He was wrong; it was starting to. I could see Abner darting little looks at Graus’s tape, held in Stanley’s hand. It may have been cruel to play on his insecurities, but he had lost his victim status by being so ambitious. And the power of the powerless was a dangerous thing.
“Face it,” Stanley continued. “You’re afraid to fight me. So you’re preying on the weak.”
This was true, so I had no comeback. Luckily, I didn’t need one.
“What do you mean, the weak? Who’s weak?” Abner said.
I would let this one just play itself out.
“I didn’t mean weak,” Stanley said, irritated. “You know what I mean.”
“No, I don’t. Who’s weak?”
Two things were happening. Abner was looking ever more greedily at the tape. And Stanley was losing his grip on it, the more he lost his temper.
“Forget it. Forget I said anything.”
“I’m not going to forget it, I—”
“You’re letting Milano play with your head. What’s the matter with you, are you stupid?”
“Oh, now I’m stupid, too, not just weak.”
It was working better than I could have dreamed. Stanley, so adept at stealing, punching, and shooting, was lousy at personal relationships. But then, why should he be any different from the rest of us?
“Let’s just talk about this later, okay?” he said.
“No, I think we should talk about it now.”
“Well, I don’t agree, I’m sorry.”
“I don’t care if you’re sorry.”
Stanley had no intention of doing this anymore. He noticed the same thing I had: Abner had moved from behind him to before him. Near me.
That meant there were now two people within grabbing distance of the tape.
There were also two people to get through to reach the door.
So, ever resourceful, Stanley decided to spring a surprise.
He went out the window.
It was a narrow aperture, apparently all a maid in 1906 required. Stanley was slender, but had had the benefits of mid-century nutrition. So it took him a second to struggle through the space.
First, he had to hold on to the wood of the frame, which was frail, dirty, and full of chipped paint. Then he had to shove up the shaky bottom window. Then he had to squeeze himself out onto the ledge.
He only had two hands. And one of them was holding the tape.
In a second, Abner had poached it.
Halfway out, Stanley looked back, shocked at his boyfriend’s audacity and speed. He glanced at me, enraged. Then, shaking his head with disgust, he fled the room altogether.
There was silence for a second. Abner’s expression told me to let him go. But it wasn’t enough to stop Stanley from having the film. I had to stop Stanley.
So I went after him.
LESS AGILE THAN STANLEY, I SMASHED MY HEAD INTO THE OPEN BOTTOM window. Cursing, I opted for legs first. Before I knew it, I had both feet on the thin ledge. Then, holding on to the shaking window wood, I snaked my top half out.
Immediately, I realized I had made a big mistake. Inside, catching Stanley had seemed a noble purpose. Outside, it was an act of insanity.
Stanley was a few feet away, balanced on the ledge, above the mansion’s back grounds. He was moving, steadying himself by holding on to passing windows or grooves pitted into the building by time. All things considered, he was doing pretty well.
He turned back and saw me. He even had the wherewithal to laugh.
“You’re kidding me!” he yelled.
I couldn’t blame him. Hanging on to the maid’s room window, I was shaking like a palsied old man, my face frozen in a smile of fear. My only thoughts: Marlon Brando replaced Anthony Franciosa in The Fugitive Kind; forty years later, James Woods replaced Brando in Scary Movie 2.
Stanley taunted me. “Don’t look down!”
Of course, I did.
It was only two flights, but, a hundred years ago, they made buildings with less and higher floors. It seemed like that, anyway: many miles to the ground. On the huge back lawn, I saw the tiny guide continuing his tour, directing his group’s attention to some topiary.
“It was here that Mr. Steilerman used his walking stick …” I heard him faintly say.
There was no way I could catch up. Stanley was skittering like a cat burglar now, getting the hang, before I could move an inch.
Then I heard a pleasant sound.
On another day, it would have been unnerving. But, at that moment, the creaking and cracking of an old home’s ledge was a lovely woman’s song.
The place was falling apart, after all. That was why they’d taken him in as a tenant in the first place.
Stanley stopped. Slowly, he looked beneath him, at the area of support now starting to collapse. He was like the coyote in the Warner’s cartoons, a trivia area that wasn’t really my own.
“Aw, no,” Stanley said.
The tour group glanced up at the noise. They heard a man curse, shrilly. Then, the very next instant, Stanley and a small slab of concrete had cascaded down to join them.
I DIDN’T WAIT UNTIL HE HIT THE GROUND.
Gratefully, I clawed and angled my way back inside the window. Stanley might survive the fall but he’d be hobbled. That gave me time for some unfinished business.
I was lucky that I returned when I did.
The minute my feet hit the maid’s room floor, I saw Abner at the door. He was almost gone, clumsily gripping a plastic bag, the tape sticking stupidly out of it.
