He watched her pick up her glass and walk over to the bar, slim in her Calvins and black sweater. A different Lucy. But what was it? Something in her eyes. Or something gone from her eyes.
“How’s your drink?”
“I’ve had enough,” Jack said. “Thanks.”
She poured sherry. “Did you notice the Carnival pictures in the hall? That’s my mom.”
“She looks awfully young to be your mother.”
“Ball gowns don’t change that much.” Lucy turned with her glass of sherry. “Those pictures were taken about thirty years ago. Mom was Queen of Comus and has never gotten over it. She adorns herself and goes out to be seen. My dad makes money and surrounds himself with possessions. A five-hundred-thousand dollar live oak he’s holding prisoner. He once possessed my mother.”
The new Lucy leaning hip-cocked against the bar in her black cashmere and Calvins. He could ask her how she’d paid for them…
“Come sit down and tell me what’s wrong.”
She took her time about it. Sat on the edge of the sofa, sipped her wine, placed the glass on the table before easing back. She was close now but staring off. That was all right, he could look at her profile, the nose and dark lashes, the lower lip he’d like to bite, and wonder about her still, if she’d ever gone to bed with anyone… No lipstick on, not a touch of makeup this evening.
She said, “I don’t care for your friend Roy.”
“Is that what’s bothering you?”
“No, it doesn’t matter. But I’m curious, how he can be a friend of yours.”
“I don’t know… I guess he’s not a very likable person…” Jack paused. Likable person-the guy was out of the Stone Age. “He’s hard to get along with, he’s narrow-minded, has a terrible disposition… I don’t know, now that you mention it.”
“You talk about him, you sound like you’re proud of him.”
“No, I think it’s amazement more than anything else. You know, that he’s the way he is. I don’t see him that much.”
“But you like him.”
“I wouldn’t go so far as to say I like him. I accept him. Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do?”
She turned to look at him.
“I don’t make excuses for him,” Jack said. “I don’t criticize him, either. I wouldn’t dare.”
She said, “Do you trust him?”
Jack took a moment. “Roy says he’s gonna do something, you can put your money on it. He’s the kind of guy you want on your side, whether you like him or not.”
She said, “Because the same kind of guys are on the other side. There’s no difference, is there?”
He put his hand on her arm, gripped it to feel flesh and bone beneath the soft wool. He said, “I’m an ex-con, you know that. Roy’s an ex-con who used to be a cop. He’s a mean, miserable guy, but he kept me pure for three years. Cullen’s an ex-con who used to rob banks. What are you? Right now at this moment, what are you?”
She was facing him and her eyes held, but she didn’t answer.
“Have you changed your skin yet?”
He gave her time, moving in slowly, closed his eyes as he kissed her and she stayed with him, moving her mouth to fit his mouth, knowing what she was doing. He saw her eyes beneath dark lashes, saw them come open, saw her lips slightly parted.
“You’re not a nun anymore.”
“No.”
He kissed her again the same way, gently, with a tender feeling.
“You’ve become something else.”
She said, “A new identity,” and seemed almost to smile, still looking at him. Then touched him, put her hand on his leg as she got up. She said, “I want to show you something,” and walked out of the room.
He lighted one of her cigarettes.
She was different… Or maybe she had changed back. Because now, as he thought about it, she seemed more like the one he thought of as Sister Lucy, the way she was last Sunday in the hearse, telling him about Nicaragua, getting into it and making him feel it. Or the way she was that evening when he realized he was being set up and liked it-shit, loved it-and said, “You’re wondering if I might be able to help you,” and she looked at him with those quiet eyes and said, “It crossed my mind.” She was like that Lucy again. Into something, feeling it.
But she wasn’t making him feel it. Not now.
He thought, Maybe you’re the one that’s different. Become something else. And she’s the same girl who ran off to take care of lepers.
He believed he might have another vodka, one more, get ready for whatever. But then heard her behind him and looked around to see her in the lamplight holding something against her leg. She sank to her knees almost in front of him, watching him, and placed a nickel-plated revolver on the coffee table.
She said, “Now I’m part of this.”
He kept quiet, looking at the gun. It would have to be her dad’s. A .38 with a two-inch barrel. He wondered if it was loaded. He looked at Lucy.
Staring at him.
She said, “I learned something from Jerry Boylan. Or some of him rubbed off on me. Not anything he said, but the fact of the man, what he was, and the fact of the way he died.”
“Did you like him?”
She paused. “Yes, I liked him.”
“Did you trust him?”
“No, but that’s part of it. Why should he want to help us? He had his own cause, and that’s what I learned from him. You have to take sides, Jack. You can’t stand outside and reach in for what you want. You have to commit to something. You and I were talking about what we are. Remember? In the restaurant. While Jerry Boylan was being murdered for what he was.”
“Do you want to know why he died?” Jack said. “Because he didn’t look behind him. That’s the fact of Jerry Boylan. He wasn’t careful.”
“But he was there because he believed in something. And it wasn’t just the money.”
“What did he tell us? If he wasn’t doing this he’d be sweeping rubbish. And if I weren’t here I’d be picking up dead bodies. You’d be giving lepers their medicine and Roy would be making drinks for tourists… But if we’re not in it for the score, what are we? How do you see us?”
“We don’t need a label, Jack, or initials like the IRA.” Sitting back on her legs, looking up at him. “Or the FDN, the contras. It’s enough to say we’re against that, what they stand for.”
He looked at the revolver. “And pack a gun.”
She said, “There’s a big difference between packing a gun and taking up arms in a political, counterrevolutionary cause, and those aren’t just words, it’s the fact of it.” She paused and said, “What happened to doing something for mankind? Remember? You said it yourself. That’s what this is all about.”
“It sounds good, anyway.”
“It’s true.”
“But would you kill for it, Lucy?”
LITTLE ONE CAME OUT of the hotel kitchen to the back hall where Jack was using the pay phone, Little One saying he had a bone to pick with him, saying his good nature was being taken advantage of. Jack raised the palm of his hand to Little One while he said into the phone, “If you could come right away I’d appreciate it.”
Helene’s voice said, “You’d appreciate it? You’re not talking about just a drink, are you?”
“We can have dinner after, if you haven’t eaten.”
“After what? You call up at-what time is it?-almost eight-thirty, and ask me if I’ve eaten yet.”
“Have you?”
“I’m not hungry. I had a big lunch.”
“I was gonna call you earlier, but I had to go to Gulfport.”
“This guy takes me to Arnaud’s,” Helene’s voice said, “for a job interview. By the time we’re having our coffee he’s telling me how important compatability is and we should stop off at the Royal Sonesta after, continue the interview in a relaxed atmosphere. Which means if I go to bed with the guy I get an office with drapes, carpeting, and a word processor. I said, Gee, what I’ve always wanted, a word processor.”