“The cat must have decomposed by now.”
“You shouldn’t have thrown the cat through the window.”
“Anyhow, I bought you lunch more recently than that. You think I’m made of money?”
“Together. I mean together.”
“Oh.”
“I love you, Fletch. You don’t get over that in a minute.”
“No. You don’t.”
“I mean, we had some beautiful times together. Real beautiful times.”
“You know, around here now you can’t even smell the cat.”
“Remember the time we just headed off in your old Volvo and we lived in it a whole week? We didn’t bring clothes, money, anything?”
“Credit cards. We brought credit cards.”
“Do you still have the old Volvo?”
“No. An MG.”
“Oh? What color is it?”
“It’s called ‘enviable green.’ ”
“I’ve been trying to get you on the phone.”
“Even before you got your check?”
“Yes. Have you been away?”
“Yes. I’ve been working on a story.”
“You’ve been gone a long time.”
“It’s a long story.”
“What’s it about?”
“Migrant workers’ labor dispute.”
“That doesn’t sound very interesting.”
“It isn’t.”
“You must be losing your tan.”
“No. I’ve been staying at a motel with a swimming pool. Are you working, Linda? Last time we talked, you were looking for a job.”
“I worked for a while in a boutique.”
“What happened?”
“What happened to the job?”
“Yeah.”
“I quit”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. The owner wanted to make love to somebody else for a while.”
“Oh.”
“Fletch?”
“I’m still here. Where you left me.”
“I mean. I wonder. I mean, the divorce has gone through and all. We couldn’t spoil anything by being together.”
“Couldn’t spoil anything?”
“You know, spoil the divorce. If we had been together while the divorce was going through, you know, it might not have gone through.”
“Oh. Too bad.”
“Now our getting together wouldn’t spoil anything.”
“You want to get together?”
“I mean, it’s Friday night, and I miss you, Fletch. Fletch?”
“Sure.”
“Can we spend the night together?”
“Sure.”
“I can be there in about an hour.”
“Great. You still have a key?”
“Yes.”
“I have to go out for a few minutes. There’s no food in the house. I have to get some beer and some sandwich stuff.”
“Okay.”
“So if I’m not here when you get here, just come in and wait. I’ll be back.”
“All right.”
“I won’t be long,” he said.
“You’d better be.”
“Very funny. Don’t bring your cat.”
“I don’t have a cat. See you soon, Fletch. Right after I shower.”
“Yeah. Be sure and take a shower first.”
“I’ll see you in an hour.”
After hanging up, Fletch went to the bureau, put on a fresh pair of jeans, a fresh T-shirt, grabbed his pot from the coffee table, his wallet and keys from the bookcase, turned out the lights, checked to make sure the door was locked, went down in the elevator to the garage, got into his car, and drove the hour and a half back to The Beach.
10
When he arrived, the chain light hanging from the ceiling was on. Bobbi was lying naked on the groundmat, on her back, asleep.
The room Fletch had rented at The Beach for the duration of this assignment was over a fish store. It stank.
He had furnished it with a knapsack, a bedroll, and his only luxury in that room, the groundmat.
In an ell of the room, in grossly unsanitary juxtaposition, were a two-burner stove, a tiny refrigerator which did not work well, a sink, a shower stall and a toilet.
For this room he paid a weekly rate that amounted to more per month than his city apartment. It had been rented to him by a fisherman who had the character in his face of an Andrew Wyeth subject. It was impossible to lock the door.
The noise of the pan on the stove woke Bobbi.
“Want some soup?”
She had been up, but now she was down.
“Hi.”
“Hi. Want some soup?”
“Yeah. Great.”
She remained inert. Her “great” had sounded a proper response to the news that pollution had killed all the rabbits on earth.
Bobbi was fifteen years old and blond. She had lost weight even in the few weeks Fletch had known her. Her knees had begun to appear too big for her legs. The skin of her small breasts had begun to wrinkle. Even with her deep tan, the skin under her eyes, almost to the base of her nose, was purple. Her cheekbones appeared to be pulling inside her head. Each eye looked as if it had been hit with a ball-peen hammer.