“I came with a dear friend, Eve Tunis. She’s off galli- vanting. There’s nothing between us, of course. She only asked me to escort her because we’re such dear friends and she abhors being seen alone.”
“Are you in show business?” Janet asked.
“I plead guilty. I’m an actor.”
Surprise, surprise.
He put his arm across Janet’s shoulders. “Tell me…” His mouth was too close. She could feel his breath on her lips. It smelled of onions. “Did you come alone?”
Hearing a commotion behind her, Janet turned. A man dressed in chain mail and armor like a medieval knight was moving across the living room. The visor of his helmet was down. Dale walked beside him, holding his arm, flora dangling from her hair and gown.
“Make way!” the knight called in a deep, powerful voice. “Make way for the ghost of good King Hamlet, untimely slain. Make way, make way!” He pushed through the crowd, leaving laughter and wisecracks in his wake. “Step aside, fair lady. Good King Hamlet has a rendezvous. Make way, make way!”
In the patio, he raised his visor. He had a remarkably handsome face.
Rock Hudson as King Hamlet.
“Janet,” said Dale, “I’d like you to meet my husband Ronald.”
“Hello,” Janet said. “Nice to meet you.”
“Janet and I were just discussing theater. My name is Brian. Brian Baker, and you are…?”
“Ronald Harvey. This is my wife, Dale.”
“It’s such a pleasure to meet you both,” Baker said.
“Didn’t I see you in a commercial last week?” asked Dale.
His eyes filled with astonishment. “Why, perhaps.”
“For an underarm deodorant, wasn’t it?”
“Why, yes! You did see my commercial!”
“And your marvelous physique. But it’s chilly out here. Why don’t we step inside and you can tell me all about it?”
“Wonderful.” He looked at Janet. “Coming?”
“I think I’ll stay out here in the fresh air.”
“We’d be so much more comfortable inside.”
“No, you go on ahead.”
“I’ll be with you later.”
When he was gone, Ronald said, “Dale’s very good at rescues.”
“Sure is. What a relief.” Janet shook her head, then drank some wine.
“You’ve got quite a costume there,” Ronald said. “Did Pocahontas really wear jeans?”
Pocahontas again. Terrific.
“Oh, yes. It’s a historical fact verified in the journals of John Smith.”
“Do you suppose she was prompted by the weather or by modesty?”
“Probably a little of both.”
“More than likely,” Ronald agreed. “How do you suppose she’d have gotten along with Hamlet?”
“The king or the prince?”
“Why, the king. The prince was nothing but a whelp, wet behind the ears.”
“The king was married, though.”
“To Gertrude. Awful. Can you imagine what it’d be like to live with Gertrude?”
“Not very easily.”
“Neither can I. Must’ve been tough on the guy. What he really needed, perhaps, was a Pocahontas.”
Beautiful.
“Is that so?” Janet asked. She couldn’t keep a bit of sharpness out of her voice.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Just joshing. I didn’t mean to put you on the defensive. You’ll think I’m as bad as that Baker character. Forgive me?”
“Nothing to forgive. We were talking about Pocahontas and Hamlet, not us. Right?”
“Of course we were.”
She looked him in the eye. “Pocahontas doesn’t mess around with married men.”
“I understand completely.”
FIFTY-ONE
NEW ARRIVALS
Ian watched a woman climb out of her gray Mercedes like a bride, but she wore no veil. Instead of shoes, she had slippers on.
The flowing white was no wedding gown at all, Ian realized as he approached her from across the street. It was a nightgown.
“Hello, Mary,” he called.
She stopped and turned. The breeze, gentle as it was, molded the light gown to her legs and held it there. “Ian?”
“Right.”
“I’m glad I heard your voice before I saw you. You look dreadful.”
“Thank you. And you look lovely.”
“Thank you, Ian.”
As he stepped over the curb, he swept his eyes down from Mary’s face. The front of her gown dipped so low it covered very little of her breasts, which bulged out of the top of her strapless black bra as if ready to pop out. Her forearms and hands were stained red. Her brief, black panties were clearly visible through the gown’s wispy fabric.
“Lady MacBeth, I presume.”
“Bravo.”
“I thought maybe Cinderella till I saw the blood.”
“The damn spots,” Mary said.
“May I take your bag?”
“Thank you.”
Bottles clinked inside the sack as she handed it to Ian. Her breath smelled sweet with liquor. “Quite an outfit,” he said.
“I thought something literary would be nice.”
“You’ve got literary, sexy and violent,” Ian said. “The perfect Halloween costume.”
“Gotta give the fellas something to think about.”
“You’ll be the life of the party.”
“What’re you supposed to be?” she asked.
“Just ghastly.”
“Well, you succeeded.”
“Thank you.”
Mary frowned at the lighted house. “Is this it?”
“I believe this is it,” said Ian.
The walkway to the porch was narrow, so Ian allowed Mary to take the lead. Her nightgown, penetrated by the porch light, was almost completely transparent. Ian watched her through it. Then, ashamed of his voyeurism, he looked away.
I’m sure to get a story tonight, he thought. Just keep an eye on Mary.
Where Mary goes, trouble follows.
She stepped onto the porch, rang the bell, and glanced over her shoulder at Ian. The way she smiled, she seemed to know the effect of her appearance.
Ian shook his head, amazed at her. He wondered how much she’d had to drink.
The door opened.
For a moment, Dale looked stunned. Then she found her smile. “How nice to see you, Mary. And so much of you, at that.”
Mary smiled as if pleased by the compliment, then curtsied. She stepped through the doorway.
Dale glanced at Ian with poorly concealed distaste. Then she said to Mary, “Won’t you introduce me to your date?”
Ian grinned beneath his mask.
“Oh! I’m sorry! Such a faux pas! Dale, I want you to meet the newest man in my life.” Without the slightest pause, she came up with a name for him. “Oscar Wade.”
Oscar? Thanks a bunch, Mary.
“Nice to meet you, Oscar.” Politely, Dale offered her hand.
Ian took it gently. “The pleasure is mine,” he said, raising the pitch of his voice so she wouldn’t recognize it.
Now I’ve done it.
Might be fun, he thought.
“The bar is out back on the patio,” Dale told him. “You can put your drinks out there.”
He started through the crowd, through the jumble of familiar faces that looked at him without recognition. He was a stranger. Mary’s date.
The eyes of many men were envious. The eyes of several men and women held suspicion and dislike. After giving him a quick perusal, they all turned to inspect Mary, who followed close behind him.
Harrison suddenly whistled and shouted, “Whoooeee! Get a loada Mary!”
FIFTY-TWO
THE FUSS
Out on the patio, Janet heard a sudden explosion of cheers, whistles and shouts from inside the house. “Sounds like the place is coming apart,” she said.
“Let’s see what the fuss is all about.” R
onald took hold of her arm and walked her toward the open door.
She wished he would let go. His touch seemed too possessive, too intimate.
Guess he didn’t get the message.
But she thought it would be rude to simply pull out of his grip, so she let him continue clinging to her arm even after they entered the house.
The center of attention was a beautiful young woman with thick, flowing black hair and an amazing figure.
Stacked, as Meg might say.
Not only stacked, but she was wearing a nightgown that showed most of what she had. The tops of her breasts were bare as if being shoved out of the gown by the strapless black bra beneath them. The color of her skin showed through the gown’s wispy fabric. And so did her skimpy black panties.
No wonder all hell had broken loose.
Ronald’s hand tightened.
Looking directly at Ronald and Janet, the woman climbed onto a coffee table near the center of the room. She held up her arms for silence. They were reddish-brown, the color of dried blood.
She stared at the hand that held Janet’s arm, then glared into Janet’s eyes.
As the crowd settled down for whatever show was about to take place, she cried out, “Yet here’s a spot! Out, damned spot! Out, I say!”
The partygoers cheered, clapped and shouted, “Bravo!” Others yelled, “Go for it, Mary!”
A couple of guys yelled, “Take it off!”
Mary nodded and smiled, but seemed agitated. Her face was red. So was her chest. So were the tops of her heaving breasts. Eyes wild, she pointed a finger at Ronald and cried out, “Unhand the strumpet, foul toad!”
Laughing softly, Ronald let go of Janet’s arm. “She must be plowed,” he whispered.
Pointing her finger at Janet, she yelled, “Get thee to a nunnery, squaw!”
FIFTY-THREE
HOUSE HUNTING
Albert left the Santa Monica Freeway at Grand Beach Boulevard. A fog had rolled in. In spite of its gray blur, however, he was able to read the street signs.
He passed 14th Street. Then Vista, then 12th.
Wrong direction.
At 11th, he turned right. He went around the block and turned onto Grand Beach. Now, the street numbers grew higher. Some had names instead of numbers, but he ignored those and continued eastward until he found 37th Street.
He turned left and found himself on a quiet, residential street. No cars were approaching from either direction, so he stopped at the curb and took May Beth’s driver’s license out of his shirt pocket.
4231
Squinting through the fog at the house to his right, he found the address on a wooden plaque beside the door.
3950
Three more blocks.
He stretched his stiff back and rubbed his neck.
It would be so great to get out of the car.
No more driving. Not for a while. Not for a long while, if he could help it.
When I wear out my welcome with May Beth’s mother, he thought, I’ll just find me another place to stay. Should be no problem at all.
The Los Angeles area was enormous. One city after another. Millions of people. In a place like this, he could disappear forever.
Forever. House after house, girl after girl.
Striking and vanishing.
Fantastic!
Albert rolled his head to work the kinks out of his neck, then pulled away from the curb. Driving slowly, he watched house fronts and caught another number.
3990
He waited at a stop sign, though no cars were approaching.
At the end of the next block, there was no stop sign. Then he came to another one. He stopped. As a car crossed in front of him, he looked again at the girl’s license.
4231
The house should be near the start of the next block, the second or third on the left.
Not bothering to look for it, he turned left and parked close to the corner.
He climbed out of the car. It felt great to stand. He stretched his muscles and filled his lungs with the cool, moist air. He thought he could taste the fog.
A fantastic night!
Nobody drove the street. Nobody walked the sidewalk. Only Albert. The soles of his sneakers were almost silent on the pavement.
The two-story house at 4231 looked big and old. The windows of its upper floor were dark, but a light shone in the main window at ground level. The driveway was empty.
Albert crossed the front yard at an angle, tracing a path through the wet grass. When he saw his footprints on the concrete stoop, he wished he’d taken the walkway. But the footsteps would dry by morning and probably leave no trace at all.
He held a knife in his right hand, so he pressed the doorbell button with his left.
FIFTY-FOUR
MARY, MARY
Cheers and whistles.
“You tell ’em, Mary!”
“Get thee to a nunnery!” she shouted again at the girl with Ronald.
Poor kid, Ian thought. She really looked flustered.
“Get thee to a clothes store!” Dale yelled at Mary.
“Up thine!” Mary shouted at her.
A lot of people laughed. But not the girl in the white leather shirt.
Where’d she come from? Ian wondered. Could she be a student teacher he hadn’t noticed before? That didn’t seem likely. Maybe she was here as someone’s date.
“Take the rest off!” advised vice-principal Reiser.
“Yeah!” shouted Jim Green, one of the social studies teachers. “Come on, Mary! Show us what you’ve got!”
“Take it off!” Reiser chanted. “Take it all off!”
“You guys knock it off,” Harrison said. “This has gone far enough.”
The girl looked relieved.
She’s not Ronald’s date, Ian thought. That’s for sure. But he’d probably latched onto her, anyway. Though the guy had been married to Dale for years, he made a habit of seeking out the best-looking gal at any gathering and flirting with her.
He’d obviously done it again. And Mary didn’t like it, not one bit.
So what’s between Mary and Ronald? Why should she be this upset? Have they been seeing each other?
“Mary,” Harrison said, “get down off the table before you fall and break your neck.”
“Then get thee to Alcoholics Anonymous!” Dale suggested.
“Fuck thee!” Mary shouted back at her, then let out a wild laugh, jumped off the coffee table and made a deep bow that must’ve given everyone nearby a wonderful view down her cleavage.
More cheers, applause, whistles, shouts of “Bravo!” and “Atta gal, Mary!”
She smiled and waved at some of the guys, then hurried over to Ian and clutched his arm.
“Quite a performance,” he said.
“Thank you very much, sir.”
They made slow progress across the room as Mary took compliments from all sides. Almost entirely from men. The women obviously appreciated neither her costume nor her antics. Some ignored her. Others eyed her with disdain, loathing or pity.
Helen Bryant dead ahead.
She wore the same “fifties girl” costume as last year: a pink scarf around her neck, a tight white cashmere sweater, a long gray skirt decorated with a poodle patch, white socks and saddle shoes.
As they approached her, she cast a narrow glance at Mary, looked at Ian without interest and kept on walking.
Doesn’t recognize me.
This is very convenient, he thought. I’ll have to wear a mask more often.
Then he saw the girl in the white leather shirt. She was standing with Ronald in front of the open patio door, glancing in Ian’s direction and looking slightly nervous.
Ian felt a strange surge of anger and disappointment when he noticed Ronald Harvey’s hand on her arm.
Jealousy?
Good God, I can’t be jealous. I don’t even know her.
He wanted to know her, though. He wanted badly to know her. Something about the way she l
ooked…
Doesn’t make sense, he told himself. Sure, she’s a great-looking young woman, but that’s no reason for my heart to be flip-flopping.
“Hello, Ronald,” he said.
“I don’t place your face, but the voice rings a bell.”
“Ian.”
Ronald laughed. “That’s quite a mask, fellow. Positively ghoulish.”
“Hello, Ron.” The intimate sound of Mary’s voice surprised Ian. “When are you planning to introduce me to your new friend?”
The new friend looked more confused and vulnerable than ever.
“Mary, this is Janet. She’s a substitute teacher. She was Emily Jean today.”
Emily Jean absent? Ian hadn’t noticed. Of course, he rarely saw much of her during school hours. She always spent the nutrition break in the women’s faculty lounge, off limits to the guys. And Ian usually ate lunch in his classroom so he could spend the time writing.
“Doesn’t she have a last name?” Mary asked.
“It’s Arthur,” Janet said in a strong voice.
“Well, Janet Arthur, I hope you have better luck with Ron than I did.”
She gave Mary a blank look and said, “Oh.”
“When he’s done with you, he’ll toss you away like a used rubber.”
Blushing deep red, Janet walked away quickly.
Ian watched her.
What if she leaves the whole party?
“That takes care of that,” Mary said. “Who is the little slut, anyway?”
Ronald shrugged, his chain-mail shirt shimmering. “I barely know the young lady. We only met tonight.”
“Oh, sure.”
“Honestly, Mary…”
Ian stopped listening.
Midway across the living room, Janet stopped beside Dale.
Without a word, Ian stepped around Ronald. He set the bags of liquor on the patio table, then hurried back into the house. Janet was still standing with Dale.
Heart pounding, he walked toward her.
FIFTY-FIVE
THE FRIENDLY STRANGER
“I wonder what he wants,” Dale muttered.
Janet watched the tall, slim man approach. He was dressed in a black silk shirt, black trousers and black boots. A frightful mask covered his entire head. The skin of the mask had a sick, yellow hue. One bloodshot eye bulged grotesquely. The mouth was a twisted wreck full of crooked brown teeth. Ugly. But worse than ugly. Somehow, the mask was unnerving.