Cuts (16 page)

THIRTY-ONE

HOUSE CALL

The house across the dark lawn looked fine. Nothing special about it. Albert only picked it because it was the smallest one
on the block. Probably not more than a couple of bedrooms.

He didn’t feel much like taking on a crowd tonight.

Outside the car, he was cold. Especially his bare legs.

He hurried toward the house.

All along the street, windows were dark. The chances were good that nobody would see him.

He climbed steps to the front door. Standing in the shadows, he took the switchblade out of his purse.

He lifted the hem of his skirt and cut through it. Knife clenched in his teeth, he ripped. The skirt made a dry rasp as it
tore upward almost to his hip. He put his leg through the slit. It looked slender and pale gray.

Because of the darkness, shaving it had probably been a waste of time.

But fun.

He’d ended up shaving off all his hair from the neck down, not only to improve his masquerade as a girl, but also because
he enjoyed lathering himself with the foam and gliding the razor blade over his skin.

Life is just full of little pleasures, he thought.

He jerked open his blouse. Its buttons popped away. Gazing down, he spread the blouse wide open so both cups of his bra showed.
The bra was a black, lacy number he’d found in Karen’s dresser.

It had real breasts inside.

Karen’s.

The cauterized areas felt a little funny against Albert’s chest. Sort of crisp and greasy like grilled steaks. But they looked
good in the bra. In decent light, you could see her nipples through the lace.

But in decent light, you could also see the fried edges pressing against his chest.

Just as well that the porch light was off.

Holding the knife behind his back, Albert pressed the doorbell button. He pushed it again and again and again very quickly.

At last, he heard footsteps.

A man’s voice. “Yeah? Who’s there?”

“I need help!” Albert gasped. “Please, I just got raped. The man’s still after me! I got away but…Help! Please! Oh, God!
Let me in! Please!”

The guard chain rattled and the door was swung open by a man in pajama bottoms, his hair mussed. He looked half-asleep and
confused. “You better get in here,” he said.

He took a moment to look into the darkness after Albert was inside.

As he took the moment, Albert stepped in close behind him, clutched his mouth and jammed the knife into his back.

He now had a house in Denver.

THIRTY-TWO

LESTER ALONE

Another Tuesday night a lone. The bitch.

Lester needed her like he needed a hole in the head.

Off to a goddamn school-board meeting, this time.

So who needs her?

If she wasn’t off to a meeting or some class at U. C.L. A., she’d just be shut away into the back room hammering away at lesson
plans or some such crap.

The bitch.

With difficulty, Lester swallowed a final mouthful of refried beans. They were barely warm. He folded the empty aluminum tray
into a triangle. He carried it into the kitchen, bounced it off a wall and into the wastebasket. It left a brown smudge on
the wall.

THIRTY-THREE

FOREWARNED

Ian dropped the drumstick bone into the Pioneer Chicken box. He continued to read his paperback copy of
Crime and Punishment
, holding it with one hand while nibbling the gluey crumbs off his thumb. When he finished the chapter, he set down the book,
brushed bits of chicken crust off the front of his work shirt, and got up from the couch.

He carried the box of bones into the kitchen. He stuffed it into the grocery bag he used for a wastebasket, then washed his
hands with hot water and soap. As he washed, he considered doing a few of the dishes that cluttered the top of his counter.

Later.

For now, he only needed a mug. He found one. It had a puddle of coffee in the bottom. Tan coffee. The mug that Charles had
used Friday night.

Poor guy. Messed up with Helen Bryant.

What’s the matter with that woman, anyway? Doesn’t she
know you don’t fuck your students?

Half a dozen tiny blue islands of mold were floating in the remains of the coffee.

Ian rinsed the mug, washed it with a soapy sponge, and poured fresh coffee into it. In the study, he cleared off space for
it on his desk.

Occasionally taking sips of his coffee, he started to read the five pages he had written the night before, making corrections
as he went along, changing words with his red pen, several times scratching out entire sentences.

Then the telephone rang.

He reached down to the floor, where the phone was resting next to his dictionary.

“Hello?”

“Mr. Collins?”

“Yes.”

“This is Charles. I hope I’m not disturbing you.” The nervous tremor of his voice worried Ian.

“No, it’s all right. What’s going on?”

“I don’t know. I mean, I had a date all set up with Helen for tonight. I was supposed to meet her in the parking lot of the
May Company, but I stayed home.”

“That’s
one
way to end an affair.”

“Yeah. Well, the thing is, she phoned me from the store. God, she was pissed! Anyway, I guess it sort of slipped out about
you.”

“You guess
what
slipped out about me?”

“That you know.”

“Ah.” He felt a quick squirm of fear in his belly.

“She wanted your address.”

“Did you give it to her?”

“Well, it’s
her
directory. I’m sorry. I probably shouldn’t have, but…”

“It’s fine, Charles. Don’t worry about it. She could’ve gotten my address easily enough, anyway. I suppose she must be planning
to pay me a visit.”

“I guess so. I just called to let you know, warn you.”

“Thanks, Charles.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

They hung up.

Ian picked up his mug. It was still half-full. The coffee was still hot, and tasted good. After taking a couple of sips, he
put down the mug. He picked up the pages of his novel and tried to resume reading, but his mind was full of Helen. He let
the pages flop onto his desk.

“A brave night to cool a courtezan,” he muttered, and finished his coffee.

THIRTY-FOUR

THE VISITOR

Intending to take a shower, Lester was heading for the bathroom when the doorbell rang. His heart lurched. It pounded rapidly
as he went to the door. For a moment, he thought about leaving the guard chain hooked until he could see who was there. But
that would be embarrassing. He didn’t want to look yellow. So he flipped the chain loose and opened up.

“Good evening, Lester.”

“Emily Jean!” He gaped at her.

“Aren’t you going to ask me in?” she drawled. Her smile tried to look cheerful, but came off self-conscious, uncertain, hopeful.

“Sure. Come in. Sorry…I’m just so surprised to see you. And
glad
to see you.”

She stepped inside and Lester quickly shut the door.

“How’ve you been?” he asked.

Weird. Like talking to a stranger.

She
is
a stranger, he thought. Almost, anyway.

“I’ve been just fine,” she said. “And what about yourself?”

“Well, okay. Not bad, I guess. Would you like a seat? Some coffee? I wouldn’t mind a cup of coffee, how about you?”

“To be quite honest, Lester, I would prefer a kiss.”

The request stunned him. He wanted to shrink away. He wished to God he had never opened the door, because this was too strange
and frightening.

But he stepped closer to Emily Jean and kissed her on the mouth.

Weird. Really weird.

A married man in his own house kissing a woman he hardly knew.

So why the hell not?

She’s so
old.

But she wants me!

From the feel of her breasts against him, Emily Jean wasn’t wearing a bra tonight. Her mouth was fierce. Her arms clutched
him tightly, frantically, as if to keep him from escaping.

He pulled his head back and pushed her gently away. Her eyes looked questioning, hurt.

“Do I frighten you, Lester?”

“No, I’m not frightened.”

“I shouldn’t blame you if you were. Sometimes, you know, I frighten myself.” She laughed nervously. “I’ve given myself a terrible
turn, visiting you like this. I’m astonished that I could behave in such an outrageous fashion.”

“So am I. But I’m glad.”

“Are you?”

“Sure,” he said, and knew he didn’t sound very convincing. “I’m just nervous, that’s all.”

“I’m a bundle of nerves, myself.”

“Why don’t we sit down?” He headed for his easy chair.

Don’t be ridiculous! This is my chance!

He veered away from the chair and sat on the sofa.

Emily Jean sat beside him, close but not touching.

“I guess you know about Helen and the board meeting,” he said.

“Oh, I had no idea where she was going. It’s a terrible thing to admit, but I parked across the street and watched the house.
I was simply delighted to see her drive off. But frightened. You have no idea. I sat in my car for half an hour before I gathered
enough courage to climb out.” She laughed. This time, her laughter sounded more relaxed than before.

“I’m glad you did,” Lester said.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

“Not a chance.” His fear, too, was subsiding. “You’re just the person I hoped would drop by.” He stroked the back of her hand
and told himself that he wasn’t bothered by its branching blue veins. “How did things go with May Beth?”

She took a deep breath and sighed, shaking her head. “The poor dear. We had ourselves a long, heart-to-heart talk, and I’m
sure it did us both a world of good. Really, though, for a girl to see her mother with a man that way…” She shook her
head again.

“Must’ve been an awful shock.”

“Oh, I’m certain of that. May Beth is a strong girl, though. She said to me over and over, ‘Everything’s cool, Mom. Don’t
worry, everything’s cool.’ She even went so far as to claim she was relieved to find I didn’t entirely abandon sex after Robert
ran off. Robert, my ex-husband.”

“How long has he been gone?”

“Six years last June. We were married at seventeen, di-vorced at forty-six. I’ve heard it’s a common occurrence, but I must
say I was hardly prepared…”

“I guess we’re never prepared for crap to hit us.”

Emily Jean turned over her hand and interlaced her fingers with his.

“Have you had many men since your divorce?”

“Such an improper question, Mr. Bryant! Lester.” She smiled. “And so ambiguous. How many, for instance, is ‘many’? And what,
for gracious sake, do you mean by ‘had’?”

His heart thudded. “I’d be happy to demonstrate.”

“I’d be more than eager to witness such a demonstration.”

“Would you care to participate?”

“Why, I most certainly would.”

“Shall we go to the bedroom?”

“That’s a fine suggestion.”

He led her into the bedroom. Plenty of light came in from the bright hallway, so he didn’t turn on any lamps.

He took her into his arms.

Her mouth was just as hungry as before. Her fingers pressed and clawed. She gasped through her slippery mouth as her pelvis
pushed against him.

He put a hand up the back of her sweater, slid it to the front and started working on one of her breasts.

Her hands under his shirt were cool and dry. One wedged under his belt. The fingernails raked his buttocks.

He moved a hand down the side of her leg, under her skirt, and up.

No hose or panty hose or anything!

A moan escaped Emily Jean as his fingers slid and delved into her.

She tugged his belt open, undid the button at his waist and pulled down his zipper. Then her hand went in.

That oughta get the damn thing up.

It didn’t.

“This would be a great time,” he whispered, “for Helen to walk in.”

“She won’t.”

“Unless she got a flat tire or something.”

“My, but you are a worrier.”

“Things like that happen.”

“Indeed they do. But I do believe we’ve already
had
our bad luck in that department.”

His pants went down. His shirt came off.

“I’d just hate for Helen to walk in on us like this,” he said.

“I’m confident she won’t.”

As Lester watched, she stripped off her sweater and skirt. Tall and slim, she bent over the bed, threw back the covers and
slipped between the sheets.

Lester joined her.

She moaned quietly as he embraced her.

Her hand went down again to his penis. She gently pressed, stroked, jiggled. It stayed limp.

She worked at it for a long time.

Lester took his mouth off her breast. “I don’t know what’s wrong, but…”

“Don’t worry, honey. Try turning around.”

“What?”

“You know, so we’re vice versa.”

“Oh, okay.” He straddled her face, eased himself down, and began licking the slippery cleft between her legs.

Emily Jean writhed under him. She groaned, gasped. He could feel her mouth, all right: the wetness, the lips, the teeth. The
sucking felt good, but not good enough.

What the fuck’s the matter with me?

He climbed off her.

“I’m sorry,” he said, turning and lying down beside her. “I don’t know…This has never happened before.”

She didn’t look at him. She lay on her back, gazing at the ceiling. “It’s my fault,” she muttered.

“No! No, it’s not. You’re a hell of an exciting woman.”

“I’m so much older than you.”

“You’re fine.”

Beneath the sheet, he felt a finger lift the head of his penis and let it flop. But the hand didn’t go away. It cupped
him warmly and stayed.

“It’s not your fault,” Lester said. “It’s just me. I don’t know what’s wrong. Must be the circumstances. Nerves. Hell, I was
fine Saturday night, wasn’t I?”

“I should certainly say so.” She still gazed at the ceiling, but the trace of a smile lifted a corner of her mouth. “
Excessively
fine, considering the mess you made on my sofa.”

He blushed fiercely. “I can’t
believe
I did that in front of your daughter. I mean, she
saw
it.”

“She shouldn’t have come barging back into the house that way.”

“She had no idea we might be…”

“She should have at least considered the possibility. Why, I’ve always been
so
careful not to interrupt May Beth when
she
has a man in her room, and she does this to me.”

“You shouldn’t blame her,” Lester said.

Emily Jean turned her face and looked at him oddly. “She’s a beautiful young lady, isn’t she, Lester?”

“Takes after you.”

“She’s
far
more beautiful than me. And she has such a
splendid
figure…the most
exquisite
breasts. They’re so high and firm! Mine were that way when I was her age. However, I never
dressed
in such an immodest fashion.”

“It’s just the way kids like to dress these days. You must see a lot of it, being a teacher.”

“I see rather more than I care to. I don’t approve at
all
of those—what are they called—tank tops? They’re so awfully revealing, especially when a girl doesn’t wear a brassiere. And
May Beth
never
wears a brassiere.”

Lester suddenly realized he was aroused.

“Why, Saturday night, for all her tank top hid, May Beth might as well have been naked.” Emily Jean’s encircling fingers moved
slowly up the length of his shaft.

“What are you…?”

She found his hand and placed it on her breast. Her nipple was stiff and jutting.

“And those jeans, those cutoffs? They were
so
immodest. I could see the crotch of her panties, couldn’t you? Why, if she’d had no panties on…”

“You shouldn’t be saying this stuff. She’s your daughter.”

“Close your eyes, darling.”

He shut them. His hand was lifted and carried to the warm, damp hair between her legs.

“Wouldn’t you love to have her under you, hot and naked?”

“This is crazy…”

“It’s fine, darling.”

At her urging, he silently crawled on top of her.

“Now she’s under you, darling, open and eager for your throbbing manhood.”

“Emily!”

“May Beth,” she corrected. “Call me May Beth.”

He slid into her, moaning the name “May Beth” and damn near believing it as he rode her to a furious climax.