Plainsong (Plainsong #1)(52)

Two days later it was New Year’s, and school started again the day afterward.





Guthrie.

It appeared to him there were ruffles everywhere. Ranged around both bedroom windows, sewn on the bedcover, tacked on the pillows. Still more surrounding the mirror over the chest of drawers. Judy must get something out of it, he thought. She was in the bathroom doing something to herself, inserting something. He smoked a cigarette and looked at the ceiling. A pool of light was showing directly above the bedside lamp on the pink plaster.

Then she came out of the bathroom wearing a little nightgown and nothing under it and he could see the dark medallions of her nipples and the outlines of her small breasts and the dark vee of her hair below.

You didn’t need to do that, he said. I’ve been cut.

How do you know what I’ve been doing?

I assumed.

Don’t assume too much, she said. Then she smiled. Her teeth shone in the light.

She got into bed with him. It had been a long time. Ella and he hadn’t slept together for almost a year now. Judy felt warm beside him in the bed.

Where’d you get this scar? she said.

Where?

This one on your shoulder here.

I don’t know. Fence wire, I guess. Don’t you have any scars?

Inside.

Do you?

Of course.

You don’t act like it.

I don’t intend to. It doesn’t do much good, does it?

Not in my experience, he said.

She was lying on her side looking at him. What made you come over here tonight?

I don’t know. I was lonely, I guess. Like you said at the Chute the other night.

Aren’t we all, she said.

She raised up higher and leaned forward and kissed him and he brushed her hair away from her face, and then without saying anything more she moved over on top of him and he could feel her warm against himself and he felt up under the back of her nightgown with both hands, feeling her small waist and her smooth hips.

What ever became of Roger? Guthrie said.

What? She laughed. You’re asking about him at this time?

I got to wondering about him while you were in the bathroom.

He left. It was better for everybody.

So what was his story?

How do you mean? she said.

Well, how did you meet? Guthrie said.

She pushed herself up and looked at him. You want to talk about that right now?

I was just wondering.

Well. I was at this bar in Brush. It was a long time ago. A Saturday night. I was younger then.

You’re still young. You said that the other night too.

I know. But I was even younger then. I was at this bar and I met this guy who turned out to be my husband. He was a sweet talker. Old Roger sweet-talked me into seeing things his way.

Did he?

Then after a while it wasn’t sweet anymore.

She looked sad suddenly and he was sorry he’d said anything. He brushed her hair away again. She shook her head and smiled, bent to kiss him. He held her for a while and she felt very warm and smooth. In the bathroom she had put on cologne in addition to the nightgown. She kissed him again.

What if I was to ask you something else? Guthrie said.

What is it?

How about taking your nightgown off?

That’s different. I don’t mind that.

She raised up again and pulled the nightgown over her head. She looked very good in the lamplight.

That better?

Yes, Guthrie said. I believe it is.

Two hours earlier that evening he had driven past Maggie Jones’s house and all the lights had been turned off. So he’d driven around Holt awhile and had stopped and bought cigarettes and a six-pack of beer and afterward he’d driven out of town a ways, and about five miles south of town on the narrow highway he had made up his mind and turned around and driven back and stopped at her house, at Judy’s, the secretary from school. When she opened the door and let him in she smiled and said, Well, hello. Do you want to come in?

Now, afterward, as he was leaving, she said, You going to come back?

Maybe.

You know you don’t have to. But I’d like it if you did.

Thank you, Guthrie said.

For the rest of that night and the following day he believed it was just between the two of them. But other people in Holt knew too. He didn’t know how Maggie Jones knew, but she did. At school on Monday she came into his room in the afternoon after the last class.

Is this the way it’s going to be now? she said.

Is what the way it’s going to be, Guthrie said, looking at her face.

Don’t do this, damn you. You’re too old to play dumb.

He looked at her. He took his glasses off and wiped them and put them back on. His black hair looked thin under the light. He said, How did you know?

How big of a town do you think this is? Do you think there is somebody in Holt who doesn’t know your pickup?

Guthrie turned in the chair and looked out the window. The same winter trees. The street. The curbing across the way. He looked back at her. She was standing just inside the door watching him. No, he said, it’s not going to be like this.

So what was that, last night?

That, he said, was somebody that was turned out free for a night and didn’t know what to do with it.

You could have come over to see me. I would’ve been glad to see you.