Speak Softly, She Can Hear

by Pam Lewis

  She had on a fur hat, pointed on top and tied under the chin, a navy-blue parka that came almost down to her knees, and big men’s boots. She was carrying a large plastic pocketbook. Carole thought it was the motel owner’s wife, here to kick her out. She’d heard you had to register as man and wife, and even then they made you prove it. You had to show them something with your married name on it. The owner must have figured out that Eddie had sneaked Carole in and wasn’t going to have “it” going on in his establishment. She braced for the woman’s anger, for a scolding. But instead the woman came in, took off her hat, and smiled. She had long reddish-brown hair, skin as pink as bubble gum from the cold, and a broad, plump face. She was a lot older than Carole.

  “Let me take that,” Eddie said to her, reaching for her parka.

  “What’s going on?” Carole said.

  The woman turned her back to Eddie while he removed the parka. She shot Carole a look. Under the parka she had on a loose red sweater. She kicked off the boots and pulled off the sweater. Her olive-green dress had straps as thin as shoelaces that dug into her fleshy shoulders. She sat in the wooden chair beside the dresser, crossed her sausage legs, pulled a cigarette out, and held it up. “You got a light?” Her voice was higher than Carole would have expected, like a little girl’s. He flicked the match with the thumbnail of one hand and dragged it across the tip of her cigarette.

  “Eddie?” Carole said. If it wasn’t the owner’s wife, who was it? And who did she think she was, anyway? Sitting there like she owned the place. Carole went to the bed, the one they’d been in, and sat down. She’d been here first.

  “It’s okay,” he said.

  The woman smoked in a heavy, leisurely way, inhaling deeply and blowing out smoke from the corner of her mouth in a jet. She let the ash grow until it was almost as long as the cigarette. She held the pack of Kents out to Carole. “Want one?”

  “I don’t smoke.”

  Carole had the feeling that if she moved too quickly, something bad would happen. She watched the woman’s hand raise the cigarette to her lips and only then realized that both of them, Eddie and that woman, were staring at her. She felt stricken, the way she felt when she had to stand up in front of the class and recite. “Eddie?” She wanted somebody to say something, to break the tension in the room.

  The woman sighed, shrugged her shoulders, took another long, deep drag of her cigarette, and handed it to Eddie, who dropped it into a glass, the move all smooth and choreographed like they’d done this a million times. Eddie smiled, a disturbing kid’s smile, and let the bedspread fall to the floor. “You dropped—” Carole began but stopped because the woman uncrossed her legs and let herself down to the floor, to her knees, right there in front of Eddie. She pulled her hair back with both hands, twisted it behind her neck, and then did something unbelievable. She took Eddie’s thing in her mouth, and Eddie just let her do it. Instead of pulling away, instead of getting angry or upset, he stayed right where he was, looking down at the woman like he was in a trance. The whole thing made Carole want to gag. Wouldn’t the woman get a disease? She should leave, get out of here. She looked for her clothing and saw Naomi’s yellow sweater on the floor by the door. There was no way she could go over there so close to the two of them. And if Eddie wanted her to stay and she went, she’d never go to those parties in New York. She’d never see him again. He motioned for her to come over to where they were.

  “Maybe I should go home?” Carole said, wishing the woman would be the one to leave, and then realized she couldn’t anyway. The sign on the door at the Double Hearth read NO RE-ENTRY AFTER 10:00 PM. NO EXCEPTIONS. The woman got to her feet.

  “Don’t be silly.” The woman looked at herself in the mirror, turning this way and that. “I’m Rita. Eddie isn’t too good on the introductions.” The easy familiarity with which she said Eddie’s name made Carole’s stomach heave.

  Rita hesitated, then gave Eddie an uncertain smile. She came over to where Carole was sitting and sat down. “We met a couple of times. Get her a cigarette, will you, sweetheart?” Rita said to Eddie. “You should really smoke a cigarette, honey. It’ll calm you right down.” Rita’s eyes were light brown, and for the first time, they seemed kind.

  Carole shook her head. “No,” she said. The truth was she’d made a deal with her parents not to smoke until she was twenty-one. They’d promised to give her a hundred dollars. Almost all the girls in her class smoked.

  Eddie was looking from one of them to the other. “Nice,” he said, grinning. “Say, Carole, why don’t you help Rita with that zipper.”

  They were both watching her now. Eddie, erect, still standing where he was. Rita beside her, her face close and smiling. “What’s your name again, honey?” Her voice was lower now, more like a regular person.

  She shook her head. Her name was none of Rita’s business.

  “Carole,” Eddie said.

  “Aw,” Rita said. “You and Jumbo here were having a nice time, right?”

  Carole just stared at her.

  “And in comes little old me,” Rita said with a laugh.

  “Right,” Carole said.

  Rita patted her hand. “I won’t bite.”

  “Pull down the zipper,” Eddie said, his voice stronger, almost demanding. He came over and sat beside her on the bed so that now she was flanked. “Come on.” He kissed her neck. “You wanted an education.”

  Carole could have died. It wasn’t like that. She stole a sidelong glance at Rita, who smiled back. “This might not work,” Rita said to Eddie.

  “Sure it will. Hand me that bottle there.”

  Eddie held the bottle of scotch up for Carole to sip. “A little lubrication is what you need,” he breathed into her ear, nuzzling her hair back. “Trust me.” She took the bottle and tilted her head back. The liquor came in a rush, filling her mouth. It seemed to explode inside her.

  Rita burst out laughing. “Wow,” she said.

  “I told you,” Eddie said.

  Carole had to catch her breath. The liquor burned at her center and made her eyes water.

  “She’s good,” Eddie said. So much was going on all of a sudden. The low light, the fetid but almost pleasant smell of the place, the sudden warmth she felt oozing out from the center of herself. She had to blink to see if it was real. “She’s good,” he said again. Good. It meant everything just then, like getting an A.

  “Say, how old are you anyhow?” Rita’s face was still pink, her brows bunched up.

  “She’s eighteen,” Eddie said.

  “She doesn’t look any eighteen to me,” Rita said.

  “Well, she is,” he said. “Right?”

  Carole nodded. The scotch was making her feel soft and damp in her head.

  “Let’s get the show on the road.” Eddie rocked from foot to foot. Rita turned and held up her hair so that Carole could take the little black zipper tab and pull it down.

  “I don’t know,” Carole said. It was happening too fast. Everything was so confusing.

  “Go on,” Eddie said. “Just do it.”

  Carole pulled on the zipper and the dress opened, exposing more of Rita’s fleshy back. Good. It was covered with ugly pimples.

  Rita stood and wriggled out of the dress, leaving a dark green doughnut on the floor. She had on a red garter belt and black stockings. Nothing else. Rita winked at Carole, as though standing there nearly naked was cute or something. Carole had to look away because she felt embarrassed for Rita, whose breasts were long and walleyed, looking off in both directions. She was shaped like Sydney Saltonstall, a girl in her class who Carole had seen naked one time after gym and who had rolls of fat around her middle and no waist at all. Carole might be fat, but at least her body had a shape.

  “Let’s move these two beds together,” Eddie said. “Up up up!”

  They pulled away the little nightstand and shoved the beds together. “Rita’s going to give you a back rub.”

  “It’s okay,” Rita said. “Lie down. Do like h
e said. A little back rub won’t kill you.” The sudden feeling of Rita’s cold hand on her shoulder made her jump. “Hey, relax. I’m good at this.” Rita’s thumbs dug deep. They traveled up the back of her neck, massaging hard, and then into her hair. Rita purred things to her: “You’re all tense. … That’s better. … Don’t worry, honey. Nobody’s going to hurt you. Honest.” Eddie draped a purple towel over the cowboy lamp, and the room went all weird blue. His weight settled on the bed, then his hands on her, or so she thought. She tried to picture the hands, but there seemed to be so many. She felt herself losing her bearings. Through the fog of sensation, she knew this much: What was happening was freeing her. Rita purred out the wrong name. “Garrett,” she said. Or something like that. Wrong guy, Carole was thinking dreamily. Eddie didn’t say anything back. He liked her, Carole, and not Rita, she thought with faint satisfaction. He wanted to see her in New York. He said she was good. A diamond in the rough.

  They surrounded her, wedging and shifting, their arms and legs entangled, their skin growing moist and sticky. The sensation of hands and lips on her body was strange but not frightening at all, not now, and she felt carried along, lulled and excited, until everything was happening by itself, until she was moving with them, on her knees over them and then down, lying on her back, everything luscious and thrilling. The beds slipped apart, and they crowded onto the one close to the wall. Rita moaned, purred, whispered to Carole what to do. She should touch Eddie here and then there. And she was right because Eddie was like somebody new, kissing and touching her, Carole, and not Rita. She was the one he liked, she thought dreamily. Better than he liked Naomi. Better than Rita. Maybe Rita had set everything in motion, but now all of Eddie’s attention was on her, on Carole. All of it.

  There came a sobering draft. Somebody had got up. She opened her eyes and tried to make out who in the dim light. Eddie stood beside the bed, the bottle of scotch in his hand. He took a sip, then passed the bottle to Rita, who passed it to Carole. She took a long swallow and handed it back, but Eddie said to take another, and she did. It was easy this time, the liquid rushing through in a pleasurable way. She could see now why her mother liked to drink.

  He shoved one of the beds aside. “Move over,” he said to Carole, his voice gruff. He climbed back onto the bed and straddled Rita. He had something in his hands. Ropes or cords. “Watch this,” he said.

  He took one of Rita’s hands, wound the rope around her wrist, and tied the other end to the bedpost. Then he did the same with her other hand. Maybe he was tying Rita up to get her out of the way. The thought made Carole giggle, the sound erupting in the silence of the room.

  Eddie didn’t even notice her laugh. He was different all of a sudden, serious, focused on what he was doing. Rita lay writhing, animal sounds coming out of her, egging him on—“Big boy, big daddy, come to Mama.” Eddie’s hand explored under Rita’s chin the way Carole’s speech teacher, Miss White, had instructed them so they could feel how the words vibrated in there. Eddie and Rita were taking up all the room on the bed, forcing Carole over to the side and off until she was kneeling beside the bed. The scotch made her feel outside herself, not knowing where she was, even though she knew she could remember if she would only try. And she did try now, slumped beside the bed, to shake off the unpleasant clumsy feeling gathering in her head. This was the motel they’d gotten. Snowtown. Stupid name. But that’s where she was. With Eddie, who had only just tonight taken her virginity. Changed her forever.

  She looked at Rita’s upturned face, bland as cheese. Cheap, Carole thought. She wasn’t even supposed to be here. Carole had even paid for half this room. He was hers, not Rita’s. Carole rose, suddenly feeling bold, a little angry. She didn’t care what anybody thought. She leaned in and tried to kiss Eddie, angling her face around, insinuating herself between him and Rita. But Eddie fell back on his haunches, and his hand slammed against the wall to keep from falling. “Jesus,” he said.

  “Eddie?” She’d only meant to keep it going like before. “Move over, okay?”

  “You’re too fucking big,” he said. “Too much weight.” He pushed at her shoulder. “Shit, you’re big as a horse. Make yourself scarce.”

  Horse. The words hung in the stinking air, draining the life out of her. Horse. She felt so heavy with shame, as though she’d been struck in the stomach. She reached for the bottle of scotch and took a sip, then another, and it helped. Maybe she’d breathe again after all, maybe she’d live through this. And then another sip, longer this time, grateful for the way it dulled the humiliation.

  “Hey,” Rita said to her, lolling around, sort of out of it. She indicated with her chin the space at the head of the bed, between her head and the headboard in the tangles of rope. “Up here, honey. Just get the hell out of his way. He goes a little crazy sometimes.” It was the only place Carole could be now, other than the chair, off by herself out in the cold, and she wasn’t about to do that. No way.

  She crawled over Rita’s arm, into the cramped space between Rita’s upturned face and the headboard. No space at all, not nearly enough for her, bracing herself, knees spread apart for balance. One hand on the wall, the other shielding her crotch from Rita’s gaze. If she tried to leave, it was going to piss Eddie off again. The bed began to rock with his movements, and she was stranded. It was like being in the lavatory of a moving train—the way you can never get your balance, your legs useless and your body lurching all over the place. And the sounds of Eddie and Rita. Sickening sounds. The croon of their breathing below her and the steady pound of the headboard against the wall. She just wanted it to be over. She wanted to leave.

  She shut her eyes, but the room spun and she felt nauseated. Eddie was breathing harder, grunting out every breath like an animal, and there were other sounds too, more tortured, the gravelly suck of air, which could be him or Rita. And then finally, finally, Rita relaxed, and Carole was so relieved she could have cheered. So there, she thought, Rita doesn’t want to play anymore, and neither do I. But Eddie hammered on, and she was still on that train being thrown forward and then back, one side and then the other, bracing with whatever she could, her hands, her thighs, out of control until everything came screeching to a stop, with Eddie slumped beneath her, as motionless as if he’d been shot.

  She didn’t dare move until he raised himself and looked at her, his face inches away and grotesque in the dark purple light. “God, what a jolt,” he said. “I bet you never saw anything like that before.”

  She waited for him to roll away before she crawled like an animal back over Rita’s body, aware of her own immense size, her ungainliness and the awful picture she must make. She didn’t know what she should say or do. She stood beside the bed. Eddie reached out, brushed her leg lightly, and grinned up at her. “First time for everything.”

  The room was very still, too quiet.

  Something was the matter.

  “Loosen up, will you?” he said. “Try to have some fun for once.”

  Rita’s eyes were half open. “What’s the matter with her?” Carole said.

  “Nothing,” he said. He whipped the towel off the lamp, throwing the room again into a stark cold light. “Believe me, she’s better than she’s ever been.”

  “Hey,” Carole said quietly to Rita, but Rita still didn’t move. She didn’t even blink. “There’s something the matter.”

  Eddie patted Rita’s bare thigh. “Okay, sweetheart,” he said. “Fun’s over.”

  Rita still didn’t move. Eddie stood, waiting, then scowled and knelt on the bed, leaning into Rita. He shoved her hard at the shoulder. “Hey, Rita. Hey, puss. Wake up.”

  He waited several beats, then placed his ear to her breast. He touched her neck with the tips of his fingers, just under the jaw. In that awful light, Rita looked bluish. He untied the cords and tried to raise her to a sitting position, but she was limp like a big doll, and he let her go like she was something dirty. Rita flopped to one side, her hand dangling close to the floor. They remained that
way in silence, Eddie on his knees, Carole standing beside the bed.

  “Oh, shit,” Eddie said.

  “What?” Carole wanted him to say something else, anything other than what she knew.

  “She’s dead.”

  Carole suddenly felt so sick to her stomach that she knew she was about to throw up. She bolted for the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet, where she dropped to her knees, thrust her arms around the toilet bowl, and vomited scotch and bile. When it was over, she stayed sitting on the floor, exhausted, hoping that when she went back out to the room, it wouldn’t be true. She hadn’t heard him right. Rita would be alive. Carole stood and looked at herself in the mirror. Her skin was gray, with dark circles under her eyes. She splashed water over her face and dried it with a towel. Then she went back into the room. Eddie was sitting on the bed. He looked up at her. “What the fuck did you do?” he said.

  She felt she could throw up again. Her head was throbbing. “I didn’t do anything. I only—”

  “Only what?” He rubbed his face hard in his hands. “Only what? You only what?” Eddie leaned over Rita to look at her again. He touched Rita’s neck. He nudged her head, ran his fingers along her neck. “You were all over her. Her neck’s busted. You must have busted her neck.”

  “No.” That wasn’t possible. “No,” she said again.

  “Well, it wasn’t me.”

  “There’s a phone in the office,” she said. “We can call somebody.”

  He took in a deep breath and shut his eyes for a long moment. “Call somebody?” He stayed that way with his eyes closed as though pained by her stupidity. “I don’t think you understand.” His voice was thick with contempt. “You stupid cow. You killed her.”

  “I don’t see how—”