That night I dreamed that there were agents of some malevolent power prowling around on my porch. I woke up at 3:00 A.M. wondering if I had really heard something. I found an envelope lying just outside the front door.
“She was here about five minutes ago,” a voice said.
I yelped and jumped like a frightened eight-year-old.
Irene Littleneck was standing at the foot of the stairs, grinning at my little-girl shriek.
“I came over to see if she did something, but it was just a letter so I was going back. Then you come blunderin’ down.”
“It was a woman?”
“The one that came and moved all that stuff outta your house with that Puerto Rican boy.”
“You were sitting outside?” I asked. It felt nice to have words with a neighbor even if it was 3:00 in the morning and I was running a private prison in my home.
“Havin’ a cigarette,” she said. “You know Chastity’s too sick for me to smoke in the house. Doctor said that her lungs are too weak.”
Irene had always been old. When I was five, she was in her fifties. She and her sister, Chastity, used to come over and visit with my mother and Brent. I think Irene was sweet on my sour uncle.
“Oh,” I said. “How is your sister, Miss Littleneck?”
“Not so good, Charles. She’s been in that bed for almost a year now. I make her walk around the room twice a day, but it’s getting harder and harder to get her up.”
The sadness in Irene’s voice was pitiful. She and Chastity had lived together their entire lives. But the only time I ever saw Chastity in the previous five years was when the ambulance came now and then to take her off to the hospital for some kind of treatment.
“I’m sorry to hear it, Miss Littleneck. If you need anything, just come over and ask, okay? If I’m not here just leave me a note.”
“Oh, thank you, Charles. Thank you. Thank you.” She was too far away to touch me, but she held out a thin hand anyway. Her gratitude was beyond anything I had said or done.
“Well,” I said. “I better be getting back to bed. Good night.”
“Good night,” she said, but she didn’t move until I went back inside my door.
Dear Mr. Blakey,
I apologize for getting off the phone so abruptly the other night. I called back the next day, but there was no answer. Tonight I was up late working on my book and I decided to write you.
I’m sorry for not giving you a chance to express your feelings about your business. I suppose that we’re just of different temperaments and shouldn’t try to force communication. But I want you to know that I do respect your wishes and I will execute the sale of your property with the utmost professionalism.
Sincerely,
Narciss Gully
The only reason I mention the letter here is to document how much my life had changed. Not my life exactly but the circumstances of my world. Narciss wanted me to call her, that is what I believed. She was up in the middle of the night thinking about me, trying to get me out of her head and then trying to write me out of, or into, her life.
All that and I was no closer to love.
I made coffee and plans instead of going to bed. I wanted something. I didn’t know exactly what that something was, but I was pretty sure that Anniston Bennet was the key. I had to come to a deal with him, an understanding. But up until then I felt that he was in control of every interaction even though he was the one locked up.
I read Narciss’s letter a dozen times while thinking in the back of my mind about Bennet.
She answered on the first ring. “Hello.” It was 5:00 in the morning by then.
“Hey, Narciss,” I said. “I just found your note.”
“You’re up early,” she said.
“Let’s have lunch tomorrow. You know, not later today but the next day.”
“I don’t know.”
“The Japanese place in Sag Harbor is open for lunch, I think. Let’s go there,” I said.
“What time?”
“One-thirty. We can go at one-thirty and avoid a lunch crowd.”
“I don’t know if I should, Mr. Blakey.”
“The name is Charles and don’t think about it, just meet me. I won’t bite and I won’t make you see me again if you don’t want.”
“Are we going to talk business?”
“No. No business. I just want to clear up a couple of things.”
She hesitated. I heard a tapping on her end of the line.
“I don’t do much dating . . .”
“I just want to get together. It’s not a date. It’s lunch.”
“Okay. One-thirty tomorrow.”
“See ya then.”
“Okay. Bye.”
“Good morning, Mr. Bennet,” I said at 6:45.
I snapped on the light and he jerked up from his mattress on the floor.
“Good morning.”
I shoved the cold cereal and fruit under the door and sat on the trunk.
“Here’s the deal,” I said.
Bennet sat in his red chair and ran his hand down across his face until he was clasping his throat.
“Go on,” he said.
“Everything is a privilege. Food is a privilege and so is water and light and the books to read. If you want me to be the warden of your life, then that’s just what I’ll be.”
“How do I earn these privileges?” Bennet asked. He was very serious.
“I will ask you questions. And you will answer them. If you refuse or I don’t like your answers, then a privilege will be taken away. If I don’t like your attitude, I will suspend privileges. If you lie, the same thing.”
“But how will you know if I’m lying?”
“You will have to prove it to me.”
For some reason that answer made Bennet flinch.
“And what are my rights?” he asked.
“You have only one right in here,” I said. “At any time you can ask to be released. And then, ninety-six hours after that request, I will open the door and you can go.”
“Don’t forget your money.”
“I don’t care about the money. All I care about is my rules in my jail.”
“And why the ninety-six-hour delay?”
“Because you’re not going to be the boss here. This is my house. If you want to play some stupid game, you have to play by my rules. And believe me, if you say tomorrow that you want out, I will turn out the light and leave you down here with nothing but a mug of water for four days.”
I believe that that was the first time I saw the true Anniston Bennet. All artifice was gone from his face. His brow knitted and his fingers did a jittery little dance.
“And if I don’t answer your questions to your satisfaction?” he asked.
“Same thing,” I said. “Solitary confinement. No light. Bread and water. For four days.”
“What is this, Charles? Do you think you can break me?”
“This is my home,” I said. “My home, my rules.”
“How long do I have to think about this?”
“Right now. Right now. Either you say that you agree or I pull your ass outta there and drive you to the train station in those pajamas.”
Underneath the glowering eyes a smile came to Anniston Bennet’s lips.
“I will agree on one condition,” he said.
“What’s that?”
“Even though I might not exercise the option, I reserve the right to ask you one question for every three you ask of me. And you give me your word that you will answer as honestly as you can.”
“Deal,” I said.
“And if I answer the question you ask of me, that is, if you believe my answer, then I won’t be punished because your question was inadequate. Also you have to ask specific questions and not something like Tell me everything about this or that.”
“Okay,” I said. I had already thought about the types of questions that would be fair. I agreed with his reservations. I believed that if I couldn’t ask the question, then I didn’t deserve an answer. “Okay. I’ll be specific and I will say why I don’t believe something.”
Anniston Bennet nodded his agreement. He was deadly serious. I can’t even begin to explain how I felt.