he isn’t sure. He has almost never been around the cottage at this time and wonders if it wasn’t a mistake to return here now. In a moment he knows it was. The taunt comes from Leon, who seems always to be after him. “Vernon,” he says, “are you gay?”
Leon’s roommate/friend, Wayne, sipping a can of beer, snorts suds and laughter. Duncan, though, says to Leon, “Hey, take it easy.”
Did they see his magazine? Vernon wonders. Were they talking about him?
“We were wondering,” Leon says. “All year you’ve never had one fucking phone call. Until lately. And they ain’t been from no girl.”
“Someone called?” Vernon says.
“See!” Leon says.
“No one called,” Duncan says. “Leon, those are low blows. Vernon’s phone calls, or anything—they’re none of your business.”
“Low blow, high blow, any blow will do,” Wayne says.
“Shut up,” Duncan says.
“Is he some kind of closet queen or not?” Leon says.
“I’m not,” Vernon manages to say.
“Man, you are overdoing it,” Duncan is saying to Leon.
“Where does he go, what does he do?” Leon says. “Nobody could spend that much time in the fucking library.” On this he throws back his head, pours away some beer.
“I can’t believe this,” Duncan is saying. “It’s none of your goddamn business, none of it.”
“I wish I’d known if he is,” Wayne says. “Could be our house faggot, save me beating my meat so
“Vanessa there?”
Silence follows; Matt’s heart starts dropping away. “May I ask who is calling?” the black lieutenant colonel says.
“Matt Wells?” Matt asks.
He knows I’m white, Matt is thinking. Jesus. Now he’s going to let me have it.
But the voice says, “Just a moment, please.”
When the receiver is picked up, a fluid voice says, “Matt, hi.”
“Hi.”
“You still in town?”
“I took off from Cormac. He’s such a jerk.”
“Color line bother you like it does your dopey friend?”
“No. No, it doesn’t.”
“This ain’t just a guilt call?”
“No. You’re—ticked off I guess, aren’t you?”
“Well, yeah,” she says. “Barbara’s mad at me, too. I get us put down like that. Yeah, my feelings were hurt. They still are.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I thought you were cool, in school, you know. Then me and Barbara get served up a plateful of humiliation.”
“I never knew he was such a jerk.”
“That why you called?”
“Not just that. I . . . wanted to talk to you. I don’t know. I wanted to say something to you.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. I forgot.”
“Come on, you didn’t forget.”
“I wanted to say hello.”
“That’s all?”
“Well . . . I like your rings.”
“My rings?”
“All that gold. You might get stolen.”
“That really why you called—say you like my rings?”
“Yeah.”
“Man, what about me?”
“What do you mean?”
“You don’t like me? That ain’t got nothing to do with why you called?”
“Sure, but I like your rings, too.”
“Between my teeth and my fingers I’m a walking gold mine. You think the rest of me is worthless?”
“Sort of.”
“Funny, Matt.”
“I think you and me . . . got a lot in common, you know.”
“Baby, it’s you and I.’”
“What?” he says.
“Nothing. The grammar. I shouldn’t do that.”
“Well—you called me baby.”
“It’s just an expression. Don’t get carried away.”
“I am, though,” he says, his heart lifting suddenly.
Pausing, she says, “This ain’t a social call then, an apology?”
“What do you mean?”
“You called to be friends?”
“Yes.”
“You call back then sometime?”
“Sure. Tomorrow.”
“Okay, I have to set the table now. Slaves ain’t all been freed yet.”
“I’ll call,” he says.
Hanging up, Matt holds still a moment, as if to get his breathing straight. God, she’s neat, he says to himself.
CHAPTER 11
H IS HOUSEMATES ARE DRINKING . P ERHAPS THEY ARE DRUNK ; he isn’t sure. He has almost never been around the cottage at this time and wonders if it wasn’t a mistake to return here now. In a moment he knows it was. The taunt comes from Leon, who seems always to be after him. “Vernon,” he says, “are you gay?”
Leon’s roommate/friend, Wayne, sipping a can of beer, snorts suds and laughter. Duncan, though, says to Leon, “Hey, take it easy.”
Did they see his magazine? Vernon wonders. Were they talking about him?
“We were wondering,” Leon says. “All year you’ve never had one fucking phone call. Until lately. And they ain’t been from no girl.”
“Someone called?” Vernon says.
“See!” Leon says.
“No one called,” Duncan says. “Leon, those are low blows. Vernon’s phone calls, or anything—they’re none of your business.”
“Low blow, high blow, any blow will do,” Wayne says.
“Shut up,” Duncan says.
“Is he some kind of closet queen or not?” Leon says.
“I’m not,” Vernon manages to say.
“Man, you are overdoing it,” Duncan is saying to Leon.
“Where does he go, what does he do?” Leon says. “Nobody could spend that much time in the fucking library.” On this he throws back his head, pours away some beer.
“I can’t believe this,” Duncan is saying. “It’s none of your goddamn business, none of it.”
“I wish I’d known if he is,” Wayne says. “Could be our house faggot, save me beating my meat so
Similar Books
