S is for Silence

Winston held open the plateglass door, allowing violet to pass through. Kathy caught sight of a big blue bruise on her chin. Violet was all the time walking around like that, making no effort whatever to cover the marks. No dark glasses. No makeup. No wide-brimmed hat, which might have helped. She went about her errands-supermarket, post office, walking Daisy to school-with one or both eyes black, cheek swollen, her lips puffy and plump from one of Foley’s blows. She made no excuses and she never explained, which left Foley looking like a fool. How could he defend himself when she never accused him of anything? Everyone in town knew he hit her, but no one intervened. That was considered their personal business, though Kathy’s mother often said it was a total disgrace. Kathy’s mother thought Violet was trash and she said Liza was asking for trouble if she hung out with her. Just the night before, sitting at the top of the stairs while her parents were in the living room, she heard her mother talking about Violet and Jake Ottweiler, who’d been seen slow-dancing at the Blue Moon. Violet was oversexed, a regular nymphomaniac (whatever that was), and her mother was disgusted that Jake would have anything to do with her. She was getting all worked up, her voice rising (which made it easier for Kathy to hear) when her father blew his stack. “Christ, Livia! Is that all you have to do, sit around and pass along ugly gossip? What the hell is wrong with you?!”

They’d argued, and her mother had hushed him because she was worried Kathy might overhear them. Personally, she’d agreed with her mother. Violet was a tramp. Kathy picked up a batch of papers and crossed to the filing cabinet by the door so she could hear what Violet and Winston said. The two were focused on the car and didn’t seem to notice her hovering nearby. Winston was saying, “Make no mistake, this is not your basic sedan. This is Chevrolet’s five-passenger coupe. 235 engine, Powerglide, dual carbs, and exhaust. Full hub caps, even has a beehive oil filter, if you can imagine such a thing.”

Violet clearly didn’t know a filter from a fish fillet. “It’s the color I love,” she said, ru

“The color’s custom-only one of its kind. Know what it’s called? ‘Violet Slate.’ I kid you not.”

Violet flashed him a smile. She made a point of wearing shades of violet: purple, lavender, lilac, mauve. Winston leaned past her and opened the door on the driver’s side, revealing the orchid pink trim on the lower dash panel. “Here, have a seat.” He cranked down the window and then stood back so she could get a better view. The seats were plush, trimmed in a robin’s egg blue with insets and side panels in a pink-and-blue pattern that looked like flame-stitching, the two colors bleeding into each other to form violet shade. When the car had come in, Mr. Cramer had opened the trunk for Kathy, showing her the interior, which was upholstered in the exact same two shades. Even the spare tire in the wheel mount was covered in blue plush, like a tire cozy.

Violet slid in behind the wheel, hands at ten o’clock and two o’clock, nearly feverish with excitement. “It’s beautiful. I love this!” She ran a reverent hand across the seat. “How much?”

Winston laughed, thinking she was making a joke.

“What’s so fu

He stared at the toe of his shoe, looking up at her from under dark lashes, dimples showing, his brow furrowing. “Well, nothing, Mrs. Sullivan, but I believe it’s beyond your means. I know it’s beyond mine.”

“I’ve got money.”

“Not this much,” he said, in a jocular tone, keeping things light. Kathy could see he was trying to cushion her disappointment when he told her the price. She thought Violet was getting a bit above herself, putting on airs. Boy, was she in for a rude surprise.

Violet’s smile faded. “You think I can’t afford to buy a nice car like this?”

“I didn’t say that, Mrs. Sullivan. By no means.”

Kathy couldn’t believe the woman was still pushing the point, but Violet said, “Then answer my question.”

“Sticker price is $2,375. My boss might be willing to dicker some, but not a lot. Car like this is considered top of the line and there’s not much wiggle room, as we like to say.”

Kathy checked Violet’s expression, hoping she’d realize how far out of line she was. Violet kept her eyes on Winston, who seemed somewhat distracted by the gap that appeared at the neck of her dress, which was cut low to begin with. She said, “I’d want to take it for a test drive.”

“Well, sure. We can arrange that.”

She extended her hand out the window, palm up. “You have the keys?”

“No, not on me. They’d be in the office… in there,” he said, gesturing u

“Well, Winston, you’ll have to go and get them. You think you can manage that?” Her tone was silky and flirtatious even though what she said seemed insulting to Kathy’s ear.

“Unfortunately, my boss has gone to lunch, and I’m the only one on the lot.”

“And?”

“And, you know, I can’t just take off, because he left me in charge.”

“If I’m not mistaken, there’s a mechanic on the premises. Two of them, in fact. What’s that one’s name? Floyd, isn’t it?”

Both Kathy and Winston checked the service bay where Floyd could be seen, servicing a used car that had just come in. Mr. Padgett had been talking about a trade-in but then decided he’d hold off until fall when the new ‘54 models arrived. In the meantime, he’d said he’d just as soon have the cash in hand, so he’d sold it outright.

Winston seem relieved, as though Violet had given him the perfect out. “Mrs. Sullivan, Floyd can’t work the floor. He wouldn’t know what to do any more than I could go back in the service bay and do his job for him.”

“Why do I need you? All I’m going to do is drive around the block. Don’t you trust me?”

Winston’s Adam’s apple dipped. “I do. It’s not that. I just think it’d be better to wait until my boss gets back so you can talk to him. He knows this car inside and out, far better than I do. Besides, if it comes to that, he’s the one who handles all the paperwork, so it only makes sense.”

“Paperwork?”

“You know, down payment, terms-stuff like that. You’d have to have your husband come in and sign.”

Violet was amused. “Why? Foley doesn’t have a dime. I intend to pay cash.”

“Outright?”

“Do you know how much money I have? I’m not supposed to tell, but I know I can count on your discretion,” she said, lowering her voice.

“You shouldn’t be telling me anything personal, Mrs. Sullivan. You should talk to Mr. Cramer about your finances.”

“Fifty thousand dollars.”

Winston laughed, u

“Of course. Why would I joke about a thing like that?”

“What’d you do, rob a bank?”

“It was an insurance settlement. I wanted more, but that’s what the company offered me right off the bat. My lawyer said take it, so that’s what I did. The two were probably in cahoots. I’ve never even told Foley the full amount. He’d be on me in a flash and squander every dime. See this?” Violet pointed to the bruise on her chin. “One day Foley’s going to push me too far and that’s it. I’ll be gone. The money’s my ticket out.” She held out her hand. “Now. May I have the keys?”

Kathy watched Winston struggle with the request. She knew he wasn’t much for confrontation, especially with a woman like Violet. On the other hand, she knew her dad had given him explicit instructions: No test drive without a salesman. No leaving the floor unattended.

“What’s your commission on a sale like this?” Violet asked, as though the sale was a foregone conclusion.

“Somewhere in the neighborhood of four percent.”

“Enough to cover your tuition and books for the next two years, or am I wrong about that?”