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At last the door opened and they came out. Mr. Beach’s cigar was just an ugly stump, and he was holding it between his lips, though it wasn’t lit. Bunny was rummaging carelessly through her purse. She was blinky, the way she gets when she’s been drinking.
“Hello, Martha!” she said, too cheerfully.
I walked ahead of her into the hall. She stopped, still searching through her purse. Suddenly she tipped it, spilling her compact, some lipstick, a pencil, and—finally—the car keys onto the floor. “Aha!” she said, bending to sweep up everything. Mr. Beach patted her quickly on the bottom, while he winked at me.
“Come on, Bunny,” I urged, but my anxious tone only confused her and slowed her down.
“What a fussbudget,” she said, knowing I hated to be called that. “A fussbudget daughter.” She carefully packed up her purse and strutted out, dangling the keys around her finger.
“What did he say?” I asked, as we walked down the stairway.
“Oh, it’ll be all right,” she said. “He’s gonna work it out. It’ll be all right.”
“But what about the money? I thought he was expensive.”
“He owes me,” said Bunny.
Bright rays of the sun, surprising after the gloom of the waiting room, slanted across the square. The benches and lawns were almost deserted for dinnertime, though a handful of hoods was still lounging around the bandshell. I didn’t pay attention to them, but when we were getting into the car, Dwayne, the simple man, came up behind us, running in his awkward way, with his arms and legs flopping in different directions.
“Where’s your bicycle, Dwayne?” Bunny asked.
He stood in the street for a moment, huffing. Then he raised a bony arm and pointed at me. “Ho,” he said. “Ho, ho.” I knew what he meant even before a cackling sound drifted over from the bandshell.
“What?” said Bunny, sensing trouble. “What did you say?”
“Ho,” he said uncertainly. His arm dropped. “Ho.”
“He means, ‘whore,’ ” I said.
Bunny stared at me, unbelieving, and then picked up the distant cackle. She slammed the half-open car door and stomped over to Dwayne. His face went limp with terror. He backed off, but he couldn’t move quickly enough to escape Bunny. She put her finger at his throat, just above where his misbuttoned shirt opened onto a patch of pale skin.
“If you ever repeat that, I’ll never speak to you again,” Bunny snarled. “Never! Do you understand me?”
Dwayne nodded frantically. With the color washed out of his face, the dark stubble of his beard stood out. He’s so childlike that I’d never really noticed it before, and I wondered suddenly whether he could shave himself or whether someone had to do it for him.
“Never,” said Bunny.
“Nevva,” repeated Dwayne, in a high, tight voice. He turned and ran back toward the park. Not watching, he cut in front of a car. It honked and swerved sharply to avoid him. Frightened, Dwayne skittered off in a different direction, down the street and around the corner. The ca
ckling echoed behind him.
“Go home!” screamed Bunny in the direction of the bandshell. Then she climbed in the car and slammed the door again.
“It’s bad,” I said quietly.
“Silliness,” she said. Her eyes were shining. The effects of the drinking had burned off. “The lawyer will handle everything. Put it out of your mind.”
I told her I’d try my best to do that.
SEVEN
Bunny dropped me off in front of the Vernons’ house. Hurrying up the stone walk, I saw Mrs. Vernon’s head bob past the living room window. She’d been sitting, watching for my return. The door flew open when I reached the front steps.
“Lord, I was worried,” she said, hugging me hard. “I almost called the police.”
“We were at a lawyer’s,” I said. She kept hugging me. I didn’t know where to put my hands, so I just let them hang at my sides.
“A lawyer’s? Oh, Lord, I thought your mother had taken you and run away. I was afraid you were gone forever.”
