Inside Job Read online

  “Well I sleep in one, my daughter sleeps in another, one I use for an office, and the last one is sort of a guest room.”

  “I’d love to be a guest in your guest room.”

  “We don’t do things like that out here in the woods.”

  “You don’t?”

  “Certainly not.”

  “Then how did your daughter get born?”

  “I meant that we don’t do things like that unless we’re married.”

  “Baloney.”

  “It’s not baloney!”

  “Sure it is. People screw around more in little towns like this than they do in New York.”

  “You know,” Sally said thoughtfully, “my angel told me that a bad man like you was going to come into my life, and here you are.”

  “I’m not a bad man.”

  “You are the devil incarnate.”

  “Oh come on.”

  “You’re evil.”

  “Because I tell the truth?”

  “Because you have a twisted way of seeing everything.”

  “Do you mean to sit there and tell me that people don’t screw around in this town?”

  “If they do, it’s very seldom.”

  “Oh come on.”

  “People like you think everybody is evil just like you are.”

  The truck turned a bend and ahead on the road were three deer: a stag, a doe, and a fawn. Brody stopped the truck.

  “Isn’t that cute,” Sally said.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like that in my life, except in zoos.”

  “Oh, you poor man!”

  “I thought you just said I was evil.”

  “Maybe you’re not completely evil.”

  “Any man who doesn’t run over three deer can’t be completely evil, right?”

  “I suppose so.”

  “I just don’t like con artists.”

  “Now stop that!”

  “I think I’ll open a church of my own up here. I’ll talk to the angels for only five dollars and put Mrs. Evans out of business.”

  “I think you’re disgusting.”

  “I think you’re fabulous.”

  “Stop flirting with me.”

  “How can any red-blooded American man not flirt with you?”

  “I think you have ulterior motives.”

  “I certainly do have ulterior motives.”

  “Well don’t tell me what they are.”

  “I don’t have to, because you know already.”

  Sally blushed again. Brody admired her attractive country face. Her features weren’t delicate, but had an honesty and strength that he thought very appealing. Her bosom reminded him of photographs he’d seen of Jayne Mansfield. She smiled, and showed cute rabbit teeth.

  “You’re just trying to get my goat,” she said.

  “That’s not what we call it in New York.”

  She slapped his shoulder. “You’re awful.”

  “I can’t help it. The sight of you makes me dizzy.”

  “Then look at the road.”

  “I’d rather look at you than the deer.”

  “But the deer aren’t on the road anymore.”

  Brody looked at the road. “So they’re not.”

  “Let’s get going before it gets dark.”

  “It must get dark early out here.”

  “Oh it does. We’re very far north.”

  “What do the people here do on cold winter nights?” he asked as he shifted into gear.

  “They watch television.”

  “That all?”

  “That’s all.”

  “Then where did all the kids come from?”

  “You’re such a naughty man!”

  “Did the angels bring them?”

  “Now you’re getting evil again.”

  “Don’t people screw in this town?”

  “How can you say such a thing to a woman like me?”

  “What did I say wrong?”

  “You know.”

  “Do you mean the word screw?”

  “Of course that’s what I mean.”

  “People don’t use that word up here?”

  “Not nice people.”

  “What word do nice people use?”

  “No word.”

  “You mean you never talk about screwing?”

  “No. What’s there to talk about?”

  “Oh, about what turns you on and what doesn’t.”

  “We don’t talk about things like that up here.”

  “You just do them?”

  “Only married people.”

  “What about you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You mean you never screw?”

  “Please stop talking to me this way, Mister Brody. It’s not nice.”

  “Who’s your boyfriend?”

  “I don’t have a boyfriend.”

  “You mean you never screw?”

  “I asked you to please stop talking to me that way.”

  “Don’t you know it’s bad for your health not to screw?”

  “You have a one-track mind.”

  “What turns you on, Sally?”

  “None of your business.”

  “Do you want to know what turns me on?”

  “No.”

  “You turn me on.”

  She harumphed. “I bet you say that to every woman you meet.”

  “I do not.”

  “You’re a real city slicker, I can see that.”

  “You really don’t have a boyfriend?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Can I be your boyfriend?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Even if I go to your church and talk to my angel?”

  “You’d be faking, and I wouldn’t respect that.”

  He put one hand to his ear. “Hey, I think I just heard something!”

  “What?”

  He made a face as if he were listening to something. “I think my angel is trying to talk to me.”

  She slapped his shoulder. “Oh, stop it!”

  “No kidding, I can hear him talking to me. Do you know what he’s saying?”

  “Stop making fun of me.”

  “He told me to pull over to the side of the road, stop the car, and kiss you.”

  “If you try anything I’ll slap you!” She moved far away as she could and looked at him as though he were a snake.

  “But my angel is telling me to do it.”

  “You’re a liar.”

  “How can I disobey my angel?”

  “You’re a wicked evil man, Mister Brody.”

  “I think I’d rather have you mad at me than my angel.”

  “If you lay a hand on me I’ll scream.”

  “Nobody will hear you.”

  “I’ll scratch your eyes out!”

  “Just over a little kiss that my angel told me to give you?”

  “You’re a liar. You’ll say anything to get what you want.”

  “So will Mrs. Evans.”

  “How evil you are!”

  “What makes you think she’s not lying just like I am.”

  “So you admit you’re lying?”

  “About the angel, yes. But my point is that so is she.”

  “She is not.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I know it in my heart.”

  “You don’t know anything in your heart. You believe because you want to believe. Your angel must tell you nice things.”

  “No she doesn’t. She tells me I must try harder to be a good person.”

  “That’s not anything unique. Everybody should try harder to be a better person. Didn’t you know that before you talked with your angel?”

  “Well yes. But it’s different when an angel tells you.”

  “Be accurate. Your angel doesn’t tell you, he tells Mrs. Evans, and Mrs. Evans tells you, isn’t that right?”

  “That’s right.”

  “So you’re saying that it’s differ
ent when Mrs. Evans tells you?”

  “Yes.”

  “What makes you think Mrs. Evans is more honest than me?”

  “lean tell.”

  “How?”

  “She’s a very sweet old woman.”

  “I’m a very sweet guy.”

  “You are not. You are a sex maniac!”

  “How do you know she isn’t a sex maniac?”

  “Who?”

  “Mrs. Evans.”

  “How can you say such a thing?”

  “How do you know she isn’t screwing all the time?”

  “What a terrible thing to say!”

  “What’s so terrible about it?”

  “She’s a holy woman!”

  “That’s what you think.”

  “That’s what I know!”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because I know.”

  “You just have blind faith.”

  She looked sideways at him. “You’re making me very mad.”

  “I’m sorry to be disturbing the fantasies that you base your life upon.”

  “They’re not fantasies.”

  “Since you can’t prove them, they must be fantasies.”

  “I have faith in Mrs. Evans.”

  “So do I. I have complete faith that she’ll try to fleece everybody in this town, and then leave.”

  “What a terrible man you are!”

  “I’m not trying to fleece everybody in this town.”

  “But you’re trying to take advantage of a poor defenseless woman.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “Me!”

  “You don’t look so defenseless to me. A few minutes ago you said you were going to scratch my eyes out, and I believed you.”

  “I would, too.”

  “I know it.”

  “But I’d sure like to put my hand under your blouse.”

  Sally sat straight in her seat. “I think we should try to be more businesslike, Mister Brody.”

  “Why are you so uptight about sex?”

  “I’m not uptight about sex. It’s just that people in this part of the country don’t have dirty minds like you people in New York.”

  “Baloney.”

  “I forgive you because you don’t know any better.”

  “Maybe before you forgive me, you should check with your angel to make sure.”

  “Stop being sacrilegious. And make a left over there.” She pointed to a dirt road even narrower than the one they were on.

  Brody turned onto the road. If a car came from the other direction, he’d have to back up. The trees were a thick mixture of evergreen, maple and birch, not very tall. A flock of crows flew past overhead and Brody felt a presentiment of death which he shrugged off and forgot immediately.

  “How come the trees aren’t so tall around here?” Brody asked.

  “This land was lumbered about fifteen years ago.”

  The road wound to the right, and as Brody made the turn, an old building covered with weathered clapboards came into view.

  “That’s the place,” said Sally.

  “Looks kind of nice.” He stopped the truck and pulled up the emergency brake.

  “I think you’ll find it very cozy.”

  “Is there a separate bedroom for my angel, or will he have to sleep on the sofa?”

  “How do you know if it’s a he?”

  “If it’s a she, she can sleep with me.”

  “You’re just trying to get my goat, and I’m not going to let you.”

  “Oh come on. Let me.”

  “Sex degenerate.” She opened the door and got out of the truck.

  He got out on his side and slammed the door, wondering what she’d think if she knew there was a million dollars in the camper and he was wanted for robbery. She walked toward the front door, taking keys out of her pocketbook.

  “It’s very quiet here,” she said. “You’ll probably be able to get a lot of work done.”

  “ I certainly hope so.”

  “What kind of book are you planning to write?”

  “A love story.”

  “What do you know about love?”

  “Everything.”

  “That’s a laugh.”

  “Then why aren’t you laughing?”

  “Because I don’t want to hurt your feelings.”

  “What makes you think I don’t know anything about love?”

  “A man like you couldn’t, because all you have is sex on your mind.”

  She turned the key and opened the door. They stepped into a cold room with pale blue walls, a table and chairs, a sofa, and a brown kerosene stove. A crude painting of a woodland scene was on one wall, and the antlers of a deer on another.

  “I wonder if there’s any kerosene in the tank,” she said, walking to the window behind the stove and looking at the gauge. “We’re in luck. It’s about half full. Do you know how to light a kerosene stove?”

  “In New York we don’t have to light kerosene stoves.”

  “Come here, and I’ll show you.”

  She turned a knob behind the stove and opened the lid on top.

  “Look down inside,” she said.

  He looked. “What am I supposed to see?”

  “You’re supposed to see the bottom getting wet with kerosene.”

  “I see that.”

  “To light it, all you have to do is set fire to a piece of paper and drop it in.”

  “That doesn’t seem so difficult.”

  “I’m sure even you can do it.”

  On the counter beside the sink he found an old copy of American Legion Magazine, He tore off a shred, brought it to the stove, lit it, and dropped it inside. There was a big poof, and billows of fire filled the inside of the stove.

  “What now?” he asked.

  “Close the top of the stove and adjust the dial.”

  He closed the top of the stove and bent back to the dial. “What number should I set it on?”

  “Set it about halfway.”

  He turned the dial until it reached the number five. Warmth already was radiating from the stove.

  “Feels good,” he said.

  “Let me show you around. What would you like to see first?”

  “You without any clothes on.”

  “I meant what would you like to see first about this house?”

  “The bedroom.”

  “Right this way.”

  She walked across the room to a doorway and opened it up. “This is the bedroom,” she said.

  He looked inside at an old brass bed and a dresser. A worn bedspread covered the mattress. He lay on the mattress and put his hands behind his head. “It’s real comfortable,” he said.

  “I’m so glad you like it.”

  “Care to join me?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “You know very well why not.”

  “Your angel told you not to?”

  “My good common sense told me not to.”

  “You’re missing something good.”

  “I doubt it.”

  “You’re going to hate yourself in the morning.”

  “I don’t hate myself ever.”

  He moved around and sat with his feet on the floor. Taking out his pack of cigarettes, he offered one to her.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  Standing, he lit her cigarette and his.

  “Thank you again,” she said.

  They stood together in the doorway.

  “You’re very polite,” he said.

  “That’s the way they raise us in the country.”

  “I think I should apologize for coming on to you the way I have.”

  “I think you should apologize too.”

  “I apologize.”

  “I accept your apology provided it’s sincere.”

  “It’s very sincere.”

  “Good.”

  “I guess it was insulting for me to talk to you the way I was.”

  “It
was very insulting. That’s no way to treat a lady.”

  “I couldn’t help myself.”

  “You should do something to build up your willpower.”

  “Maybe living alone here will help me to do that.”

  “It might.”

  “But it might make me worse. I might get very horny.”

  “If it gets that bad you can drive back to New York and sleep with one of the sluts that I know you used to spend your time with.”

  “New York is awfully far away just to get laid.”

  “Don’t tell me your problems.”

  “There must be somebody up here.”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “Oh, there must be somebody. I’ll take her out to dinner a few times and act like a gentleman for a while, and then one night when she isn’t expecting anything I’ll attack her and take off her pants before she knows what’s happening.”

  “I imagine she’ll hit you over the head with the nearest blunt instrument.”

  “I’m very fast.”

  “Nobody’s that fast. Why don’t you let me show you the bathroom now, since you’re so full of shit.”

  She led him across the floor to a door which she opened. He saw a tiny room with a commode and a shower stall.

  “I don’t think that shower stall’s big enough to hold two people,” he said.

  “I thought you were renting this place alone.”

  “But you might want to take a shower with me sometime.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “A hunch.”

  “It’s a wrong hunch. Let me show you the kitchen.”

  She showed him the counter area, the sink, the electric stove, and the refrigerator. Brody opened the cupboards and found a bottle of Canadian Club.

  “Hey, let’s have a drink,” he said. “Are there any glasses in here?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Then we’ll have to drink out of the bottle.” He held it out to her. “You can have the first belt.”

  “I really shouldn’t.”

  “Oh go ahead.”

  “Maybe just one.”

  “Here.”

  She took the bottle, unscrewed the lid, and took a swig. Her face flushed and her eyes filled with tears. “This is real sippin’ whiskey,” she said.

  “I knew a country girl like you had to have some vice somewhere.”

  “A little sippin’ whisky isn’t a vice. It’s good for your health.”

  “Sure it is.” He took the bottle from her, tipped it back, and had a swallow. It went down almost like honey. “There’s nothing like good Canadian whisky.”

  “Well, I kind of like bourbon myself.”

  “I like bourbon too. Sour mash bourbon.”

  “Oh, that’s the best.”