Chapter 12

It took no more than fifteen minutes for Rita to empty the apartment. Some of the teenagers had been a little rebellious about leaving; Rita told them she'd explain later.

The place was still a mess: Beer bottles and whiskey glasses were everywhere. She picked up what she could, straightening things in a somewhat haphazard manner, uprighting lamps, getting the cushions back where they belonged, emptying ash trays, but still wondering why she was so jumpy and what it was that had prompted Henry's phone call.

In the kitchen, she poured herself a double bourbon. But neither this, nor the drink that followed, did anything toward settling her nerves. She was her "old self': No poise, no confidence, weak, afraid of anything and everything the same way she'd been before Dr. Grossman had given her the pills. And then it hit her. The pills! She'd forgotten to take them today. Not a one.

She hurried to the medicine cabinet. And her reaction to the boy in the basement. Was this the reason she had re-discovered coldness, frigidity?

She swallowed two of the pills. A minute later, a warmth began to grow in her stomach. A warmth, a strength. And then the warmth spread and she felt the incredible transformation not in physical features, though she did notice the new coloring that swept to her cheeks but in an inner gain of self-reliance and fortitude.

She should have guessed what was wrong down there in the basement, why she couldn't respond to the boy, and why she'd felt so weakly different.

And Henry's phone call. His pushing of the panic-button. What the hell was he scared of? The idiot! And to think that she'd ruined and cut short a perfectly good party. When he called again, she'd tell him plenty; and the wait was a short one: No more than five minutes.

"Has he been there yet?"

"Has who been here? What's eating you?" Juneau.

"What?"

"Paul Juneau. The Chief of Police. He called me at my home. He knows."

"Knows what. For chrissakes, Henry, make some sense."

Henry calmed down enough to say that Paul Juneau had somehow learned about tonight's party, about the new teen shop that Rita was opening up, and even worse, that his own daughter was involved.

"He knows you used to work for me and he wanted to know where you lived. I told him I didn't know."

"And that's all you called me about?"

"Isn't that enough. Do you realize what will happen when he finds out for sure. Do you realize...."

"I realize you're a worm, Henry. A spineless, gutless worm!"

"Rita!"

"Don't 'Rita' me! When this big blow-hard gets here, if he does, I'll have plenty to tell 'em."

"If you're smart you'll keep your mouth shut Juneau is trouble. Big trouble." He paused. "And don't think he can't find out where you live. He's a cop and he'll find you."

"Henry, why don't you crawl back in your hole and die?" She slammed down the phone. She felt angry. She despised men who were jellyfish. Henry was even less. No backbone. Nothing.

Then and it never occurred to her that she was mixing her drinks she opened up a bottle of beer. And she was this way: seated at the breakfast bar, sipping from the bottle of beer, when she heard the rap at the door. The door was unlocked and she shouted: "Come in."

She heard the door open, but she never turned to look, knowing that it would be Paul Juneau, certain of it when she heard his thunderous footsteps, heard him bark:

"Miss Lyons?"

"You're talking to her," she heard herself say. He slammed the door.

"My name is Juneau. Chief Juneau. Chief of Police."

Rita remained with her back to the man. She said:

"You want something?" And she scarcely recognized her own voice.

"You mind turning around?"

She sipped at the beer. "I like it better this way."

"But I don't." His voice was surly, rough. And now, she thought he'll start throwing his weight around. And she was not wrong. He was a few feet behind her, and he said, "I want your attention."

White fury etched into her brain. She spun on the stool and slammed him in the mouth with the beer bottle. She tore his mouth open, knocked teeth out His nose bled profusely.

He fell back against the wall, stunned. He yanked a handkerchief from his pocket, plastered it to his face. Blood soaked through the handkerchief, seeped through to his knuckles. Broken bits of glass lay on the breasts of his uniform. He was a mess.

"What the goddamn hell did you do that for? I asked for your attention and...."

"You got my attention." She was standing. The neck of the broken beer bottle was still in her hand. She was trembling with anger, ready to cut his eye out if he made one foolish step. "I know why you're here.

I know all about you. About your crummy wife and about the sick relationship between you and your 13 year old stepdaughter. I could get you sent up for twenty years if I wanted to...." She laughed coarsely. "...and you want my attention...."

The pompous authority of Temple City's Chief of Police crumbled. He couldn't believe that this had happened to him, that his face had been butchered up, that this incredible woman knew of his vile past.

He mopped at the blood that covered his face. He felt the empty spaces where teeth had been. "Look lady...."

Rita cut him off:

"No, you look! I know what kind of a bastard you are, and you know what I am. So the score is even. And you keep your mouth shut and I'll do the same."

He didn't like it. Some of his bravery returned. "Assaulting a police officer is a pretty serious business, Miss Lyons."

"So is playing with your little girl's body."

He turned white. He said:

"Think anybody'll believe that?"

"They will if they hear your daughter's tape recorded confession." She nodded toward the tape recorder. "And it's in a safety deposit box, so don't think you're gonna do anything about it."

New blood dripped from his mouth and splashed to the linoleum. The cookie had crumbled; so had the haughty countenance of Paul Juneau. With grizzly bear proportions, the so-called pillar of strength was now reduced to bleeding rubble. A zero.

"Now get out of here!" she commanded. "Just leave me alone."

Without another word, he turned and walked meekly from the apartment. She slammed the door after him, then dropped the bottle or what was left of it to the carpet, then turned and fled to the bedroom.

She had a long cry, a cry during which she had to ask herself: What's come over me? How could I possibly be so brutal? How did I dare?

The answer always came back the same: The pills. It must be the pills. So if she stopped taking them ... yes, she'd be like she used to be: Sweet and innocent; but also weak and afraid, sexless and nothing. Could she face this kind of existence again? Did she want to?

There was no reason for a decision; her mind was already made up; and with a new and bitter resolve, she knew that she would never stop taking those pills. As long as there was one single solitary pill, she would take it Yes, it was the lambs who went to the slaughter. The strong survived and the weak perished. And moments later, she was proving it to Henry Ridgewood, describing over the phone just what had taken place:

"You hit him with a beer bottle," he said incredulously. "That's right."

"But...."

"He won't bother me any more. From now on, no one will bother me."

Henry was briefly silent. He obviously didn't like the trend of things, wished no part in it.

"Rita, it's not too late to get out of all this. You could still open up your store in another city,"

"Are you on that of horse again?"

"But it's time to think of those things. People have heard about this shop and they don't like it. I've already had a few complaints. And there'll be more. Lots more."

"Tell 'em to pound salt."

"But you can't do that. You're in office and you have to listen to them."

"So listen."

"Rita, it has to be more than listen. If I keep getting complaints...."

"Complaints about what? I haven't even opened the damn store yet. What in the hell are you talking about?"

And now he wanted to say more, but she cut him off. Nothing was going to happen not as long as she had pills, she thought so he could turn off the worry faucet.

"But the Police Chief, Rita. You carving him up like that. He won't take it. This isn't the end of it, you know."

"So I've got more beer bottles if he comes around."

"Rita...."

"You talk too much, Henry. I told you I was a violent woman and if you're not doing anything right now...."

"My God!"

"Well a woman does get hot once in a while, you know."

"How can you think of sex after all this?"

She wished that Henry could see the winsome smile she produced. "Henry, I can think of sex 24 hours a day. But just think about it...." She paused. ". . .is not near as much fun as doing it."

Rita waited; Henry was silent. She thought he'd hung up. Finally he spoke:

"I think you'd better go to bed, Rita."

She laughed.

"That's what I intend to do ... just as soon as you get here...."