Blue Belle - Andrew Vachss [53]
I read the psychology books again and again. They have some of us pegged. Michelle is a transsexual. A woman trapped in a man's body. The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders even has a special coded number for it—302.50.
But I never got it to feel right for me—never found the name for what I was. And the number they gave me upstate didn't tell me a thing.
53
THE PHONE woke me. I snatched it off the hook on the first ring.
"Yeah?"
"Your friend call," Mama said. "He say come to Saint Vincent's Hospital. Room 909. Visiting hour at nine o'clock. You ask for Melvin, okay?"
"Thanks, Mama."
Belle was awake, still twisted like she was when she fell asleep, looking up at me.
"He called?"
"Sure did." I got up. "I'm going to take a shower, okay?"
"Let me use the bathroom for a minute first."
She padded off. I lit a smoke. Melvin was the Prof's brother, a semi–legitimate dude who worked the post office. He must be in the hospital for something or other. If we had to meet in the daytime, Saint Vincent's was as good a place as any.
"All yours," Belle said, giving me a kiss.
I didn't sing in the shower, but I felt like it. Pansy's the only one who likes my singing.
I slipped into my shirt. It smelled of Belle. She was bustling around the little house, a smile on her face. "You're going?" she asked.
"Yeah. I got to be downtown at nine."
"It's not quite six, honey."
"I got to hit my office, grab a shave, change my clothes."
Belle went over to the bed, bent from the waist, looking back at me, her big beautiful butt trembling just a little bit. "You've got some time," she said.
I went over to her.
"This has got to make you think of something," she said, her voice soft and sweet.
I slid into her smooth. She dropped her shoulders to the bed, pushed against me. "Come on."
Belle locked her elbows tight as I slammed into her from behind, my hands on her waist. I was lost in her.
"I'm coming," she said, her voice calm.
"Try not to get so excited about it," I told her.
She giggled. Her whole body shook. "I mean I'm coming with you. To the hospital…oh!"
I blasted off inside her, fell on top of her on the bed. I lay there, catching my breath until I got soft and slipped out of her. "You want a smoke?" I asked her, lighting one for myself.
"No, I have to get dressed," she said, bouncing off the bed.
I didn't argue with her.
54
THE MORNING was bright and clear. Like I felt. We pulled off the West Side Highway just past the Battery Tunnel. I motored quietly up Reade Street, heading for the river and my office. A mixed crew of blacks and Orientals were taking a break from unloading a truck. The black guys were eating bowls of steaming noodles, working with chopsticks like they'd been doing it all their lives. One of the Orientals yelled something in Chinese to a guy standing in the doorway with a clipboard in his hand. The only word I caught was "motherfucker."
Pansy was glad to see me. She always is, no matter what's in my hands. I love my dog. Guys doing time promise themselves a lot of things for when they hit the bricks. Big cars. Wall–to–wall broads. Fine clothes. Who knows? I promised myself I'd have a dog. I had one when I was a kid and they took him away from me when they sent me upstate. I'll never go to prison again over anything money can buy. Wherever I have to run, I can take Pansy.
The beast took my signal and let Belle inside. I gave her a couple of the bagels we'd brought with us and went inside to shave. When I came out, Belle was sitting on the couch, holding her paper cup of coffee with both hands, her arms stiff as steel. Pansy was lying on the couch, happily slurping from the cup, spilling coffee all over Belle.
"Pansy, jump!" I yelled at her. She hit the floor, spilling the rest of the coffee in the process. "You miserable gorilla," I told the dog.
Belle looked at me,