If I were to have lunch with my favorite anti-heroes - you know, the really bad guys that some of us love - Catherine Trammel would be there right along with Thomas Phelps Ripley, Frank Abagnale, Jr., Léon (The Professional), among a few others. Hannibal Lecter wouldn’t be invited for obvious reasons and considering the company we’ve already included, we’d have to hide certain things like handguns, ice-picks, oars, and plane tickets.
So, here’s how it would have gone down:
I was fortunate enough to have been seated at her table, and somewhere between the appetizer and the entrée, Catherine finally agreed to the interview. It was a bit awkward at first: she leaned back as much as one could in a restaurant chair, crossing those long slender legs barely covered by a skirt that clung to her skin. Was she offering her trademark peek? Her eyes scanned me over quickly, sizing me up. I introduced myself again, quickly explaining that I’m gay (hoping that would be some sort of armor against her infamous sexual powers). After the perfunctory ass-kissing – you know, where I compared her to all of the other guests in the room – I tried to pick that evil genius mind about how she actually did it; how she explained away the body of a dead cop in that bedroom.
She continued to sit there, pondering my questions like fine wine against her palate, all the while blowing cigarette smoke in my face. She avoided everything I said, throwing the questions back at me as if I had invented the suspicion that surrounded the last thirteen years of her existence.
She laughed, blowing smoke in my face again. I smiled, pretending that I wasn’t allergic and attempted to throw back the same suave, charismatic look to her eyes that seemed to be undressing me both outwardly and inwardly. I thought perhaps she would forget my prior disclosure, or at least entertain the notion that I might be bi, allowing her to think I was fair game. How could I have been so stupid earlier? How else would I get her to answer my questions?
She smiled again, seeming to be near a round of giggles – or, was it just that she found me amusing?
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