Rose Leiman Goldemberg

Steal Me! Rose Leiman Goldemberg

I had wrapped the tire iron carefully in towels, good towels, so it wouldn?t mark him in any way or draw blood. I picked it up off the floor now with my right hand and swung, like a tennis serve, really, and caught him at the back of his pewter hair. Perfect, a perfect hit. He went over into the front seat, and all I had to do was pull him in, turn him?not so easy; he was heavy?and shut the door behind him. I looked carefully; he was still clutching the attaché?I knew he?d be awfully angry if we?d lost it?and gunned the car away from the curb. I don?t think I even wondered if anyone noticed, and I guess nobody did. This was New York. ___________________________________ We were going to my house; I didn?t think much beyond that. He would be so happy, so relieved to be there. ?I want to be with you,? he had said so many times. ?But you know I can?t.? And he had always smiled as he said this: ?Steal me.? I had only done what he wanted me to do.