Rough Trade

Chrissy and Jeff kept their liquor.
    “What, no champagne?” he demanded unpleasantly, as he wheeled around, arms extended, taking in the room. Without even noticing he knocked a pair of Herend rabbits from an end table with his lead pipe and just went on talking, seemingly oblivious to the fact that he’d broken anything. “A place like this—I’d a thought champagne’d come out when you turned on the goddamned faucet.”
    “Let me go see,” I offered, I hoped casually. “Perhaps there’s a bottle in the back of the fridge.”
    Stepping gingerly over the shards of shattered china, I began making my way into the kitchen. Three more steps and I would have been home free, but the Jester grabbed me just short of the door, jerked me roughly by the arm, and pulled me violently toward him. In his other hand was a silver-framed photograph he’d picked up from among the dozen or so clustered on a console table. It was a wedding picture of Chrissy and Jeff. He held it up, adjusting its distance to his face as he struggled to get his eyes to focus on the picture. Then he held the photograph up to my face before he let it drop to the floor.
    I made a move to get away, but he yanked me closer. “Who the fuck are you?” he demanded in an ugly voice. “What do you mean?” I asked stupidly.
    “Don’t you play games with me!” he shouted, shaking me. I tried to break free, but his grip was too tight and the silk of my blouse was too sturdy to tear. “Who the fuck are you?”
    “My name’s Kate,” I said. “I’m house-sitting for the Rendells while they’re out of town.”
    “Bullshit!” he spat. “That is complete and utter bullshit !” His eyes darted around the room, taking in the pair of tea cups Chrissy and I had left on the coffee table for the first time. On his face I saw the flickering realization that he and I were not alone. “Get your ass down here, now!” he shouted to the house at large. “Get your ass down here now before I beat the crap out of her.”
    “I told you, there’s no one here but me,” I protested in as loud a voice as I dared, praying that Chrissy could hear the warning in my voice and stay where she was. Even if he decided to get rough, I figured I could hold out until the cops showed up. I must have been watching too many movies.
    The first blow hit me on the shoulder and sent me to my knees, the whole world instantly turning red with pain. Then he picked me up by the front of my blouse and hurled me against the wall. A picture clattered down from the wall, smashing against the floor, but the impact knocked the wind out of me and I went down like a sack of flour, oblivious to everything except the desperate struggle to suck down air.
    “You better come on down before I smash her skull in!” he bellowed gleefully, warming to the task.
    Instinctively I rolled up into a ball, trying to protect myself from the blows that began to rain down on me from the pipe. I had completely lost my ability to process any thought more complicated than basic survival. My entire world had been instantly distilled to two objects—my body and the pipe. I was vaguely aware of someone sobbing and realized, somewhat belatedly, that it was me.
    The blows stopped as abruptly as they’d begun, but it I took me longer than it should have to grasp the significance of this. I rolled pitifully onto my side, my mouth rapidly filling with blood, just in time to see Chrissy enter the room.
    “Well, lookee here,” exclaimed the Jester. “If it isn’t the queen of the Monarchs’ court. Where’s your chickenshit husband?”
    “He’s on his way to L.A.,” replied Chrissy in a terrified voice. Her eyes flickered involuntarily toward the stairs that led up to the nursery as the Jester beckoned to her to come closer. As soon as she was within reach he grabbed her by her hair, yanked her to his side, and pushed her to her knees like a recalcitrant dog being taught to heel.
    The Jester looked around the room as if trying to decide what to do next. I swallowed blood and probed for loosened teeth with my tongue, silently cursing the inefficiency of the Milwaukee Police Department even as I strained, hoping to catch the first faint sound of their approaching sirens. The only thing I heard was the sound of my own ragged breathing punctuated by Chrissy’s terrified whimpers.
    Abruptly the Jester dragged Chrissy up by the hair, bringing her to her feet. Using his arm to put her in a chokehold he jammed