Darcy, only sixteen.
Thank God she didn't wake up. She never found out about that disgusting episode.
Days later, she asked, 'What happened to Arthur? You dump him?'
'He was a shithead.'
That grin. That glint in her eyes. 'Hey, I could've told you that.'
And no man, not one, ever slept over again.
Chris looked at herself in the mirror. She was bent over, her face red, as if she'd taken a punch in the belly. She straightened up.
She took her clothes off.
And felt stupid gazing at her reflection.
But it helped.
'Not bad for an old bag of thirty-nine,' she said. Then she got into her swimsuit.
***
Hank Whitmore looked up from his paperback when the woman entered the pool area. He watched her stride past the end of the pool and choose a lounge chair on the far side.
The scenery, he thought, has taken a definite turn for the better.
She was a tall, slender blonde, probably in her early thirties. As Hank watched, she removed her long white shirt. Her swimming suit had thin straps that formed an X on her back. Except for those, her back was bare to the top of her rump. Shiny white fabric hugged her buttocks.
Hank pursed his lips.
And Paula felt sorry for me, he thought. Poor Dad has to wait around for an hour and a half with nothing to do.
The woman turned slightly and bent over to drape her cover-up on the back of the lounge. Her side was bare all the way down to the hip. Though the suit clung to her breast, it didn't quite reach far enough. The very base of her breast, where it just began to rise from her chest, was left exposed.
Hank forced himself to look down at his book.
No better than a peeping Tom, he thought.
But my God, what a gal.
He looked up again.
She was facing the pool, maybe considering whether to go in for a dip. A couple of kids were splashing around in the shallow end.
Hank wished she would take off her sunglasses.
Her face - what he could see of it - looked just as fine as her body.
She took them off.
Even at this distance, Hank could see the blue of her eyes.
Christ almighty, he thought, I'm in love.
He looked at her left hand. No wedding ring. No ring at all, on either hand.
Her only jewellery was a thin gold chain around her left wrist.
She's not wearing a wedding ring and she's alone.
That doesn't mean she's available, Hank told himself. Maybe she's got a boyfriend who'll be along in a minute.
A gal who looks like this simply cannot be unattached. It's against the laws of nature.
Maybe she's gay.
There's a cheerful thought.
Maybe she's a hooker.
Now there is a cheerful thought.
Hank had never been with a prostitute. Not even in Viet Nam, which amused his buddies no end. Over the years since then, he'd frequently toyed with the idea - some were absolutely gorgeous and he knew that they'd do just about anything - but they were so experienced. Somehow, he'd always been sure he would commit a blunder and end up totally humiliated.
The woman on the other side of the pool was now sitting on her lounge, spreading suntan lotion on her sleek legs.
Hank looked at his wristwatch. He still had more than an hour before the tour ended.
He thought about his money. He had close to two hundred dollars in his wallet, plus five hundred in traveller's cheques. And he'd heard that the classier hookers often took credit cards.
I could do it.
Jesus H. Christ.
He was trembling badly.
To spend an hour in bed with someone like that…
He'd always dreamed of having a really beautiful woman. Just once in his life.
What if she's got AIDs or something?
He'd noticed condoms in the hotel shop.
Go for it, man. You may never get another chance like this.
Hank folded his book shut, forgetting to mark the place. He got to his feet. His legs felt shaky and weak. He began to walk.
What'll I say?
What if she's not a hooker? As great as she looked, she was awfully old to be in that line. Weren't most of them supposed to be teenagers?
Who knows.
Nothing ventured, nothing gained.
Oh God, I must be out of my mind.
He walked around the end of the pool.
The woman was leaning back, spreading lotion on her arms.
Whatever you say, Hank told himself, don't sound like a jerk.
He stopped beside her lounge.
'Excuse me,' he said.
She looked up at him.
Say something.
'I'm Hank,' he said.
Hello, Hank. Fuck off.
She smiled. It was a fine smile, nothing superior about it. 'Hi,' she said.
He rubbed his hands on his shorts. 'I've got an hour or so to kill.'
'That's a terrible thing to do to an hour.'
'Kill it? Yeah. Well, I guess I'd rather make the most out of it.'
'Reading's a good way to do that.'
She'd noticed him with the paperback. Had she also noticed him staring at her?
'The book won't go away,' Hank said.
'And I will?'
'Good chance of it. Are you with someone?'
'My daughter's down in the cavern.'
Hank realized, with mixed disappointment and relief, that she undoubtedly was not a hooker after all. So much for fantasies. But they both had daughters in the cavern. That gave them something in common. Though he wouldn't be getting her into bed, at least he could pass the time with her and enjoy the view. 'Really? My daughter's down there, too.'
'I'm Chris,' she said. She lifted her hand toward him, then hesitated. 'Oh, it's all yooked…'
Hank took her hand. It was moist and slick with suntan lotion. 'Nice to meet you, Chris. I'm Hank.'
'I know. Feel free to pull up a seat, if you like.'
'Thanks.' He grabbed a nearby lounge and set it next to Chris's - at an angle so he could look at her without twisting his head halfway around. 'How come you're not taking the tour?' he asked.
'I went yesterday.'
'Didn't your daughter go with you, or…?'
'She's a guide. I'm staying here at the hotel for a couple of days, just visiting.'
'Your daughter's a guide? They use kids?'
'Everybody's someone's kid.' She laughed softly. 'Don't worry, your daughter is in good hands. Darcy's twenty-one.'
'Gee, you must've been ten when you had her.'
'And then some,' Chris said, her face taking on a red hue. 'What about your daughter? How old is she?'
'Paula's sixteen.'
'She went down alone?'
'I'm not big on caves. She wanted to see it. I didn't think I should deprive her of the experience just because I wasn't interested.'
'That's pretty neat of you,' Chris said. 'Most parents wouldn't do that.'
'Most parents would see the cave with their kid.'
She frowned slightly, 'If you feel that way about it, how come you stayed behind?'
'I figured maybe I'd latch onto some fabulous babe by the pool.'
Oh shit, why did I say that!
Chris laughed.
'As a matter of fact,' he said, 'I've got a touch of claustrophobia. I don't do real well in tight places.'
She looked interested. 'Were you always that way?'
'Something I acquired in the service.' He felt his heart speeding up. 'Do you have any phobias?'
'Getting a splinter in the eye.'
'Ow!'
'Fortunately, it's never happened. But I'm careful about walking close to shelves. Libraries make me very nervous, which is something of a handicap.'
'Why is that?'
'I'm a researcher. I freelance at it. Basically, that means I do the dirty work for lazy wr
iters. How about you?'
'I teach.'
She raised her eyebrows. 'You don't look much like a teacher.'
'You don't look much like a researcher.'
'Because I don't wear glasses and wear my hair in a bun?'
'Among other things.'
She blushed again. 'If you're a teacher, it must be PE.'
'Me, a jock?'
'You obviously work out a lot.'
'I do body-building to work off the tension of the job.'
'So what do you teach?'
'Driver's education.'
'Oh shit, you're kidding.' She slapped a hand across her mouth as she started to laugh.
My turn to blush, he thought as he felt his skin heat up.
'I'm sorry. It's just that… driver's ed. In high school?'
He nodded.
'It's just… I can't picture you. My driver's ed teacher was such an incredible old fart. His name was Deederding and he looked like one. He had this high, squeaky voice. And a nervous tic.' She demonstrated the tic, twitching her left cheek.
God, she was cute doing that!
'Deederding. He was so awful. But there's nothing intrinsically funny about being a driver's ed teacher. I shouldn't have laughed.'
'As a matter of fact, there's plenty intrinsically funny about it. Most people do laugh. They picture a nervous nilly cringing and covering his eyes.'
'I'm sure you're not like that.'
'I do cringe a lot. I rarely cover my eyes.'
'Where are you from?' she asked.
'Santa Monica.'
'You're a long way from home.'
'Where are you from?'
'Da Big Apple.'
Hank felt a tug of disappointment. We're from opposite sides of the country. I'll never see her again. Today is it. Probably.
'My daughter's a student at Princeton. She's here on a summer job. I hadn't seen her since spring break…' Chris lowered the back of her lounge. She lay down and folded her hands behind her head. 'If you're planning to stick around, she said, 'why don't you bring your stuff over? No point in taking up two places.'
'Right,' Hank said. 'Save my seat.'
She smiled.
He got up and started making his way around the pool.
She likes me, he thought. Man, why couldn't this happen back home? Why couldn't she be from Santa Monica or Brentwood or some place? Just my luck. I have to be three thousand miles from home when I meet a gal like this.
Not only gorgeous, but nice. And she likes me.
And we'll be leaving in an hour.
Shit.
Who says we have to leave? The thought struck him hard, knocking him breathless. His heart thudded.
We could stay here tonight. All I have to do is check us in, if they've got any vacancies. Paula wouldn't mind. Cancel out on Cooperstown. She wasn't all that eager to see the Hall of Fame, anyway. Stay here tonight. Maybe take Chris and her daughter to dinner. Who knows what…?
Maybe Chris wouldn't want to do that.
Ask. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.
Hank pulled his shirt off the back of his chair and picked up his book. He walked back around the pool. When he reached the lounges, he saw that Chris's eyes were shut. He sat down and looked at her.
She's shut me out, he thought.
Probably thinks I'm a nuisance, after all. Was just being nice, did her bit for the sake of politeness, and now she wants to be left alone.
So much for my grand schemes.
At least with her eyes shut, she can't see me looking at her.
So Hank looked. She was smooth and tanned and her swimsuit hugged every curve and hollow and mound. But he took little pleasure from the view. His hopes had been smashed, and he felt only loss.
You never stood a chance, he thought.
She's gorgeous, and you're a nonentity.
The tip of her tongue slid out and wetted her lips.
He could feel those lips.
You never will.
***
'If you aren't in any big hurry,' Chris said, 'maybe you and your daughter could join us for lunch.'
Chris woke up. She hadn't meant to doze off. Turning her head, she saw that Hank's lounge was empty. Except for his book.
He'll be back, she thought.
She wondered how long she'd been out.
Maybe the tour's over and he went to get his daughter.
She didn't want to move. The sun felt like a hot, heavy blanket. But she needed to use a toilet, and this was as good a time as any.
Sitting up, she mopped her damp face with a towel. Then she put on the oversized white shirt, buttoned it, and stepped into her sandals. She left her suntan lotion and sunglasses on the lounge to show that she would be back. She picked up her shoulder bag.
No need to return to the room, she thought. She could use the ladies' room in the hotel lobby.
Just ignore Mordock.
The lech.
Walking toward the doors, she smiled. How come Mordock's a lech and Hank isn't? He couldn't take his eyes off me. So what's the difference?
Hank's sweet.
Mordock's a sleazebag.
You can't get much more different than that.
Chris pushed open one of the glass doors. Entering the lobby, she saw Hank at the registration desk. He reached into a rear pocket of his shorts and took out his wallet.
What's he doing?
Checking in?
Because of me?
Good Lord, she thought. She entered the ladies' room and went to one of the stalls. She set her bag on the shelf. She draped her shirt over the door. The toilet looked clean, but she pulled a paper seat cover from its dispenser, tore out the inner sheet, and set it in place. While she was peeling her swimsuit down, an end of the paper slipped and dropped into the water.
'Damn,' she muttered, and brushed the rest of it into the bowl.
She got a new cover, put it down, and sat quickly.
So Hank is checking into the hotel, she thought. In a way, it was almost alarming. But nice, too.
Maybe it has nothing to do with me.
Of course it does. We hit it off, and he decided to stick around for a while to see what develops.
What can develop? He lives in California.
Maybe he's hoping for one night.
Sorry, buster, but if you think I'm going to hop in the sack with you…
Santa Monica wouldn't be such a shabby place to live.
You don't even know the guy. Hardly.
He's checking in.
God almighty.
Finished, Chris stood and pulled her swimsuit up. She slipped the straps over her shoulders, turned around and balanced on her right leg while she stepped on the flush lever with her left foot.
The toilet water started to go down, then didn't.
Great, Chris thought. Plumbing problems. She wondered if she should mention it to Mordock.
Let someone else. I'm not talking to that guy if I can help it.
She put her shirt on, slung the bag strap over her shoulder, unlatched the stall door and stepped out.
Hank. He checked in.
Smiling, she shook her head.
The guy really has nerve. Of course he does - he's a driving instructor.
And Darcy was afraid I might get bored.
She stepped to a sink and twisted a faucet handle. Water trickled out. She tried the other handle, but still no more than a thin stream ran from the nozzle.
Forget it, she thought.
She went to the door and reached for its handle.
And the roar of gunfire pounded her ears.
***
The man behind the registration desk handed the credit card back to Hank and gave him a room key with a big plastic tag. 'Checkout time is eleven A.M.,' he said.
'Thanks.' Hank, turning away, stopped abruptly to stare at the man striding through the lobby doors.
He was about twenty, fat and wearing glasses. His face was scarlet, dripping with sweat, a
nd his cheeks jiggled as he walked. Clamped between his teeth was a lighted cigar.
He carried a bucket in each hand.
The buckets were full. Liquid sloshed over their rims as the man lugged them along.
Hank smelled the pungent stench of gasoline.
'Holy shit,' he muttered.
'Outa the way,' the man said in a high, girlish voice.
Hank backed away from the desk.
The man walked towards it.
The hotel man looked stunned. 'I told you, fella…'
'Fuck what you told me, Mordock.'
Hank kept backing away.
The guy with the cigar set one of the buckets on the floor. He lifted the other and swung it with both hands.
The amber liquid surged out, splashing the face and chest of Mordock who shut his eyes and mouth tight as the flood hit him.
'What did you do with her?' the fat man asked. He took the cigar from his mouth and tapped ash onto the counter.
Mordock, dripping gasoline, squinted at him with one eye and shook his head wildly. 'I told you, nobody named Amy Lawson ever checked in. I showed you the cards. I never heard of her. Put that cigar away! Come on, mister!'
'She was here.'
'If something happened to her, it wasn't my fault. I had nothing to do with it.'
'Then why'd you get rid of her registration card?'
'I didn't. I tell you…' Suddenly, Mordock had a revolver.
Hank threw himself at the floor. The first shot crashed in his ears an instant after he hit. He saw the fat man flinch and toss the cigar like a dart. Mordock kept blasting as the cigar sailed toward him. The slugs pounded the fat man. Some came out his back, puffing out his white shirt and throwing sprays of blood. Another caught his face. The back of his head flew open.
Mordock got off his last shot, which seemed to miss, just as the cigar touched him off.
He was a torch. The fat man was shot apart.
They faced each other for a moment - two dead men.
The fat man fell forward. His chest hit the edge of the counter. His knees folded. As he dropped, the edge caught his chin and knocked his head back. He tumbled sideways. His shoulder struck the bucket of gasoline on the floor and overturned it.