Surprised, Connie wondered. Was the horn blast directed at her? It had been awhile since anything like that had happened. Before, yes, cars stopped to let her pass. Workers whistled while gazing at her voluminous breasts or shapely legs. Waiters rushed around her, attentive to her every need. Forty years had gone by since.
 |
| Was the horn blast directed at her? |
Connie definitely still looked good, and nowadays she could afford luxuries she would never have considered back then. The mink coat testified to this, as well as her plentiful silver hair, carefully maintained by the hairdresser. Other memories scrolled past, inevitably bringing forth the abhorrent night of the cab. Even today, she perfectly remembered the driver's words:
“Are you going home?”
“Uh… yes.”
“You come from your boyfriend’s?”
“Yes.”
“You live alone?”
“Yes.”
How uncomfortable she had felt facing the blunt questioning! Connie had blamed herself for answering. Afraid to provoke anger, she had not risked protecting her privacy.
“You don't live together? You are not married?”
“No, not yet,” she said.
“Oh, are you getting married? Are you wearing a ring?”
No, Connie did not wear a ring.
With her present experience, she would have no trouble eluding these questions. She would redirect them toward her interlocutor, or else she would ask why he was interested, whether he studied psychology. Perhaps she would come up with a story that would make her and the cabbie happy. But she was only nineteen years old. Instead, she had created a diversion:
“Enough! Enough ... I'm not feeling well.”
“Are you going to be sick? Not sick in my car.”
The man stopped along the curb. Connie opened the door and leaned out, pretending to vomit. It was a residential neighborhood, deserted at this time of night. When the driver noticed his passenger's subterfuge, he crept inside the back of the vehicle, forcing the young woman to move over on the seat. He engaged the automatic locks. Stunned, her heart pounding wildly, Connie realized that she could not scream. Her limbs were numb with panic. Ten minutes went by that would remain carved in her memory for ever.
Connie sighed and returned to the present. Who had honked the horn? Looking back, she identified a cab. Behind the wheel, a man was staring at her. As if in a dream, Connie opened her bag, removed a pistol, and fired at the driver. Then she turned right on Audubon Street and located the restaurant. She would be just in time, she thought, as she headed toward the bright sign. A satisfied smile appeared on her lips.