Read The Wife, the Maid, and the Mistress for Free Online

up to the ticket booth. He leaned in, exchanged a few words with the teller, and took an envelope. Crater glanced back at Ritzi and frowned. Then he searched his wallet, slid a bill across the counter, and waited. Light from the marquee across the street bounced off the ticket window, reflecting STRIKE UP THE BAND backward. Somewhere behind the glass the teller must have refused Joe’s offer, because he took the money and stuffed it back in his wallet. Crater returned to the cab.
    “What was that about?”
    “I only had one ticket at will-call.” He lifted the envelope. “But they’re sold out and I couldn’t get another. Bribery aside.”
    “You could stay. I’m tired. I can take the cab home.”
    “No.” Crater tapped the ticket against his bandaged hand, then reached over the seat. “Change of plans, cabbie. Take us to Coney Island.”
    “Why don’t we go back to your place? Get some sleep?”
    “Not after what happened Monday.” Crater shook his head. “We don’t sleep at my place again.”
    The air inside the cab was warm and still, and Ritzi mumbled her displeasureat the change of plans. As they swung into traffic, a car behind them washed the cab in its headlights, and Ritzi squinted at the glare that bounced back from the rearview mirror. Her eyelids resisted efforts to open again. She was asleep before they reached Brooklyn.
    She woke to the smells of salt air and fried food. They parked near the Boardwalk, in front of Nathan’s Famous. She stretched and yawned as Crater helped her from the cab. Her sleep-addled brain skipped from one sound to another while he paid the fare.
    “A nickel, a nickel, half a dime! Come get your frankfurters—red hot, red hot!” The vendor stood on the Boardwalk outside Nathan’s, wearing a grease-stained apron and waving a hot dog in the air.
    “Shoot the chutes for a dime!”
    “Boiled peanuts. Get ’em while they’re hot!”
    The calls bounced and tumbled around her. She blinked into the chaos. Though it was ten o’clock, the party at Coney Island showed no signs of slowing down. Crater took her elbow and escorted her along the Boardwalk. Luna Park loomed before them, flashing lights and spinning wheels, a cacophony. Behind the gates rose the Cyclone. The roller coaster chinked and rattled up the wooden frame, and they stood, eyes locked on the cars as they hovered in a moment of suspended gravity. Then they thundered down at a stomach-lurching angle to the delighted shrieks of their passengers. Ritzi could feel the rumble in her feet.
    A barker, somewhere deep in the park, shouted into a microphone, “Never take your wife on the roller coaster. It’s every man for himself!”
    Ritzi lifted the hem of her dress and looked at her three-inch heels. Surely he didn’t expect her to ride the roller coaster dressed like this?
    “Maybe tomorrow,” Crater whispered, pulling her close. “We’re over there.” He pointed to a hotel, right across the street from Luna Park. Five stories tall, it reflected the garish lights of the amusement park in its many windows. She was too tired to read the name. He took her hand and wove through traffic on Surf Avenue. As they neared the hotel, she felt exposed and vulnerable, as though standing beneath a spotlight. You could end this right here . But she had long since passed the point of no return. Sally Lou Ritz let Crater lead her toward the revolving glass door.
    The lobby was empty, and she stood off to the side as he secured aroom. They crossed the tile floor and slid inside the elevator. His lips were on her neck before the doors were closed. She shut her eyes, willed herself to relax. To respond.
    Several long seconds later, the doors opened to reveal the burgundy-carpeted fifth-floor hallway. Their room was at the end, facing the Boardwalk. He took the key from his pocket and slid it into the lock.
    Six windows spread across the wall in front of them, looking down at the spinning display of Luna Park. He pushed back