I wandered into the foyer, where a chandelier of glass teardrops descended from the double-height ceiling, and then located the powder room off it. Shiny red walls, brass sconces, and a bowl of scented soaps next to a sink shaped like a scallop shell. No medicine cabinet.
I didn’t see McKee anywhere, not in the dining room on the other side of the foyer or on the second-floor landing. The Bactine must be in an upstairs bathroom.
I was beginning to enjoy myself. I loved traipsing along with Jane to Open Houses. I had occupied a few Saturdays that way, fantasizing about owning places I couldn’t afford. This house was clearly unoccupied. There was no personal scent, no cooking or cleaning smells, no natural or artificial perfumes. I moved up the stairs slowly, using the waxed walnut banister as a crutch, and then opened the first door that presented itself.
The master bedroom. It stretched out to my left in a long rectangle. Directly ahead, across from the door, my eye was drawn to a beautiful twelve-paned window behind a satin-covered settee. The glass was old or slightly tinted, and the ocean beyond changed color as though I were looking through a prism. The window was slightly open, and white lace curtains billowed inward, caressing the burnt orange of the satin couch. I heard footsteps behind me, and as I turned to confront McKee, to explain my presence, I noticed the canopied bed at the far end of the room. There was a naked woman on it, asleep. I halted mid-turn and began to retreat, when I sensed McKee’s body behind mine. I stepped on his foot and stifled a whoop of surprise. He caught me by the shoulders as he saw the young woman, too. She lay faceup on top of the covers, one arm flung out dramatically. My eyes landed on her breasts, got stuck there, then jumped the rest of her body to her toes. Each nail was painted a different color. I was about ten feet away, and as McKee pulled me backward, her body became topographic—valleys, mountains, undergrowth. I smelled something heady … realized it was McKee’s aftershave, felt his warm breath on my neck. I was almost faint while he steered me out and, with one hand gripping my arm, closed the bedroom door behind us. He had a silken touch, turning the knob quickly, silently.
I twisted away and took the stairs at a clip, but the pain in my ankle erupted with ferocity. So I grabbed the banister and hopped. The plush carpet muffled my thumps like a silencer.
We left by the back, the way we had come in. I limped after McKee, around the porch, down the front steps, and to the car. Following his example, I closed my door gently. He gave the car the barest hit of gas, and we rolled out of the driveway.
I kept my eyes on the road ahead, and assumed he did, too. I had the feeling that I should start laughing, turn the encounter into one big joke, but I kept envisioning that naked body, displayed like some sort of feast. The downy, smooth, coppery skin. The ample breasts sinking comfortably sideways, legs provocatively apart, an arm unfurled. Her waist was tiny, accentuating her curves. My waist was tiny, too, and I always imagined that one day I would meet a man whose hands could circle it. Not a man with big hands, that wasn’t part of the fantasy—it was the idea of a lover finding my waist as delicate as the stems of a small bouquet.
McKee suddenly pulled the car over and parked. He plucked a Mynten from his shirt pocket and licked it off the paper.
“Could I have one?”
“You’re crazy.”
“But my mouth is dry.”
“What?”
“I’m asking for one of your Myntens.”
He punched open the glove compartment and removed an entire bag. “Take them. What were you doing in that house?”
“I don’t need all these.”
“What were you doing there?”
“I was looking for some Bactine.”
“Bactine.” He repeated the brand name as though he had never heard of it.
“I thought I could fix my ankle, you know, I thought they’d have some antiseptic in the medicine cabinet.” I could see the nugget nestling inside his cheek.
“You went in that house to write about it.”
“I did not.”
“Come on.”
“I told you, Bactine.”
His arms rested on the steering wheel and he twisted the Mynten wrapper, spun it between his fingers. He occupied himself this way while I sat there. “You could have been killed,” he said finally.
“Oh, please, by whom?”
“See, you don’t take anything seriously.”
“What are you talking about? You told me that alarm had been deactivated.”
“You never know what’s going down.”
What’s going down? Honestly. This was ridiculous. There was only one thing to say. “I’m sorry.” I spoke contritely. I knew what was bugging him. Suppose that woman had awakened to find us? My trespass would have cost him an account. “Who was she?”
He started the car again. “None of your business.”
“I just wondered.” This whole thing was getting upsetting, what with him so short with me. I was wounded, I had a serious dog bite, thanks to his carelessness. I tried to open the bag of lozenges. The slick paper wouldn’t tear. “This is like plastic on a new CD. A person could spend a year trying to strip that off. I always wanted to write a short story in which a woman gets murdered because she can’t get the plastic wrapping off in time.” My words hung around unanswered, McKee correctly identifying them as nervous babble. I noticed a big blue vein snaking across the back of my hand, which was lying in my lap, clutching the Mynten bag. The woman on the bed didn’t have fat bulging veins, I bet. She couldn’t have been more than twenty-five.
Now I was feeling unaccountably deflated.
“Cheer up.”
“What? What are you talking about?” How did he know?
“Just generally. It’s no big deal, right?” He flashed a smile.
“Right.” I could see the medical center ahead. What a relief. I would welcome a shot of novocaine. Perhaps directly into my brain.
He kept the car idling while I stuffed the Myntens in my purse. “Thanks for these.”
“Do you have someone to come and get you?”
“Yes. Don’t worry about it.”
“You should drink vinegar tonight. One teaspoon of cider vinegar with a tablespoon of honey.”
“Is that a health potion?”
“For your ankle. In case you have a boron deficiency. And take it easy.”
“I do.”
He laughed, as though it was absolutely clear that I was full of it. “If you ever need help on stories, other stories, call.
“Sure.”
“If it’s not my shift, leave a message.”
“Okay.” He must have been buttering me up so I wouldn’t betray him.
I put out my hand to shake his. Too formal for what we’d just experienced, and very awkward in the confines of the car. “Take care,” he said.
“I will. Thanks for the ride.”
THE EMERGENCY room was a fast twenty minutes. Clean, considerate, efficient.