Cuts

  “May I fix you a drink, Mr. Bryant?”

  May Beth was holding a long-stemmed glass. Lester saw a similar glass on a lamp table. “That’d be nice,” he said. “Whatever you’re having would be fine.”

  “Martinis, of course,” said May Beth. “Mother never touches anything but martinis.”

  “However,” said Emily Jean, “I would be delighted to fix you whatever suits your fancy.”

  I just downed three margaritas, he thought. I’d better be careful.

  Careful, smareful.

  “A martini would be just fine,” he said.

  “I’ll be back in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.” On her way out of the room, she said over her shoulder, “Do tell Mr. Bryant about your film, honey.”

  “Oh. Well…” May Beth crossed her legs. They were thin like her mother’s legs, but gave no suggestion of frailty as they tapered upward into her tight, faded cutoff jeans. “I’m off for Denver tomorrow,” she said. “I have a small part in a film being shot on location there.” The jeans were low on her hips. Above them, she wore a tank top with a color illustration of a tabby cat. “It’ll be my first film,” she explained. “I’ve been on stage until now.” The thin fabric clinged to her breasts. Small, round breasts.

  “What sort of movie is it?” Lester asked.

  “A thriller of sorts. You know, a classy shoot-’em-up. I play the friend of a teenaged girl who gets raped, tortured, the whole nine yards.”

  Her erect nipples were pushing out the fabric like two fingertips. Lester crossed his legs. “Who’s directing it?” he asked.

  “Sam Porter.”

  “Oh? He’s not bad, not bad at all. What about the producer?” “Hal Fisher.”

  “No kidding? Hey, you’re in there with the big boys.”

  Emily Jean came striding into the room, a glass in her hand. “Here you are, Mr. Bryant.” She handed him the martini.

  “Thank you.”

  “Well,” May Beth said, “the screenplay is from this really hot best seller, you see. Some Call it Sleep by Evan Collier? So it’ll probably be a really big picture. I can’t believe I’ve got such a good part in a film like that. Apparently, the producer saw me in The Glass Menagerie. He thought I’d be absolutely perfect, so…”

  The ringing telephone interrupted her.

  “I bet that’s Jimmy,” she said. “Excuse me.”

  When she left the room, Lester said, “You have a very beautiful daughter, Emily Jean.”

  “Why, thank you. I most certainly do.”

  “A spitting image of her mother.”

  “Well!” She laughed a little nervously. “I shouldn’t go so far as that!”

  “I should. In fact, I did.” He laughed and sipped the martini. It was awful. He never could stand gin. He took another sip. “You must be awfully proud of her, doing so well in her career at such a young age.”

  “I can’t tell you how very proud I am, Mr. Bryant. And somewhat envious, I must say. I was an actress myself, you know.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me.”

  “I played Linda Loman one season. At the Wilshire Theater? I’ve played many lesser parts in my…” She stopped and looked up at her returning daughter.

  “That was Jimmy,” May Beth said. “He’s waiting for me over at his place, so I’d better be on my way. It was very nice to meet you, Mr. Bryant.”

  “Nice meeting you, May Beth. Good luck on the film. Or should I say, ‘Break a leg’?”

  “Thanks. Hope to see you again sometime.”

  “Excuse me, Mr. Bryant. I’ll see her to the door.”

  “Certainly.”

  Emily Jean walked her daughter out of the room. She returned a few minutes later and sat down on the couch exactly where May Beth had been sitting. She crossed her legs the same way. Her hair was red, but a brighter shade than her daughter’s—probably thanks to a beauty parlor.

  “You look just like May Beth, sitting there.”

  “A far older, tireder and uglier version, I’m afraid.” She let out a nervous giggle. “Do you suppose ‘tireder’ is a word? I rather doubt it, don’t you?”

  “I doubt it,” Lester said, smiling.

  “I do, too.” She picked up a pack of cigarettes. “More tired, I’m sure, is the appropriate usage.”

  “I imagine so.” Lester stood up. Taking a book of matches from his shirt pocket, he crossed to the couch. “Let me get that for you,” he said and struck a match.

  Emily Jean leaned forward with the cigarette in her mouth, held his hand steady and touched the tip of her cigarette to the flame.

  Though her cigarette was lighted, she held his hand for a few more moments. Then she let it go and said, “Why, thank you.”

  “You’re quite welcome.”

  He sat down beside her and wiped his sweaty palms on his trousers. The aroma of her perfume came to him through the smoke’s odor.

  The same perfume Nikki used to wear.

  “That’s nice perfume,” he said. “My favorite, in fact.”

  She blew out smoke and watched it rise. “Your visit is certainly an unexpected pleasure, Mr. Bryant.”

  “Lester, okay?”

  “If you prefer,” she said. She smiled at him. “I should have thought you would avoid me after my display at the Willow Inn.”

  “I enjoyed being there with you.”

  “Why, so did I, Lester.”

  “I told you some things I’ve never told anyone before.” He took a sip of his martini and grimaced. Then he leaned forward and set it on the table. Looking into Emily Jean’s eyes, he said, “I mean, I was in kind of a strange mood. I don’t usually go around talking about…that kind of thing. Helen and stuff. You know?”

  “I believe I understand.” She patted his hand. Turning away, she reached out to the lamp table and poked out her cigarette in an ashtray. Then she turned toward Lester and put her arms around him.

  Oh my God, here we go!

  Trembling, she pressed her mouth against his. Her lips felt cool from her drink, but her mouth was warm inside. She sucked on his tongue.

  As they kissed and embraced, they twisted awkwardly until they were lying side by side on the couch.

  Lester pulled her sweater up and unhooked her bra while her hands unfastened his trousers. Her breasts were full and soft and smooth as velvet. He felt his pants go down. Then cool fingers were stroking his penis.

  “My, oh my,” she said. “What a large and stout…”

  “MOTHER!”

  Emily Jean flinched. Her hand gripped him.

  “My God!”

  “It’s all right, dear.”

  Lester turned his head and saw May Beth behind the couch, looking down at them. From that vantage point, she could see everything. Her gaze seemed to be fixed on Lester’s penis. She blinked a few times, licked her lips, then blurted out, “My car wouldn’t start and…”

  He ejaculated.

  “Oh, my GOD!” May Beth cried out and rushed away.

  “Oh, dear,” Emily Jean murmured. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Bryant. That was certainly unfortunate. I think you’d better be going now.”

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  THE ADVENTURES OF CHARLES

  Raskolnikov was about to dispatch the old woman when the doorbell rang through the silence of Ian’s house. He jumped, let out a laugh, then shut Crime and Punishment and looked across the cluttered study at the wall clock.

  Ten past midnight.

  The bell rang again.

  He set his book on the chair and headed for the front door. The granite floor of the foyer was cold under his bare feet. He flicked a switch to turn on the porch light, then pulled the door wide open.

  “He almost got me,” Charles Perris muttered. “He almost…can I come in?”

  “Sure.”

  Charles was wearing good slacks and a blue sport shirt. The shirt was untucked. Its front looked damp. The sour smell of vomit followed him into the house.

  “I threw up,” he explained.
br />   “Nothing to be ashamed of.”

  “You ever throw up? From drinking?”

  “Sure I have.”

  “Yeah?”

  “More times than I care to remember.”

  “No kidding?”

  “I never kid about drinking, Charles. It’s a trifling sin and a major solace.” Those words sounded familiar. He wondered where he’d picked them up. “Have a seat. Could you use some coffee?”

  “Great.”

  In the kitchen, Ian took two mugs out of the cupboard. He touched the side of the percolator to make sure the coffee was still hot enough. Then he filled them. “Cream and sugar?” he called.

  “Yes, please.”

  He added the cream but decided to let Charles handle the sugar. “There you go,” he said, setting the coffee cup and sugar bowl in front of the boy.

  “Thanks. I can really use this. I just woke up. I passed out after I threw up.”

  “How did you manage to find my house? I thought it was a well-kept secret?”

  “The faculty directory.”

  “How’d you get your hands on that?”

  “He brought it home with him. I was hiding in the utility closet. I saw him drop it by the phone as he came in. That’s what gave me the idea. I couldn’t go home…not shit-faced like this. So I grabbed it and left.”

  “Left where? Who came home?”

  “Mr. Bryant.”

  “Lester Bryant?”

  Charles nodded. He dumped a spoonful of sugar into his coffee. Another.

  “You’re…?” For a moment, Ian felt as if reality were dissolving. He watched Charles empty a third spoonful of sugar into the coffee. Then a fourth. He saw the spoon dip into the tan liquid and stir. Finally, he muttered, “Man, oh man. The woman you were telling me about the other day—the married one—is Helen Bryant?”

  “She thinks I’m a wonderful poet,” he said as if that explained it.

  “Oh, man.” Ian took a drink of his coffee. It tasted bitter. Maybe Charles had the right idea with all that sugar. “How did it happen?”

  “What?”

  “The whole thing. How did you happen to end up in the sack with one of your teachers?”

  It’d make a lot more sense, he thought, if the teacher was someone like Mary Goodwin. Mary wasn’t that much older than the kids. Plus she was beautiful, stacked, and wild. But Helen Bryant? How could a good-looking kid like Charles fall for that piece of work? The ice queen.

  She’s not even pretty!

  Must be those sexy outfits she wears, Ian thought.

  “She liked me,” Charles said.

  “You’re good with understatement.”

  “She said my poetry shows sensitivity and loneliness. We talked about it one day after school. Last Friday? She asked me to read some of it to her, and when I did she started to cry. My God, she actually cried about my poetry and said it was lovely …and then she kissed me.”

  “In her classroom?”

  “Yeah. But it was after three and nobody was around.”

  “What did you think when she kissed you?”

  “It sort of scared me at first. I mean, she’s not just a woman, she’s a teacher, you know? But then…I guess I liked it.”

  “Did anything else happen?”

  “Yeah. She…we kind of felt each other up. We didn’t take off any clothes—nothing like that—but, you know. And then she asked if I’d like to see her sometime, see her at night. By that time I was feeling really…you know, excited? So I said, ‘Sure,’ and we decided we’d see each other Monday night.”

  “That’s when you had intercourse in the van?” Ian asked.

  “Yeah. And then the next night, too. You know the funny thing? I’ve got her for second-period English, you know? Well, she used to treat me special. Like the teacher’s pet. But now she ignores me. She acts like I’m not even in the classroom. Funny, isn’t it?”

  “Understandable. She’s just being careful. What happened tonight?”

  “I didn’t think I’d be seeing her. We hadn’t been out since Tuesday, you know. I figured she wasn’t interested anymore, so I made plans to go to a movie with a couple of the guys. But she called me at home.”

  “Who answered the phone?”

  “Me. Good thing, huh? What if Mom or Dad had picked it up?”

  “Knowing Helen, she probably had a story ready.”

  “God, that woman’s crazy.”

  Mighty good likelihood, Ian thought.

  “What did she say on the phone?” he asked.

  “That her husband had gone to the movies without her. The way she sounded, it was like he’d deserted her or something. Anyway, she wanted to see me. So I phoned my friends and told them I couldn’t make the movie. Then I drove over to Helen’s. I parked at the end of the block, just in case. I mean, I was awfully nervous about actually going to her house. I’d never done that before. It was like, I don’t know, going into enemy territory or something.”

  “The enemy being her husband?”

  “I guess so. I mean, if he caught me making it with his wife, it’d be my ass, you know? So I was really scared shit-less about the whole thing.”

  “If you were so frightened, why did you go?”

  “I was thinking about what you said, Mr. Collins. About wanting out? So I figured this’d be a good chance to break up with her. I thought I’d be really nice about it and tell her how she’s such a cool woman and everything, but how it was really messing with my head and I’d better stop seeing her. And I thought I might ask about transferring out of her class. But the minute she opened the door, she threw her arms around me and kissed me. I mean, this was a real kiss, too. And she was rubbing herself against me.” He shook his head and sighed. “That went on for a long time,” he said. “Then she got me a drink.”

  “Did you ever get around to breaking off the relationship?” Ian asked.

  “I was planning to. I kept waiting for the right time, you know? And we kept drinking. Then she went to fill our glasses for, I don’t know, the fourth or fifth time, I guess. She took a little longer than usual. When she came back, she had the drinks, all right. But she was wearing this black nightgown.”

  “Holy smoke,” Ian muttered.

  “God, it hardly covered anything. I mean, you could see right through it. I could see everything. I nearly…” Charles shook his head.

  “The next thing I knew,” he continued, “we were in her bedroom. Right on the same bed where she sleeps with her husband. And we were doing it. I don’t know how long we were at it. Seemed like a long time. An hour or so. Then we heard the garage door open and she said, ‘That’s Lester.’ So I just grabbed my clothes and ran. I should’ve run out the front, I guess. Or out to the patio. But I didn’t know which end was up. I mean, I was scared shitless and half-smashed, so I just ran for the kitchen—which was the way Mr. Bryant was coming in.”

  “But he didn’t see you?”

  “I hid in the utility closet with the clothes washer. I mean, the goddamn door was opening right in front of my nose! But I ducked into the closet just in time. I didn’t get the door shut all the way, so I looked out and that’s when I saw him put down the faculty directory. Then he left. Went to bed, I guess. I didn’t hear anything from the bedroom. Helen must’ve pretended to be asleep or something.”

  “You didn’t vomit while you were at their place, did you?”

  “No. Man, that would’ve really…I didn’t puke till I was driving over here. There were some stale cigarette butts in the ashtray, and…I guess the smell of them…” He suddenly looked as if talking about the odor might bring back his nausea.

  After a few seconds, he went on. “I pulled over and hung my head out the door and barfed my guts out.”

  “An auspicious way to end your adventure,” Ian said. “How are you feeling now?”

  “Not very drunk, anyway. The sleeping must’ve…” He trailed off and stared at his empty coffee mug.

  “Why don’t you take a s
hower?” Ian suggested.

  “Here?”

  “Yeah. Right here, right now. While you’re at it, I’ll throw your shirt in the washing machine. By the time you’re ready to go home, nobody’ll be the wiser.”

  “Just me,” Charles said.

  “We can hope for that.”

  TWENTY-NINE

  KAREN’S HOMECOMING

  Albert spent Sunday the same way he’d spent Saturday: sleeping, eating food from the well-stocked kitchen, watching television, never leaving the apartment.

  Twice each day, he’d dumped four trays of ice cubes into the bathtub water. The technique seemed to be working; Tess’s body hardly smelled at all by the time on Sunday night when he heard footsteps in the hallway.

  He hurried into the bathroom and waited behind the closed door.

  “Tess must’ve gone to bed early,” he heard Karen say. “How’s about one for the road?”

  “Can’t get enough of me, can you?”

  “Shhh, she’ll hear you.”

  “Okay, okay. Mmmm.”

  “Stop that. Wait a minute and I’ll make sure her door’s shut.”

  Albert held his breath as Karen walked past the bathroom and down the hall. He heard a door bump quietly shut. “It’s okay,” she said on her way back.

  “Okay!”

  “Not so loud!”

  “Sorry, sorry.”

  Albert heard nothing for a few seconds. Then, “Mmmm, what’s this?”

  “You oughta know, Tiger.”

  “Mmmmm. Aw, shit. Time out, okay?”

  “The beer again,” Karen said. “Can I give you a hand?”

  “Wait’ll I get back.”

  “I don’t know, honey. You could probably use a little help in there. Your aim’s so piss-poor.”

  “I can handle this myself.”

  “Won’t be half the fun.”

  Albert heard quick footsteps. He pressed himself against the bathroom wall, shivering. The light came on. The door shut. Heart thudding wildly, Albert stared at Steve’s back.

  If he turns around…?

  Albert clamped a hand across Steve’s mouth, lurched against him and rammed the knife into his back.

  The point hardly went in at all.

  Hit his spine?

  Steve grunted and went up on tiptoes.