Monday, May 7, 2018

Hush-Hush


She never even saw them coming.  Two slaps.  Wham!  Wham!  

She tried not to tremble.  Hemingway (not the writer, just a man) stood over her, and regret and shame were already showing, even as he tried to maintain his sudden tough guy act, the one a thousand other people, but until now never before a woman, had experienced. 

“Tell me!”

Would it have hurt more, to give him what he wanted?  She couldn’t say.  The shock of the moment reverberated, more than the slaps.  This was a man who had confided in her, made himself vulnerable, and she had reciprocated, then. 

“I’m…”

The anger was gone for a moment, and she felt some relief, but then it was back again.  He looked primed to slap her again, or perhaps worse.  Instead he turned in horror of what he’d done, and walked away.  He left in silence.

Later, when the detective came, as she sat in the quiet precinct office, she was aware that all he saw when he looked at her were the splotches the slaps have left behind.  His name was Ellroy, and she knew him mostly by reputation.  She couldn’t think of a single reason why he would be associated with Hemingway.  He was for all appearances a totally opposite character.  At least, he had been.  He had a look in his eyes now that was absent from the snapshots in the papers.  It was familiar.  She’d seen it on Hemingway, too. 

“Look, Miss Denning…”

“I couldn’t tell him.  I couldn’t.  It would have shattered everything.”

“Even worse than what he did?”

She could think of no further response.  Even if he didn’t know it, Hemingway suddenly had an ally in this man.  She asked for some paper, a pen, and wrote down what she couldn’t speak.  Every letter stabbed at her.  Slapped, maybe. 

She pushed the note across the desk, and Ellroy glanced at it.  His eyes flashed further horror, and she was left in her silence.