Part 25 (1/2)
”You b.i.t.c.h! You hit me! Well, now you're really going to get it!” He lifted his fist.
Cube's right hand was now beside her left jaw in the follow-through of her punch. She straightened her elbow, wielding the plastic like a hammer. It collided with Yorick's right eye. The force was not great, but the plastic was hard; that eye would be black tomorrow.
”Ooow!” he repeated. But still he did not desist. ”I'll kill you!”
Her third strike had better aim and greater force. She flattened his nose. Blood welled out, dripping on her.
Now at last Yorick fell back, releasing her. Cube sat up. Then she shoved him away from the couch. He sat on the floor, holding his face, groaning.
Time for the finale. The script for this was adapted from a dirty magazine that had shocked Silhouette when she read it. ”Oh, this is fun,” she said.
”Fun? What did you hit me with?”
He hadn't seen the plastic. Good. ”Only my hand, dear. But I can get a knife if you prefer.”
”A knife!”
”When we are married,” she said sweetly, ”this will be a regular thing. Violence turns me on. Now let's go to the bedroom.”
”The bedroom!” he cried. ”I'm bleeding to death!”
”This was an avenue you chose,” she reminded him. ”s.e.x with violence. I find I have developed a taste for it. Of course this level won't satisfy me long; it will have to escalate. I will order manacles for you, so that next time we can do it right. I have some delicious ideas.”
”You're crazy! I'm getting out of here!” He scrambled to his feet.
”But dear--I thought you liked this! I thought you were a soul-mate. Now come to the bedroom, where I can make you really hurt.”
”No way!” He stumbled toward the door.
”But we're engaged! It's all set.”
”Not anymore it isn't! I'm gone!” And he was.
Cube smiled grimly. That had not played out quite the way she had hoped, but it was probably enough. Bullies didn't like to get bullied themselves. She had given him three excellent reasons to break up with her, and he would probably be too embarra.s.sed to tell anyone else why.
But the job was not yet finished. Cube quelled her violent pa.s.sion, for the next stage was of another nature. She went to her room, stripped away her ruined dress, stepped into the Mundane shower, and then changed to a new and more conservative outfit. No flexing surfaces of breast or thigh would show. She fixed her lovely hair, formulating her plan for the finale. Because she needed to secure Silhouette's situation, making sure the vultures would never return. Silhouette was not a strong-willed woman; she would need ongoing support. Cube would try to arrange for it.
She went to the aunt's room, tapped on the door, and opened it without waiting. The aunt looked up from her chair. ”There is a small mess in the living room,” Cube said. ”See that it is properly cleaned up. I am going out.” She departed, leaving the woman speechless. She would be worse than speechless when she saw the blood and understood that this time Silhouette had beaten up Yorick, rather than the other way around.
She went to the gardener's modest quarters behind the four-car garage. Silhouette's memory clarified him as a good man, a friend of her father's and still a loyal employee. Now she needed friends.h.i.+p and loyalty.
She knocked on his door and waited. After a moment the old man opened it. ”Miss Silhouette!” he exclaimed. ”So good to see you.”
She stepped in to him and kissed him, startling him. ”Filip, I need you.”
”Miss Silhouette, I am always at your service. You know that.” The startle was fading.
”This is not routine. Please, may I come in?”
”Oh, Miss Silhouette, this is not--”
”Sil.”
He paused. ”I think I do not understand.”
”My aunt called me Sil, with contempt. Henceforth she will address me as Silhouette. You have always treated me with respect, even when I was a spoiled child. You may call me Sil.”
”This is not proper.”
”Because I need a friend I can trust.”
Now understanding came. ”Come in, Sil.”
She entered the cramped chamber that was his kitchen, den, and bedroom. She sat on the bed, pretending not to notice that it had not been made. Filip sat in the one available chair. He was a portly man her father's age, in faded jeans and a worn plaid s.h.i.+rt, with nicely graying hair. He was an immigrant from central Europe and still spoke with an accent. He waited politely for her to state her business with him.
”I thought you had more s.p.a.ce.”
”Your aunt needed more storage s.p.a.ce.”
”My father would not have taken yours.”
”Your father is not here.”
Just so. ”How is your son?”
”Phil's doing well in trade school. I see him every week.”
”We were playmates as children. He was two years older than I, but he never talked down to me.”
”He liked you, Sil.”
”And I liked him. But I went to the fancy boarding school, and then to the fancier private college, and we grew apart. I regret that.”
”So does he.”
”But when we were young, and I had homework I couldn't handle, I would bring it to him. He wasn't in my school, and never had a.s.signments like that, but he would tackle it and figure it out and explain it to me. Then I understood it, and could keep up with my cla.s.s.”
Filip nodded. ”He got a good education that way.”
”The upper-cla.s.s education not available to the children of immigrants.”
”We are not complaining. Your father was always generous to us.”
”When Father died, your situation deteriorated. So did mine.”
”It pained me to see it, Sil. But it was not my place to comment. I'm only the gardener.”
”My father's friend. And mine.”
”And yours,” he agreed.