Out Are the Lights

  It didn't matter that the movie made no sense. She ate popcorn, and drank her Pepsi, and paid little attention to the screen.

  She leaned closer to Pete.

  He put his arm across her shoulders.

  ***

  'Could we see each other tomorrow?' Pete asked outside her apartment door.

  'I'd like that.'

  'We could go to the beach.'

  'Great. I'll make a picnic lunch.'

  'I'll bring the beer. Or would you prefer wine?'

  'Beer.'

  They held each other tightly, and kissed.

  'I had a wonderful time,' Connie said.

  'Me too.'

  'I'd ask you in, but Dal…'

  Pete shook his head. 'On the first date, I only kiss.'

  'That so?'

  'It's a lie, actually.' He pulled her close, and kissed her again. His hand gently went to her breast.

  She sucked in a sharp breath. 'Oh God, Pete.'

  'Goodnight.'

  'Goodnight. See you tomorrow.'

  'Around ten?' he asked.

  'Great.'

  'Goodnight.' He kissed her once more.

  'Goodnight.'

  They didn't part for a long time.

  Then Connie went inside, alone. She leaned against the door, too weak to move, hurting in a strange way that made her want to cry and laugh.

  A long time later, she searched the apartment. Dal wasn't there, thank God.

  She put the guard chain on the door.

  Then, feeling guilty, she took it off.

  Then she put it on again. If Dal came back in the middle of the night, she didn't want him crawling into bed with her.

  Not tonight.

  Not ever again.

  Pete Harvey had her now.

  Dirty Pete.

  With a squeal of delight, she hugged herself and twirled across the room.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Another Saturday going to pot. Freya sat in front of the television with her tea, and stared at Popeye.

  The pits.

  Sunday, for Christsake, was better than this.

  Ha! Sunday, for Christsake. A funny.

  But it was true. Sunday morning TV had a parade of weirdos. A real circus. Some of those evangelists put on a better show than Loony Tunes. Especially the healers. Christ, the way they slapped folks around, and grabbed canes out from under cripples, and stuck their fingers in deaf people's ears! Out, you devils! Out, Satan! Be a kick, some morning, if the guy's finger came out of an ear with a big yellow glob of wax.

  Well, shit, nothing good like that on Saturday morning. Just a bunch of feeb cartoons and reruns of crap she saw twenty years ago.

  Nothing decent till 10:30. Phantom of the Opera. The Claude Rains version from '43. Nowhere near as good as the Lon Chaney, with those boobs trotting around the tunnels with their fingers in the air so the phantom couldn't drop nooses around their necks. 'The phantom's loops are quick!' they kept saying. What a gas! Well, the Rains version couldn't hold a candle to that, but it sure beat watching Heckle and Jeckle.

  The N-double A-C-P must've got down on Heckle and Jeckle. She'd swear those magpies used to talk like Amos and Andy.

  The doorbell rang, startling Freya so she slopped tea onto her bare leg. She brushed it away with her hand, and got up. Her leg was still wet as she crossed the room. She rubbed it again. She adjusted her tube-top, and opened the door.

  'Greetings.'

  'Oh, hello,' Freya said. She forced a smile.

  'Remember me?'

  'I remember. I see you changed your shirt.' The vulture T-shirt had been replaced by one that read, 'Don't get mad, get even.'

  'I saw the ad in the paper,' she said, 'I thought I'd come back.'

  Like a bad penny, Freya thought. 'Well, I'm afraid the apartment is still not available.'

  'Why not?'

  'It's already taken."

  'That's the story you gave me, last week.'

  'It's just as true, today.'

  'Then why was there an ad in today's paper?'

  'It must be an error,' Freya said.

  'No, I don't think so. I think you just decided you don't want me for a roommate. Isn't that right?'

  'That's right.'

  'Because I'm a gross slob, right?'

  'That's right.'

  'Suppose I make it two-fifty.'

  'You're awfully eager.'

  'This place is only a block from campus. Besides, I like your style.' She gave Freya a brash grin. 'Now, how about showing me around?'

  'I admire your persistence,' Freya said, loathing the girl more each second. 'What's your name?'

  ' Chelsea.'

  'I'm Freya. Come on in.'

  The girl entered, and wrinkled her nose. 'You need some light in here,' she said, and opened the curtains. 'That's better.' Freya cringed.

  'Are you from around this area?' she asked.

  'No.'

  'Where are you from?'

  'What does it matter?'

  'I'm just curious. If we're going to live together, don't you think we should know more about each other?'

  'Does that mean you'll take me?'

  'I'm thinking about it.'

  'Well, if you really want to know, I'm from Oakland.'

  'Ah. Home of the Hell's Angels. Did you live with your folks?'

  'What are they?'

  'You don't have parents?'

  'No, I was hatched. Can't you tell?'

  'I was only wondering.'

  'Well don't. Just show me the apartment, okay? If I wanted a third degree. I'd set myself on fire.'

  'As you wish,' said Freya. She showed Chelsea the kitchen, the bathroom, and the spare room.

  'When can I move in?'

  'As soon as you pay me.'

  'Two-fifty.'

  'Six hundred,' Freya said.

  'Come again?'

  'First and last month's rent. That's five hundred.'

  'I can count.'

  'Plus a hundred deposit for breakage.'

  'You're a doozy.'

  'I'm only protecting myself.'

  'You think I can't come up with six hundred, right?'

  'Oh, I hope you can,' Freya said.

  She meant it. 'Is a check okay?'

  'Cash.'

  'This is Saturday.'

  'Then you can move in Monday after the banks open.'

  'You're trying to pull something.'

  'Not at all. If you can come up with the cash today, you can move in today.'

  'How about fifty down, and the rest Monday morning?'

  'And you move in today?'

  'Yep.'

  'No thanks. Monday will be plenty soon enough.'

  'You're a pal.'

  'Shall we plan to see each other Monday morning, then?'

  'We shall count on it,' Chelsea said, mimicking her.

  ***

  When she was gone, Freya made a telephone call.

  'Hello?'

  'Good morning, darling.'

  'Princess!'

  'I have one for you,' she said.

  'Marvelous!'

  'This one's a bit different.'

  'How so?'

  'She's a pig.'

  'A pig?' he asked, the lightness leaving his voice.

  'I know you want beauties, darling, but this gal's wonderful. She's ugly, gross, and obnoxious.'

  'This wasn't part of our plan, princess.'

  'Wait'll you see her.'

  'She's disgusting and repulsive?'

  'Very.'

  'Hmm.' He paused for several seconds. 'Perhaps we can fit her in. Let me work on it, and get back to you.'

  'Great.'

  'In the meantime, keep looking for a beauty. Tina was absolutely marvelous. Someone like her.'

  'I'll keep the ad in the paper.'

  'Yes. Do that. And come over tonight, if you can.'

  'You got another one?'

  'Oh, indeed I did. Unfortunately, it has two female voices. I'm not quite sur
e how to handle the dubbing of that, but I'll try to think of something before you arrive.'

  'What time?'

  'Oh. eight o'clock.'

  'Great. See you then, Todd.'

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Dal stopped at Conroy's, and bought a dozen red roses in a vase. He carried the vase out to his car. Holding it in place on the passenger seat, he headed for the apartment.

  The roses had been Elizabeth 's idea.

  'She'll be touched by your thoughtfulness and generosity,' Elizabeth had told him. 'She'll forget all about your little spat.'

  Naturally, he hadn't explained the real cause of his trouble with Connie. It was too humiliating. Not only that, but Elizabeth would recognize Connie's date for what it was-a sign that she had lost interest in Dal, a sign that marriage was probably out of the question. He didn't want Elizabeth to know that, so he made up a story to satisfy her curiosity.

  'She burnt dinner,' he'd said. 'We had these two beautiful sirloin steaks, and she left them in the broiler too long. Completely forgot about them. By the time she remembered, they were charcoal black. I said, "You don't expect me to eat this, do you?" Then I chewed her out. I told her I'd been working my tail off, all day, and how I came home looking forward to a nice meal, and the least she could do is not fuck it up.'

  'You sound positively abhorrent.'

  'She pissed me off.'

  'Will you yell at me, that way, if I bum your food?'

  'Never.'

  'Why not?'

  'Because I love you.'

  'And you don't love Connie?'

  'She's all right. I don't love her, though.'

  'You must learn to act as if you do. Make her feel that she is the whole world to you, that your life would be a pit of ashes without her.'

  'I'll try.'

  'You must do better than try. You must succeed. I want you to marry her within the month.'

  'My God, that's only three weeks away!'

  'I'm sure you'll find a way.'

  That was the time to mention Connie's new boyfriend. He couldn't force himself to tell her, though. Not enough nerve. Three weeks. Impossible.

  Unless… Who knows, maybe she ended up hating the guy who took her to dinner, last night.

  Not much chance of that.

  He drove up the alley behind the apartment house, and carefully parked the car in its stall. He carried the vase of roses into the courtyard, and up the stairs to the door of the apartment.

  He unlocked the door.

  The guard chain snapped taut.

  'Shit!'

  He kicked the door. The chain flung it back at him, slamming it with a bang. Embarrassed, he looked around to see if he was being watched. He saw no one.

  He felt like kicking the door down.

  That would get him inside, but further from his real goal. So he pushed the doorbell, instead. It didn't ring; it lit bulbs in every room. He jabbed the button, again and again, to make the bulbs flash.

  The chain rattled. The door opened.

  'Dal.'

  Though she smiled, her eyes looked troubled.

  'These are for you.'

  'Oh, they're beautiful. Thank you.'

  'May I come in?'

  'Of course.'

  Of course? Then why the chain?

  'Are you alone?' he asked.

  'Sure I am.' Connie took the flowers, and set them on the dining-room table.

  Dal watched in silence. She wore a wrap-around skirt. Her white blouse was tied in front, leaving her midriff bare. Her beach outfit.

  She came back to him.

  'About last night,' he said, 'I want to apologize. I acted like an ass.'

  'You had a right to be upset. Dal.'

  She stepped toward the bright window, and he turned to face her. She wants the light on my lips, he realized. She's always maneuvering for that.

  'I should have been more reasonable,' he said. 'I mean. I don't own you. You have every right to goon a date. It's just that I was… hurt, I guess. The thought of you being with another man… It was just unbearable.'

  'I'm sorry,' she said.

  'Forgive me?'

  'There's nothing that needs forgiving. You wouldn't have felt badly, if you didn't care for me. I can hardly fault you for that.'

  'I more than care for you. Connie. I love you.'

  She blinked as if slapped. 'No you don't.'

  'I do. I've loved you since the first moment I saw you.' He reached for Connie. Shaking her head, she grabbed his wrists, and pushed his arms down.

  'Don't.'

  'Connie!'

  'I'm sorry, but… We've had… I do like you, Dal, and I'll always be grateful for the times we've had. But I think they're over, now.'

  'No.'

  'Yes. I want you to find a place of your own, now. You don't have to move out today, or anything, but the sooner you get your own apartment, the better off we'll both be.'

  'Connie, you can't mean it.'

  'I do mean it.'

  'You must've had a damn good time, last night.'

  She looked up from his lips, and met his eyes, 'If things had been better between you and me, I never would've accepted the date. In fact, I would never have met him. I stopped by Lane Brothers, Wednesday morning.'

  The words made his bowels suddenly ache.

  'I thought we might have lunch together, but you weren't there.'

  'I…'

  'You don't have to tell me where you were. I know.'

  'What?'

  'You were with a woman.'

  'I was not.'

  'You don't have to lie. It doesn't matter anymore.'

  'I was not with a woman.'

  'You were with her last Friday night at the movies, and all day Wednesday, and probably last night.'

  'That's a lie!'

  How could she know?

  'It's the truth. I walked out to the theater, Friday night. I thought I'd surprise you. But I was the one who got the surprise. I saw you sitting with her, with your arm around her.'

  It's all a bluff, he realized. She doesn't know anything. She's only guessing.

  'That was a good trick,' Dal said, 'if I was sitting with a girl, it's news to me. If you want to believe it, though, go ahead. I'm sure your conscience feels better if you can convince yourself that I'm the one at fault. I was alone in that theater. I was alone Wednesday, unless you want to count the clerks I talked to while I was shopping for this.'

  He reached into his pocket, and pulled out a small jewelry box. He opened it.

  Connie stared at the diamond ring. Tears filled her eyes.

  'Oh Dal,' she muttered.

  'I was planning to… last night…'

  'Oh Dal, I'm sorry.'

  He took the ring from the box, and held it out to her. 'Try it on.'

  She shook her head. 'I can't. I'm sorry. I…' She sobbed and turned away.

  Dal put a hand on her shoulder.

  She shrugged it off, and faced him. 'It's over, Dal. It's over. I'm sorry. I still want you to move out.'

  'But why?'

  'It's Pete.'

  'The guy you were with last night?'

  She nodded.

  'I've been aced out, huh?'

  'I'm sorry.'

  'Okay. I'll move out, like you want. I don't want to pressure you. In case this Pete doesn't… Well, the ring will still be waiting.'

  Nodding, Connie wiped the tears from her face.

  'Guess I'd better go apartment-hunting.'

  'I'm sorry.'

  Dal turned from her. He stopped outside. The door shut. He slipped Elizabeth 's engagement ring into its box, and headed for the stairs.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Freya hated driving this time of the evening. The sun hung low over the Pacific, blinding her. Sunglasses helped, but not nearly enough. Most of the time, she could barely see the road ahead of her. She blocked the sun with her hand. That wasn't easy, though. After a few minutes, her upraised arm felt as if it were being dragged down wit
h lead weights.

  The stretch along the Coast Highway seemed endless. Finally, she came to the turnoff. She didn't notice the unmarked road until she was beside it. She hit her brakes, swung onto the highway's shoulder, and backed up.

  She read the sign. PRIVATE ROAD. KEEP OUT.

  She drove forward. The road curved into a thickly wooded area. She stopped at a metal gate, opened its padlock, and swung the gate wide. After driving through, she shut the gate and snapped its lock into place.

  The one-lane road left the pine trees behind, and snaked across low hills to the house.

  Freya gazed at the house as she drove toward it. She loved the house. She loved its weathered siding, its bay windows, its gables, its single, peaked tower.

  So marvelously creepy!

  It looked like dozens of other old, dark houses in dozens of old, spooky movies.

  Soon, it would belong to her.

  She could hardly wait!

  She had such visions of how it would be, of wandering its halls on stormy nights, candle flames throwing weird shadows on the walls. No electric lights. She would get rid of all those, and use electricity only for the television and refrigerator and such.

  It would be glorious.

  So incredibly creepy, the greatest spook-house of all time-and hers.

  She climbed the porch steps. As she aimed her key at the lock, the door groaned open.

  'Todd.'

  'Princess.' He kissed her cheek. 'You're looking lovely tonight, as usual.'

  'Thank you.'

  He gestured for her to follow, and started upstairs. 'I hope you had a pleasant drive.'

  'I survived it.'

  'Traffic wasn't too bad?'

  'No. Traffic was fine. It was the damn sun that nearly killed me.'

  'I'm sorry to hear that. I have some news to cheer you, though. I found a solution to our problem.'

  'Another woman?'

  'Yes. She's waiting in the control room.'

  'What did you tell her?'

  'I explained that she would be perfect for a voice-over in a short suspense show I'm producing.'

  'Is she safe?'

  'She's a streetwalker.'

  'Can she read?'

  'Oh. I do hope so.'

  Todd opened a door at the top of the stairs. A slim, black woman was sitting on a bench at the control booth, leaning back, her elbows resting on the blank screens of two video monitors. Her ankles were crossed. She wore boots, and tight shorts, and a vest held loosely together in front by laces.