When Gravity Fails

The drink came and I paid for it. I sipped at it, asking myself why I’d thought sitting here would help me forget my problems. Then she drifted up to me, moving in an unhuman slow-motion as if she were half-asleep or drugged. It didn’t show in her smile or her speech, though. “Do you mind if I sit with you?” Trudi asked.

“Of course not.” I smiled graciously at her, but my mind was roiling with questions.

She told the barman she wanted peppermint schnapps. I would have put fifty kiam on that. I waited until she got her drink; I paid for it, and she thanked me with another languorous smile.

“How do you feel?” I asked.

She wrinkled her nose. “What do you mean?”

“After answering questions all day for the lieutenant’s men.”

“Oh, they were all as nice as they could be.”

I didn’t say anything for a few seconds. “How did you find me?”

“Well,” she gestured vaguely, “I knew you were staying here. You brought me here this afternoon. And your name—”

“I never told you my name.”

“ — I heard it from the policemen.”

“And you recognized me? Though I don’t look anything like the way I did when you met me? Even though I’ve never worn clothes like these before or been without my beard?”

She gave me one of those smiles that tell you that men are such fools. “Aren’t you glad to see me?” she asked, with that glaze of hurt feelings that the Trudies do so well.

I went back to my gin. “One of the reasons I came down to the bar. Just on the chance you’d come in.”

“And here I am.”

“I’ll always remember that,” I said. “Would you excuse me? I’m a couple drinks ahead of you.”

“Sure, I’ll be fine.”

“Thanks.” I went off to the men’s room, got myself in a stall, and unclipped my phone. I called Okking’s number. A voice I didn’t recognize told me he was in his office, asleep for the night, and he wasn’t going to be awakened except for an emergency. Was this an emergency? I said I didn’t think so, but that if it was I’d get back to him. I asked for Hajjar, but he was out on an investigation. I got Hajjar’s number and punched it.

He let his phone ring a while. I wondered if he were really investigating anything or just soaking up ambience. “What is it?” he snarled.

“Hayar? You sound out of breath. Lifting weights or something?”

“Who is this? How’d you get—”

“Audran. Okking’s out for the night. Listen, what did you learn from Seipolt’s blonde?”

The phone went mute for a moment, then Hajjar’s voice came back on, a little more friendly. “Trudi? We knocked her out, dug around as deep as we could, and brought her back up. She didn’t know anything. That worried us, so we put her out a second time. Nobody should know as much nothing as she does and still be alive. But she’s clean, Audran. I’ve known tent stakes that had more going for them than she does, but all she knows about Seipolt is his first name.”

“Then why is she still alive and Seipolt and the others aren’t?”

“The killer didn’t know she was there. Xarghis Khan would have jammed the living daylights out of her, then maybe killed her. As it happened, our Trudi was in her room taking a nap after lunch. She doesn’t remember if she locked her door. She’s alive because she’d only been there a few days and she wasn’t part of the regular household.”

“How’d she react to the news?”

“We fed her the facts while she was under, and took out all the horribleness for her. It’s like she read about it in the papers.”

“Praise Allah, you cops are nice. Did you put anybody on her when she left?”

“You see anybody?”

That stung me. “What makes you so sure I’m with her?”

“Why else would you be calling me about her this time of night? She’s clean, sucker, as far as we could tell. As for anything else, well, we didn’t give her a blood test, so you’re on your own.” The line went dead.

I grimaced, clipped the phone back on my belt, and went out to the bar. I spent the rest of that gin and tonic looking for Trudi’s shadow, but I didn’t see a likely candidate. We went out to have something to eat, to give me the chance to ease my mind. By the end of the supper, I was sure no one was following either Trudi or me. We went back to the bar and had a few more drinks and got to know each other. She decided we knew each other well enough just before midnight. “It’s kind of noisy in here, isn’t it?” she said. I nodded solemnly. There were only three other people in the bar now, and that included the block of wood who was making our drinks. It was just that time when either Trudi or I had to say something stupid, and she beat me to it. It was right then that I simultaneously misplaced my caution and decided to teach Yasmin a lesson. Listen, I was mildly drunk, I was depressed and lonely, Trudi was really a sweet girl and absolutely gorgeous — how many do you need?

When we went upstairs, Trudi smiled at me and kissed me a few times, slowly and deeply, as though morning wasn’t coming until after lunch some time. Then she told me it was her turn to use the bathroom. I waited for her to close the door, then I called down to the desk and asked them to be sure I was awake by seven the next morning. I took out the small plastic needle gun, threw back the bedspread, and hid the weapon quickly. Trudi came out of the bathroom with her dress hanging loosely, its fastenings left undone. She smiled at me, a lazy, knowing smile. As she came toward me, my only thought was that this would be the first time I’d ever gone to sleep with a gun under my pillow.

“What are you thinking about?” she asked.

“Oh, just that you don’t look bad, for a real girl.”

“You don’t like real girls?” she whispered in my ear.

“I just haven’t been with one for a while. It’s just worked out that way.”

“You like toys better?” she murmured, but there was no more room for discussion.

Chapter 17

When the phone rang, I was dreaming that my mother was shouting at me. She was screaming so loud that I couldn’t recognize her, I just knew it was her. We started arguing about Yasmin, but that changed; we fought about living in the city, and we fought about how I could never be expected to understand anything because the only thing I ever thought about was myself. My part was limited to crying “I am not!” while my heart thudded in my sleep.

I thrashed awake, bleary and still tired. I squinted at the phone, then picked it up. A voice said, “Good morning. Seven o’clock.” Then there was a click. I put the phone back and sat up in bed. I took a deep breath that hesitated and hitched two or three times on the way in. I wanted to go back to sleep, even if it meant nightmares. I didn’t want to get up and face another day like yesterday.

Trudi wasn’t in bed. I swung my feet to the floor and walked naked around the small hotel room. She wasn’t in the bathroom, either, but she had written a note for me and left it on the bureau. It said:

Dear Marîd —

Thanks for everything. You’re a dear, sweet man. I hope we meet again sometime.

I have to go now, so I’m sure you won’t mind if I borrow the fare from your wallet.

Love ya,

Trudi

(My real name is Gunter Erich von S. You mean you really didn’t know, or were you just being nice?)

There is very little I’ve missed in my life, as far as sex goes. My secret fantasies don’t concern what, they concern who. I’d seen and heard everything, I thought. The only thing I’d never heard faked — until, evidently, last night — was that involuntary animal catch in a woman’s breathing, the very first one, before the lovemaking has even had time to become rhythmical. I glanced down at Trudi’s note again, remembering all the times Jacques, Mahmoud, Saied, and I had sat at a table at the Solace, watching people walk by. “Oh, her? She’s a female-to-male sex-change in drag.” I could read everybody. I was famous for it.