Wake up, Kilmer. You don't even know what's real and what's fantasy anymore.
I was getting pretty fed up with the muses, and the radio didn't help. It was set on one of those easy-listening stations and Eydie Gormé was singing "Who's Sorry Now?" Just what I needed, background music with a sob in every note.
I lifted my foot and turned on the hot water with my toes and waited until I had to grit my teeth to stand it. The water was reaching the boiling point when I turned it off. That killed another fifteen minutes.
I needed to get a little perspective on things, separate what was real and what I wanted to be real. I needed to be objective.
But that's not what I did. What I did was think about that place at the base of her throat, the soft spot, the one where you can see the pulse beating. I used to stare at it and count the beats. I could tell when she started getting excited.
I thought about the way she closed her eyes and parted her lips about a quarter of an inch when I was about to kiss her. She had the softest lips. You could get buried in those lips. I never felt her teeth. I don't know how she did it. Her lips were as soft as a down quilt.
Three years, that's how long I had waited, watching her grow from a fifteen-year-old tease to an eighteen-year-old woman, playing the brother-sister act when they came up to Athens for football weekends. That was to appease Chief. When she was about sixteen, her good-bye kisses started getting softer. And longer.
Talk about strung out.
Get off it, Kilmer. Think about something else. Details, concentrate on details. And events. Reality is what we're after here.
I concentrated on her eighteenth-birthday party. It came to me in flashes, like a movie when the film breaks and they lose a few frames.
She wouldn't let me see her all that day. The way she acted, you'd have thought it was her wedding day. About midmorning Chief, Teddy, and I went to the Findley office on Factors' Walk. It was part of the ritual when we came down for the weekend, going to the office on Saturday morning. We had to wear ties and sports jackets, setting an example so the workers wouldn't get the feeling that they could take it easy because it was the weekend. Chief was big on setting examples. The office was only open half a day, so the employees thought they were getting a break. "Gives us four hours' jump on the competition come Monday morning," Chief said with a wink. He winked a lot for emphasis, a habit Teddy had picked up.
He'd always pull off some kind of deal, usually on the phone, just to show us how it was done. When he was wheeler-dealing, his left eye would close about halfway. Teddy called it the Evil Eye. When the Eye started to narrow, watch out, he was on to something, closing in for the kill. It's one of the things the rich inherited, that predatory sense. I guess that's why they're rich—they have a built-in instinct for the jugular.
I never got a true handle on the business. They were into everything. Cotton, shipping, real estate, industry, farming, you name it. All it did was bedazzle the hell out of me. I don't think Teddy got into it either. He was more interested in hell-raising. And poon. That's what he called it, poon. "Let's go down to the beach, Junior, check out the poon."
I got another flash. On that particular morning the office was closed in honor of Doe's eighteenth birthday. When we got there, the janitor let us in and we went up to the third floor. I always loved that building. It was all brass and oak and everything was oiled and polished so it sparkled.
Chief stood in his office, which seems now like it was maybe half the top floor. He stood there and swept his hand around.
"I'm going to divide this room up into three rooms, boys," he said. "I'll take this corner. One of you can have the river view; the other one, the park." Then he flipped a coin.
"Call it, Jake," he cried. I don't remember what I called. He covered the coin with his hand and peeked under it, looked up very slowly, and smiled at me. "You win, Jake. Take your choice, river or park?" I figured Teddy wanted the river and he had a right to it because it was obviously the choice view, so I picked the park.
And I remember Chief looking at me and that left eye narrowing down for just an instant, and then he said, "That's very generous of you, Jake."
The Evil Eye. Looking back on it, I think Chief saw that move as a sign of weakness. To him, it was winner take all.
The more I got into it, the faster and faster the flashes came. The way the place looked, Daisies all over Windsong, hundreds of them. And candles—my God, there must have been ten thousand candles. It was a fire hazard there were so many candles.
And people. Three hundred maybe, the top of the list. Black tie, a live orchestra, champagne, the works. Chief had seen to that. It's what you call taste, another thing the born rich inherit.
"I got to give you credit, Junior," Teddy had said as I was straightening his black tie. "Three years, man, you really stick in there."
Was that it? Was it a test?
Before the guests arrived, Chief took the two of us out onto the porch and popped a bottle of champagne and we stood there watching the sun go down. We drank a toast to Doe and threw our glasses at the big oak tree at the corner of the house.
"One more year, boys," Chief said. "And you'll be off to law school. The time'll fly. You'll be back here in business before you know it."
That was another part of the trap, Chief laying it all out for us that way, planning our lives. Only then it felt good. When you're on the inside, it always feels good. When he put his hand on my shoulder, there was lightning in his fingers. That's the way Chief was. That's the way all three of them were. They were Lightning People. You could feel their aura crackling around them.
"It's a helluva night, lads," he said. He didn't know the half of it.
It was dark and all the candles were lit and the guests were all assembled when she made her entrance. I still have trouble breathing when I think about that moment. My mouth gets dry and my hands shake thinking about her walking into the eerie candlelight, dressed in white, with a scarlet sash that tightened her waist and molded every magnificent line of her body. Talk about lightning. Everybody applauded when she came in. She went straight to Chief and kissed him. Chief always came first. Then she came to us and that soft spot was twitching like crazy and it was all I could do to keep my hands off her. It was like that all night. I couldn't get close enough to her. I guess I never will.
The party ended about three in the morning and we were all a little drunk from champagne. Teddy had latched on to this kind of dippy girl and the four of us piled into the dune buggy and drove out to the beach. He threw me the keys. He was in the back, working up a little poon. When we got in the car it was all Doe and I could do to keep our hands off each other. Well, we didn't. She leaned over and put her hand down inside of my thigh and wrapped her fingers around my knee and squeezed it hard and the electricity started humming.
When we got out there we took some dunes and spun around a few times in the moonlight. Teddy popped a bottle of champagne, shook it up, and used his thumb to squeeze off a stream of it. We were all soaked with champagne and the dippy girl jumped out and ran down to the surf and jumped in, clothes and all, Teddy right behind her. We drove off and left them there, clawing at each other in the surf.
And I remember Doe saying, "Stop soon, Jake. Please!" I never heard that tone in her voice before. Husky, with a lot of breath behind it. I topped a dune and slammed on the brakes and we tumbled out before the buggy was fully stopped. It rolled down to the bottom of the hill and stalled.
We were like animals freed from a cage. Touching, feeling, pulling. I found the soft spot in her throat and when I kissed it I could feel her heart beating in my mouth and she cried out and pulled her dress down and her breasts jumped free and I slid my lips down to her and opened my mouth as wide as I could and sucked her up into it, feeling her nipple grow hard under my tongue. Then her hands reached down and found me and she turned me sideways and began stroking me. Finally I unzipped the dress and slid it down over her feet and she hooked her thumbs in the s
ides of her panties and slid them off. Then she helped me undress and we lay back for a minute and just stared at each other. Then there was more touching and pulling and stroking until finally I felt her open under my fingertips and she pulled me over on top of her and guided me into her, enveloping me, crushing me, devouring me with her soft muscles . . .
Nice going, Kilmer. That's putting it all in the proper perspective. Objective, right?
Sure.
26
SILVER-DOLLAR WOMAN
Oh, Jesus, just keep it in me!
Take it, take it all, baby.
Oh, god, don't stop!
You're all alike. can't get enough, can you, baby?
Never!
There . . .
More . . . oh, yes, MORE!
There . . .
What are you doing?
There . . .
Come on, you bastard, fuck me!
Hereitcomes, hereitcomes . . .
OH . . . ohoh, nownow, ohoh, nownow . . .
Here comes the fuckin' freight train!
Now . . . yes, now . . .
ONE potato, TWO potato, THREE potato, FOUR . . .
Oh, you . . . fucking . . . m-m-machine . . .
GodDAMN!
Don't stop now, oh, sweet Jesus, don't stop now!
) Gonna . . . fuck you . . . dead . . . l-a-a-a-d-e-e-e
Oh . . . God . . . NOW!
Yeah.
NOW!
YEAH!
NOW . . .
Later . . .
I'm going to be sore for a week, you damn crazy . . .
Hey, you're the one keeps cryin' for more.
Yes. More.
Not enough anything for you, is there?
Not that.
Not just cock, ANYthing.
After tonight we'll have it all.
No such thing as ALL, baby. And no such thing as enough.
Fuck me again.
Gotta save up some spunk, lady. It's gonna be a long night.
When it's over . . .
We'll celebrate. I'll fuck your head off . . .
Promise?
You got it.
Crazy doin' it tonight.
When'll he be here?
Fifteen minutes.
That's takin' it to the edge.
I love it. Gimme a kiss.
Sure. So long, babe.
He caressed her throat with his thumbs, running them, side by side, from her collarbone up along her carotid to her chin and back and then again, and this time he pressed harder and her face bunched up.
Too hard . . .
Too late. His thumbs suddenly seemed to spasm, digging deep into both sides of her Adam's apple.
Her eyes bulged, her tongue shot out, quivering obscenely.
He pressed deeper. Something cracked. She gagged, fought, tried to scratch.
He stopped suddenly, straightened up, struck her sharply with two fingers in the temple, and her life blinked out.
He rolled her over in the bed, arranged her as if sleeping, killed the light, and went to the window.
Ten minutes. Two black limousines pulled up. Four men jumped out of the first limo, perused the street. Two of them entered the apartment house while the other two waited at the door.
Footsteps on the stairs, some muffled talk. He moved silently across the room and entered the closet.
One of the men inside opened the front door of the apartment house and nodded to the two outside and one of them ran to the second car and opened the rear door. A tall, chunky man, whose face indicated that he had once been thinner, got out and hustled into the apartment. One of the goons checked the second floor hallway and waved him in. He was nattily dressed in a dark blue blazer, tan gabardine pants, a pale blue shirt, and a dark striped tie. He climbed the stairs, nodded to the man by the door of the apartment, who went back down. The chunky man took out his key and let himself in.
The four men gathered just inside the front door of the apartment and started pitching silver dollars against the wall in the carpeted hallway.
The chunky man stood inside the doorway, looking at the woman on the bed, sleeping on her side, the bed a mess. He started getting hard, thinking about it. What a wanton bitch she was. He smiled and walked to the end of the bed and began to shake it very easily.
The closet door opened without a sound. The chunky man never heard anything until the whirrr of the rope as it whipped around his throat, then the sudden, awful vise around his neck. He reacted almost instantly.
Almost.
A leg wrapped around both his legs and he lost his balance and fell forward on the bed. He was thrashing, trying to break loose, but the vise tightened.
He began to jerk . . .
And jerk . . .
And jerk . . .
Downstairs in the hall, the boys pitching dollars could hear the bedsprings squeaking.
That Tony, he didn't waste no time.
Fuckin' bull. Go on, Ricky, pitch.
The silver dollar twinkled as it soared down the hall and hit the carpet and bounced against the wall.
And the winner sang:
"Yuh kin t'row a silver dollar, across thu floor,
It'll roo-ool, 'cause it's ro-ound,
Woman never knows what a good man she's got,
Until she lets him down."
27
BUSINESS AS USUAL
After I got out of the tub and dried off, I went in and lay down naked on the bed to cool off. I stared at the ceiling fan for a long time. Objectivity is a painful enterprise at best, and I had avoided it for twenty years. Now, as it grew dark outside, shadows stretched across the room like accusing fingers pointing at me. In the loneliness of the dark, romance wore off and reality took over. Other memories started coming back to me. The past began to materialize again, unfettered by candlelight and daisies. One face emerged from the harsh shadows and began to taunt me. It was Stonewall Titan.
I remembered Titan the night of the party, a little man, a shade under five five, who chose not to wear a tux, opting instead for his usual dark, three-piece winter suit, and arriving just minutes before Doe made her entrance.
More than once during the evening I caught him staring across the room at me with those agate eyes glittering in the candlelight. I didn't pay any attention to it at the time; it didn't seem important. Mr. Stoney never smiled much anyway; he was a quiet man, constantly introspective or contemplative or both, not an uncommon demeanor for short people. But now, reflecting on it, it strikes me that it was a hard look, almost angry, as if I had offended him in some way.
After Doe came over and officially welcomed Teddy and me to her party, after she had taken my hand and almost squeezed my fingers off and then drifted off to greet the rest of the guests, I worked my way across the room and greeted the taut little man. He stared up at me and said, "You really stick to it, don't you, boy? Been waiting a long time for tonight."
"What do you mean?" I asked with a smile.
"Just don't count your chickens," he said, and moved away.
That was the end of it. A caustic remark which he never repeated again during the summer I spent with the Findleys. I had forgotten it. Looking back on the moment, it occurred to me that the little man probably thought me unworthy of the Findley dowry. And since that night seemed to be the end of my probation period, he apparently had been overruled. After that, I was treated more like family than ever before. But Stonewall Titan never warmed up to me, I presume because I had offended him by going the distance.
Was I really being tested during those years or was it just my paranoia, an excuse to back away from another emotional commitment, to remain disconnected, as Stick called it? None of this had occurred to me at the time. When you're nineteen or twenty years old and it's all going your way, you don't think about such things.
But now in the darkness of the room, my suspicions were stirred.
Was that it? Was it all part of the Findley test? Were Doe and Teddy part of that three-yea
r probation during which they sized me up and checked me out for longevity, consistency, durability, loyalty, all the important things? Perhaps I had never passed the test at all. Perhaps they had seen in me some fatal flaw that I myself did not perceive, something more ominous than bad ankles, something that did not prevent Teddy from accepting me as his best friend, but precluded my becoming one of the Findley inheritors. Perhaps my blood had never been blue enough.
Wake up, Kilmer.
Lying there, I began to feel like a piece of flux caught between two magnets. One drew me toward Doe and Chief and the sweet life that might still be there. The other, toward the Taglianis of the world, which was, ironically, a much safer place to be. In a funny way, I trusted the Taglianis precisely because I knew I couldn't trust them and there was safety in that knowledge.
A lot of raw ends were showing. It scared me. It clouded my judgment. Dunetown was dangerous for me. It was opening me up. My Achilles' heel was showing.
The magnets were drawing me out of my safe places.
I lay there, immobilized, staring at the lazy ceiling fan until the room was totally dark. At five after nine the phone rang. It rang for a long time. At twenty after, it rang again. I didn't move. I lay there like a statue. I couldn't talk to her, not right then. At nine thirty it rang twelve times; I counted them. After that, every five minutes. At five of ten I heard a scratching at the door. It sounded like a cockroach crawling across a kitchen cabinet. I raised up on one elbow and looked over. There was a slip of paper under the door.
I picked it up and sat on the edge of the bed for a few minutes before I turned on the light. It was a phone message from Dutch Morehead.
Tony Logeto had made the list.
28
THE SINGING ROPE
It didn't take me five minutes to get dressed. As I hurried through the lobby toward the garage, the Black Maria roared into the motor lobby and screeched to a stop. The front door swung open and I crawled in. Stick dropped it into first and left an inch of rubber in the drive.
"I hope to hell the place isn't far," I moaned.