Closet Case (Robert Rodi Essentials) (31 page)

Please, please,
please
don’t let Yolanda be back yet, Lionel prayed as Bob pulled the Eclipse into the driveway.

But as they cleared the bushes on either side of the drive and came into sight of the cabin, he saw that his Celica had indeed returned, and was parked right next to the Beemer and the Saab — and the dusty, mud-splattered Jaguar.

Bob looked at the row of cars and said, “I take it you’re not alone here.”

“No,” snapped Lionel, “we’re sharing the place with a bunch of kickboxers and martial artists.”

Bob chuckled and said,
“Not,”
as if this entire expedition were some kind of merry lark. Then he backed up the car until it sat square in the center of the corridor of bushes, effectively blocking the driveway.

He stilled the engine and got out of the car. Lionel tried wildly to reach his own door handle in order to escape before Bob had time to get around to his side, but his handcuffs made it impossible. In fact, he slipped on the vinyl seat and hit his temple against the door.
“Shit,”
he hissed.

As he righted himself, Bob reached through the rear window and snatched the spear from the back seat, then opened the passenger door. “Out, please,” he said.

Lionel refused to budge. “Go stick a can of styling mousse up your ass.”

Bob gave him a jab in the thigh with the spear.

“Yowtch! Jesus!”
he cried, checking his shorts for a rip. “You out of your goddamn
mind
?”

“Just want to ensure your cooperation,” Bob said cheerfully. “You’ve got to realize, Lionel, you’re in no position to resist.”

He stumbled out of the car. “I’m going to have you arrested for this. It’s kidnapping, it’s assault, it’s —
kidnapping
, it’s —”

“Oh, button your lip,” Bob snarled, using the spear to prod him forward. Any hesitation on Lionel’s part would surely result in drawn blood. “Just bring me to Yolanda.”

“You think she’s going to help you?” he taunted as he trudged toward the cabin, the spear biting into his back every third or fourth step. “You think she won’t press charges as quickly as I will? You’re crazy.”

“Actually, I’ve never felt more clear-headed in my life,” he said as he followed his captive to the front door. “Law, authority — all the things you’re trying to scare me with — they can’t hide the simple fact that I’ve been
wronged
by you, and especially by Yolanda. And there are more ancient, more honorable ways of righting that wrong than flinging a bunch of notarized papers at you.” They passed through the door and into the kitchen. He looked around and said, “Nice! Love the curtains. Chintz?”

Lionel, who wouldn’t know chintz from burlap, chose not to reply, and silently led him into the main living area. The cabin seemed empty, but he could see down the hallway that David’s bedroom door was shut. He guessed David was behind it, and was torn between the urge to call him to his rescue, and the equally strong urge to protect him from Bob. In the end, he kept his mouth shut. Despite the hurt David must now be suffering, it was better to leave him to it than to expose him to the danger out here.

“Well? Where is she?” Bob asked, prodding him with the butt of the spear.

“God
damn
it, cut that
out
,” he snapped. “Christ, we just
got
here, how the hell am I supposed to know where she is?”

In the pause that followed, a peal of laughter rippled into the house from somewhere outside. Bob forced Lionel to the window, from which vantage point they could see Yolanda and the others gathered on the dock, the men fishing, the women sunning. All the women except Yolanda wore tasteful one-piece swimsuits (Peg’s even had a kind of skirt). Yolanda, however, was spilling out of a scandalously abbreviated thong. Perlman’s eyes were like ping-pong balls.

“Ah-
ha
,” said Bob. He stepped back and pointed the spear at Lionel again. “Shall we proceed?”

Lionel shut his eyes and sighed. “This gets more absurd by the second,” he said, trying to keep his voice down lest David should hear him. “Come on, Bob — grab the fucking reins, here, will you, pal? Just
grab the fucking reins
.”

He looked perplexed. “I don’t know what you mean. That’s exactly what I
am
doing.”

Lionel was astonished at the sincerity in his voice. “No, don’t you see, you’re just blundering around in a rage. You — you’re — you’re just going to make a
fool
of yourself down there, in front of everyone, people you don’t even
know
, leaping around with a
spear
, for God’s sake.”

Bob gave him a grim look. “Is a man a fool because he takes charge of his own destiny? Because he strikes back at those who strike against him? Because he fights for the woman he loves?”

“Nice little speech. Be sure to recite it for the police.”

“Oh,” he said, snapping his fingers, “thanks for reminding me.” He herded Lionel over to a desk, upon which sat a combination telephone and fax machine. He reached down, pulled the phone cord taut, and then, wrapping his tongue around his cheek, managed to hack it in two with the serrated edge of his spearhead. He dropped the bisected segments to the floor. “Can’t have anyone calling for help,” he said cheerfully. Then his eyes fell on the desk itself, and he ran his hand over it. “Mmm, rosewood. What do you think — Scandinavian?”

Lionel just stared at him.

“Scandinavian,” he said, nodding sagely. “Bet all the tea in China on it. Any other phones in the place?”

“No,” said Lionel, too eagerly not to be lying.

Bob wrinkled his nose and smiled. “Let’s just take a little look-see, shall we?” and he touched the spear to Lionel’s chest. “Not that I think you’d tell me a
fib
or anything. Not knowing how much that would
peeve
me.” He gave Lionel a tiny, almost affectionate prick.

“All
right
,” said Lionel, the sweat from his forehead now filtering through his eyebrows and into his eyes. “There’s one in Magellan’s — in the main bedroom.”

“Show me.”

He led him down the corridor, scarcely daring to breathe for fear that David would hear it and come out to investigate. But they managed to pass his door without incident, and once inside Magellan and Wilma’s room, Bob quickly cut the cord to the phone on the nightstand and said, “
There
now,” and led Lionel back to the main room without incident. When they were again before the fireplace, Lionel heaved a sigh of relief.

“Any more?” Bob asked.

“None,” he said acidly. “Go ahead and search, if you don’t believe me.”

Bob smiled widely. His long, pointed face looked almost elfin, mutated by raw, chthonic energy. “Of
course
I believe you,” he said with magnificent insincerity.

Looking at him, Lionel began to sense the complete amorality into which he had descended. The trappings of high civilization he had always embraced — expensive colognes, jewelries, textiles, cosmetics — had been the things that had preoccupied, and thus neutered, his inherent egoism, like glittering baubles distracting a great ape. Since his men’s-movement summit, those things had meant less to him; the anguished, self-centered child at his core — the monster that is bred out of most of us — had been liberated. And now his abandonment by Yolanda had turned the monster into a menace. Lionel sensed, for the first time, that Bob could do him real harm. Gone was the prancing buffoon in J. Crew regalia; here was naked male aggression, relieved of the burden of two thousand years of ethical and moral considerations by a combination of intense primitivist schooling and his own sense of unjust loss. Bob might know chintz from burlap, but in him Lionel finally saw, for the first time, the difference between the heterosexual and the homosexual man. Or thought he did. He hoped he was wrong; what he saw frightened him.

Bob waved the spear in his face and said, “Come on, now! Let’s not dilly-dally! Time to face the music and
dance
!”

Lionel was so profoundly upset by the epiphany he’d had during his momentary gaze into Bob’s ink-black, animal eyes that he quietly allowed himself to be led out the door and onto the deck. Despite Bob’s lethal potential, Lionel had a hunch that everything might still be all right once they reached the others. His bosses and host would look up and see him in handcuffs, a deadly weapon at his back, and would rise up to his aid. Magellan and Perlman would grab hold of Bob while Deming disarmed him — or maybe he’d just opt to sit on him. Yolanda’s Latin temper might turn her into an avenging spitfire. However they did it, they’d overwhelm him. Of course they would. Of
course
they would.

But Bob wasn’t going to make it easy for them. Halfway across the deck, he said to Lionel, “Just hold your horses a minute,” and when Lionel obeyed, he felt Bob come up behind him and jiggle his wrists for a few seconds — after which the handcuffs fell away and onto the teak planks with a clatter. With inexpressible relief, he drew his hands up to his chest and rubbed his chafed, smarting wrists.

Bob said, “Look natural. Don’t alarm anybody.
Smile!
” He hid the spear behind his back. “And don’t think of running away, ‘cause I’m a pretty good aim with this thing. Been practicing at the park district. I won a
prize
.”

Lionel decided to take him at his word; he couldn’t help thinking how undignified it would be, to lie twitching before his bosses, impaled on a handicraft. And there was no need; he was still certain that when the time came everyone would come to his defense. Becca, certainly, would want to get in a good, swift kick or two.

Peg was the first one to see them coming. She sat up, adjusted the strap on her left shoulder, and said, “Oh, look—it’s Lionel. And … is that David? Where did I put that sun block? Those boys shouldn’t be out here without a good coating.” She started searching through her beach kit.

Lionel and Bob where on the dock now, their footfalls vibrating along its length. The three men turned from fishing, and the three other women sat up and stared. Yolanda shielded her eyes, saw Bob, and gasped.

“What?” said Wilma, sitting up and instinctively covering her chest with her Chanel beach towel. She looked up and said, “Baba, why is Lionel bringing a strange boy here?”

“They should go back till I find my sun block,” said Peg, still searching. “Did anyone take my sun block?”

Becca’s eyes narrowed. “I’m sure if I’d known I was going to be meeting someone
new
today I’d have run a
brush
through my hair. I’m sure if I’d known there were going to be
other
people coming to the cabin I wouldn’t have worn
this
old suit. But I suppose it’s too much to ask that anyone tell me
anything
.”

Magellan was on his feet, a look of wary cheer on his face. “Lionel, who’s your friend?” he asked cautiously. “Where’s David?”

“Safe and sound, as far as I know,” said Lionel, “which is more than I can say for us.”

“
Caaare
ful,” said Bob through clenched teeth.

“I recognize that guy,” Perlman said, laying down his fishing rod and standing up beside Magellan. “Your drumming pal from the other day at the office, isn’t it?”

“That’s right,” Lionel replied. He and Bob had now joined the others at the end of the dock. “Bob, you remember Hackett Perlman, don’t you? And of course, you know Yolanda. As for everyone else,” and here he nodded his head as he named them, “this is Julius Deming, our host Babcock Magellan, Julie’s wife Peg, Hackett’s wife Becca, and our hostess, Wilma Tripp. Guys, I’d like you to meet Bob Smartt, my kidnapper.”

Magellan narrowed his eyes. “Sorry?”

“Oh, sweet Jesus,” Yolanda said, rolling over to her knees, from which position she looked prepared to spring into action — or flight.

“Baba, I really insist that you find out what all this is about,” said Wilma, tucking the towel beneath her armpits. “We just can’t be
adding
people at the last minute.”

“This guy came to Lionel’s office last week, started making a
hell
of a racket with him, pounding on his desk,” said Perlman into Magellan’s ear, like Iago into Othello’s. “Had some wacky explanation at the time. But I thought there might be something funny about it.”

“Funnier than you know,” said Lionel. “In fact, goddamn
hilarious
.”

“I found it!” said Peg triumphantly, producing a disfigured tube from her beach kit. “All the way at the bottom, even though we just used it. How does that happen …?”

“Pleased to met you all,” said Bob, and he produced the spear from behind his back. Wilma shrieked, and Deming stumbled backward and fell into the water.

“What the fuck is that?” barked Magellan. “And who the fuck are
you
, coming onto my property with that crazy-ass thing?”

“Yeah, who do you think you are?” echoed Perlman with lamentable toadyism.

“I’m the guy with a deadly weapon,” said Bob almost cheerfully. “And you’re not! Come on, now: everyone follow your fat friend’s example, and get into the water.” When they all stared at him, he said, “I
am
asking nicely, here.”

“Baba,
stop
him,” said Wilma, cringing beneath her towel. “My hair’s still not right from the
last
time!”

“Better do as he says,” Lionel said. “I mean, there are
eight
of us and only
one
of him. We wouldn’t stand a
chance
if you all charged him at once, now, would we?” But this hint was apparently too subtle for them, or maybe they simply weren’t listening.

Becca dropped her towel. “Well, if I
have
to choose between getting stabbed and getting wet,” she said snidely, “I’m not going to be an
ass
about it.” She padded over to the edge of the dock, to where Deming was now sputtering in the shallow water, wiping his eyes and coughing. “I don’t understand you people,” she said. “You come up here to spend a weekend on a lake, then act all horrified when some lunatic tries to force you to actually
swim
in it.” And she hopped into the water, causing barely a splash.

Perlman shrugged, then doffed his BULLS WIN t-shirt to reveal a leathery, flabby chest with nipples the color of strawberries, and jumped in after his wife.

Magellan, his face so knotted with rage that he looked like the villain in a Kabuki drama, balled his fists and threw himself angrily off the dock without bothering to remove his shirt. The resultant splash cascaded over Wilma; she shrieked.

Peg busily slathered herself with her sun block. “Just a minute, just a minute,” she said, working her way up one arm and then down the other. “Don’t know how long we’ll be out there.” She offered the tube to Wilma, who mewled like a calf; so Peg capped it, replaced it in her bag, then padded over to the edge of the dock, lowered herself with great dignity, and rolled off with majestic ease, landing in the water like a keg of beer, with a single
plunk
.

“What’s the matter with all of you?” Lionel whined. “We could have
taken
him!”

Bob placed the head of the spear against the back of Lionel’s neck. “Mind your manners,” he said. “Everyone’s behaving so nicely and no one’s gotten hurt. You don’t want to be the one who changes that, do you?” Then he turned to Wilma and said, “You next, ma’am. Sorry about your hair. But did you ever consider bobbing it? You wouldn’t have to worry about water, and you’d look twenty years younger!”

At this impertinence, Wilma let out a wail that in its shrillness and duration might’ve been mistaken miles away for a passing train. Mortified, she crawled over to the edge; Magellan extended a hand to help her and she cried,
“Nooo! You’re all wet!”
Then she slipped daintily into the water up to her breasts. She grabbed onto one of the posts and clung to it, hiding her face. “Anyone who comes near me is
fired
,” she gasped angrily.

Lionel couldn’t help fixating on the strangeness of the scenario before him. All the authority figures in his life were standing chest-deep in Lake Gilbert, doing nothing, saying nothing. All eyes were on Yolanda, who crouched like a tigress; it was like the pivotal scene in some Swedish symbolist film.

Yolanda bared her teeth at Bob and said, “Am I to go in the water as well?”

He nodded. “I can’t very well cover
both
of you with this thing, now, can I?”

“Then let Lionel go and turn your weapon on me.” The wind blew her hair across her face. She looked like an avenging angel; her eyes were unreadable and dreadful. Lionel couldn’t believe Bob wasn’t terrified of her.

“
Oh
no you don’t,” he said. “You have a
lot
to answer for, it’s true, but Lionel is the one who took you away from me.”

Yolanda looked at him as though he were crazy. “What are you talking about? He did no such thing.”

“That’s right,” Lionel swiftly interjected, not wanting her to bring up, even now, the reason their ostensible love affair was so ridiculous. “No one took Yolanda away from you. She’s not a
thing
to be taken. She’s a free woman. She goes where she wants.”

Yolanda looked at him questioningly, and he shook his head at her, almost imperceptibly, as if to say,
No, Yolanda; this whole silly, sorry situation might still blow over, and I don’t want you recklessly revealing anything before it does.
Despite his anxiety at what a desperate Bob might do, he still saw this as a rogue event, a glancing of bitter circumstance across the clear, unblemished surface of his life. He wouldn’t
let
it ruin everything.

“What’s going on here, anyway?” Peg asked, the skirt of her swimsuit floating around her like a lily pad. “I’m not following anything.”

Deming said, “I think this guy must be Yolanda’s last boyfriend.” He splashed a water bug away from his stomach.

“I don’t see that that gives him the right to come here and upset everyone.” Suddenly she looked at him with concern. “Your sun block has all washed right off! You’re turning pink before my eyes.”

“For Christ’s sake, Peg!”

She turned toward the deck and called out, “
Young man! Young man!
My husband is very fair-skinned, and the reflection off the water
doubles
the sun’s effect, you know.”

“Peg,
Jesus
,” Deming said.

“I’m sorry about your skin,” Bob said, “but once you hear why I’m doing this, you’ll know why it’s necessary. Unless you
like
traitors to our sex. Unless you
approve
of cretins who steal other men’s women.”

Yolanda, still crouching, shifted her weight to her other food and said, “Lionel, this is insane. We must tell him.”

“Tell me what?” Bob snapped. He jabbed Lionel’s nape with the spear, almost breaking the skin.

“Nothing,”
said Lionel defiantly. “Yolanda, stop trying to fool him! He’s too smart for you!”

“You are a fool, Lionel,” she said. She removed a strand of hair that had blown into her mouth and said, “Bob, Lionel and I are not lovers. We have
never
been lovers. I have been seeing someone else entirely — another man who is not here. This is the
truth
, I swear to it on the blood of the Virgin.” She looked at Lionel and said, “You will thank me for this later.”

Lionel’s heart was careening about his chest like a pinball, but he felt a small sense of relief; Yolanda had spilled the beans, but she hadn’t spilled
all
of them.

“Will someone please tell me what’s going on?” Becca said. She was shorter than the others, and was alone in being unable to see what was happening on the dock; her head didn’t clear the planks.

“I don’t believe you,” said Bob to Yolanda, his face betraying a whirlwind of doubt. “You’re lying. You’d say
anything
to protect him.”

“Hacky, pick me up so I can see,” said Becca.

“Like hell I will! What do I look like, Hulk Hogan?”

She shot him a very clear You-will-pay-for-that-later look.

“Here, Julie,” said Peg, “let me rub against you—you can at least get some of
my
sun block.” She hopped onto her husband’s back, lashed her arms around his neck, and started grinding her chest between his shoulder blades.”

“My
God
 — you’re
depraved
,” he screamed, trying to shrug her off. “
Help
, somebody! Get her
off
me! Get her
off
mee
aghllph—” He tumbled face-first into the water again, carrying Peg with him.

“It’s true,” said Lionel, lifting one hand to move the spear gently away from his neck. “I swear it is, Bob.” He didn’t even care if his boss and client could hear.

Which, as it happens, they couldn’t, being too busy with their own mini-dramas. “Fine,
don’t
lift me,” Becca barked at Perlman. “I’ll do it myself. Just don’t expect
me
to keep quiet anymore about your Vicks Vapo-Rub fetish!” And she started jumping up and down in the water, trying to catch fleeting glimpses of what was happening on the dock.

Between the Demings’ thrashing and Becky’s porpoise-like leaping, the water was starting to churn like a bathtub full of four-year-olds, causing waves to lap up against Wilma’s exposed back. She hugged the post even harder and screamed,
“STOP IT! STOP IT, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!”

Bob waved the spear at Lionel’s face. “I don’t believe a word you’re saying,” he said almost expressionlessly. He extended his leg and pointed his toe and the big Oscar de la Renta overnight bag lying open on the dock. “That’s yours, isn’t it?” he asked Yolanda. “Don’t bother denying it. Seen it a million times in your closet. And question the taste, by the way.”

Deming emerged from beneath the waves, gasping between spurts of water.
“Can’t — die — of cancer,”
he spat,
“if — you drown — me first!”