Free Carla by Lawrence Block Page A

mind. I don’t love you and I don’t want you and I couldn’t care less if you dropped dead tomorrow. I don’t want to see you or look at you or have you anywhere near me. Why can’t you get out and leave me alone?”
    â€œBecause I love you,” The words were almost savage.
    â€œYou are crazy . Well, I don’t love you.”
    â€œYou did.”
    She sighed. “You fool. I wanted a man and you were there so I let you have me. That’s all. Period. If you think—”
    His jaw was stubborn. “Not the way it happened. There was more than just wanting a man. It was us, Carla. Us. I’ve been around, baby. You’re not the first woman I’ve had. And you wanted more than a man. You wanted me.”
    â€œOh, Christ!” She shook her head fiercely and drew a cigarette from the pack in her purse, lighting it and drawing deeply on it.
    â€œDo you really think it was you that I wanted?” she demanded. “Is that what you think?”
    â€œThat’s exactly what I think.”
    â€œYou’re wrong.”
    â€œAm I?”
    She nodded. “You’re completely wrong. Take a look around you, you blockhead. You think I want to give this place up for a stinking gas-pump jockey? You think I want to trade this place for a stinking flat and a houseful of brats? You think I want a man who comes home reeking of grease and gasoline?”
    â€œI—”
    She drew again on the cigarette and blew out a cloud of smoke. “You fool,” she said again. “Just what do you think you want? You want me, do you? What do you mean? You want me to roll around on the floor with you? You want to take me on the floor whenever I get a tankful of gas?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œWell?”
    â€œI want to marry you.”
    Carla felt numb all over. What did this idiot think he was saying? She couldn’t even begin to think what it would mean to be married to a man like Danny Rand, to trade Nottingham Terrace for a cold-water flat. The idea of going back to the same kind of slum she worked so desperately to escape made her sick to her stomach. She wanted to scream for help, to shout for somebody, anybody, to come and get him away from her. She couldn’t even answer him, could not even start to tell him how insane he was and how much she loathed him. Her mouth opened and shut involuntarily as she watched him stand up from his chair and take a step toward her. A muscular hand reached out for her and she shrank back against her chair to escape his touch.
    â€œGet away,” she said, her voice taut.
    â€œCarla—”
    â€œAnd don’t call me Carla. Just get out and don’t ever come here again.”
    â€œI—”
    â€œGet out,” she snapped, feeling a sensation of power returning to her. “My husband is coming home any minute and if he sees you here he’ll kill you.”
    â€œI’m not afraid of him.”
    â€œYou should be,” she said, realizing at the same time that she was talking to a man who would not be afraid of anybody. “You should be afraid of him. He could buy you and sell you a dozen times over. “But that’s not all. If you don’t get out at once I’ll scream. I’ll tell the police that you came in here and tried to rape me, and whose word do you think they’ll take? Mrs. Ronald Macon’s or a gas-pump punk’s?” He was silent.
    â€œYou can’t prove a thing,” she continued, her voice filled with self-assurance. “You can’t prove you ever met me before or anything else. You can just get out of here and go back to your rotten little gas station and stay away from me from here on in. And to think I was going to pay you blackmail money! You can’t touch me, Mr. Danny Rand. Now get out!”
    â€œAll right,” he said. “I’m going. But get this: I’m going to be back and you’re going to want me back. You think