Cuts

  “NO!” She dropped to her knees and the hand jerked out, fingers tracing slick wet paths up her belly. Hunching over, she pressed her hands to her face. “Go away,” she murmured. “Leave me alone. Just go. Please.”

  “That was third base,” Mosby said. He turned away and walked into his bedroom and shut the door.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  CLEANLINESS

  Albert tossed the bloody shower curtain into the bathtub, then stepped into the tub himself, being careful not to tread on Tess. Squatting over her chest, he turned on the faucets. The water rushed out of the tap, straight down onto Tess’s face. It pounded her nose, ran over her open eyes and flooded her open mouth.

  When the water felt hot enough, he raised the metal knob to start the shower. The spray came out cold. But the cold only lasted a moment.

  Albert stood up, lifted the shower curtain and shook it open. The water smacked it with hollow, popping sounds. Holding the curtain overhead, he stared through its frosted plastic and watched the bloodymess slide down its other side.

  When it looked clean enough, he stepped over Tess—and on her—and struggled to hang the curtain on the shower rod.

  He was nearly done when one of his feet slipped. He sat down hard on her belly.

  “Sorry about that, sweetie,” he said.

  Still sitting on her, he reached for the shampoo. Then he stood up and washed his hair.

  “A person can’t be too clean,” he told her. “You know what they say about cleanliness.”

  When he was done with his hair, he soaped himself all over, then rinsed and climbed from the tub.

  He stood dripping on the wet tile floor and stared at Tess through the steam. Her skin looked pale and slippery.

  He gazed at the stab wounds.

  With hot water still pelting down from the shower nozzle, he climbed again into the tub.

  TWENTY-SIX

  RECONCILIATION

  Janet sat up, aching from the night on Mosby’s couch. Her neck hurt most. She rolled her head to stretch her neck muscles, but it didn’t help. In the bathroom, she found a bottle of aspirin. She cupped water from the faucet with her hand and swallowed three tablets.

  Then she looked at herself in the mirror. Her hair was tangled. One side of her face was red and creased from the pillow’s corduroy fabric. Though she’d buttoned her blouse after Mosby left, she hadn’t fastened her bra; its cups hung beneath her armpits like small, wadded handkerchiefs.

  “A vision of delight,” she muttered.

  She opened her blouse, pulled her bra together and fastened it. Buttoning up, she returned to the living room. She stared at the telephone.

  Get it over with, she told herself.

  Her stomach hurt. Her hand trembled as she picked up the phone and dialed. As she listened to the quiet ringing, she wanted to hang up.

  It’ll never get any easier, she told herself.

  Anyway, maybe there’s a logical explanation.

  Sure.

  Her heart gave a lurch as she heard someone pick up the phone.

  “Hello?” Meg’s voice.

  “Hi. It’s me.”

  “Oh.”

  “You sound disappointed.”

  “That isn’t disappointment, hon, that’s guilt. I feel like shit warmed over. Will you ever forgive me?”

  “Hey, it’s all right. Not much to forgive.”

  “Are you kidding? Where are you, at Mosby’s?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Come on back here, okay?”

  “Dave isn’t still there, is he?”

  “You’ve gotta be kidding.”

  “He isn’t, is he?”

  “No. Definitely not. It’s safe to come back.”

  “Well, I’m not too sure how to get there, though. I haven’t seen my host this morning. For all I know, he might be gone.”

  “You mean you didn’t wake up in his manly arms?”

  “Not exactly. I slept on his couch.”

  “Then check the bathroom. He probably slit his throat.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You want me to pick you up?”

  “If you don’t mind.”

  “No problem. Where are you?”

  Janet glanced at several magazines on the coffee table until she found one with an address sticker. She read the address to Meg. “Do you know where that is?”

  “Pretty much. Shouldn’t be more than ten minutes from here.”

  “I’ll be waiting out front.”

  After hanging up, she went to Mosby’s bedroom door and knocked. “Mose? Are you awake?”

  “I’m awake,” he said as if he hated to admit it.

  “I’ll be leaving in a couple of minutes. Meg’s coming over to pick me up.”

  There was a long silence.

  “Aren’t you coming out to say good-bye?” Janet asked.

  “Good-bye.”

  “Aw, Mosby, don’t…Are you decent?”

  “You know better than that.”

  “I’m coming in.”

  “Why?”

  “I want to. Here I come.” She opened the door.

  Mosby was sitting up in bed. His hair was mussed. His pajama shirt was white with red stripes. Its sleeves were too short.

  His clothes from last night were piled on a straight chair. Janet went to the chair, picked them up and tossed them onto the foot of his bed. Then she dragged the chair over to the bed and sat down on it. “I’m sorry about what happened,” she said. “Or what didn’t happen.”

  “Like what?”

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t…go along with you. And don’t say ‘better late than never.’ It has to be never, Mose. The next time I sleep with a guy, it’s going to be for keeps. If that’s possible. I shouldn’t have let things go as far as they did last night. It wasn’t fair to you.”

  “It was my fault,” he said.

  “No. No, you just did what most guys would do.”

  “Guys with the sensitivity of an ape.”

  “Maybe you’re too sensitive. After all, you seemed to know I was feeling awfully horny last night. I sure came close to sleeping with you.”

  “Not close enough.”

  She smiled. “Anyway, I’m sorry.”

  “Not half as sorry as I am.”

  “Don’t bet on it.”

  “Will I ever see you again?” He suddenly looked like a boy fighting off tears.

  “Give me a call in a couple of days. We’ll have you over for dinner.”

  “Well,” Meg said, and pulled away from the curb. With her index finger, she scratched the side of her nose. “I certainly made a spectacle of myself, didn’t I? Like the lens grinder who fell into his machine.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Janet said.

  “Do you know what he did? Dave? Do you know what…?” She sniffed and turned toward Janet. Her pouchy lips hung open. Her nostrils were red, her skin blotchy in the sunlight. Janet was thankful for the sunglasses hiding Meg’s eyes. “He…I knew he was only using me, using me to get at you, but I didn’t care. I really didn’t care. Do you want to know something?”

  “I don’t know,” Janet said, and looked out the window. “Probably not.”

  “He…this is really something. He took me from behind. Rear entry? That’s what they call it in the sex manuals, rear entry. The way dogs do it.” She made a strange squeak that was neither a laugh nor quite a whimper. “The way you do it when the girl’s a dog.”

  “For God’s sake, Meg.”

  “He did it that way so he wouldn’t have to look at my ugly puss. Isn’t that a laugh?”

  “No, it’s not.” Janet’s throat felt tight. She swallowed, but it didn’t help much.

  “You want to hear another laugh?”

  “Not really.”

  Meg’s thick lips were trembling. Her cheeks were streaked with tears. “This’ll really get you.”

  “No.” Janet found herself starting to cry.

  “I loved every second of it. Yeah, I really
did. Every damn second. I knew he was only doing it to get at you, and I knew he found me repulsive, but I loved it. I really did. Have you got any idea how long it’s been since…? Do you know what I do sometimes…sometimes when I get tired of lying in bed alone and…?”

  “Meg, come on. Don’t.”

  “I go find a scuzzy bar over in Hollywood. There’s always some guy so hard-up he doesn’t give a rat’s ass what a woman looks like, just so she’s got a hole in the right place…”

  “Jeez, Meg, cut it out.”

  “You have to know. You have to know why I let him.”

  “I get the picture.”

  “And you have to know I’d let him do it again. Who am I kidding? I’d beg him. I really would, hon, I’d beg him on bended knees.” She laughed once again. It was more of a snort. “Not that it’ll ever happen. He’s done with that ploy. A guy like him won’t try the same trick twice. More’s the pity.”

  It was a fine afternoon. First, a long sleep in bed, the sheets soft and fresh next to her skin. Then a long, hot bath. Afterward, while she blew her hair dry, she started reading the new William Goldman novel, Marathon Man. Wrapped up in the story, she stayed in the bathroom and continued to read it long after she’d shut off the hair drier.

  By the time she stopped, it was late afternoon.

  She hurried into the guest room, got dressed, then went looking for Meg. She found her on the living room couch, legs tucked under her rump, reading Cosmopolitan.

  “Hey,” Janet said.

  Meg looked up at her and smiled. “There you are at last, restored to your natural beauty and shine.”

  “Like a kitchen floor,” Janet said.

  “Speaking of kitchens, guess we’d better start thinking about supper.”

  “How about spaghetti? I’ll make it myself.”

  “Sauce included?”

  “You bet. My special tomato sauce with spicy Italian sausage.”

  “My mouth runneth over,” Meg said. “You’ll excuse me while I drool?”

  “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.”

  In the kitchen, Janet browned the Italian sausage. She sauteed mushrooms, crushed garlic cloves and took several spices from the cupboard. Finally, she stirred it all into a pot of tomato sauce and left it simmering on the stove.

  “I can smell it all the way out here,” Meg said, looking up from her magazine.

  “Want some wine?”

  “Does a moose poop in the woods?”

  Janet returned to the kitchen. The bottle of Burgundy stood on top of the refrigerator. It looked as if nobody had touched it since Thursday when Meg gave her the news about the substituting job. Red wine sloshed its sides as she lifted it down. She found a pair of clean glasses and carried them into the living room.

  “Ah, sweet libation,” Meg said.

  Janet pulled the cork and poured. Then she handed a glass to Meg and sat down with a glass of her own. She lifted it toward her friend. “Cheers,” she toasted.

  “Cheers. We both need ’em.”

  They drank.

  Meg stared into her glass for a moment, then asked, “Have you got anything cooking tonight?”

  “Aside from the spaghetti, not a thing.”

  “Why don’t we take in a movie? There’s a good one playing on the mall. The new Clint Eastwood.”

  “Great. Let’s go. What are the show times?”

  “Seven-thirty and ten, I think. Just a second, I’ll make sure.” Meg finished her wine, refilled both glasses, then reached down to the floor and picked up the morning newspaper. “Whew, how about that guy in Kansas City?”

  “What guy in Kansas City?”

  “Nightmare time. He killed…”

  “I don’t think I want to hear about it.”

  “Makes you wonder…ah, here we go. I was right. Seven-thirty and ten.”

  Janet glanced at her wristwatch. “Looks like we’ve got plenty of time to make the seven-thirty.”

  “Sounds great.”

  Janet sipped her wine. “You know, I’m feeling pretty good right now, all things considered.”

  “Me, too. Too bad we’re not queer, huh? We could just drink wine and go to the movies and sleep together and have ourselves a fine old time.”

  “Only a couple of problems, there. Number one, we’re not.”

  “True. Sad, but true.”

  “Number two, we’d just be trading man-trouble for woman-trouble.”

  “Your profundity’s overwhelming.”

  “In which case,” she continued, “instead of having run-ins with crappy or otherwise unsatisfactory male companions, we’d be beset…”

  “By shitty females,” Meg finished.

  “True.”

  “Sad, but true. And women can be just as shitty as men.”

  “Shittier, even,” said Janet.

  “And how many gals do we know with peckers?”

  “Very few,” Janet admitted. “In fact, I could count them on the fingers of one hand, easily.”

  “Indeed, an amputee…”

  The telephone rang.

  “I’ll get it,” Janet said. She hurried into the kitchen. Glancing at the spaghetti sauce, she saw that it was simmering nicely. She picked up the phone. “Hello?”

  “Hi there, Janet. Doing anything tonight?”

  She hung up.

  She walked to the stove and stood over the pot, breathing deeply to get rid of the heavy pounding in her chest. Seconds passed. Then the phone started ringing again.

  After the fourth ring, Meg called out, “You going to get it?”

  “I’ve got it.” Janet wiped sweat off her upper lip and picked up the phone. “Hello?”

  “Hi. Guess we must’ve been disconnected.”

  “We were. I hung up.”

  “You hung up on me?”

  “Mother warned me about talking to strangers.”

  “Oh, that’s rich. I see I’ve found you in rare humor.”

  “My humor gets very rare when I talk to creeps like you. What do you want, Dave?”

  “Guess.”

  “What do you want?” she repeated.

  “I thought we might get together tonight, have dinner at Henri’s, take in a flick, share a bottle of Cabernet and see what develops.”

  “Sounds wonderful,” Janet said. “Try your sister.”

  She hung up.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  LESTER’S NIGHT OUT

  “I feel like going to a movie,” Lester said.

  “Don’t let me stop you.”

  Carrying his supper plate, he followed Helen into the kitchen. “Why don’t you come along?”

  “Not a chance.” She turned on the faucet and started wiping the supper dishes with a soapy sponge.

  “I don’t want to stay home,” Lester said. “I mean, it’s Saturday night. People are supposed to go out and have fun on Saturday nights.”

  “Go out, then. Go to a movie. Whatever you want. It’s fine with me. I’ve got tests to grade and homework for my night class.”

  “Maybe I will go to a movie.”

  “Go. Have fun.”

  “Okay. See you later.”

  Before leaving the house, he picked up Helen’s copy of the Grand Beach Unified School District Personnel Directory.

  At the theater’s ticket window, Lester saw that the next show wouldn’t begin for nearly half an hour. He bought a ticket and put it into his wallet.

  Two doors down from the theater was Harry’s Bar. Lester had often seen it, often glanced through its open door at the dark tables, the bar, the television, the men playing pool in smoky light. He had never gone inside. Until now.

  “I’d like a margarita,” he told the bartender.

  The man brought his drink. Not waiting to be asked about a tab, he placed a ten-dollar bill in front of him. Then he drank half of his margarita without setting down the glass and ordered another. When he finished the first drink, he started the second. He took his time with this one.

&nbsp
; As he finished it, he looked at his wristwatch. Almost time to head for the movie.

  To hell with the movie.

  He ordered another drink. When it came, he sipped it slowly. Then he left the bar. At his car, he opened the school district directory.

  Bonner, Emily Jean. 4231 37th Street.

  Emily Jean Bonner’s two-story house was set far back from the road. Lights shone in several of its windows. A Volkswagen bug was parked in the driveway.

  Lester tried to make a U-turn, but the road was too narrow.

  Instead of backing up to complete his turn, he let his tire ride up over the curb and bounce down.

  She must have company, Lester decided as he headed up the walkway.

  Maybe not. Maybe that’s her VW.

  No, she isn’t the VW type.

  And she wouldn’t park in the driveway, would she? Wouldn’t she use her garage? She must have company.

  He muttered, “Shit.”

  But his disappointment seemed to be mixed with relief.

  Just as well, he thought. I’ll just drop in, real casual, say I was passing by…just a friendly visit.

  He climbed the porch steps and pushed the lighted doorbell button. Moments later, he heard footsteps. Then the door opened.

  “Why, Mr. Bryant! What a delightful surprise! Won’t you please come in?”

  She’s glad to see me!

  Smiling, he said, “Hi, Emily Jean.”

  She looked wonderful in green slacks and a white turtleneck sweater—better than Lester had ever seen her.

  “I just thought I’d drop by and say hello,” he said.

  “I’m so glad you did.” She shut the door and led him into a brightly lighted living room. “Mr. Bryant, I’d like you to meet my daughter, May Beth.”

  He nodded and smiled at the red-haired young woman sitting on the sofa. “Nice to meet you,” he said.

  “Very nice to meet you, Mr. Bryant.”

  “Mr. Bryant is a college librarian, honey.”

  “Really?” Her smile widened.

  My God, she’s beautiful!

  “I worked in the library at Cal,” she said, “when I was an undergraduate.”

  Blushing, Lester said, “Bet you hated it.”

  “Not really.”

  “Student helpers always get stuck with the routine stuff. Bores them stiff.”

  “I loved it,” she said. “I didn’t think it was boring at all.”