Rose Madder

“Bill, these are the people I work with,” Rosie said. Instead of subsiding, the heat continued to rise in her cheeks.

“Rhoda Simons and Curtis Hamilton. Rhoda, Curt, this is-” For one brief, abysmally black second she found herself completely unable to remember the name of this man who already meant so much to her. Then, thankfully, it came.

“Bill Steiner,” she finished.

“Goodtameetcha,” Curt said, and shook Bill’s hand. He glanced toward the building, clearly ready to slide his head back between the earphones.

“Any friend of Rosie’s, as the saying goes,” Rhoda said, and held out her own hand. The slim bracelets on her wrist jangled mutedly.

“My pleasure,” Bill said, and turned back to Rosie.

“Are we still on for Saturday?” She thought furiously, then nodded.

“I’ll pick you up at eight-thirty. Remember to dress warm.”

“I will.” She could feel the blush spreading all the way down her body now, turning her nipples hard and even making her fingers tingle. The way he was looking at her hit that hot-button again, but this time it was more attractive than scary. She was suddenly struck by an urge-comical but amazingly strong, nevertheless-to put her arms around him… and her legs… and then simply climb him like a tree.

“Well, I’ll see you, then,” Bill said. He bent forward and pecked the corner of her mouth.

“Rhoda, Curtis, it was nice to meet you.” He turned and walked off, whistling.

“I’ll say this for you, Rosie, your taste is excellent,” Rhoda said.

“Those eyes!”

“We’re just friends,” Rosie said awkwardly.

“I met him…” She trailed off. Suddenly explaining how she had met him seemed complicated, not to mention embarrassing. She shrugged, laughed nervously.

“Well, you know.”

“Yes, I do,” Rhoda said, watching Bill’s progress up the street. Then she turned back to Rosie and laughed delightedly.

“I do know. Within this old wreck of femininity there beats the heart of a true romantic. One who hopes you and Mr Steiner will be very good friends. Meantime, are you ready to go back at it?”

“Yes,” Rosie said.

“Are we going to see an improvement over this morning, now that you’ve got your… other business more or less in order?”

“I’m sure there will be a big improvement,” Rosie said, and there was.

VI. THE TEMPLE OF THE BULL

Before going to bed that Thursday night, Rosie plugged in her new phone again and used it to call A

“Thanks, Rosie,” A

“Peter was a strange and difficult man. He loved people, but he wasn’t very loveable himself

“He seemed very nice to me.”

“I’m sure. To strangers he was the Good Samaritan. To his family and the people who tried to be his friends-I’ve belonged to both groups, so I know-he was more like the Levite who passed by on the other side. Once, during Thanksgiving di

“There’s going to be a remembrance circle for him Saturday afternoon-we all sit around in folding chairs, like drunks at an AA meeting, and take turns talking about him. At least I think that’s what we do.”

“It sounds nice.” “do you think so?” A

“If it was Norman who did it-”

“I knew that was coming,” A

“I’ve been working with women who’ve been bent, folded, stapled, and mutilated for a lot of years, and I know the masochistic grandiosity they develop. It’s as much a part of the battered-woman syndrome as the disassociation and the depression. Do you remember when the space shuttle Challenger exploded?”

“Yes…” Rosie was mystified, but she remembered, all right.

“Later that day, I had a woman come to me in tears. There were red marks all over her cheeks and arms; she’d been slapping and pinching herself. She said it was her fault those men and that nice woman teacher had died. When I asked why, she explained she’d written not one but two letters supporting the ma

“After awhile, battered women start accepting the blame, that’s all. And not just for some things, either-for everything.” Rosie thought of Bill, walking her back to the Corn Building with his arm around her waist. Don’t say fault, he’d told her. You didn’t make Norman.

“I didn’t understand that part of the syndrome for a long time,” A

“I don’t understand.”

“Yes, you do,” A

Twenty minutes after saying goodbye to A