The Trouble With Eden - Lawrence Block [9]
“He took his clothes. And all the records and the player. He’d leave those before he’d abandon the grass.”
“That’s what I figured.”
“Let me look, though.” She went into the bathroom. “It must be still here. He kept it in the towel bar and he wouldn’t have taken the trouble to put the bar back afterward. He would have left it on the floor. There’s a screwdriver in that drawer on the left. Thanks.”
She removed the bracket and took out the hollow chrome towel bar, tilted it and shook out a plastic vial three-fourths full. “Here,” she said.
“Oh, this is all cleaned. This must be the equivalent of an ounce and a half, maybe two ounces.”
“Take it.”
“I just wanted enough for a couple of jays. In fact, I was going to smoke now, but I don’t want to be behind grass when I’m lighting the show. Later on when I’m used to it I could dig it, but not when I’m under pressure like tonight. I could take a pinch of it now to save for later.”
“No, take the whole thing.”
“You don’t want it?”
She shook her head. “I haven’t been smoking much. Sometimes I would keep Marc company if he insisted. But I haven’t enjoyed it lately. My head keeps going to places I’d rather stay away from.”
“Well, if you’re sure. This is, I don’t know. Say thirty dollars? It’s probably worth a little more than that, but does thirty seem all right.”
“Oh, just take it, Peter.”
“No, I can’t do that.”
“I mean I’m not in the business.”
“No, but it’s the same as money. If you’re giving it to me you’re giving me thirty dollars. I’ll pay you later. Or you can hold it until I bring the money.”
“No, take it with you. I don’t really want it around, as a matter of fact. You know, I think I will take the money, come to think of it. There’s no rush, but whenever you get the chance. I’m not rich enough to be that charitable.”
“Is thirty all right? Because there might be fifty dollars’ worth here.”
“No, thirty is fine. Thirty is a week’s wages. I like the idea of thirty dollars.”
“Well, fine, then. I’ll have it for you later tonight, or tomorrow at the latest.”
“There’s no rush.”
“If you say so. Well, I’d better get over there. Time for the goofy little kid to play games with the lights.”
“You’re not goofy. You’re not even a little kid, are you? I am going to be all right, Peter.”
“I know you are.”
“And thanks for telling me. I didn’t realize it until you said so, and it’s a good thing to know.”
“Thanks for the coffee.”
“Sure.”
“And for this.”
“Sure.”
After he left she went into the bathroom and reassembled the towel bar.
She was going to be all right, and she had not quite known that before. She was going to stay in New Hope, too, and that was another thing she had not previously known. She liked it here, liked it here better now, with Marc gone, than she had with him present.
She would have to make certain changes, of course. She would need a job that paid more money and an apartment that cost less. But it was not urgent that she find either of these things immediately. It was more important that she make no sudden moves, that she permit things to proceed at their own pace.
She straightened the apartment. It was always easier for her to keep a place neat when she lived alone in it. Clutter tended to irritate her when she was living alone. Then she undressed and stood under the shower. She washed her hair, and a melody ran through her mind, just the tune at first, and it took her a few moments to fit words to it. “I’m gonna wash that man right out of my hair… .” Funny how tunes did that, popping up involuntarily at the proper time.
She soaped and rinsed, soaped and rinsed, letting the stream of warm water play over her breasts and loins. She felt a quiver of erotic response and smiled. Ah, good, she thought. The machinery still worked. It was nice know that the machinery still worked.
She dried off, turned the sofa into a bed. The sheets held his smell. She noted this but found it neither pleasing nor disturbing.
She lay on her back in the darkness. With one hand she held a pillow against her breasts, hugging it