“I’ll put it this way,” Keith said in a lowered voice. “I’d shoot you before I’d shoot any dog.”
Something moved in Greta’s stomach. Something sharp. She’d been leaning toward Keith without realizing it. She straightened and gulped down the rest of her drink.
“You heard what I said?” Keith asked, his voice still low.
Vera placed Keith’s drink in front of him, but Keith didn’t touch it.
“That’s how much I love animals,” Keith said in a regular voice. “I wouldn’t even shoot a deer, and they’re everywhere you look. I have six of them living in the bushes in my backyard. But I don’t hunt. I don’t even own a gun.”
“But your dog was obese,” Greta said. “And miserable. Remember? So, you don’t love dogs that much—”
“Lady,” he said. “Are you drunk? I don’t have a dog.”
He exchanged an exasperated look with one of the guys sitting on the other side of him. “Broads,” he seemed to say.
“Your old dog,” Greta said. “The one you had before you—”
“Look, I don’t know you, okay?” His voice was louder now. “I don’t know you, I don’t know your dog, I don’t know anything. I’m trying to watch this now.”
He shook his head and stared at the screen. The match was over and the ring was crowded with people.
“Great,” he said. “Terrific.”
“Stop following me,” Greta said.
“Get the fuck out of my face,” he said loudly. “Dumb city bitch. You don’t know where the fuck you’re at or who the fuck you’re talking to.”
Vera came over and cleared Greta’s glass. “All set?” she asked sweetly. “Drink’s on the house, okay? Don’t come back.”
Greta’s knees nearly buckled as she walked out of the bar, and she could hear Vera laughing.
* * *
HER HEART? Still in her mouth as she pulled into the driveway and saw Big Swiss’s car. They’d exchanged a few texts but hadn’t seen each other since the shooting, and it wasn’t like Big Swiss to show up without calling. Had something happened to Silas? Greta rushed inside.
Not only had Big Swiss let herself into the house; she lay diagonally on Greta’s bed, legs crossed at the ankle, arms behind her head, gazing at the cracked ceiling as if it were full of constellations, which she supposed it was.
“Where’s Silas?”
“Home,” Big Swiss said.
“What are you doing here?”
“Just checking up on you and Pi?on.”
Greta poked her head into the antechamber—Pi?on was sound asleep and snoring. Greta decided to sit in an armchair, a safe distance away from the bed and Big Swiss’s exposed pits. Her phone vibrated with a text from Sabine, who was halfway to Maine to eat steamers with old friends, as she did every summer, and wouldn’t be back for a few days.
“Where were you?” Big Swiss asked.
“Out,” Greta said.
“At a bar?”
“Yes,” Greta said.
“Did you meet anyone?”
Of course, now would be the time to tell Big Swiss that she’d met Keith, live and in person, along with his enchanting sister, that she’d gotten a good look at his carnie hands, his creepy ponytail, his barely suppressed rage. She was still rattled by the remark he’d made, “I’d shoot you before I’d shoot any dog,” which she believed to be true. Now that she thought about it, Vera was the one who’d seemed to recognize Greta. Maybe Vera was the stalker, the one to worry about. On the other hand, who confronts a violent ex-convict on his own turf and accuses him of attempted murder? Someone stupid, reckless, and insane. And deeply paranoid. You’re the stalker, Greta told herself. You’re the one to worry about.
“So?” Big Swiss said.
“I did meet someone,” Greta said.
“And?”
“Great guy,” Greta said. “Little over-the-hill, maybe.”
“You’re going back to men?”
“People,” Greta said, correcting her. “I’m open.”
“Are you open to me?”
“Depends. What do you want?”
“Who’re you texting?”
Greta was texting Sabine a bunch of animal emojis. Supposedly “the donks,” as Sabine kept referring to them, were arriving around the time Sabine would be back from Maine, but Greta didn’t want to share this news with Big Swiss. The donks were none of her business.
“Tell me,” Big Swiss said.
“Just making a note in my dream journal.”
Big Swiss backed off. For some reason, dreams were sacred to her.
“I’d like to take you up on your offer,” Big Swiss said. “The one from your email. You said I could… you know.”
“If you can’t even say it, maybe it’s not something you should be doing. Besides, that was before. Wouldn’t it feel silly at this point?”
Big Swiss sniffed. “I was thinking it might be… cathartic.”
For her, sure. For Greta, pure degradation. But maybe this was exactly what Greta deserved for acting on every whim and impulse, for making such a goddamn mess, for not considering the dignity of others—such as Luke, mainly, but also Keith, who was human, after all, and probably hadn’t shot her dog, and who had done his time. Had Greta done hers? She’d never been truly disgraced. Maybe this would lead to her deliverance.
Whatever, it was only a spanking. No need to be grandiose about it. She unbuttoned her pants, let them drop to the floor, and then draped herself over the bed’s iron footrail, which was more awkward than leaning over the side. An hour ago, she’d been sitting next to the man who’d broken Big Swiss’s face, and now she was waiting to be spanked by her. Not quite full circle, but it felt oddly… correct. Maybe this would lead to Big Swiss’s deliverance. Maybe after this they would both be free— “Is this what they mean by ‘closure’？” Greta said.
“You said bare bottom,” Big Swiss said.
Greta pulled down her underwear. Big Swiss grabbed Greta’s wide wooden hairbrush and tested it on her open palm.
“No mercy,” Big Swiss said. “Right?”
“Yeah, yeah, but be quiet about it. Pi?on’s sleeping.”
“What’s your safe word?”
“I don’t know,” Greta said. “？‘Diarrhea’？”
Big Swiss smacked Greta’s right cheek, not once, not twice, but fifteen times—until it was sufficiently red and inflamed, Greta assumed—before moving to the other side. She seemed intent on distributing her blows evenly and with the same amount of force, and she wasn’t holding back. Greta hadn’t been spanked since kindergarten and never with a brush. It was both louder and more painful than she’d imagined, but Pi?on didn’t bark. He didn’t even wake up.
“Does it hurt?” Big Swiss asked hopefully.
“Like a mother,” Greta said.
Big Swiss delivered several more vigorous whacks and then dropped the brush. She was panting. Greta twisted around slightly to gaze at her face. It was as red as Greta’s ass, and she’d never looked more… embodied.