The Spiked Heel

She rose swiftly, putting her cup down on the table and moving behind his chair. She did not know why she suddenly wanted to kiss him, but she knew that she wanted to. She leaned over and brushed her lips across his cheek, suddenly wanting to hold him very close, but she moved back, a little embarrassed by what she’d done.

“I… I’m sorry,” she said.

She stepped back from his chair. He was looking at her curiously, his hand dangling foolishly in the water, the coffee cup in his other hand.

“It’s…” She moved away from him and sat down, not wanting to see his face. “It’s tonight. It’s just a very crazy night. But I… I wanted to kiss you, Griff. I’m sorry…” She shook her head. “My God, I’m behaving as if I’ve, seduced you or something. Griff, what is it? Am I losing my mind?”

He smiled suddenly. “No.”

“But… but just the idea of McQuade hurting you like that… it… made me want to… to kiss you.” She shook her head again. She looked across the table at him, and again she felt this overwhelming desire to hold him close, to press his head to her breasts. She watched him, and she saw the cloud spread over his face as his smile vanished. His brows pulled together, and his eyes were suddenly murky and unfathomable.

“I… I didn’t mean to complicate things, Griff. I’m truly sorry.”

“No,” he said, “it isn’t that. I’m glad you kissed me. I’m very glad, Marge.” He looked up. “Believe me, Marge, I’m glad.”

“Well…”

“But it’s tonight, the way you say. Everything that happened tonight, the whole mixed-up sequence of events. Like… like stumbling through a fog, and suddenly bursting into sunlight. Like that, Marge. And all at once, all of it at once. I made a discovery tonight. No, Marge, come to think of it I made a lot of discoveries, and they aren’t all nice ones, and all of a sudden I’m afraid.”

“Afraid, Griff? Afraid of what?”

“When I followed you and McQuade out of the room, I was a little annoyed that I had to. I didn’t like McQuade, and I didn’t like the idea of having to fend him off, or of protecting you, or of… the whole thing, Marge, the whole damned thing. And then, suddenly, I felt all right doing what I was doing. When McQuade said what he said about you, I wanted to hit him in the mouth, but I—”

“What did he say?”

“That doesn’t matter, Marge. The important thing is that I wanted to hit him; oh, it was a silly idea because he could probably beat me senseless, but I wanted to hit him, anyway. And then he offered me his hand, and there was something inside me that said don’t take that slimy hand, but there was something else that couldn’t turn away a hand offered in friendship. Something… something like decency. When a man offers his hand, you take it. If you’re decent, you take it.

“And then… then McQuade turned the handshake into something else, and I realized that he didn’t have a decent shred in his body. And the discovery led to something else, a… a realization of his full power, and of just how loathsome that power is. And I wanted to do something against the power, but I was helpless. All I could do was take the pain he inflicted without crying out, without saying anything, and that somehow left me with some pride; groveling at his feet I still had a measure of pride.

“But the pride wasn’t enough, Marge. McQuade was the victor, and he’d stamped me right into the ground, and he’d tossed me a girl like a crumb he didn’t want any more, something I didn’t really want, to tell the truth. And then I started to get scared. In the cab I started to get scared. He had stopped himself before he mangled my hand to ribbons, but suppose he hadn’t stopped, suppose he’d gone right on, suppose he’d crushed the hand, and then suppose he’d raped you, or whatever the hell, suppose he’d done all that, what had I done to stop him, what had I done to stop him in the very beginning when he still could have been stopped?

“And his power frightened me. His power was like a huge thing that couldn’t be touched now, before which we’re all helpless. And in my fright, I got selfish. I began to wonder and worry about my job. I’m sure I’ll be fired, Marge, I’m sure as hell he’ll fire me Monday morning, but something inside me told me the job wasn’t the important thing to worry about. McQuade was. McQuade had to be stopped, but I didn’t know how to stop him, so help me I didn’t know how.”

“Griff…”