Big Swiss(89)

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“HELLO?” Sabine said from the doorway. “Why’s it so dark in here?”

Greta switched on the lamp. Sabine was more disheveled than usual and holding a large basket of strawberries. Greta resisted the urge to embrace her.

“I ran out of gas,” Sabine said. “I called and called but you weren’t picking up, so I started walking. Was almost mowed down, twice, by the same truck.”

Sabine automatically moved toward the desk but stopped when she saw Pi?on.

“Oh no. What happened? Greta! Him isn’t dead, is he? Oh god. Oh god!”

“Him” was Sabine’s nickname for Pi?on.

“Him was shot,” Greta said. “With a twenty-two.”

Sabine dropped the basket. Strawberries scattered everywhere.

“He’s alive. He’s just sleeping.”

Sabine smoothed Pi?on’s forehead. “Poor little Him,” she cooed. “Him can have anything he wants when he wakes up, okay? Anything.” She looked at Greta. “I’ll make biscuits and whipped cream—he loves that. What happened to your face? You look like you’ve been beaten up. Your eyes are almost swollen shut.”

Greta shrugged. “You should’ve seen me out there. I turned Italian, I turned Chinese, and then I started menopause. I was screaming, sobbing, bleeding all over the place—”

“Listen,” Sabine interrupted. “Small confession—her voice stopped me in my tracks. It’s like a knife at your throat. I hid in the bushes for a good ten minutes, listening to your conversation. I couldn’t bring myself to interrupt. Someone told me they saw you with her the other day, and I didn’t believe them. But this is who you’ve been sleeping with, Greta? Jesus. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I’ve been trying, believe me,” Greta said. “I didn’t realize you… knew her.”

“Well, yeah. She’s Swedish. Married. Does something medical.”

“Swiss,” Greta said.

“She was almost killed years ago, and I met her parents once when they were visiting from Sweden.”

“Switzerland,” Greta said.

“What’s her name again?”

As usual, Greta had to think for a second. It had never been on the tip of her tongue. Not like “Pi?on,” which felt like one of Greta’s first words.

“Flavia,” Greta said.

“Right. Her husband comes from money. Great house—I’ve seen pictures. Anyway, I don’t know her personally. But I know her type. She acts all cold and imperious, and she’s obviously fastidious about her appearance—that outfit, my god—but inside she’s a mess.”

“What kind of mess?”

“You know—vulnerable.”

“Well, if you couldn’t tell, I think it’s over between us,” Greta said. “I lied to her about my name and… some other things. There’s been a lot of drama. The sex is way too long—that’s my theory. But even after all this, there’s still this tension. It makes me feel insane. And it feels mutual—”

Sabine held up her hand. “Look, if she cheated on her husband with you, her feelings are anything but casual. In fact, I bet she doesn’t have a casual bone in her body. Not one.” Sabine belched and blew hair out of her face. “Help me with these berries.”

They got on their knees and crawled around. Greta picked up each strawberry gingerly and brushed it off with her fingers, but Sabine grabbed three at a time and tossed them into the basket.

“She reminds me of my mother,” Sabine went on. “Occasionally, she lets down her guard and you see how delicate she is. Just a glimpse. It’s often so subtle you miss it. But your subconscious picks up on it, and it keeps you… engaged. Like those commercials with the subliminal messages. You’re being shown a picture of someone who seems bulletproof, right, but just below the threshold of conscious awareness, there’s an entirely different message.”

“Is it… satanic?”

“Extremely fragile. That’s the message. Handle with care.”

Sabine was talking about herself, of course, which was fine and good. Greta thought back to the beginning, when she was just getting to know Big Swiss. Greta once commented on the way Big Swiss sometimes drooled while they were making out, how exciting and endearing it was. The next time they’d seen each other, Greta had caught Big Swiss blotting her tongue with her sleeve when she thought Greta wasn’t looking.

“You want a Valium?” Sabine asked suddenly. “Let’s both have one.”

She plucked two linty pills from the front pocket of her overalls and passed one to Greta. They moved Pi?on to Greta’s bed. He woke up briefly, and Greta gave him water and comforted him until he passed out again. Greta said she was ready to pass out, too.

“Was Him shot on my property?” Sabine asked.

“We didn’t see it happen. We found him on the edge of the field. The firemen said it was probably a hunter, but I think it was Keith.” Greta sighed. “It’s a long story, but Keith is the man who tried to kill—”

“I know who Keith is, silly,” Sabine said. “Get under the covers and I’ll sit with you until you fall asleep.”

She dragged an armchair to Greta’s bedside and lit a cigarette. Greta pulled the comforter to her chin and closed her eyes. Her mind crawled toward the edge of oblivion. Just as she was about to fall off, Sabine started talking.