need to know."
"Why?"
"You think I'm
ugly, don't you?"
"What does it
matter? Please put the gun . . ."
"No. I'll ask
questions and you answer them. You'll tell the truth. The exact truth because this gun is
loaded."
He licked his lips
nervously, now aware of the tension edging the lines of her face. He pulled the sheet up over him
as if it were some kind of protection.
"You find me ugly,
don't you?" she asked.
"Yes. You're
ugly."
"I'm not the kind
of woman who's likely to get involved in a love affair, am I?"
"No. Probably not.
But look, you can't. . ."
"Don't ad-lib,
darling. An actor is only as good as his script."
"So you're ugly and
no one's liable to fall in love with you and I'm only after you for your money. So what? You knew
it all along. I don't see what that has to do with shooting me. What have I. . . ?"
"It has everything
and nothing to do with you. You're just not very lucky. You picked me and that was a mistake." He
moved, straightening up in bed. "I'm going." She cocked the gun and aimed it very carefully at
his head. "I'd really rather you didn't." "But. . ."
"Now tell me. Don't
you find me beautiful?" The gun did not waver.
He understood.
"Yes. Yes. Of course. You're beautiful!"
"Tell me how
beautiful I am."
"I've never met
anyone more lovely."
"And you love me?"
Her finger lightly caressed the trigger.
"Yes. I love you.
I've never met anyone I've loved as much as you!" He smiled insincerely, beginning to
perspire.
"And how long will
you stay with me?" She looked kindly, almost lovingly at him.
He noticed the
tender look in her eyes and allowed himself to relax a little. So she was not serious about the
gun.
Encouraged, he
tried to sound as if he really meant it. "I want to stay with you always. I'll never leave you. I
really do love you."
He was as tender
and as loving as he had ever pretended to be.
She seemed to be
melting under his soft looks and soft words.
Her finger lifted
off the trigger. She looked like a woman who was very much in love.
Then her finger
found the trigger again and jerked it back.
The bullet took him
just above the bridge of the nose and exploded bone and gray matter out the back of his head.
The body thumped back against the headboard, then slipped sideways, falling over on her side of
the bed.
She held the raging
inferno in her stomach and leaned lovingly over the gore-soaked body in the bed. There was a red
stain on the wall above the headboard of the bed.
"Such a lovely
man," she said, the gun dangling from her fingers. "And he said he loved me."
She picked up a
hand rapidly going cold and held it against the side of her face.
"No man on his
deathbed could tell lies," she said.
"I'm beautiful,"
she said, in a room without mirrors. "Beautiful!" And the mirror was inside herself and she saw
the reflection clearly.
"I'm loved!" And
she felt the warmth of his arms around her and the taste of lips that her beauty had
bought.
"He'll be with me
always. He told me that he loved me," she said, and her faith was as strong and as real and as
lasting as the growth that burned inside her like a worm of death.
She put the gun
barrel against the side of her head.
"I'm having a love
affair," she said, "and unlike other love affairs, this one is going to end happily."
Love affairs being
what they are, the next bullet undoubtably proved her right.
LAST WISH FULFILLMENT AND TESTAMENT
As I, the
undersigned, lay here, body burned beyond recognition, having committed myself to death at my own
hands, I leave this final legacy. These words are mine and not mine and though I speak them after
the fact, the fact itself renders unto me that which is mine.
To my mistress, for
all the days of her life that she spent with me and I with her, I leave her all of that which had
value to me. In particular, I leave her my collection of paintings of horses with erections and
my collection of lampshades made out of
"Why?"
"You think I'm
ugly, don't you?"
"What does it
matter? Please put the gun . . ."
"No. I'll ask
questions and you answer them. You'll tell the truth. The exact truth because this gun is
loaded."
He licked his lips
nervously, now aware of the tension edging the lines of her face. He pulled the sheet up over him
as if it were some kind of protection.
"You find me ugly,
don't you?" she asked.
"Yes. You're
ugly."
"I'm not the kind
of woman who's likely to get involved in a love affair, am I?"
"No. Probably not.
But look, you can't. . ."
"Don't ad-lib,
darling. An actor is only as good as his script."
"So you're ugly and
no one's liable to fall in love with you and I'm only after you for your money. So what? You knew
it all along. I don't see what that has to do with shooting me. What have I. . . ?"
"It has everything
and nothing to do with you. You're just not very lucky. You picked me and that was a mistake." He
moved, straightening up in bed. "I'm going." She cocked the gun and aimed it very carefully at
his head. "I'd really rather you didn't." "But. . ."
"Now tell me. Don't
you find me beautiful?" The gun did not waver.
He understood.
"Yes. Yes. Of course. You're beautiful!"
"Tell me how
beautiful I am."
"I've never met
anyone more lovely."
"And you love me?"
Her finger lightly caressed the trigger.
"Yes. I love you.
I've never met anyone I've loved as much as you!" He smiled insincerely, beginning to
perspire.
"And how long will
you stay with me?" She looked kindly, almost lovingly at him.
He noticed the
tender look in her eyes and allowed himself to relax a little. So she was not serious about the
gun.
Encouraged, he
tried to sound as if he really meant it. "I want to stay with you always. I'll never leave you. I
really do love you."
He was as tender
and as loving as he had ever pretended to be.
She seemed to be
melting under his soft looks and soft words.
Her finger lifted
off the trigger. She looked like a woman who was very much in love.
Then her finger
found the trigger again and jerked it back.
The bullet took him
just above the bridge of the nose and exploded bone and gray matter out the back of his head.
The body thumped back against the headboard, then slipped sideways, falling over on her side of
the bed.
She held the raging
inferno in her stomach and leaned lovingly over the gore-soaked body in the bed. There was a red
stain on the wall above the headboard of the bed.
"Such a lovely
man," she said, the gun dangling from her fingers. "And he said he loved me."
She picked up a
hand rapidly going cold and held it against the side of her face.
"No man on his
deathbed could tell lies," she said.
"I'm beautiful,"
she said, in a room without mirrors. "Beautiful!" And the mirror was inside herself and she saw
the reflection clearly.
"I'm loved!" And
she felt the warmth of his arms around her and the taste of lips that her beauty had
bought.
"He'll be with me
always. He told me that he loved me," she said, and her faith was as strong and as real and as
lasting as the growth that burned inside her like a worm of death.
She put the gun
barrel against the side of her head.
"I'm having a love
affair," she said, "and unlike other love affairs, this one is going to end happily."
Love affairs being
what they are, the next bullet undoubtably proved her right.
LAST WISH FULFILLMENT AND TESTAMENT
As I, the
undersigned, lay here, body burned beyond recognition, having committed myself to death at my own
hands, I leave this final legacy. These words are mine and not mine and though I speak them after
the fact, the fact itself renders unto me that which is mine.
To my mistress, for
all the days of her life that she spent with me and I with her, I leave her all of that which had
value to me. In particular, I leave her my collection of paintings of horses with erections and
my collection of lampshades made out of
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