Out Are the Lights

  'I'd rather be here,' Pete said.

  'Back in a jiffy.' As she climbed off the bed, Pete patted her bare rump. She walked to the bedroom door and looked back at him. He lay on the sheets, hands folded under his head, his limp penis lying against his thigh. 'Have you no modesty?' she asked.

  'A little late for that.'

  'True,' she said.

  ***

  There'd been plenty of modesty, that afternoon, when he took her into his house near Venice beach. A lot of drinking on the couch, a lot of talking until the right moment came and he took her into his arms. They wore only their swimsuits. Hands stroked exposed skin, moved hesitantly over the fabric, and finally explored beneath the swimsuits. At last, they were naked against each other, slick from suntan oil and sweat, gritty with sand, and they made love on the couch.

  They showered together.

  They ate hamburgers.

  They made love again, this time on the fresh sheets of Pete's bed.

  After all that, Connie realized, she still felt modest in front of him. To go for the drinks, stark naked, seemed slightly daring, slightly naughty, as if she were flaunting her nudity to arouse him.

  Still in the doorway, she stared at his penis. She lowered her hands, and caressed her thighs.

  Pete shook his head, grinning. 'What're you up to?' he asked.

  'Oh, nothing.'

  Her thumbs slid against her groin, and she watched his penis rise.

  'Forget the beer,' he said.

  'Can't. We've got to replenish our vital fluids.'

  She turned from him. She felt sexy and silly and bold-and happier than she'd been since… No, don't think about Dave. Too late.

  But the memory didn't hurt, the way it always had. Strange. Very strange.

  She stepped into the living-room.

  'Having fun?' Dal asked. He was on the couch, sitting with both feet on the floor and his back straight.

  Connie slapped her hands to her breasts and spun away. She hurried into the bedroom.

  Pete was already up.

  'Stay here,' Connie said, 'I'll take care of it.' She jerked her robe from its closet hook, and put it on as she rushed into the hallway.

  Dal still sat on the couch. 'You couldn't even wait for me to move out,' he said.

  'I… I didn't expect you.'

  'Where'd you think I'd be-at my girlfriend's house?'

  'Dal, please.'

  'Our bed.'

  'It's my bed.'

  'Christ, you should've heard yourselves carrying on.'

  'You shouldn't have listened.'

  'You're my girl, Connie.'

  'Not anymore.'

  'You'll always be my girl. I love you. Just remember that. When he dumps you. He will, you know. Once he’s tired of you, he'll dump you. I've seen his type. Jaguar, beach house, rugged good looks. I give you about a week.'

  'Get out of here.'

  'A week, and you'll come running to me, you'll come begging-'

  'Come back at noon tomorrow. Your belongings will be outside the door waiting for you.'

  'You'll come begging,' he said again. Then he left.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  'Okay, ladies, that wraps it up.' Todd took out his wallet, and paid Tango with twenty-dollar bills - ten of them.

  'Don't you get paid?' she asked Freya.

  'I'm a partner.'

  'Ah, so.'

  'You go on ahead, Todd, I'll drive Tango home.'

  'Far be it from me to stand in the way of true romance. Be sure to lock up when you leave.'

  'I will.'

  When Todd was gone, they left the control room. Freya led Tango by the hand. They entered a room at the end of the hall, and Freya turned on the lights.

  'You're so beautiful,' she said. She reached for the laces of Tango's vest.

  'Ah-ah. No freebies, honey.'

  'How much?'

  'Depends what you want.'

  Freya opened her purse. Her hands shook as she drew out her billfold. She counted the cash. To her dismay, she found only a ten-dollar bill, and three ones.

  'For that, honey, you get diddle-shit.'

  'I… I have plenty more at home. I thought I had-'

  Tango smiled. 'That's all right. You just take me to where the money is. This old house is a bit too haunty for my taste, anyhow.'

  'I want you here, Tango.'

  'No money, no fuckee.'

  Freya sighed. 'Well, let's go to my apartment, then.'

  They left the bedroom, and walked down the narrow hallway. Freya watched their strange, faint shadows on the walls. She remembered how Tina had danced and twirled as if fascinated by those shadows. Oh, how she would love to see Tango doing that… If only she had brought more cash along. Another night, maybe.

  They descended the stairway. Neither spoke. The wood creaked under their weight.

  They crossed the foyer.

  Freya reached for the doorknob.

  It didn't turn. Alarmed, she glanced at Tango.

  'Let me try.' Tango struggled with the latch and knob. 'Shit, lady, that sucker's locked.'

  'There's a back way out,' Freya said.

  'There better be.'

  She led the way, turning on lights as she went. They passed through a dining-room with a chandelier hanging over a large, mahogany table. Crystal goblets glimmered on the shelves of the highboy. Freya paused to admire them. Someday, they would all belong to her.

  'Move,' Tango said. 'I want outa here.'

  Freya pushed through a swinging door to the kitchen. She turned on the light, and stopped so abruptly that Tango bumped her.

  She stumbled forward.

  The man in the white apron and chef's hat clutched her arm, and flung her aside.

  'I want dark meat,' Schreck said.

  Swinging around. Tango threw herself at the door. She wasn't quick enough. He grabbed her hair and jerked her toward him. Hooking an arm around her throat, he lifted her.

  Tango squirmed and kicked. Her boot heels thudded against Schreck's shins, but had no effect. Veins stood out on her face and her eyes bulged from the pressure of his grip. Her struggles, frantic at first, became feeble.

  She was carried to a counter.

  Freya got to her feet, watching.

  'Stay out of the shot,' Schreck muttered.

  He lifted Tango onto the counter.

  Freya spotted the camera on a swivel mount near the ceiling. Todd had made no attempt to hide this one. He must've installed it this afternoon. It was directly above the counter where Schreck had placed Tango.

  'Cut the laces,' Freya said.

  'Shut up.'

  'Come on, do it.'

  'Leave,' said Schreck.

  'I want to watch.'

  'You want to watch?' He picked up a meat cleaver and swung around. 'Out!' he roared.

  'It's all right with Todd if I…'

  Schreck suddenly grinned. 'Come here.'

  Her skin pricked. She shook her head.

  'Come here! You want to watch.'

  'No. That's…'

  'Come here, or I kill you.'

  She hesitated, wondering if she should try to run. She didn't dare. With slow, unsteady steps, she approached Schreck.

  She watched his eyes. They were wet and bulging. They were somehow like spiders. They gave her goose-bumps, and nauseated her.

  He gripped her arm.

  'Watch,' he said.

  Tango moaned.

  Schreck put down the cleaver.

  'Watch, but don't touch.'

  'Help me,' Tango whispered.

  Schreck picked up a knife and two-pronged carving fork. Freya's fear turned to excitement as he sliced through the laces and opened Tango's vest.

  The woman raised her head. She looked at Freya. 'Please-'

  'Head down,' said Schreck, and plunged the fork into her eye.

  Freya spun away. She doubled over, vomiting. Before she was done, Schreck jerked her upright by the hair.

  'You want to watch,' h
e explained. 'Mustn't miss a moment.'

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  After Connie insisted he leave, Dal headed for Elizabeth 's house. Halfway there, he changed his mind. If he went to her, he would have to admit defeat; a temporary set-back, at least. Elizabeth wouldn't like that.

  He might lose her.

  Rather than chance that, he decided to spend the night in a motel. He found a room at the Palm Court, just off Pico. It was a tiny room, but clean.

  The television picture had shadows.

  The bed had Magic Fingers, but Dal had no quarter.

  He felt very depressed as he climbed into bed. For a long time, he couldn't sleep. All so damned complicated. He only wanted Elizabeth. To get her, though-to keep her-he had to marry Connie.

  Not necessarily.

  He only had to get rich.

  Only.

  If it were easy to get rich, he'd have done it long before now.

  He could think of only one way to do it: marry money. Must be plenty of rich gals around town. But he only knew one.

  Damn, he was halfway to home base before this Peter stuck his nose into the picture.

  Sure: his nose. Stuck in more than that, the bastard.

  Look on the bright side, though: maybe he will dump Connie. Could happen.

  Especially with a little help.

  Dal lay with his eyes shut, oblivious to the noise of cars passing just outside his window, and thought about ways to help.

  ***

  In the morning, he woke up feeling good. He took a long, hot shower. Then he went for a walk. He ate a breakfast of sausage and eggs at Sambos. At a Drug Mart down the street, he brought an injector razor, a can of shaving cream, and roll-on deodorant.

  Couldn't face Elizabeth looking like a bum.

  Grinning, he returned to his motel room. He shaved, rubbed the sticky ball on his armpits, and checked out.

  He practiced his story as he drove to Elizabeth 's house.

  She opened the door, looking as radiant as Dal felt. She wore a silken robe that matched her green eyes. It was belted loosely shut. It barely hung low enough to cover her groin.

  'You look beautiful this morning,' Dal said.

  'Don't stand there gawking. Get in here and kiss me.'

  He gladly obeyed. As he kissed her, his hands roamed down the slick robe and under it. He squeezed the cool skin of her rump. He pressed her tightly against him.

  'I don't have much time,' he said. 'Connie's at church. I just had to stop by, though.'

  'Did it go well?'

  'It went great. Unbelievable.'

  'Tell me.'

  'Later,' he said, grinding his hardness against her.

  'Now,' she said. She pushed herself away, and walked ahead of him into the living-room. She sat on a white davenport, and put her feet up.

  Dal sat by her feet. 'I did just as you suggested. I bought her flowers, on my way home yesterday.'

  'And did she like them?'

  'She loved them. Absolutely loved them. She cried, and apologized for the way she burnt dinner, and wanted to know where I'd spent the night.'

  'What did you tell her?'

  'That I'd spent most of it just driving around aimlessly, in a daze. And that I'd finally parked on a quiet street, somewhere, and gone to sleep on the backseat.'

  'Lovely,' Elizabeth said. Her foot patted his thigh.

  'Oh, Connie ate it up. I've never seen her look more guilty.'

  'I hope you quickly moved in for the kill.'

  'You'd have been proud of me.'

  'Would I?'

  'While Connie was crying and full of remorse, I took her into my arms and said, "Why don't I take you out for dinner, tonight, and we'll have a good time and forget all about our little quarrel." '

  'And did you?'

  'We did.'

  'Bravo.'

  Dal patted the lightly tanned top of her foot, and moved his hand up her shin. 'We went to a quiet, French restaurant…'

  'Which one?'

  'Henri's.'

  'Ah, lovely.'

  'And I proposed to her.'

  'Did she accept?'

  'How could she refuse?'

  Dal slipped his hand beneath her upraised leg, and caressed the smoothness of her calf.

  'She did accept?'

  'Of course. And I gave her the ring.'

  'Did it fit?'

  'It was a bit tight. Weil take it to a jeweler, next week, and have it expanded.'

  'She liked the ring?'

  'She was flabbergasted.'

  She said, 'It's magnificent.'

  'I think she was a bit shocked to think I would spend that kind of money, but I didn't hear her complain.'

  'So, you are now an engaged man.'

  'Yep.'

  'When's the big day?'

  'July thirty-first.'

  Elizabeth grinned. She swung her leg upward, and propped it on the back of the couch. 'Let me be the first to congratulate you, dear.'

  ***

  'I don't want to,' Connie said.

  'It won't take long,' Pete told her. 'I'll give you a hand. Both hands, if you prefer.'

  'I'd really rather not. Let's just go somewhere. He can come in and get the stuff, himself. If I put it outside. I'd be worried someone might take it.'

  'That'd be too bad.'

  'I'm the one who'd feel guilty about it.'

  'You aren't afraid he'll come in and tear the place up?'

  'Dal? No. He's basically pretty timid.'

  'Those are the kind who go haywire when things get rough.'

  'Really, Pete, you worry too much.'

  'You keep telling me.'

  'Because it's true.'

  'Even paranoiacs have enemies.'

  She smiled. 'I know. And a broken clock is right twice a day. More coffee?'

  'I'll get it.'

  Pete left her. Alone on the private, rear balcony, she moved her lawn chair closer to the railing so her face would be in the sunlight. She sat back, and took a deep breath. The morning breeze was cool, the sun hot. She wondered if she had ever felt this good before.

  Sure. Yesterday. And Friday night.

  Being with Pete.

  It was like being reborn-young and fresh and happy, the day ahead full of promise.

  He came back, and handed her the coffee mug. He sat down on the chair facing her.

  'How about going to the Marina for a champagne brunch?' he asked.

  'Great!'

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Freya stayed home from work Monday morning. She called in sick. Though she felt fine as she dialed, her heart began to race and her stomach suddenly hurt when Dr Eginton answered the phone.

  Sheila Eginton, Dean of Women, the condescending bitch.

  'I do hope it's nothing serious,' she said.

  'I do too,' said Freya, making her voice tight as if holding back a groan of pain. 'I… I'm going to the doctor this morning.'

  'I see. We'll do our best to forge along without you.'

  'Fine.'

  'Do take care of yourself.'

  'I will.' She hung up.

  Well, she wouldn't have to put up with bitch Eginton much longer. If everything went as planned, she'd be kissing the job good-bye at the end of the summer quarter.

  Too bad she couldn't get Edgy out to Todd's house. She'd love to see her in Schreck's hands. The dean was too big, though; her disappearance would cause a stink.

  So far, their caution had paid off.

  Only the disappearance of the camping girls got any play in the news. Todd had been a bit careless there. Overconfident, maybe. But he assured Freya that he would hang onto that tape. not even send it to the lab for conversion to 35mm, until the thing had blown over.

  Then there was the business with Tina. That should've worked perfectly; neither Tina nor her boyfriend had living parents to miss them. Tina moved out, ran off with the guy, and left no forwarding address. That was supposed to be the story if anyone asked. Freya should've stuck to it w
hen the roommate called. That'd been a dumb mistake. But, who would think the gal'd keep pushing it?

  Well, they took care of that little problem. Nobody had popped up, yet, asking about her. A good sign. Maybe she hadn't even been missed. Could be trouble, though, when they showed the film.

  Good old Brit might have friends who frequent the Haunted Palace.

  Shit, why worry? With the over-dub and dyed hair, who would recognize her?

  Should've dyed Tina's hair. Couldn't, of course, the way it was shot. Probably wouldn't be able to do it with Chelsea, either. The gal has to be under control, for that. Like what's-her-face in the Inquisitor film. Or that moronic hitchhiker Todd picked up for his first one, Schreck the Executioner.

  A small change of appearance, like that, was probably enough to keep folks from recognizing their friends.

  If she could think of a way to disguise Chelsea… What the shit, Chelsea 's from Oakland. That's a long, long way from L. A.

  Freya poured herself a cup of tea, and glanced at the kitchen clock. Seven-thirty.

  Banks open at ten.

  Chelsea the Pig should arrive by eleven.

  Plenty of time to kill. She went into the living-room, turned on the television, and switched the channel to Good Morning, America.

  ***

  At 10:32, the doorbell rang. Freya got up, tugging at her tight shorts, and opened the door.

  Chelsea, a cheerless smile spreading her cheeks, waved a handful of green in Freya's face. 'Six hundred bucks,' she said. 'Didn't think I'd be here, did you?'

  'I never doubted for a moment.'

  Today, her T-shirt read, 'Save a tree-eat a beaver'.

  Freya took the money. She stood in the doorway, counting it. Six hundred dollars, in fifties.

  'Receipt, please.'

  'Of course. Come on in.' As she filled out a receipt, she said, 'Are you always this obnoxious, Chelsea?'

  'When it suits me.'

  'Suppose we call a truce? I'll help you bring your stuff up, and I'll even take you out to dinner, tonight, to celebrate.'

  'You'll pay?'

  'Of course.' She waved the six hundred at Chelsea, I just came into a lot of money.'

  'You're a doozy.'

  They went down to the street. Freya saw a dull, gray van plastered with bumper stickers: NUKE IRAN; PLEASE TAILGATE-I NEED THE MONEY; I NEVER HAD IT; I BRAKE FOR MIDGETS; STILLBORNS HAVE MORE FUN, and half a dozen others.