D Is for Deadbeat

form a halter, leaving her midriff bare. "You want coffee? I was just fixing some."
    "Yes, please," I said.
    She rinsed a cup under the hot water faucet and gave it a quick swipe with a paper towel. She set it on the counter and spooned instant coffee into it and then used the same paper towel as a potholder when she reached for the saucepan. The water sputtered against the edge; of the pan as she poured. She added water to a second cup, gave a quick stir to the contents, and pushed it toward me with the spoon still resting up against the rim.
    "Daggett's a jerk. They should lock him up for life," she remarked, almost idly, I thought.
    "Did he do that to you?" I asked, my gaze flicking across her bruised face.
    She fixed a pair of dead gray eyes on me without bothering to reply. Up close, I could see that she wasn't much more than twenty-five. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the counter, her coffee cup cradled in her hands. She wasn't wearing a bra and her breasts were big, as soft and droopy as balloons filled with water, her nipples pressing against the tee-shirt fabric like puckered knots. I wondered if she was a hooker. I'd known a few with the same careless sexuality-all surface, no feeling underneath.
    "How long have you been married?"
    "You care if I have a cigarette?"
    "It's your place. You can do anything you want," I said.
    That netted me a wan smile, the first I'd seen. She reached for a pack of Pall Mall 100s, flipped on the gas burner, and lit her cigarette from it, tilting her head so her hair wouldn't catch fire. She took a deep drag and exhaled it, blowing a cloud of smoke at me. "Six weeks," she said, answering my question belatedly. "We were pen pals after he got sent to San Luis. Wrote for a year and then I married him the minute he got out. Dumb? Jesus. Can you believe I did that?"
    I shrugged noncommittally. She didn't really care if I believed it or not. "How'd you connect in the first place?"
    "A buddy of his. Guy named Billy Polo I used to date. They'd sit and talk about women and my name came up. I guess Billy made me sound like real hot stuff, so Daggett got in touch."
    I took a sip of my coffee. It had that flat, nearly sour taste of instant, with tiny clumps of coffee powder floating at the edge. "Do you have any milk for this?"
    "Oh, sure. Sorry," she said. She moved over to the refrigerator where she took out a small can of Carnation.
    It wasn't quite what I had in mind, but I added some to my coffee, intrigued as evaporated milk rose to the surface in a series of white dots. I wondered if a fortune teller could read the pattern, like tea leaves. 1 thought I spied some indigestion in my future, but I wasn't sure.
    "Daggett's a charmer when he wants," she said. "Give him a couple of drinks, though, and he's mean as a snake."
    That was a story I'd heard before. "Why don't you leave?" said I, as I always do.
    "Because he'd come after me is why," she said snappishly. "You don't know him. He'd kill me without giving it a second thought. Same thing if I called the cops. Talk back to that man and he'll punch your teeth down your throat. He hates women is what's the matter with him. Of course, when he sobers up, he can charm your socks off. Anyway, I'm hoping he's gone for good. He got a phone call Monday morning and he was out of here like a shot. I haven't heard from him since. Of course, the phone was disconnected yesterday so I don't know how he'd reach me even if he wanted to."
    "Why don't you talk to his parole officer?"
    "I guess I could," she said reluctantly. "He reports to the guy every time he turns around. For two days he had a job, but he quit that. Of course, he's not supposed to drink. I guess he tried to play by the rules at first, but it was too much."
    "Why not get out while you have the chance?"
    "And go where? I don't have a nickel to my name."
    "There are shelters for battered women. Call the rape crisis center. They'll know."
    She gestured dismissively. "Jesus, I love people like you. You ever had a guy punch you out?"
    "Not one I was married to," I said. "I wouldn't put up with that shit."
    "That's what I used to say, sister, but I'll tell you what. You don't get away as easy as all that. Not with a bastard like Daggett. He swears he'd follow me to the ends of the earth and he would."
    "What was he in prison for?"
    "He never said and I never asked. Which was also dumb. It didn't make any difference to me at first. He was fine for a couple weeks. Just like a kid,