The Void is Ever Eager

The Void is Ever Eager

by Jeff Somers

I sat in the dark and listened for Ellie, keeping perfectly still. It seemed very important, suddenly, that I stay perfectly still. No twitch, no shifting of weight—just the maintenance of equilibrium in the dark, quiet room. I had never sat in the overstuffed chair we kept in the corner. I’d seen people sit in it at parties, but always I’d had a vague sense of discomfort about the chair. Sometimes the shape of things tells you something about them, and this chair had just never looked comfortable, and time is precious, I didn’t want to waste it on an uncomfortable experience. Besides, it was out of the way in the room: You couldn’t see the television, or reach anything of us. Sitting in it, you were an island.

In the dark, as my eyes adjusted, the room took on a familiar layout with unfamiliar textures. Everything smooth, rubbed off.

In the light the room had warmth, because Ellie knew what she was doing when it came to decorating. She chose fabrics well, understanding that how something felt to you was just as important as how it looked. In the dark, though, all the lines and pills and deep furrows were lost: Everything was made of dark metal, cold and smooth.

Parts of me were going numb, but I didn’t want to move. I didn’t want to get river muck on the chair.

###

Three months before, almost to the day, I’d been at a party in the same room, just about everyone that my wife and I knew gathered into one house and given finger foods and alcohol. We liked things casual, and insisted that anyone who wished could bring someone along, no need to call, no need to clear it with the hosts. We liked crowded parties, lots of noise, spilled drinks, people meeting new people. We didn’t want ten people standing around politely, smiling until their faces cracked.

When people brought friends things got looser and more casual. So, I didn’t know a lot of the people attending my own party, but that wasn’t unusual.

I’d met her, Veronica Sawl, in this very room.

Charley had brought her, a young piece of tail he was trying to bag from his office. A recent hire, out of college, working for the first time, still not quite at home in her designer suits. And Charley was always on the lookout. After marriage number three he’d given up and just admitted that he was an incorrigible skirt-chaser, vowed to never marry again, and began pursuing his bedroom conquests openly and with gusto. For months he’d been bringing by all sorts of different women, introducing them, getting everyone to tell him how gorgeous they were, and how young (Charley liked the sorority girls), and then a few days later he’d ambush me while we out cocktailing after work and he’d give me all the gory details: How he’d seduced them, what kind of underwear they wore, the feel of their ankles in his hands. I’d tried to avoid the perverted bastard, but he knew my haunts and habits and he found me, wet grin in place, same old story with a different name.

Veronica had been his latest target. She was pretty: A trim little dirty blonde with a generous bust and good calves, happy eyes. He’d brought her up to me in the living room, a twinkle in his eye and his hand lingering on the small of her back, possessive but careful. I remembered flicking my eyes over their heads and noting that Ellie was sitting on the arm of this island chair, talking intently with her brother Edward, who sat languidly, his long limbs unfurled lazily as he slumped down in the cushions, a glass of wine held negligently, almost tipping.

“Larry, I’d like to introduce Veronica. Larry Morgan, Veronica Sawl.”

I took her hand, cold and manicured, in mine for a moment, smiling. “A pleasure,” I said, a little thickly, as I was already getting drunk. And faintly uneasy, because more and more often Ellie complained that I drank too much. I had begun taking steps to conceal my drinking from her, practicing my moves and speaking slowly, to avoid slurring. “If you work with Charley I must warn you: hen the threat of being fired doesn’t loom over him, his behavior plummets into deplorable.”

We all chuckled politely at the lame joke. Veronica’s violet eyes sparkled as she said “Oh, lord, I hope so!” with mock enthusiasm.

Charley winked at me from behind her, looking smug.

“You have a lovely house, Larry,” Veronica said warmly. “Thank you very much for the hospitality.”

“Is that Paul?” Charley said suddenly. “Excuse me for a moment.”

He touched her lightly on the arm and moved off to pursue someone. I fought a wild urge to reach out and stop him, but recovered in time to offer Veronica a smile.

“You,” I said with sudden inspiration, “don’t have a drink.”

“Sad, but true.” She beamed.

“Follow me, lass.”

I hated being left alone with her. She seemed nice, and she was attractive, but I didn’t do well with complete strangers. I felt uncomfortable. As I led Veronica to the makeshift bar we’d set up on a folding table in the kitchen, I looked towards Ellie, trying to beam a silent appeal, but she was absorbed in whatever she and Edward were discussing. She had a deep, unusually close relationship with her brother, and once they got to talking, there was no dragging her out of it.

We were the only people in the kitchen. I set my drink on the counter and made a grand gesture towards the bar. “What’s your poison?”

She laughed, a little more than the joke called for, which first pleased me a little, and then bothered me. People pretending to laugh at my jokes was no fun. When Ellie did it, at least there was real affection behind it. This Sawl woman doing it irritated me, and I became businesslike.

“Just a vodka and cranberry, please,” she said.

I mixed her drink quickly and handed it to her without flourish—somehow, she’d taken all the showman out of me.

“Thank you, Larry,” she said, taking a sip. “Perfect! You’d make a great bartender.”

She’d moved slightly closer to me. I could smell perfume, a vague hint of nicotine. Her blouse was carefully undone, and from my perspective I could see the lacy edges of her bra. I realized, in surprise, that she was flirting with me.

“Well,” I said, nervously, “I’d better not fall down on my hosting duties.”

She just smiled at me, wide and encouragingly. I was awkward, waiting for her to acknowledge what I’d said, to move in the expected way. She didn’t. She just stood there with her drink, staring at me, smiling, and I felt like if I turned away I’d be rude. We stood there for a moment, mired down.

“Can I get you anything else?” I blurted, amazed at how socially malformed I still was, so long after my adolescence.

“No!” She chirped cheerfully, still smiling, evincing absolutely no sign of any awkwardness on her part. Then her eyes slid over my shoulder. “Here comes Charley to take charge of me again.”

Before I could turn, relief flooding me, there was Charley’s familiarly annoying hand on my back, the smell of his aftershave.

“Hey—you’re not stealing my date, are you?”

“No!” I said, cheerfully since I’d been saved. “Just plying her with alcohol, and I was just taking my leave of her. So I release her back to your charge.”

Charley wagged a finger at me as he guided Veronica back into the main party. “I’m watching you, buddy,” he said playfully.
I watched them merge back into the loose crowd of our friends. Veronica looked back, once, as Charley’s hand slid to just above her pert bottom, and winked at me.

I was attracted, I admit it. She was a lovely girl, and dressed just on the edge of provocative—not really slutty, by any means, but with hints of availableness. The opened blouse, the short skirt. Body language, I suppose. I was attracted, of course, I’m human. But I was more relieved that Charley had taken charge of her, and rescued me.

The rest of the party went as usual. I saw Veronica a few more times, but usually from across the room, where Charley was plying her with my liquor, and we only spoke one more time, when they both left together. She was very drunk, red in the face and slurry, and came to the front door hanging off of Charley in a way that made him beam happily around the room. At the door, she tore away from Charley and engulfed me in a warm embrace, pushing herself against me pleasantly.

“Thank you so much for having me,” she said, “I had a wonderful time. You’re so nice.”

I looked from Charley’s bemused, lustful face to Ellie, who was regarding me with the blank-faced resignation usually reserved for her moments of greatest annoyance with me. I was a little drunk myself, Veronica felt good pressed against me, I didn’t want to be rude, I didn’t want to get Charley mad at me, and there were still more people to be herded from the party, which had dragged on into that gray area where the invited guests are no longer wanted, the booze makes you sick to your stomach, and all the food just looks difficult to clean up.

I finally pushed her away, shook Charley’s hand, and ushered them out the door. When I turned back, Ellie was in the other room, making last-minute conversation with the die-hards, and I knew I was in for a long night.

###

That night, I lay in bed next to Ellie and thought about Veronica Sawl. Dozing, I imagined her, half-naked, beneath me in the back room while the party went on, noisy and camouflaging, outside, her big eyes staring into mine, urging me on, faster, deeper, while she bit her lip in ecstasy. When I startled awake, Ellie was snoring lightly next to me and the apartment was still and quiet. I was relieved, and felt safe for a moment, then guilty for having such thoughts.

Getting up, I poured myself a glass of water and sat for a moment in the kitchen, drinking it slowly and thinking. Ellie was mad at me, although I’d done nothing, and experience had told me that all I could do was wait it out. She knew she was being silly, she also knew she couldn’t help herself, and while she would never apologize for these crazy jealousies she often had, I knew she’s emerge from it cheerful and solicitous, making it up to me as best she could. It wasn’t a bad marriage by any stretch. I loved Ellie, still wanted her, and if we had our moments—who didn’t?

I finished my water and went back to bed, where, as always, Ellie was awake. Any time I left the bed during the night, she awoke. She used to ask me if I was okay every time, until I’d gotten annoyed at her. Now she would just look at me when I re-entered the bedroom, and then we’d both go back to sleep. A spike of annoyance went through me—why did she have to stare at me like that? Just go back to sleep, dammit—but I said nothing. I lay back down in bed and closed my eyes, listening for her customary shifting as she resumed sleep.

And in my head, I turned to kiss Veronica Sawl’s ankle as she bucked and mewed beneath me.

###

I didn’t see Veronica for a few weeks after that, and forgot all about her. She hadn’t been the first pretty girl I had a momentary, safe fantasy about, and I doubted she would be the last—her perfume and stockinged legs lingered for a while, then faded into the jumbled mass of previous minor infatuations. When I saw her again, in fact, I did not immediately recognize her. Of course, I was a little drunk.

Once a month, Charley liked to organize a Testosterone Evening, wherein he and a few male buddies went out without wives or girlfriends—or sisters, nieces, etc—and had a few drinks in the spirit of male friendship and independence. There was little resistance from the women, because we really didn’t drink all that much, and we really didn’t stay out late—it was the principle of the whole thing, clearing one day a month without our women. We were getting near the time when I usually packed it in and got that look of pity from Charley, though I’ll admit I was a little drunker than usual. I was swirling the dregs of Scotch around in my glass, pondering my immediate future, when I glanced up at the bar and saw her.

At first, I didn’t recognize her. I knew I’d seen her before, but nothing clicked in my head. She was just a cute young girl in a short skirt, the kind of girl you glanced at a dozen times during your day and didn’t think twice about, aside from an interior nice legs or what a hottie. I admired her legs for a moment before realizing that she was looking right at me, and then looked away in embarrassment, gulping the remains of my drink. When I glanced back, I was horrified to discover that the girl had slid from her stool and was walking towards me.

“Hey there, Mr. Morgan,” she said, putting her free hand familiarly on my shoulder. “Fancy meeting you here!”

I looked up at her, squinting, and then I remembered, and relief filled me, because at least this wasn’t an offended stranger come to yell at me for being sexist and crude for staring at her. A vague, quick memory of her body, warm and drunk, pressed against mine passed through my mind. Her name, however, did not.

“Hey there, you!” I said with extra fake enthusiasm because I couldn’t recall her name. “How have you been?”

“Excuse me,” Charley said suddenly, brushing past us.

“Don’t mind him,” Veronica said with a wink. “He’s just pouting because we had a fight.”

I nodded. “Is that why you’re here?”

She laughed. “No! It’s just a coincidence. He told me I couldn’t come along, and wouldn’t tell me where y’all were headed.

Serves him right that I happened to come to the same bar.” She winked. “But I’m glad I did. I’ve been thinking about you.”

I was drunk enough to smile. “You have?” It was flattering.

She leaned in, giving me a breathtaking view of her cleavage and putting her face close to mine, whispering “Every day.”

My mouth went dry, and my heart pounded. I know that a lot of guys, looking at us from across the room, were jealous of me, because Veronica was good-looking. I was terrified. I thought of my wife and I wanted nothing more than to get as far away from this woman as I could. It wasn’t that I didn’t want her—I did. Every man in the room did. But I didn’t dare.

I stood up, abruptly, forcing her to back away awkwardly. It was creepy. I mean, how nice to hear that some cute girl thought about you—but every day? Whispered dramatically in my ear? I almost had a heart attack right there, and expected to turn and find Ellie standing behind me, broken beer-bottle in hand.

Veronica laughed. “Oh, come on, Larry!” She said happily. “Just kidding. Come on, let me buy you a drink.”

I stood there feeling stupid, and smiled sheepishly as she grinned, eyes twinkling in amusement. I felt fuzzy and cotton-headed, too. “Okay. Sorry.” It was ridiculous, I remember thinking, being terrified of a nice woman who had done nothing to me. It was just something about her…but that was silly.

I followed her to the bar, where she ordered us each a Scotch and settled herself onto a barstool, legs crossed at the knee, breasts pushing attractively against her slightly-tight white blouse. We clinked glasses and toasted each other.

“So are you and Charley…” I trailed off, waving my glass about suggestively.

She laughed. “No. That’s kind of what we’re fighting about. He seems to think I’m duty-bound to sleep with him, and he’s very angry with me that I won’t.”

I smiled. “That sounds like Charley, all right. Don’t be too hard on him. He’s harmless, really.”

“Oh, I know. I see that he’s just weak and unhappy. Not like you.”

I blinked, and a surge of wrongness swept through me again. It was subtle, maddening feeling that there was something off about Veronica. But I felt paralyzed because I couldn’t define it. It was just this weird, crazy feeling. I decided it was because

Veronica was so pretty—not that I’d ever noticed any fear of women before, but I suddenly thought that Ellie’s obvious disapproval at the party a few weeks ago and thought, that must be it. Ellie could get things into her head sometimes, and I was probably afraid, deep down, that this would all get misconstrued.

“He’s a sweetheart, though,” she continued, sipping her drink. “If he didn’t already have such a reputation in the office, I might have been charmed. I almost was.” She looked at me over the rim of her glass. “Until I met you.”

I was frozen. Had she actually said that? Who said such things? I’d spoken to the women about five minutes, total, in our whole lives, and she was coming on to me like we were in some bad movie. I set my drink on the bar carefully and started to slide off the stool.

“Listen, Veronica,” I started to say, but she began shaking her head.

“Don’t be so uptight, Larry. I’m not proposing marriage. I’m not saying we’re soulmates. I’m proposing sex.”

That stopped me. I felt old, suddenly. Old and tired. And, to be a little more honest, turned-on. I’d never had a woman be so frank with me, and it was kind of exciting—but exhausting, at the same time.

“Sex.” I said, my voice flat. I lowered it without realizing, almost whispering the word.

“Yes,” she said with a raised eyebrow. “Sex. Tonight. Right now. I live about five minutes away. Come up for a nightcap.” She smiled, sipping her Scotch. “No strings attached. If nothing else, you’ll make Chuck pretty jealous.”

I glanced around involuntarily, and there was Charley, staring at us from across the bar, his normally cheerful demeanor grim and shadowed. When our eyes met, he looked away.

“Come on, Larry,” she said playfully. “It’ll just be fun. Nothing but…fun.”

Shaking my head, I took a step backward. “Veronica, I’m flattered—I really am. And attracted to you.” Honesty seemed the best policy—I wanted to be graceful, cool. “But I’m married, and I love my wife, so I think it’s best if we just don’t see each other any more.”

She laughed a little. “You are uptight, Larry.”

I shrugged, smiling. “Okay—I am. Good night.”

She didn’t say anything, so I took my half-erection and walked over to where Charley sat and grabbed my sports jacket draped over the back.

###

Outside, Charley and I walked about a block in silence before he stopped.

“What did she say to you?” He exploded as I turned to him, feeling blurry and hot and nauseous from the booze. “About me?”

“What?”

“You two were pretty chummy there, laughing, and then you looked right at me,” he hissed. “We’re friends, Larry. I thought—”

“Oh for god’s sake,” I said loudly, tired and exasperated. “She said you’d had a fight and offered to buy me a drink. That’s it.”

He deflated, pushing his hands into his pockets. “That’s it? Nothing else?”

I didn’t want to confess to Charley. He was my oldest friend and I trusted him, but I felt that if I said anything about Veronica it would simply annoy him, and make it more real. I wanted to forget the evening completely; I was embarrassed about my behavior. I hadn’t done anything wrong, but I’d always imagined myself as a cool customer. Quick on his feet, good with words. Veronica Sawl had come on aggressively and I’d sat there feeling alternately terrified and horny, and I hadn’t said a single clever thing. “Nothing else, really. I kind of got the impression she was trying to make you a little jealous.”

He snorted, and we began walking again. “Bullshit. That little cocktease did everything she could to make me think we were going to fuck, and then suddenly goes cold on me. Which by itself is okay—it’s her prerogative, and lord knows I’ve been teased before. You take it like a man. But she’s…teasing me about it. Making fun. As if wanting to sleep with her was some sort of flaw I should be ashamed of.” He sighed. “Sorry I snapped at you. It’s weird—it wouldn’t be a big deal, but she’s got this way of making you feel like she’s whispering about you all the time.”

I knew what he meant, and a wave of relief swept through me. I felt bright and smart for having rebuffed her. “She’s a little weird, Charley. Maybe you’re lucky you didn’t sleep with her.”

He nodded glumly. “I guess. Now, of course, I’ve got to see her every day. If we’d at least fucked, I’d have a reason to be uncomfortable around her. This kind of in-between bullshit is driving me crazy.”

Charley liked to think of himself as a blunt man, and liked to use blunt language to assert the point as often as he could. He never used a euphemism where fuck could be used. Every time he used the word I had an image of monkeys having sex, animalistic, screeching. Fucking.

I got home about an hour later, starting to feel sober and sick, thinking regretfully that that last drink from Veronica had been a mistake, and I’d wake up the next day with a pounding head and sour stomach. I prescribed myself a lot of water and poured a huge glass, carrying it with me into the bedroom. Ellie was still awake, lying in bed, reading.
“Hello!” I said cheerfully. I never liked to admit to Ellie that I’d drank too much, and when I was feeling it I put on an overly-cheerful air. I was never sure if she saw through it or not.

She didn’t glance up. “Hello.”

The coolness was obvious, and a familiar feeling of dread filled me. Ellie and I didn’t fight much, and never for long—we were generally very happy together. But I knew when she was pissed about something. I didn’t say anything.

“Veronica Sawl called,” she said. “And left a message. Thanking you for a good time.”

I paused, the glass halfway down to the night table. “She did?” I tried to pack quizzical surprise into my voice.

“Yes. You can listen to the message.” She paused. “So how was Boys Night Out?”

I closed my eyes. It was going to be one of those conversations. “Fine,” I said, trying to keep my voice cheerful. “Veronica and Charley aren’t getting along. I think she showed up to torture him.”

I felt guilty, and was annoyed. I hadn’t done anything. Ellie didn’t say anything, and I knew better than to try and infuse the conversation with any more meat. There was a click, and when I opened my eyes, the lights were off. I sighed. I was used to getting dressed in the dark, but I sat there for a while, just breathing. I hadn’t done anything.

###

After that, Veronica Sawl began calling me every day.

At first I thought it was just a weird miscommunication between us. I thought she would quit after a few days of unreturned calls. I thought I would just ignore her, as she’d graduated in my mind from weird, aggressive girl to bitch I couldn’t get rid of fast enough.

But the calls continued. At home, at work. She never said anything threatening or weird—the messages were always innocuous, generic. Hey this is Ronnie, how are you baby? Just calling to say hi. We should get together again. Call me.

Things like that. Everyday. Never anything of substance, never anything that could be pointed to—but like a trickle of water, it started wearing things down. Ellie walked around in a permanent state of wrath. Since Veronica never alluded to having actually done anything with me, she held her tongue as best she could and avoided actually accusing me of anything, but I could tell, I could read it in every sharp movement of her body, every withering glance, every cool, hard silence in the bedroom, the obvious question: If there was nothing between me and Veronica Sawl, why was the woman calling me?

I knew why, of course. Veronica made up with Charley and they started spending time together again, and she was always around. When I ran into her she acted as if we were friends, chatting and gossiping and flirting—flirting, flirting, flirting. Fingering her blouse buttons, flipping her hair, touching me, standing close, and always suggesting we get together for a drink, talk a little, get to know one another. Charley started bringing her around with him when we met for drinks, and when

I’d get home there would be Ellie, asking if that woman had been there and I’d say yes, she’d been with Charley. Which was just as bad as saying yes, I fucked her on the pool table, but what could I do? A lie would have been found out, I was sure of it, I didn’t have that kind of crazy badassed luck. I had no luck, and the moment I lied to Ellie I knew it would be found out and everything would be ruined as there’d be no convincing her that nothing was happening then. And lie for what? I hadn’t done anything.

After a few weeks of vainly hoping she would tire of the little game and go away, I managed to have a beer-and-burger lunch with Charley and tell him all about it.

He squinted at me, sucking on a cigarette. “You’re shitting me.”

I shook my head. “No. She calls me constantly, and I see her at least three times a week, always by chance. And she’s always suggesting we ‘get together’.” I sighed. “Look, Charley, I know I’m not exactly the kind of guy girls stalk and shit, but I’m telling you, this is starting to get weird.”

He looked at me thoughtfully. “Ronnie’s a weird one, all right. I can never decide if we’re friends or not. After being so fucking mean when we first met—you remember that whole sordid tale—she’s been mostly really nice to me. But there have been moments…” He shrugged. “You can’t tell with her. You can know her forever, I think, and not ever know if she actually likes you or if she’s just fucking with you.” He nodded to himself, snuffing out his cigarette. “You know, I think I’ll spend a little less time with her.”

“But what can I do? Ellie’s about to cut my dick off while I’m sleeping. I’m pretty sure she’s been searching my pockets and wallet.” It was true. Normally I’d have been annoyed at such behavior, but that was the hell of it: I could see why Ellie thought there might be something to find.

“What can you do? Get rid of her, champ.”

I snorted. “Easier said than done.”

###

How do you get rid of someone who insists on staying? She hadn’t broken any laws. She wasn’t invading my private space. I supposed there might be some sort of harassment suit in there, but it seemed smoky, tenuous, and I had no guarantees that a court or a jury or whatever wouldn’t see a friendly young woman just trying to make friends and getting a little overenthusiastic. What could I do? Threaten her? Too easy to turn against you. Ignore her? Hadn’t worked so far. It was stunning—the arbitrary power she’d exerted over me was stunning: There was no justice, no rules. She’d just picked me out of a group for no particular reason, and fucked with me, and fucked with me, and fucked with me.

Seeking a way to end the fiasco and get my wife back on speaking terms, I finally picked up the phone in the middle of one of her messages.

“Hello, Veronica. Please stop calling.”

“Hey! Aw, c’mon, don’t be a poopy-pants about it. Just teasing you, you know.”

“It isn’t funny.”

“All right, I’m sorry, okay? Let me buy you lunch, and I’ll apologize for an hour straight.”

The good humor in her voice was trying to lull me, but it didn’t, it made my heart pound and my upper lip tremble. It was bizarre—she was bizarre—how she could be so obviously fucking with me, and still pretend like she wasn’t.

“I don’t think so.” I started to wonder what I’d been hoping to accomplish by talking to her. It was just more of the same. I felt helpless and futile, and realized with a jolt that I was clenching my fist as it dangled at my side.

“Suit yourself, Larry. I guess you get lots of offers for lunch. See you soon!”

I stood there for a moment with dead air in my ear, staring down at the floor.

“Who was that?”

I jumped a little at Ellie’s voice, my heart lurching in my chest. I put the phone down on the cradle hastily and turned to find her standing in the doorway of the room, shopping bags in hand.

“No one,” I said as slowly as I could.

The look she offered me was devastating; it was the look of distrust, of suspicion. She didn’t say anything. She marched through the room trailing a fine mist of ice crystals, and I just tracked her silently, mouth open but no breath moving through my vocal chords, no sound coming out. When she was gone I whirled and swept the phone off the table and stood there, panting, fists clenched.

And I thought, I’m going to have to kill her.

###

I went through the preparations in stunned silence.

Stunned because of the unreality of it. How could some woman I hadn’t known existed a few months before have so much power over me? How could I be punished for things I hadn’t even done? I shuffled around the streets imagining that I hadn’t been in the room when Charley was walking her around. Imagining that I’d been ill that night, the party canceled. That someone else had caught Veronica’s eye. A million little detail-moments that could have gone another way for me, little unformed universes, alternate timelines, possibilities. A world where a crazed girl fifteen years younger than me didn’t have incredible, bizarre power over me.

Who knows if we all have a murderer inside us, just waiting for the opportunity to come out and do his grim work. Probably we do, an animal instinct left behind, a vestige of worse times. I woke up the next day after the phone call with a calm idea of how to do it, and while I knew there was no guarantee I’d get away with it, I also knew I had to try. She wouldn’t go away before ruining everything. She wouldn’t go away until Ellie was gone, and sine I couldn’t beat her at her own mindfuck game, I had to…cheat.

I bought a roll of thick painter’s drop-cloth and a roll of good twine at a hardware store a few blocks from my office and tucked it under my desk. I brought a bottle of sleeping pills from Ellie’s medicine cabinet and left it in my desk drawer. I called Veronica and told her she’d worn me down, and we should meet for a drink, come on over to my office after work and we’ll go out.

I did all this without really thinking. I did all this with a persistent buzz of white noise in my head, a screen of nothingness. Everything moved as if under remote control.

###

It was late; everyone else in the office had gone home. I’d counted on it. If they hadn’t, I would have waited. In my numb calculations I was prepared to see a lot of Veronica, to let it all come true if necessary in order to get to the proper spot. But none of that was necessary, it all worked perfectly: The office was empty, she came in through the empty lobby and stepped into my office, smiling hugely, looking lovely in a short black dress, holding a little black purse, leaning back against the door.

I had taken no precautions. In the same numb, empty way, I knew that at any moment it could all go wrong.

“Painting?” she said, looking down at the cloth.

I stood up from behind the desk, forcing a smile onot my face. It felt like cement and plywood, nailed into place. It felt like a plaster mask.

“Remodeling,” I said as easily as I could. “Let’s have a drink before we head out. Hash things out a little.” I waggled a finger at her. “You’ve been misbehaving.”

She grinned. “Only because I knew you’d come around.”

“Scotch okay?”

“Of course.” She started to wander around the office, picking things up and examining them. “Scotch is always okay. But you know,” she glanced over her shoulder at me. “You don’t have to liquor me up, Larry. I’m a sure thing. Trust me.”

I kept the grin in place, mentally checking the corners of my mouth every few seconds, and busied myself mixing a drink from a decanter that was half Scotch and half pills. “Talk first, Veronica.”

“Ronnie. Thank you.” She sipped the drink and made a face. “Where do you get your Scotch?”

I toasted her and clinked her glass. “To a new beginning, then.”

We drank. I kept my eyes on her as I pretended to take a deep sip. She stared back and drank deeply. I indicated the two overstuffed leather chairs before my desk. “Have a seat. Let’s talk.”

She slid into one and crossed her legs, taking a third sip from her glass. “Is this where Larry chastises me for being a bad girl?”

I sat down and stared into my full glass. I knew, in some language-less way, that I needed to keep her talking for a while longer. I didn’t know anything about drugs or metabolism or anything. I had no idea how long it would take, only that I had to keep her in the office until I saw signs. “Well, Ronnie, you have been making a pest of yourself, haven’t you?”

“Oh, now, Larry,” she said, smiling into her glass. Was there a slur? A slight fuzziness? “You’ve been enjoying yourself, haven’t you? It’s been fun.”

“Not for me, Ronnie,” I said, pretending to sip my drink again. “My wife is very mad at me. She thinks I’m fucking you.”

Her eyes widened in delight. “Well, you’re here now. Maybe she’s just psychic.”

“Maybe,” I nodded slowly. “Still, you have to admit you’ve caused me a little trouble.”

She nodded, sipping. Did her eyes flutter? Was her face blanker, slacker? “Oh, okay, Larry. I’m a…a…”she licked her lips, smiling loosely. “I’m sorry…jeez, this Scotch is terrible, Larry.”

“Yeah,” I said. I stood up again and toasted her again. “To bad Scotch!”

She grinned and swung her glass up, sloshing liquor onto the carpet. She hit my glass hard and we both sloshed more onto the floor. I did my sham sipping routine, watching as she gulped more, and relaxed. I knew it wouldn’t be long. She rambled for a few more minutes, waving her drink around, making less and less sense, then seemed to threaten to have sex with me right there in the office, struggled up out of the chair clumsily, and fell over. She rolled onto the drop-cloth as if god had reached down to nudge her over onto it, and lay there, unconscious.

###

I was still empty, and the white noise had gotten louder. It was better, I somehow knew, to just not think. I pushed her into the center of the drop cloth, and rolled her up in it, tying it into a bundle with the rope. I made the bundle tight and secure, with no way for an errant limb to slip from inside.

Then I picked her up and put her over one shoulder, and walked out of the building.

It was that simple. No one saw me. No one questioned me. I took the stairs and went out the rear entrance, directly to my car. I popped the trunk and put her in. Then I drove down to the river, backed the car in up to the rear wheels, waded in, pulled her out, and dropped her. The cloth soaked up river water, and slowly sank, pulled away from me by the current.

I stood there, shivering, knee-deep in the water for a moment, staring at the spot where she’d been. Then I got back in the car and drove away.

###

I didn’t know what would happen. Had I been seen? Would the investigation invariably come to me? I didn’t know. The white noise receded, but I didn’t care. If it came to me, I would accept that. I had done what had to be done, and retained my freedom. I had defended myself. And Ellie would know. I was confident of that: Ellie would see through it and know. She would understand, and be pleased. I was sure of it.

Getting up from the chair, I still felt damp and cold. I considered taking a hot shower before going in and getting into bed with my wife. I stood, deliberating, and then I thought I would wake her, and explain everything, tell her the whole story. And then she would know. And be pleased.

THE END