the drink in a gulp, pushed through the swinging kitchen doors and marched up to Roger who was staring out their window at the red neon letters of Zucco’s Meats that blazed into their bedroom night after night.
She slapped Roger across the face. “You’ve got to keep it together or we’ll never get away with this.”
His tears stopped, but now he looked hurt. He hugged his knees tighter. Dottie huffed and went out to sleep on the couch.
2.
D OTTIE GRABBED ROGER BY both shoulders and shook. “Come on, wake up!”
He grunted and grabbed his temples—clearly hungover.
“You’ve got to make it to work,” she said. “You’ve got to act like everything is normal.”
Roger let out a long groan and kept his eyes shut.
Disgusted, Dottie stood and went to the kitchen to check on the coffee. She poured herself a cup and poured a mug for Roger as well. She had the same sinking thought as the night before: He’s going to screw this up.
If Roger got sent away, she’d have to get a job again. Her only trade wasn’t one she was anxious to return to. Since she had quit entertaining gentlemen for a living, Dottie had put on almost ten pounds, and she liked the way it looked on her. A little fat on a lady showed she led a life of ease. It was the skinny ones you knew were hard up for a crust of bread. The ones who would do anything. The ones so easily taken advantage of.
That wasn’t Dottie anymore. Not if she could help it.
So she didn’t marry a Rockefeller. Roger gave her a warm bed, all the meat she could cook, and puppy dog devotion. Only after they were married for a few months did she realize his spine was soft as uncooked dough.
Dottie brought Roger his coffee, shook him until he got out of bed and explained to him his new predicament as he got dressed.
“If you don’t want everyone in town to know you offed Zucco, then you better act just as surprised as anyone that he’s missing. You don’t know anything, you didn’t see anything.”
“Did you…?” He looked at Dottie with bloodshot eyes. “Where is he?”
“The less you know, the better.” She checked the clock. “Now, you’ve got about five minutes to make it down and open up for the day. Zucco’s been late before so it’s nothing new. Treat this like any other day, you hear me?”
“But, Dot,” he said, on the verge of tears again. “What am I gonna do?”
“I just told you what you’re gonna do. I can’t do it for you.” She tossed a freshly laundered apron at him. “You want to hit a guy with a cleaver five or six times, you deal with the consequences.”
Dottie stood over him until he was ready to go.
3.
S HE BROUGHT HIM LUNCH at noon. He looked a mess, but that could easily be shrugged off on the hangover.
Mrs. Eastway was giving her order at the counter when Dottie walked in.
“And trim the fat, but not all the way. You need a little bit of fat in your diet you know.”
“Yes, Mrs. Eastway,” Roger said. Even his voice was weak.
“Hello Mrs. Eastway,” Dottie said.
“Oh, hello.”
“Roger, dear. I brought lunch.” She held up a sandwich wrapped in wax paper.
Roger smiled weakly and nodded to her. He cut Mrs. Eastway’s beef with a long knife. When he reached the bone he leaned both hands on the blade, trying to force it through. Dottie noticed the meat cleaver still hung on the rack where she returned it last night after she plucked it from Zucco’s chest and cleaned it.
Roger couldn’t bring himself to hold it again.
From out of the back came Mrs. Zucco. She was young, like Dottie, same blonde hair, same great figure. Completely different history. Mrs. Zucco went to private school, never was a taxi dancer. Never was any other kind of dancer, not like Dottie.
She held a handful of receipts and her face was pinched like she had a headache.
“Hello, Loraine,” Dottie said.
Loraine looked up, noticing her for the first time. “Hi, Dot.”
They were never friends, despite the hours they spent in