Red Dragon - Thomas Harris [96]
She made herself a stiff gin and tonic and they went into the living room. She passed her hand over a floor lamp, felt no heat, switched it on.
Dolarhyde ate his pie in three bites and sat stiffly on the couch, his sleek hair shining under the lamp, his powerful hands on his knees. She put her head back in her chair and propped her feet on an ottoman.
“When will they film at the zoo?”
“Maybe next week.” He was glad he had called the zoo and offered the infrared film: Dandridge might check.
“It’s a great zoo. I went with my sister and my niece when they came to help me move in. They have the contact area, you know. I hugged this llama. It felt nice, but talk about aroma, boy . . . I thought I was being followed by a llama until I changed my shirt.”
This was Having a Conversation. He had to say something or leave. “How did you come to Baeder?”
“They advertised at the Reiker Institute in Denver where I was working. I was checking the bulletin board one day and just happened to come across this job. Actually, what happened, Baeder had to shape up their employment practices to keep this Defense contract. They managed to pack six women, two blacks, two chicanos, an oriental, a paraplegic, and me into a total of eight hirings. We all count in at least two categories, you see.”
“You worked out well for Baeder.”
“The others did too. Baeder’s not giving anything away.”
“Before that?” He was sweating a little. Conversation was hard. Looking was good, though. She had good legs. She had nicked an ankle shaving. Along his arms a sense of the weight of her legs, limp.
“I trained newly blind people at the Reiker Institute in Denver for ten years after I finished school. This is my first job on the outside.”
“Outside of what?”
“Out in the big world. It was really insular at Reiker. I mean, we were training people to live in the sighted world and we didn’t live in it ourselves. We talked to each other too much. I thought I’d get out and knock around a little. Actually, I had intended to go into speech therapy, for speechandhearingimpaired children. I expect I’ll go back to that, one of these days.” She drained her glass. “Say, I’ve got some Mrs. Paul’s crabball miniatures in here. They’re pretty good. I shouldn’t have served dessert first. Want some?”
“Umhmmm.”
“Do you cook?”
“Umhmmm.”
A tiny crease appeared in her forehead. She went into the kitchen. “How about coffee?” she called.
“Uhhuh.”
She made small talk about grocery prices and got no reply. She came back into the living room and sat on the ottoman, her elbows on her knees.
“Let’s talk about something for a minute and get it out of the way, okay?”
Silence.
“You haven’t said anything lately. In fact, you haven’t said anything since I mentioned speech therapy.” Her voice was kind, but firm. It carried no taint of sympathy. “I understand you fine because you speak very well and because I listen. People don’t pay attention. They ask me what? what? all the time. If you don’t want to talk, okay. But I hope you will talk. Because you can, and I’m interested in what you have to say.”
“Ummm. That’s good,” Dolarhyde said softly. Clearly this little speech was very important to her. Was she inviting him into the twocategory club with her and the Chinese paraplegic? He wondered what his second category was.
Her next statement was incredible to him.
“May I touch your face? I want to know if you’re smiling or frowning.” Wryly, now. “I want to know whether to just shut up or not.”
She raised her hand and waited.
How well would she get around with her fingers bitten off? Dolarhyde mused. Even in street teeth he could do it as easily as biting off breadsticks. If he braced his heels on the floor, his weight back on the couch, and locked both hands on her wrist, she could never pull away from him in time. Crunch, crunch, crunch, crunch, maybe leave the thumb. For measuring pies.
He took her wrist between his thumb and forefinger and turned her shapely, hardused hand in the light. There were many small scars on it,