flynn_gillian_gone_girl (1) (858987), страница 66
Текст из файла (страница 66)
“Sweetheart.You can’t imagine. That call. I thought I’d gone insane. I thought I was making you up!I’d daydreamed about it, that somehow you were alive, and then. That call. Are youokay?”“I am now,” I say. “I feel safe now. It’s been awful.” And then I burst into tears,actual tears, which hadn’t been the plan, but they feel so relieving, and they t themoment so perfectly, that I let myself unravel entirely.
The stress drips off me: the nerveof enacting the plan, the fear of being caught, the loss of my money, the betrayal, themanhandling, the pure wildness of being on my own for the first time in my life.I look quite pretty after a cry of about two minutes—longer than that and the nosegoes runny, the pu ness sets in, but up to that, my lips gets fuller, my eyes bigger, mycheeks ushed. I count as I cry into Desi’s crisp shoulder, one Mississippi, two Mississippi—that river again—and I curb the tears at one minute and forty-eight seconds.“I’m sorry I couldn’t get here earlier, sweetheart,” Desi says.“I know how full Jacqueline keeps your schedule,” I demur. Desi’s mom is a touchysubject in our relationship.He studies me. “You look very … di erent,” he says.
“So full in the face, especially.And your poor hair is—” he catches himself. “Amy. I just never thought I could be sograteful for anything. Tell me what’s happened.”I tell a Gothic tale of possessiveness and rage, of Midwest steak-and-potato brutality,barefoot pregnancy, animalistic dominance. Of rape and pills and liquor and sts.Pointed cowboy boots in the ribs, fear and betrayal, parental apathy, isolation, andNick’s nal telling words: “You can never leave me. I will kill you.
I will nd you nomatter what. You are mine.”How I had to disappear for my own safety and the safety of my unborn child, andhow I needed Desi’s help. My savior. My story would satisfy Desi’s craving for ruinedwomen—I was now the most damaged of them all. Long ago, back in boarding school,I’d told him about my father’s nightly visits to my bedroom, me in a ru y pinknightgown, staring at the ceiling until he was done. Desi has loved me ever since the lie,I know he pictures making love to me, how gentle and reassuring he would be as heplunged into me, stroking my hair.
I know he pictures me crying softly as I give myselfto him.“I can’t ever go back to my old life, Desi. Nick will kill me. I’ll never feel safe. But Ican’t let him go to prison. I just wanted to disappear. I didn’t realize the police wouldthink he did it.”I glance prettily toward the band onstage, where a skeletal septuagenarian is singingabout love. Not far from our table, a straight-backed guy with a trim mustache tosses hiscup toward a trash can near us and bricks (a term I learned from Nick).
I wish I’d pickeda more picturesque spot. And now the guy is looking at me, tilting his head toward theside, in exaggerated confusion. If he were a cartoon, he’d scratch his head, and it wouldmake a rubbery wiik-wiik sound. For some reason, I think: He looks like a cop. I turn myback to him.“Nick is the last thing for you to worry about,” Desi said.
“Give that worry to me andI’ll take care of it.” He holds out his hand, an old gesture. He is my worry-keeper; it is aritual game we played as teens. I pretend to place something in his palm and he closeshis fingers over it and I actually feel better.“No, I won’t take care of it. I do hope Nick dies for what he did to you,” he said. “In asane society, he would.”“Well, we’re in an insane society, so I need to stay hidden,” I said. “Do you thinkthat’s horrible of me?” I already know the answer.“Sweetheart, of course not.
You are doing what you’ve been forced to do. It would bemadness to do anything else.”He doesn’t ask anything about the pregnancy. I knew he wouldn’t.“You’re the only one who knows,” I say.“I’ll take care of you. What can I do?”I pretend to balk, chew the edge of my lip, look away and then back to Desi. “I needmoney to live on for a bit. I thought about getting a job, but—”“Oh, no, don’t do that. You are everywhere, Amy—on all the newscasts, all themagazines.
Someone would recognize you. Even with this”—he touches my hair—“newsporty cut of yours. You’re a beautiful woman, and it’s di cult for beautiful women todisappear.”“Unfortunately, I think you’re right,” I say. “I just don’t want you to think I’m takingadvantage. I just didn’t know where else to—”The waitress, a plain brunette disguised as a pretty brunette, drops by, sets ourdrinks on the table.
I turn my face from her and see that the mustached curious guy isstanding a little closer, watching me with a half smile. I am o my game. Old Amynever would have come here. My mind is addled by Diet Coke and my own body odor.“I ordered you a gin and tonic,” I say.Desi gives a delicate grimace.“What?” I ask, but I already know.“That’s my spring drink.
I’m Jack and gingers now.”“Then we’ll get you one of those, and I’ll have your gin.”“No, it’s fine, don’t worry.”The lookiloo appears again in my peripheral. “Is that guy, that guy with themustache—don’t look now—is he staring at me?”Desi gives a ick of a glance, shakes his head. “He’s watching the … singers.” He saysthe word dubiously. “You don’t just want a little bit of cash. You’ll get tired of thissubterfuge.
Not being able to look people in the face. Living among”—he spreads hisarms out to include the whole casino—“people with whom I assume you don’t have muchin common. Living below your means.”“That’s what it is for the next ten years. Until I’ve aged enough and the story hasgone away and I can feel comfortable.”“Ha! You’re willing to do that for ten years? Amy?”“Shhh, don’t say the name.”“Cathy or Jenny or Megan or whatever, don’t be ludicrous.”The waitress returns, and Desi hands her a twenty and dismisses her. She walks awaygrinning.
Holding the twenty up like it is novel. I take a sip of my drink. The babywon’t mind.“I don’t think Nick would press charges if you return,” Desi says.“What?”“He came by to see me. I think he knows that he’s to blame—”“He went to see you? When?”“Last week. Before I’d talked to you, thank God.”Nick has shown more interest in me these past ten days than he has in the past fewyears. I’ve always wanted a man to get in a ght over me—a brutal, bloody ght. Nickgoing to interrogate Desi, that’s a nice start.“What did he say?” I ask. “How did he seem?”“He seemed like a top-drawer asshole.
He wanted to pin it on me. Told me someinsane story about how I—”I’d always liked that lie about Desi trying to kill himself over me. He had truly beendevastated by our breakup, and he’d been really annoying, creepy, hanging aroundcampus, hoping I’d take him back. So he might as well have attempted suicide.“What did Nick say about me?”“I think he knows that he can never hurt you now that the world knows and caresabout who you are. He’d have to let you come back safely, and you could divorce himand marry the right man.” He took a sip. “At long last.”“I can’t come back, Desi. Even if people believed everything about Nick’s abuse.
I’dstill be the one they hated—I was the one who tricked them. I’d be the biggest pariah inthe world.”“You’d be my pariah, and I’d love you no matter what, and I’d shield you fromeverything,” Desi said. “You would never have to deal with any of it.”“We’d never be able to socialize with anyone again.”“We could leave the country if you want. Live in Spain, Italy, wherever you like,spend our days eating mangoes in the sun. Sleep late, play Scrabble, ip through booksaimlessly, swim in the ocean.”“And when I died, I’d be some bizarre footnote—a freak show. No. I do have pride,Desi.”“I’m not letting you go back to the trailer-park life. I’m not.
Come with me, we’ll setyou up in the lake house. It’s very secluded. I’ll bring groceries and anything you need,anytime. You can hide out, all alone, until we decide what to do.”Desi’s lake house was a mansion, and bringing groceries was becoming my lover. I couldfeel the need coming o him like heat. He was squirming a little under his suit, wantingto make it happen. Desi was a collector: He had four cars, three houses, suites of suitsand shoes. He would like knowing I was stowed away under glass. The ultimate whiteknight fantasy: He steals the abused princess from her squalid circumstances and placesher under his gilded protection in a castle that no one can breach but him.“I can’t do that. What if the police find out somehow and they come to search?”“Amy, the police think you’re dead.”“No, I should be on my own for now.
Can I just have a little cash from you?”“What if I say no?”“Then I’ll know your offer to help me isn’t genuine. That you’re like Nick and you justwant control over me, however you can get it.”Desi was silent, swallowing his drink with a tight jaw.
“That’s a rather monstrousthing to say.”“It’s a rather monstrous way to act.”“I’m not acting that way,” he said. “I’m worried about you. Try the lake house. If youfeel cramped by me, if you feel uncomfortable, you leave. The worst that can happen isyou get a few days’ rest and relaxation.”The mustached guy is suddenly at our table, a ickering smile on his face. “Ma’am, Idon’t suppose you’re any relation to the Enloe family, are you?” he asks.“No,” I say, and turn away.“Sorry, you just look like some—”“We’re from Canada, now excuse us,” Desi snaps, and the guy rolls his eyes, muttersa jeez, and strolls back to the bar.
But he keeps glancing at me.“We should leave,” Desi says. “Come to the lake house. I’ll take you there now.” Hestands.Desi’s lake house would have a grand kitchen, it would have rooms I could traipsearound in—I could “hills are alive” twirl in them, the rooms would be so massive. Thehouse would have Wi-Fi and cable—for all my command-center needs—and a gapingbathtub and plush robes and a bed that didn’t threaten to collapse.It would have Desi too, but Desi could be managed.At the bar, the guy is still staring at me, less benevolently.I lean over and kiss Desi gently on the lips.
It has to seem like my decision. “You’resuch a wonderful man. I’m sorry to put you in this situation.”“I want to be in this situation, Amy.”We are on our way out, walking past a particularly depressing bar, TVs buzzing inall corners, when I see the Slut.The Slut is holding a press conference.Andie looks tiny and harmless. She looks like a babysitter, and not a sexy pornbabysitter but the girl from down the road, the one who actually plays with the kids.
![](https://s.studizba.com/z.php?f=/templates/si/i/noavatar.png&w=100&h=100&t=1"){kind=avatar}
