American Boy - Larry Watson [54]
“You want my coat?”
“Aren’t you the gentleman. No, I’ll survive. You can give me another cigarette though.”
I lit her cigarette and noticed her watching me again. This time her look seemed wary.
“Hey Louisa, can I ask you something?” Had I ever addressed her by name before? “What are you doing out here with”—I almost said “me”—“with us?”
She exhaled, and the plume of smoke had the same blue hue as the vapor of her breath. “Simple. I wanted to have a little fun. You know what it’s like being cooped up in that clinic all day? All those tight-assed Norwegians coming in, and obviously they’re sick or why would they be there, and when I ask them how they’re doing, they say, ‘Oh, pretty good,’ because they think there’s no sin worse than complaining. Or else there’s nothing wrong with them and they come in bitching and moaning like they’re dying. Shit, who wouldn’t be ready for a drink after a few days of that?”
“Yeah. I guess.”
“Now I got a question for you. I heard you’ve been trying to protect my reputation. By beating up guys. What put an idea like that in your head?”
So Johnny had told Louisa about Glen Van Dine’s remarks, as well. “That’s not exactly what happened. And it was just one guy.”
“Yeah, well, don’t bother. You won’t salvage my reputation no matter how many arms or heads you bust.”
“Why’s that?” While we were talking, I was trying to think of a way to close the distance between us. Louisa Lindahl had kissed me—twice—and I had to make it happen again. If I sat on the bench facing her, her feet and legs would be between us. But if I sat on the other side, her back would be to me. I decided on the latter course of action.
“Why? You must be kidding. Because Lester and I were shacked up. Because he shot me, so people can’t help but think I must have done something to deserve it. And besides, if the stories about me sound good, people will just keep repeating them. It won’t matter if they’re true.”
Louisa’s theory of how and why gossip spread struck me as closer to reality than Dr. Dunbar’s.
“Are they true?” I couldn’t have asked that if I’d been facing her.
“I can’t answer that without knowing what people are saying, now can I?”
I swallowed hard. “That you’d do ... anything that Lester Huston asked.”
She laughed. “Well, you know that’s not true. I already told you Lester took a shot at me because I wouldn’t cook a Thanksgiving dinner for him!”
“You know what I mean. Anything ... sexual.”
I was sitting close enough to feel her shrug. “I guess. I can’t think offhand of any outrageous request Lester made. But then he didn’t have much of an imagination. Or much of a sex drive. Most of the time he was too drunk to get it up.” She reached down to the floor, picked up the bottle of wine, and drank. “Is that the kind of information you’re looking for, Matt?”
If I had been more sensitive to the ways people relate to one another, I would have realized how rare Louisa’s candor about such matters was. But I was too intent on what wasn’t happening to notice what was. “Is it true,” I asked, “that you jacked a guy off in a bar because Lester told you to?”
“My, you have heard some tales, haven’t you? You see, that’s exactly what I mean. That story isn’t true, but it really doesn’t matter. It sounds good, so it gets repeated. And then it might as well be true anyway, because everyone believes it. And then of course it fits with what some people want to believe about me. And what really happened isn’t nearly as interesting. Yeah, I grabbed a guy’s cock, but not because Lester asked me to. Not exactly. I did it sort of on a dare. And because I was sick of listening to one more man’s big talk. It was no big deal. Believe me, it was no big deal.” Her laughter then was painfully derisive.
I should have taken her laugh as a warning to abandon the topic, but I had come too far to stop now.
I swiveled around on the bench and put one leg on each side so I had better access to Louisa. I stroked her hair, then pushed down the collar of her coat and pulled the hair away from her neck. I leaned forward, but