Needful Things - Stephen King [30]
"Well, it's funny-he's not handsome, at least not in a moviestar way, but he's got the most gorgeous hazel eyes. They light up his whole face."
"Watch it, lady," Alan growled. "My jealous muscle is starting to twitch."
She laughed a little. "I don't think you have to worry. There's one other thing, though."
"What's that?"
"Rosalie said Wilma Jersyck came in while Nettle was there."
"Did anything happen? Were words passed?"
"No. Nettle glared at the jerzyck woman, and she kind of curled her lip at Nettle-that's how Rosalie put it-and then Nettle scurried out. Has Wilma jerzyck called you about Nettle's dog lately "No," Alan said. "No reason to. I've cruised past Nettle's house after ten half a dozen nights over the last six weeks or so. The dog doesn't bark anymore. It was just the kind of thing puppies do, Polly. It's grown up a little, and it has a good mistress. Nettle may be short a little furniture on the top floor, but she's done her duty by that dog-what does she call it?"
"Raider."
"Well, Wilma jerzyck will just have to find something else to bitch about, because Raider is squared away. She will, though. Ladies like Wilma always do. It was never the dog, anyway, not really; Wilma was the only person in the whole neighborhood who complained. It was Nettle. People like Wilma have noses for weakness.
And there's a lot to smell on Nettle Cobb."
"Yes." Polly sounded sad and thoughtful. "You know that Wilma jerzyck called her up one night and told her that if Nettle didn't shut the dog up, she'd come over and cut his throat?"
"Well," Alan said evenly, "I know that Nettle told you so. But I also know that Wilma frightened Nettle very badly, and that Nettle has had problems. I'm not saying Wilma jerzyck isn't capable of making a call like that, because she is. But it might have only been in Nettle's mind."
That Nettle had had problems was understating by quite a little bit, but there was no need to say more; they both knew what they were talking about. After years of hell, married to a brute who abused her in every way a man can abuse a woman, Nettle Cobb had put a meat-fork in her husband's throat as he slept. She had spent five years in juniper Hill, a mental institution near Augusta.
She had come to work for Polly as part of a work-release program.
As far as Alan was concerned, she could not possibly have fallen in with better company, and Nettle's steadily improving state of mind confirmed his opinion. Two years ago, Nettle had moved into her own little place on Ford Street, six blocks from downtown.
"Nettle's got problems, all right," Polly said, "but her reaction to Mr. Gaunt was nothing short of amazing. It really was awfully sweet."
"I have to see this guy for myself," Alan said.
"Tell me what you think. And check out those hazel eyes."
"I doubt if they'll cause the same reaction in me they seem to have caused in you," Alan said dryly.
She laughed again, but this time he thought it sounded slightly forced.
"Try to get some sleep," he said.
"I will. Thanks for calling, Alan."
"Welcome." He paused. "I love you, pretty lady."
"Thank you, Alan-I love you, too. Goodnight."
"Goodnight."
He racked the telephone, twisted the gooseneck of the desk lamp so it threw a spot of light on the wall, put his feet up on his desk, and brought his hands together in front of his chest, as if praying. He extended his index fingers. On the wall, a shadowrabbit poked up its ears. Alan slipped his thumbs between his extended fingers, and the shadow-rabbit wiggled its nose. Alan made the rabbit hop across the makeshift spotlight. What lumbered back was an elephant, wagging its trunk. Alan's hands moved with a dextrous, eerie ease. He barely noticed the animals he was creating; this was an old habit with him, his way of looking at the tip of his nose and saying "Om."
He was thinking about Polly; Polly and her poor hands. What to do about Polly?
If it had been just a matter of money,