Whereas Greta? All her money was in her mouth, which was full of gold crowns. She’d endured at least fifteen root canals. She’d been having orgasms since kindergarten. Her car, almost as old as Big Swiss, was worthless, and her only child was a dog— “I once had to beg for my life,” Big Swiss said. “I’d been beaten up, and my jaw was broken, my nose, the blood vessels in my eyes, and the man beating me kept threatening to kill me. Not threatening—promising. ‘I’m going to kill you, I promise,’ he kept saying. He beat me methodically, tirelessly. I’d never begged for anything in my life, but I begged him to let me jump out the window, even though I knew it meant breaking my leg or ankle. I begged and pleaded.”
Jumping out the window? Begging and pleading? Not part of the original transcript. Greta hadn’t anticipated hearing a new detail, especially one so disturbing. But why on earth had she expected the same exact story? Stories changed depending on the audience, everyone knew that. Why had Big Swiss withheld this? Because she’d been talking to Om, that’s why, and Om was a man, sort of. Obviously, and for good reason, Big Swiss had trouble being vulnerable around men. Or vulnerable, period.
“Anyway, it was a long time ago,” Big Swiss said. “But it’s still the most difficult thing I’ve ever done. Even med school was easier.”
“Easier than jumping out a window?”
“Begging for my life,” Big Swiss said. “Jumping would’ve been easy. I was desperate to get away from him.”
“Oh, okay. So, you didn’t jump.”
“He wouldn’t let me,” Big Swiss said. “We were on the third floor, but at that point I didn’t care.”
“How’d you get away?”
“Miraculously, he let me walk out of there.”
“Where?”
“His house. I was a cocktail waitress at the time, and he was a customer. A charming big tipper. He’d done time in prison, he told me, and seemed proud of it, so I figured it was white-collar. He took me to dinner one night and then back to his house. He made a pass, I said no, and he punched me in the face. Then he continued punching my face for ninety minutes, and he spent eight years in prison for it, because he’d beaten up another girl the month before, though not as badly. Anyway, he’s a free man now. In fact, I’m worried he knows where you live, because I think he’s been following me.”
Greta rolled off the bed, went to the nearest window, drew back the drapes. A truck idled in the empty lot across the street, near the pines where the vultures roosted. Greta cupped her hands at the window, but she couldn’t make out anything inside the cab. Then the fire alarm started up next door, slowly at first before blaring full blast. Pi?on howled, as usual, and the truck suddenly peeled away.
“Does he drive a monster truck?” Greta shouted.
“I’m pretty sure it’s a Chevy Silverado,” Big Swiss said, after the noise subsided. “Newish, black, tinted windows.”
In Hudson, nearly every straight man of a certain age drove the same truck. Greta moved away from the window and threw a log into the woodstove. She lit a cigarette off a burning coal.
“How do you know it’s him?”
“I recognize his hand,” Big Swiss said. “The way he flicks cigarettes out the window.”
“But what does he look like?”
“Weathered,” Big Swiss said. “My husband said he looks like a famous actor named Harvey.”
“Keitel?”
Big Swiss shrugged. “I guess. But that was a long time ago.”
“What’s his name?”
“Luke,” Big Swiss said.
“I know your husband’s name,” Greta said.
Big Swiss was silent. “Your mouth is trembling again,” she said after a minute. “I can see it all the way from here.”
“Why aren’t you trembling?” Greta asked.
“I don’t feel like I’m in any real danger,” Big Swiss said. “Maybe that’s na?ve of me.”
“He promised to kill you and failed. What if he’s spent the last eight years making plans to deliver on his promise?”
“His name is Keith. I don’t think he’ll risk going back to prison.”
Greta tossed her cigarette into the fire. “Is that what you remember most about that night? Begging for your life?”
“It varies,” Big Swiss said. “In the ER, there was this really beautiful nurse. Her face was so perfect, I thought I was hallucinating. I was extremely dehydrated and in a lot of pain, and she tried to administer an IV for me, but she couldn’t find a vein. She kept trying, though, over and over. My arm, my wrist, my arm again. My hand. My other arm. So, I said, ‘Can you look at my face?’ She reluctantly looked me in the eye. I could see that I was making her nervous. My face, by the way, looked like a Halloween mask—it was about three times bigger than it is now, and rubbery, and the whites of my eyes were bright red. I said, ‘Can you see what kind of night I’ve had?’ She nodded and said nothing. ‘Do you think you could do me a favor?’ I could tell she thought I was going to ask for water or something, but I said, ‘Can you get someone in here who knows what the fuck they’re doing?’ She ignored me and went back to fumbling with the IV. ‘Did you hear me? You suck at this. You’re in the wrong profession.’ I snatched my arm away from her. Her eyes filled up, which infuriated me, and she started shaking, which made me even angrier. ‘Are you stupid? Get someone else in here. I don’t want you touching me.’？”
Big Swiss draped an arm over her own beautiful face.
“Anyway, I still think about her,” Big Swiss said. “Her wet eyes.”
“With pleasure?” Greta asked.
“Hey,” Big Swiss said.
“Anyone would snap after surviving something like that. It’s completely understandable and forgivable. People act out for a lot less, as I’m sure you know. A lot less.”
“Oh? Are you one of these people?”
“I have the opposite problem—I’m completely shut down. I didn’t cry at my mother’s funeral. I barely cried as a baby. I’ve been diagnosed with ED, twice.”
“Erectile dysfunction?”
“Emotional detachment.”
“You know, they say the eyes are the windows to the soul, but in your case, it’s the mouth. You have the most expressive mouth I’ve ever seen.”
“Well, that’s weird, because I’m well into my forties and this is the first I’m hearing of it.”
“You’re not as detached as you think,” Big Swiss said. “Anyway, you should know something: the way I treated that nurse wasn’t unusual for me. I’ve always had a low tolerance for weakness. Maybe it’s good I was beaten so badly—it took me down a different path. I became kinder. Or more charitable, at least.”
“Have you ever been happy?”
Big Swiss scowled. “What kind of question is that?”
“A sincere one.”
“Come back to bed,” Big Swiss said. “We don’t have much time.”
As if to demonstrate how charitable she was, Big Swiss put her face between Greta’s legs. Greta studied the cracks in the ceiling. She knew them all by heart and she had favorites, but one crack seemed new and out of place. Then it began moving. For a moment she thought she was moving it with her mind. Minutes passed. Part of the crack broke off and crawled toward a corner. Because it was a spider. That’s when Greta felt something crawling down her own crack. Something hot and wet.