Control by Wiiliam Goldman

Author:Wiiliam Goldman [Goldman, Wiiliam]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2011-05-11T07:00:00+00:00

The apartment was in one of the many new buildings that dotted the Murray Hill area. Six floors down, there was the occasional screech of brakes from Third Avenue. But otherwise, the place was quiet. Mrs. Herodotos sat on the living room sofa, they flanked her in chairs. “Let’s start with why this couldn’t wait till tomorrow,” she said, looking at Eric.

“I ran into an old acquaintance of mine tonight,” Eric told her. “Haven’t seen the guy in maybe fifteen years and he’d changed, changed a lot. I guess that set me to thinking.”

“I think a lot too these days,” Mrs. Herodotos said. “I think a lot about my future. You don’t think about the future so much when your husband’s around as you do when he’s gone.”

Haggerty sympathized.

“People do change,” she said. “So does your life. I’m a young woman, I’m married, he don’t drink, he’s got a good store, no complaints. Then zap. Mind if I smoke?” They said they didn’t. She lit up a Camel. “Now I got plenty of complaints believe me. My Nick, he never smoked, he was always after me to quit. ‘You’re killing yourself with those Camels,’ he used to say.” She inhaled deeply. “It’s goddam Byronic is what it is.” She stared at the ceiling. “I got plenty complaints now, I’m here to tell you …”

She went on talking, listing her grievances, but Eric was still back with things being “goddam Byronic.” It was such a whopper he was seriously tempted to correct her, except she looked the type that would take it badly so he shut up, let her ramble until he could get around to the subject of her husband’s clothes.

“It is ironic,” Haggerty put in.

She looked at him sharply. “Like I already said.”

“I think perhaps you might have said ‘Byronic,’” Haggerty explained, giving her a gentle smile.

“What the fuck is this!” Mrs. Herodotos exploded—”I get bothered in the middle of the night for English lessons?—”

“—I didn’t mean—” Haggerty tried.

“—A widow, a widow young and trying to help out, my Nick is dead, Vm alone and you gotta interrupt my mourning with insults!—”

Now a shattering of glass from out of sight in the kitchen. Followed by a muttered “shit.” Mrs. Herodotos jumped to her feet, hurried toward the sound. Fierce whispering now: “I told you to stay quiet”—”I got thirsty”—”you’re drunk enough now, you can’t even hold a bottle”—’it was slippery, you musta had cold cream when you made the last drinks”—”you put cold cream on your face, not your hands”—”—yeah, but you put it on your face with your hands—”

Then the sound of the whispering dropped so that no words were clear. Then silence. Then Mrs. Herodotos appeared in the hallway, a large, dark-skinned man behind her. He was wearing pajamas. “This is my cousin Constantine,” she said. “He’s staying here in the second bedroom. He and my Nick were very close and maybe some would say ‘appearances, appearances,’ but this is the twentieth century and it’s good to have a good friend in the second bedroom at a time like this.

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