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A
hot
spot
of
fear
formed
in
her
stomach
.
She
had
been
lucky
in
her
first
husband
.
He
was
weak
and
she
soon
found
the
valve
of
his
weakness
.
He
was
hopelessly
in
love
with
her
,
so
much
so
that
when
she
needed
a
divorce
he
did
not
ask
for
a
remarriage
clause
in
his
alimony
settlement
.
Her
second
husband
thought
she
had
a
private
fortune
and
so
she
had
.
He
didn
’
t
leave
her
much
when
he
died
,
but
,
with
the
alimony
from
her
first
husband
,
she
could
live
decently
,
dress
well
,
and
cast
about
at
leisure
.
Suppose
her
first
husband
should
die
!
There
was
the
fear
spot
.
There
was
the
night
—
or
daymare
—
the
monthly
-
check
-
mare
.
In
January
she
had
seen
him
at
that
great
wide
cross
of
Madison
Avenue
and
Fifty
-
seventh
Street
.
He
looked
old
and
gaunt
.
She
was
haunted
with
his
mortality
.
If
the
bastard
died
,
the
money
would
stop
.
She
thought
she
might
be
the
only
person
in
the
world
who
wholeheartedly
prayed
for
his
health
.
His
lean
,
silent
face
and
dead
eyes
came
on
her
memory
screen
now
and
touched
off
the
hot
spot
in
her
stomach
.
If
the
son
of
a
bitch
should
die
.
.
.
Margie
,
leaning
toward
the
mirror
,
paused
and
hurled
her
will
like
a
javelin
.
Her
chin
rose
;
the
ropes
dropped
back
;
her
eyes
shone
;
the
skin
snuggled
close
to
her
skull
;
her
shoulders
squared
.
She
stood
up
and
waltzed
in
a
deft
circle
on
the
deep
-
piled
red
carpet
.
Her
feet
were
bare
,
with
gleaming
pinkened
toenails
.
She
must
rush
,
she
must
hurry
,
before
it
was
too
late
.
She
flung
open
her
closet
and
laid
hands
on
the
sweet
,
provocative
dress
she
had
been
saving
for
the
Fourth
of
July
weekend
,
the
shoes
with
pencil
heels
,
the
stockings
more
sheer
than
no
stockings
at
all
.
There
was
no
languor
in
her
now
.
She
dressed
as
quickly
and
efficiently
as
a
butcher
whets
his
knife
and
she
checked
against
a
full
-
length
mirror
the
way
that
same
butcher
tests
his
blade
against
his
thumb
.
Speed
but
no
rush
,
speed
for
the
man
who
will
not
wait
,
and
then
—
the
casual
slowness
of
the
informed
,
the
smart
,
the
chic
,
the
confident
,
the
lady
with
pretty
legs
and
immaculate
white
gloves
.
No
man
she
passed
failed
to
look
after
her
.
Miller
Brothers
’
truckdriver
whistled
as
he
lumbered
by
with
lumber
and
two
high
-
school
boys
leveled
slitted
Valentino
eyes
at
her
and
painfully
swallowed
the
saliva
that
flooded
their
half
-
open
mouths
.
"
How
about
that
?
"
said
one
.
And
,
"
Yeah
!
"
the
other
replied
.
