Cuts (18 page)

THIRTY-EIGHT

THE SHOOT

Driving to a doughnut shop in Denver that night, Albert hit the brakes.

What the hell’s going on?

He wondered if he should turn around and go the other way. In spite of all the activity, however, the street looked clear.
He could probably drive right on by the commotion without any trouble.

His stomach lurched as he saw a cop.

The cop was looking at him, waving him ahead.

Okay.

Slowly, Albert drove toward the parked trucks, the crowd, the brightly lighted apartment house, the cop. He wished he were
still in women’s clothes, but the cop only seemed interested in keeping the street clear.

For what? This looked like the scene of a fire or accident or crime, but where were the fire trucks, the ambulances?

And what were those big trucks for? Those motor homes?

Albert had never seen a scene quite like this before. It was strange and vaguely frightening.

He wanted to get past it all, get to a store for doughnuts and return to the safety of the house.

Until he saw the cameras.

They’re shooting a movie here?

That must be it, he realized, feeling a mixture of relief and curiosity.

It’s gotta be a movie or a TV show. Unless it’s just some
lousy commercial.

He wondered how safe it would be to stop and watch for a while. There were at least a couple of cops. But even if the cops
did
pay attention to him, his hair was now cut so short that he barely resembled the police drawing or the photos his father must’ve
provided to the authorities. The chances of being recognized were slim—and he really wanted to watch the filming.

Maybe I’ll get to see a star.

At the intersection, he turned right. He parked at the first empty stretch of curb and climbed out.

The clothes ofWillard P. Andricci, Management Consultant, were much too large for Albert. But he rather liked the loose, comfortable
way they felt.

As he walked toward the crowd, he began to worry about someone noticing their poor fit.

Well, the coat should hide most of it.

Tomorrow, maybe he would go shopping. Buy some boots, some jeans, a shirt or two. And maybe something to disguise himself:
a hat, hair dye, glasses if he could get some that wouldn’t give him a headache the way Willard’s did. He’d only been able
to wear Willard’s glasses for a few minutes before they’d started to make his head pound.

I really oughta get myself some good ones, he thought.
Nobody’d
recognize me if I had glasses on.

But nobody seemed to be looking at him, anyway, as he entered the crowd of spectators. Moving slowly, pressing between bodies,
he worked his way closer to the front.

Closer to where he might glimpse the familiar face of a star.

“Quiet on the set,” someone said. A firm voice. “Everybody, quiet on the set.”

Sudden silence. Albert could hear the wind shaking leaves in the nearby trees. A man held a slate board in front of a camera,
but Albert was too far away to read the writing on it.

“Action.”

Suddenly, a man was running, pistol in hand, toward the apartment-house door. He wore black clothing and a ski mask. The apartment
door opened. A camera moved toward it on a dolly. A sound boom swung above it. Two men walked out, both in business suits.
Albert recognized the one on the left: someone from
Mannix.
He tried to remember the man’s name as he watched the mouths move. He couldn’t hear what the actors were saying, but he heard
someone say, “Cut, cut.” One of the actors at the door shook his head. The other began to laugh. The man in the ski mask shifted
the pistol to his left hand where he held it by the barrel.

“Do you know what they’re shooting?” a man asked Albert.

“I don’t know.”

A girl turned around. “It’s
Some Call it Sleep
from the Evan Collier book.”

Albert stared at the girl. She was beautiful, slender and only a bit older than him. Maybe twenty? She wore a plaid jacket
like a lumberjack. The wind blew strands of hair across her face and whipped steam off the surface of her coffee. She pursed
her lips, sipped the coffee and turned away.

“Are you an Evan Collier fan?” Albert asked.

She smiled over her shoulder. “Me? I think he’s terrific. I’ve read most of his books.”

“Me, too,” Albert said. He’d never heard of Evan Collier, much less read any of the man’s books.

“
Some Call it Sleep
is probably his best, and it’s a good script. Pretty faithful to the novel. Collier didn’t write the screenplay, though. Max
Radow did that.”

“You’ve read the screenplay?” Albert asked.

Smiling, she nodded. Wind blew wisps of red hair across her face. “I have a part in the movie.”

“No kidding?”

“Oh, I’m not the lead. Nothing like that. But it’s a speaking part. I’ve got two scenes.”

“That’s fantastic!”

“Well, it’s a start. Nothing spectacular, but…”

“Can I have your autograph?”

She laughed. “You don’t really want it, do you?”

“I sure
do!
I’m a
big
movie fan.” Albert searched his coat pockets. In the left pocket, he touched paper. He pulled it out and held it up to the
light. A Master Charge receipt.

“That’ll do fine,” she said.

“I don’t seem to have a pen.”

“Here, I’ve got one.” She took a pen from her purse. Then she glanced at both sides of the receipt. “You aren’t Willard, are
you?”

“Sure,” he said.

Something’s wrong, he thought, his stomach going tight.

“I’ve never heard of a guy your age with a Master Charge.”

“Oh, that. I’m Willard junior. It’s really my father’s account.” She nodded and said, “Ahhh.” Using her purse for backing,
she scribbled on the receipt. “There you are, Willard.”

Albert lifted the paper into the light and read aloud, “To Willard, my very first autograph as a film actress. All my best
wishes forever, May Beth Bonner.”

“That’s nice,” he said. “Thank you.”

“You ought to put it someplace safe,” she told him, smiling oddly so that he couldn’t be sure how serious she was. “One of
these days when I’m famous, it’ll be worth some big bucks.”

“Oh, I’d never sell it.”

“You’re sweet, you know that?”

“Quiet on the set.”

May Beth turned her back to Albert. He stepped forward and stood beside her to watch the action.

After the scream of a siren interrupted the take, Albert asked, “How long does all this go on?”

“Until they get it right,” May Beth said. “This is the last scene for tonight, but they need to get it perfect before they
call it quits.”

The final scene.

Albert’s pulse quickened and his stomach began to feel sick with excitement.

“Quiet on the set.”

Albert wiped his sweaty palms on his trousers.

The last scene!

He had to think of something fast. He couldn’t let this babe get away, he just couldn’t. She was far more beautiful than any
of the others.

“Well, that’s that,” she said, turning to him.

Over already. So fast.

“Do you want to go somewhere?” Albert blurted.

“What?”

“Let’s go somewhere. Together. I’ll buy you something to eat. Are you hungry?”

“Not especially.”

“How about a drink?”

“A drink drink? I could go for that, but…no way are you going to pass for twenty-one.”

“We’ve got all sorts of stuff at home,” he explained. “My parents are gone, so we’d have the place to ourselves.”

“This is starting to sound serious.” Though she smiled, her eyes seemed to be sizing him up. “Let’s go over here,” she said
and led him out of the crowd. When nobody was nearby, she asked, “What do you have in mind?”

“A drink. I thought we might have a drink together, that’s all. I’ve never known a movie star.”

“Sure, but I bet you want to do a little more than have a
drink
with me.”

“We could like talk, get to know each other.”

“Fuck,” she said.

“Huh?”

What did she say? Albert wondered. She didn’t really say
fuck
, did she?

Sure sounded like it.

“That’s what you
really
want to do, isn’t it, Willard?” Smiling, she reached out and squeezed his arm through the sleeve of his coat. “Come on, admit
it.”

“Admit what?”

“You want to fuck me.”

It
is
what she said.

For a moment, Albert suspected he might be asleep and dreaming. He’d sometimes
had
dreams similar to this, in which he encounters an amazingly beautiful girl and against all laws of human nature she
wants
him, she comes to him naked and he is just about to take her into his arms when he wakes up.

This seemed very much like the start of a dream like that.

But Albert felt as if he were awake.

This is happening, man!

“You
do
want to fuck me, don’t you?” May Beth asked.

“Well…Sure, I guess so.”

“Of course you do. That’s all
any
guy wants to do. The nature of the beast.”

Albert shrugged.

This is real!

“How much money have you got?” she asked.

His heart sank.

Money?

He suddenly remembered Betty, half-naked in his car, her breasts smooth against his face.

Such a long time ago.

What if I’d had the twenty bucks to pay Betty that night? he thought. No trip to the Broxtons. None of this.

“You want money?” Albert asked.

“Guys like to fuck.
I
like to buy stuff. How much will you pay me?”

“You a hooker?”

“No, of course not. A hooker? Give me a break. I’m an actress.”

“But you want money.”

“Hey, a guy takes a gal out on a date, buys her an expensive dinner, maybe takes her to a show. He spends all that money on
her, then she’s supposed to fuck him. That’s how it
usually
works. I’m just taking the payment in
cash
instead of food and entertainment. You see? No big difference.”

“Guess not,” Albert said, though he suspected there might be a flaw in her reasoning. “So, okay. How about twenty bucks?”

“Do you know what I’ll do for twenty bucks? I’ll drive back to my motel and watch Johnny Carson. Alone. You want
me
, you’ll have to do a lot better than that.”

“How about forty?”

“Let’s see it.”

He opened his billfold. It was thick with cash.

“Make it a hundred,” she said, “and I’ll stay all night.”

“That’s a
lot
.”

She looked him in the eyes. “You’ve probably never even
talked
to a gal as pretty as me, much less fucked one.”

His legs felt weak.

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll give you a hundred.”

“Then we’ve got a deal.” She held out her hand.

Albert shook it.

Smirking, May Beth pulled her hand back and said, “The
money
,Willard. The
money
.”

“You want it
now?
”

“That’s the idea.”

“I don’t know. What if I give it to you and you split?”

“Where’s your house?” May Beth asked.

“It’s a few miles from here.”

“I’ll follow you in my bug. It’s just over there.” She pointed down the road, and Albert saw a yellow Volkswagen parked at
the curb. “If you’re afraid I’ll run away with your money, you can keep an eye on me in your rearview mirror.”

“I’ve got a better idea,” Albert said. “Let’s leave your car where it is and I’ll drive you in mine. Then I’ll bring you back
here when we’re done in the morning.”

She stared at her car for a while. “Do you think it’ll be all right there?”

“It’ll be fine. This is a really safe neighborhood.”

“Is it?”

Who knows?

“Are you from around here?” Albert asked.

She shook her head. “I live in California.”

“Well,” he said, “there’s hardly any crime
anywhere
in Denver.”

She turned to him and nodded. “Okay, I guess we can go in your car. Soon as you’ve paid up.” She held out her hand again.

This time, Albert filled it with three twenties, three tens, a five and five ones.

May Beth folded the money and stuffed it into her purse. Then she took hold of Albert’s hand. “You’ve got yourself a date,”
she said.

THIRTY-NINE

RED HOT

Albert touched a control button on the dashboard and the garage door began to rise.

“Those things are really cool,” May Beth said. “I’ve been trying to talk my mother into getting one for our place.”

“You live with your mother?”

“Something wrong with that?”

“No. I’m just curious. No reason
not
to live with your mother. Not if you get along with her okay.”

“We get along fine,” May Beth said.

She didn’t sound as if she meant it.

“In California, right?”

“Right. Grand Beach. That’s west of L. A., over near Santa Monica. It’s a pretty nice area.”

Albert pulled the car into the garage and stopped it beside a red Buick.

“Are you sure nobody’s home?” May Beth asked.

“Oh, this other car?” He shrugged. The Buick was registered to Karen Winters. Its trunk contained the body of Willard P. Andricci,
owner of this house, tightly wrapped in plastic garbage bags. “I drove Mom and Dad to the airport,” Albert said, “so they
wouldn’t have to pay for parking.”

“Yeah, those airport parking fees are ridiculous.”

“I don’t have to pick them up till Sunday.” He climbed out of the car. Over by the door to the kitchen, he pressed the remote
button. The garage door began rumbling down. As May Beth came toward him, he unlocked the kitchen door and opened it.

They stepped inside.

May Beth took off her jacket and draped it over a kitchen cha ir. She ha d on a white T-shirt an d no bra. The dark tint of
her nipples showed through the fabric.

Albert took off his coat and draped it beside hers.

“How about those drinks you were mentioning?” May Beth asked.

“You get a hundred bucks
and
drinks?”

Smiling, she raised her red eyebrows. “I could use a martini, Willard. Do you have a problem with that?”

“Guess not.”

“I’ll bet you could use a nice drink, yourself.” Reaching out, she rubbed the side of his neck.

“I’m not too sure how to make a martini.”

“I’ll show you.” She brought a hand up between his legs and gently squeezed him through his trousers.

He moaned. Her hand stayed there as she said, “I’ll need glasses, a shaker, ice, gin, dry vermouth, and olives if you have
any.”

“Oh, okay,” he muttered.

She took her hand away.

Feeling disoriented, Albert started to gather the ingredients. What’s going on? he wondered.

This sort of thing had never happened to him before.

Well, Betty had been something like this. She had touched and teased him and made him hard. It was exciting but…difficult.

A knife would make it easy again.

He searched the refrigerator for olives.

The knife can always come later, he thought.

He might as well let May Beth run things for a while. After all, he’d paid her. He was the boss.

“Here they are,” he said.

She laughed. “You
do
have a lot to learn, Willard. Nobody uses black olives in a martini.”

“Oh, you want green olives?”

She nodded, grinning at him as if he were an idiot.

She wouldn’t be acting this way, Albert thought, if I had a knife in her belly.

He shut the refrigerator door. “I guess there aren’t any green ones.”

“Well then, we’ll have to do without.”

After Albert had gathered everything she needed, May Beth poured the ingredients over ice inside a silver shaker. She twirled
a spoon through the mixture, then filled the two glasses.

“Let’s go someplace comfortable,” she said, handing one of the martinis to Albert.

He saw that the ice cubes were still inside the shaker. He took out two and put them into his glass. “Want ice?” he asked.

She gave him a patient look. “No thanks.”

“Why not?”

“It melts and ruins the drink. Let’s go in the living room.”

“Okay,” he muttered.

As they left the kitchen, Albert felt weak and vulnerable.

It doesn’t have to be this way, he told himself. I can take control any time. All I’ve gotta do is get out my switchblade.

But this isn’t so bad, he thought. This is okay for now.

He followed May Beth into the living room. They sat close together on the sofa.

“Is this your first time?” she asked, and took a sip of her drink.

“First time I’ve paid for it.”

“If it’s
not
your first time, I can assure you that you
have
paid for it. In other ways. It never comes free.”

Does when you have a knife.

“Maybe not,” Albert said. “Anyway, you’re sure right about one thing—I’ve never done
anything
with a girl as pretty as you.”

She finished her martini in several quick swallows and shuddered. “Oooo, that
was
delicious.” She leaned forward and set her glass on the coffee table. “We’ll have another later,” she said. Then she turned
to Albert and kissed him. For a moment, her lips were cool from the drink.

Albert still held his glass. He reached out blindly behind him and set it on the arm of the sofa. Then he embraced May Beth.
His hands roamed over her back. He wanted to touch one of her breasts, but was afraid to try.

I’d better get my knife.

Before he could go for it, she was above him, straddling him, pulling off her T-shirt. Reaching down, she took both his hands.
She lifted them to her breasts. The firm tips of her nipples prodded Albert’s palms. She moved his hands in slow circles.

For a while, she seemed to be in a trance, concentrating only on the feel of his hands against her breasts. Then she pulled
his hands away, leaned low over him and touched a nipple to his lips. He stuck out his tongue and licked it.

Just as he was about to suck it, the breast went away from his mouth. Lips took its place. Her tongue slid in.

The kiss went on for a long time, Albert fondling her breasts and squirming under her.

When her mouth went away, she eased herself down on top of him. She licked and kissed each of his nipples and pulled at them
gently with her teeth.

Kneeling over him, she unfastened his trousers. She tugged them down to his ankles, then hunched over him. As her cool fingers
encircled him, he moaned and shut his eyes. Then he felt her tongue. Then her lips. The tight, slick ring of her lips slid
down him, then up.

Then they went away.

Albert opened his eyes.

May Beth was off the sofa, standing, taking off her jeans. Her face was strange: vacant but intense. Though she saw him staring,
her expression didn’t change. She stepped out of her panties and dropped them to the floor.

Albert stared at her thatch of curly red pubic hair.

I’ll shave that off…

She came back to the sofa. Bending over, she removed Albert’s shoes, his socks. She pulled the trousers off his ankles and
tossed them to the floor.

“Here?” Albert asked. His throat was tight, his mouth parched.

May Beth didn’t answer. She climbed onto the sofa and knelt over him. Her fingertips took hold of him. They pulled gently,
guiding him to a wet place between soft and yielding folds.

“No!” he gasped. Rolling sideways, he threw her to the floor. His glass fell, splashing her face. An ice cube hit her forehead
and slid off.

“Jesus!” May Beth cried out. “What’s the matter with you!” Her eyes were wide with shock. She started to get up but Albert
dropped onto her. He pinned her arms. “What’s going on? Did I hurt you? What’s wrong?”

“You.”

“Get off! Let me up!”

“Not till I’ve fucked you!” he shouted and smashed his fist against her temple. He struck her again and again until she went
limp. Then he climbed off and crawled over to his trousers. He grabbed them by the belt, picked them up and shoved a hand
down the right front pocket.

Car keys.

Where’s my knife?

He tried the left pocket. A hanky. A comb.

His switchblade must’ve fallen out, maybe when May Beth pulled the trousers off him. He tossed them out of the way and looked
around on the carpet.

Where
is
it?

He dropped low and peered under the coffee table.

Not there, either.

Shit!

He glanced back at May Beth. Still down.

So he ran into the kitchen. He slipped a knife out of the rack. It was a carving knife with a serrated, nine-inch blade. Though
he’d never touched it before, the sleek wooden handle felt familiar to his grip. He rushed into the living room.

Now May Beth was on her hands and knees, struggling to get up. She saw the knife in his hand. A low moan escaped from her.
She swayed to her feet.

Something in her hand.

An empty martini glass. She hurled it at Albert. It glanced off his shoulder and broke against the wall behind him.

Her pale, sweaty belly heaved as she gasped for air. He would put it in right there, just below her navel, where she was smooth
and flat and shiny.

She grabbed a lamp, yanked its cord so the plug leaped from the wall socket, and threw it with both hands. Albert tried to
dodge it, but the lamp caught his shins. As he yelped with pain, May Beth dodged to the left.

Raced for a window.

But the window was shut.

She didn’t seem to care. She made a running dive. Her fists broke through the glass and the rest of her naked body followed.
Albert glimpsed her pale buttocks, the backs of her legs, the bottoms of her feet. Then she disappeared into the night.

He ran to the window. Hands on the sill, he leaned out. He expected to see her sprawled motionless on the grass.

But she was on her feet.

Blood streamed down her back and legs, but she was running. Running across the backyard and screaming, screaming her head
off.

Another Charlene.

Another goddamn Charlene!

How come the best ones always get away?

Oh, my God! I’ve gotta get outta here!

He started putting on his clothes.

Where’ll I go? he wondered.

Anywhere. Doesn’t matter. Just get out of here fast.

She knows my car. I won’t get five miles.

Maybe drive it one mile, take another house and stash it in the
garage?

Hurrying through the kitchen, he saw May Beth’s purse on the table. He grabbed it, rushed through the door to the garage and
tossed it onto the car seat.

As it hit, something inside made a metallic tinkle.

Her keys?

Albert jerked open the purse and saw a big brass ring. He pulled it out. Half a dozen keys hung from it. Two of them looked
like car keys.

Volkswagen keys.

I’ll use
her
car for the getaway?

It was several miles away, over where they’d been shooting the film.

I’ll drive over and switch. She’ll think her stupid little bug is
still safe and sound where she left it. Might be hours before she
finds out it’s gone.