my chest of sadness. This car feels like driving a speed boat. I will stop in open sea and have a laugh with a perfect stranger passing in another racy craft.
"Miss Tomson, I think I'm lost."
"God."
"Think you better drive and I'll direct the way."
Smith pulling to the side of the road. Near an apple tree. Stone wall and bushes and pines. Miss Tomson sliding across. Discreet Smith, opening his door, taking one momentary look at one momentary pair of knees. Lightning brightening up the sky.
"I'll survey the damage, Miss Tomson,"
Shielding eyes against the head lamps. Feeling the front bumpers and fenders. Patting them. Backing the front tires in an off hand professional manner as one has seen Herbert the Chauffeur do.
"Miss Tomson, glad to say. Not bad fettle. Crack in the head lamp. Few dents. Obviously our adversaries car was of inferior quality."
Smith climbing back into the long vehicle. Faint dog smell of Goliath. His hairs on the floor carpet. Think of somewhere to go. Behind Miss Tomson's ear. With lips. And travel a nose into her hair. Slight sprinkle of mud on her would be more beauty than ever. To see her feet without shoes, my God. She lights a cigarette. Go down with that smoke into her lungs and lie there. Buried in her blond chest. Be her baby. Infantile though that be. Her dog shot down in warm blood, her car in collision. And she sits so calm.
"Miss Tomson before we drive off. I want to say I think you're a real sport."
"Do you."
"Yes. You could have blamed me. You had every right to do so. To lash out with words."
"Smith."
"Yes."
"You want the truth."
"Please."
"I am going to lash out."
"O."
"I'm windy about that guy we hit. He might be looking for a small source of income for life. Like dear Sir we would like to bleed you white, taking it in easy stages, so the blood lasts, you know what I mean Smith."
"I think so, Miss Tomson."
"Someone gets crosseyed trying to look in your window while you're undressing and they sue you for it."
Lips widening on Miss Tomson's jaw. A smile like the whole world is going to break down in general laughter. I die to put my mouth on hers. Touch each one of those white white teeth.
"You're not bitter Miss Tomson."
"No Smith."
"What makes you smile."
"Just thought of that newspaper report about you. I want to know, did you really fart or something on the steps of Dynamo House. Report it to the Sanitation Department, that was rich. I read it about twenty times. Sweet, a crowd gathering around to watch you. Smith you should find some nice girl marry and have kids."
Miss Tomson starting the immense engine. Any wind she made would be mystical. Not like some of the dust raisers Bonniface has sent up in his time, blowing out window panes, joining a little group known as the Musical Dynamiters. He lies when he says membership is confined to those who can backfire in morse code.
An exquisite driver Miss Tomson. Hands so lightly on the steering. Each cog enslaved by her touch. Ahead a house behind three great pines. White porch. Closed up for night.
"Miss Tomson. I'll find out where we are."
"Gee we just can't bang on someone's door. You'll get shot this time of night."
"Nonsense. I know how to handle hicks."
Smith in the rain. Softening now. Faint flash of moon. Miss Tomson's black vehicle purring under these high evergreens. Tall gate in the iron fence. Hammock tied between two pines. Stone path round the house and another to the wide porch. All the pine cones. Windows from ceiling to floor. Saturday with all Sunday ahead. My throat is dry. Squeak up courage. How can I say it. I want her body next to mine. Hide from all the coming snows. Taste her golden juice. A hidden spring in the nicest little mound of hair in all the world. Go out of my mind thinking like this. Come back realism, big monolithic friend. Miss Tomson says find some nice girl. Have kiddies. Gather little problems, drown in one big one. Rap this door five times. Way to deal with hicks out here, let them know one is a slicker right off. Have a correspondence while waiting.
Dear Sir,
Where are you. So much cash is missing, we would feel better if we knew.
Yours,
Those Who Had Faith
In You
P.S. We abided by your regulations, won't you even give us an inkling.
Dear Investors:
It so happens I was reflecting in my