Flesh (6 page)

Not in front of Harold, he thought.

Then he wondered, with a tug of pain, if she ever gave Wet Willies to Harold.

“Let’s get the show on the road,” he said.

He reached down his hand. Kimmy took a firm grip on his forefinger and led the way.

“You two have a good time,” Harold said as they approached him. He gave the overnight bag to Jake. His smile looked strained. “You’ll have her back tomorrow?”

Jake nodded.

They left. It was good to get out of the house. He smiled down at Kimmy.

Her smile was gone. “Don’t I get to stay by you tomorrow?”

“Not this time. Tomorrow’s Mommy’s birthday.”

“I know that.” She gave him an annoyed look. She did not approve, at all, of being told what she already knew. Clearly demeaning.

“Well, you want to be there for her party, don’t you?”

“I s’pose.”

“It’ll be fun.”

He opened the passenger door for Kimmy, and lifted her onto the safety seat. While he strapped her in, she tucked Clew into the top of her bib overalls so the tiny gray head poked out like a kangaroo in its mother’s pouch.

Then she stuck her forefinger into her mouth.

“Oh, no, you don’t!”

“Yes, I do!”

Jake grabbed her wrist, but let himself be overpowered. The wet fingertip pushed into his ear and twisted. “Eaah! You got me!” Before she could get him again, he ducked out of the car.

He hurried around and climbed in behind the steering wheel. Kimmy was ready to bestow another Wet Willy. She strained to reach him, but it was no good.

“Saved by the car seat,” he said.

“C’mere.”

“Not a chance. Think I’m dumb?”

“Uh-huh,” she said, nodding.

“Wiseacre.” He pulled into the street. “So, what would you like to do today?”

“Go to the moojies.”

“The moojies it is. Anything special you want to see?”

She made an eager face with her eyes wide and her brows high. “
Peter Pan.”

“We saw
Peter Pan
last week.”

“I really want to see
Peter Pan
again.”

“Sure, why not. Maybe this time the crock will gobble up Captain Hook…”

Gobble up.

Ronald Smeltzer.

Could’ve gone all day without thinking about that.

“Can we eat at McDonalds?”

“No.”

“Daddy!” She shook her fist at him, grinning over the tiny knuckles.

“Well, if you insist.”

“Daddy, can I talk to you?”

“Sure. Isn’t that what we’ve been doing?”

She braced an elbow on the padded armrest of her seat, and leaned toward him. She looked serious. “There isn’t any such thing as crocodiles, is there?”

“What makes you think that?”

“Well, because it’s just a moojie.”

“That doesn’t mean they don’t exist.”

“Dracula and werewoofs and the mummy aren’t really real, you said so, so crocodiles aren’t really real, are they?”

“Gotcha worried, has it?”

“This is not funny.”

“Crocks are real, but I wouldn’t worry about them.”

“I do not want to get eaten.”

Jake felt as if he’d been kicked in the stomach. “Well, you’ll just have to keep your eyes open. If you see a crock waddling your way, toss it a Twinkie and run. It’d much rather eat Twinkies than you.”

“I’m not so sure.”

With a fresh cup of coffee, Dana Norris returned to her table in a corner of the student union. She read the poem again, wrinkled her nose, and sighed.

Why couldn’t this guy write stuff that made sense?

“Salutations.”

She looked up and found Roland standing in front of her table.

Roland the Retard.

He wasn’t actually retarded—brainy, in fact, but nobody would guess that by looking at him.

His black, slicked down hair was parted in the middle like Alfalfa of the old Our Gang films. The style, he liked to explain, was his tribute to Zacherle, who used to host a latenight horror show on television.

Today, he was wearing a bright plaid sport jacket and one of his assorted gore-shirts. The skin colored T-shirt featured a slash wound down its midsection and a bright array of blood and guts spilling out.

“May I join you?” he asked.

“I’m trying to study.”

Nodding, he pulled out an orange, molded-plastic chair and sat across the table from her.

Dana looked down at her book. “What the hell is a force in a green fuse?”

“Sounds like a slimy wick to me.”

“You’re a big help.”

Roland leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Did you hear what happened out at the Oakwood Inn?”

“Why don’t you go away and get yourself something to eat. You look like—”

“A cadaver?” he suggested.

“Exactly.”

“Thank you.” He grinned. His big, crooked teeth looked like a plastic set you might buy at a gag shop the day before Halloween.

Dana didn’t know how Jason could stand to room with this guy, much less be friends with him.

“So,” he said, “I guess you didn’t hear.”

“Hear what?”

“About the massacre.”

“Ah. A massacre. That explains, the gleam in your eyes.”

“It happened right outside town. There’s that old restaurant, the Oakwood Inn. This couple came up from LA planning to open it again. The place had been closed for years—apparently shut down after several of the patrons turned toes up when they ate there. Food poisoning.” Roland wiggled his thin black eyebrows. He looked absolutely delighted. “So last night they were in the place fixing it up and the husband went totally berserk and blew off his wife’s
head with a shotgun. Then a cop showed up and blew away the husband.”

“Just your cup of tea,” Dana said.

“Outrageous, huh?”

“Too bad you couldn’t have been there to enjoy it.”

“Yeah, well, those are the breaks. I drove out there this morning, but the cops have it all blocked off.” He shrugged. “The stiffs were probably gone by then, anyway.”

“More than likely.”

“I sure would’ve like to get a look inside, though. I mean, maybe it hadn’t been cleaned up yet. Can you feature the mess it must’ve made, a gal catching a twelve gauge in the face? Pieces of her brain and skull sticking to the walls…”

“You’re revolting.”

“Anyway, I thought I’d go back later. Maybe the cops’ll be gone by then. Do you mind if I borrow your Polaroid?”

Dana stared at him. She felt a rush of heat to her face. “What makes you think I’ve got a Polaroid?”

“I just know. How about it?”

“That shit. He showed you the pictures, didn’t he.”

“Sure. We’re roomies.”

Her mouth was dry. She lifted her coffee mug with a shaky hand and took a drink. She should’ve known that Jason wouldn’t keep his word. Who else had he shown them to? Everyone in the dorm? She’d wanted to burn the things, but Jason had promised he would hide them, never show them to another soul.

She could just see Roland the Retard drooling over them.

“How about it?” he asked. “Can I borrow the camera?”

“I’m gonna kill that shithead.”

Roland giggled. “If you do, let me watch.”

On second thought, Roland probably hadn’t drooled—probably he hadn’t even found the photos particularly interesting, since they showed no entrails or severed limbs. Unless
he supplied all that with his sick imagination, which seemed more than likely.

“Have you seen a shrink about this problem of yours?” Dana asked.

“A shrink? A
head
shrinker? Do you know how they do that, by the way? First, they split the scalp so they can peel it off the skull, then—”

“Knock it off.”

Roland’s mouth snapped shut.

“What is it with you? I know you’re Jason’s roommate and buddy and I’m supposed to be nice to you and treat you like a human being, but he’s not here, so forget that shit. What is it with you, huh? I’m curious. Either you’re totally deranged, which I doubt, or this whole obsession with blood and guts is some kind of game. If it’s a game, it’s something you should have outgrown at least five years ago.”

During her outburst, Roland had taken his elbows off the table and pressed himself into his chair. He looked stunned. His tiny eyes were wide open, his jaw hanging down.

“Do you know
why
you’re this way?” Dana continued. “Well, I’ve got an idea on that subject. It boils down to this—you’re scared.”

Roland glanced over his shoulder, apparently to see who might be within earshot. Nobody was at the nearby tables.

“You’re scared that nobody will know you exist if you don’t go around acting like a weirdo. This way, people notice you. They don’t
like
what they notice, but they do notice you. That’s number one. Number two is, you latched onto this blood and guts crap because it makes a joke out of what scares you more than anything—death. You make a mockery out of pain and death to keep it from being real, because the real thing has you terrified.”

Dana stopped. She leaned back in her chair, folded her arms beneath her breasts, and glared at him.

“You’re crazy,” he muttered.

“People were really truly killed out at that restaurant last
night,” she said, forcing herself to speak in a calm voice. “It was real—if what you told me is true.”

“Yeah, it—”

“Real, Roland. Not one of those splatter movies you love so dearly. And it’s got you scared pissless, so you have to defend your fragile psyche by trivializing it.”

“You’re a regular Sigmund Freud.”

“The truth is, you probably drove out there in the full expectation that you’d be turned away by the cops. You knew you wouldn’t get to see the bodies or the brains sticking to the walls. The only reason you went out there was so you could brag about it. If you make it part of your weird-guy act and it gets you attention, it isn’t so real anymore, isn’t so scary.”

“That’s not true.”

“You creep, you’re scared of your own shadow.”

“I am not. I
wanted
to see the bodies. It’s not my fault the—”

“A coward, Roland. You’re a coward.”

“I would’ve gone in if—”

“Sure. If the cops hadn’t shooed you off. I’ll bet. As a matter of fact, I
will
bet. A hundred bucks. Imagine the neat T-shirts and masks you could buy with a hundred bucks.”

A corner of Roland’s mouth curled up. “You’re betting me a hundred dollars I won’t go inside the restaurant?”

“I sure am.”

“You’re nuts.”

“Have you got a hundred to put against mine?”

Roland hesitated.

“Didn’t think so.”

“That’s a pile of money.”

“I’ve got a deal for you. If you lose, you don’t have to pay me a cent. But you drop this gore crap. You stop wearing those stupid T-shirts and start acting like a human.”

He frowned. “I don’t know. That’s—”

“Trying to worm out?”

“No.”

“How about it?”

“All I have to do, to win, is go inside the restaurant?”

“At night,” Dana added.

“No sweat.”

“You go in tonight, and you stay
all
night. Alone.” His smiled started to slip.

“As for my Polaroid, you may take it along.”

“How are you going to know if I stay all night? I mean, I could sneak out. Not that I
would,
but—”

“I’ll be right outside in my car. And who knows, maybe I’ll come in to check on you from time to time just to make sure you’re still there.”

“You’ve got a deal.”

“I’ll pick you up at nine behind your dorm.”

“So maybe I was wrong,” Helen said.

“Huh?” Alison asked.

“You haven’t given
King Lear
a glance in the past half hour, just been staring at the phone.”

“I thought he might call,” she said.

“So did I. Maybe we misjudged him. I figured he’d make a grand play for you, but…”

“I think his grand play is to ignore me.”

Celia, lying on the sofa, pulled the stereo headphones off her ears and said, “Am I missing something?”

“Alison’s getting anxious.”

“So call the guy,” she advised.

“I can’t do that.”

“She can’t do that,” Helen repeated. “She’s laid down the terms. The next move is up to Evan.”

Groaning, Celia eased her feet off the sofa and sat up.

“You don’t want to just sit around all day hoping he’ll call,” she told Alison. “You need to do something to take your mind off him. I need to get out, myself.”

“Try going to your two o’clock,” Helen said.

“That seminar’s the shits. Besides, it’s been three weeks since my last cut. I need a break. Especially after yesterday.”

“We
told
you you’d be sorry,” Helen said, “signing up for a Friday afternoon class.”

“Take a hike.” She looked at Alison. “How about we go over to the mall?”

Alison liked the idea. “Are you up to something like that?”

“A walk’ll do me good, get the kinks out.”

“How about it, Helen?” Alison asked. “Want to come along?”

“Nah.”

“Come on,” Alison urged her. “You’re turning into a hermit.”

“I had three damn classes this morning. How does that make me a hermit?” She got up and went to the window. “Anyway, it’s going to rain.”

“What’s a little rain,” Alison said.

“Besides, I’d have to change back into something.”

“Aw, go as you are,” Celia told her.

Helen turned around and looked down at herself as if considering Celia’s suggestion. She was wearing a housedress that looked like an old tablecloth, complete with food stains. She fastened a snap that had come loose between her heavy breasts. “I guess, if I keep my raincoat on…”

“Get serious,” Celia said.

“I’ll just stay here.”

“No, come on,” Alison said. “You don’t want to spend all afternoon cooped up in the house. If you wear your raincoat,
nobody’ll know what you’ve got on. The dress isn’t so bad, anyway.”

Helen looked at Celia.

“I don’t care. Wear whatever you want. Let’s just get going.”

“I’ll just be a minute,” Alison said.

As she headed for the hallway, she heard Celia say, “For godsake, at least put on some underpants. You fall on your ass, you’ll be flashing beaver.”

Helen’s response, if any, was inaudible.

Smiling, Alison began to climb the stairs to her attic room. The staircase had barely enough light to see the steps, so she ran her hand along the banister as she hurried to the top. Her room was not much brighter than the staircase. Not bothering with a lamp, she stepped over to the single window and looked out.

Pretty gloomy out there, all right. A storm was certainly on the way, but she guessed that it might hold off for a while.

It’ll probably start up, she thought, just in time to catch me walking to Gabby’s.

She could get a ride from Evan. He’d be glad to…

She remembered. The hollow ache came back.

What have I done?

It’s okay, she told herself. It’s okay. If he’s through with me over something like this, fine.

She crossed the small room to her dresser and took out her blue jumpsuit. The one-piece, velour outfit would feel soft and cozy, perfect for this kind of weather. Getting into it would be the problem. She had turned the heater off before leaving for her morning classes, and the room was chilly.

As fast as she could, she jerked her flannel shirt over her head, flipped off her slippers, tugged her jeans down her legs, kicked the jeans away, stepped into the jumpsuit and pulled it up. Shivering, she thrust her arms into its sleeves. She raised the zipper to her neck, and sighed with relief as the chill was shut out.

Quickly, she put on a pair of wool socks and stepped into
her sneakers. Then, she snatched her windbreaker from the closet, grabbed the strap of her shoulder bag, and hurried downstairs.

Helen, waiting in her sou’wester and boots, looked ready for a typhoon.

“Ahoy,” Alison said.

“We’re
waiting
for you, Celia!” Helen called from somewhere inside her rain gear.

“Patience,” Celia called from her room. “I’m a crip, remember?” A few moments passed, and she came out clutching a snap-brim cap in her teeth while she adjusted her sling. She had changed into a bulky, cable-knit pullover that she’d bought on a trip to Ireland. Her pants were loose-fitting corduroys with deep pockets, cuffs tucked into snakeskin boots.

“You look smashing,” Alison told her.

“Smashed up is more like it,” she said, taking the cap from her teeth and flipping it onto her head at a rakish angle.

“Where’s your raincoat?” Helen asked.

“My raincoat is a poncho. I’m not gonna fool with it.”

“You’ll get soaked.”

“If it rains, which I doubt, you’ll stay dry enough for the three of us.”

A cool wind hit Alison when she opened the door. She fastened the snaps of her jacket. Halfway down the stairs, she looked back. Celia was using her good hand to keep the cap on her head. “Are you going to be warm enough?”

“You kidding? This is an Aran sweater.”

“Whatever you say.”

Helen, higher on the stairs, turned up the broad brim of her rain hat. Her face appeared, and she smiled as if pleasantly surprised to find herself in the company of others.

Three steps from the bottom, Alison leaped. Her bent knees absorbed the impact.

“Gimme a break,” Celia called.

Grinning, Alison walked backward. “This is neat weather,” she said. “Invig—”

“L’gout, now.”

Something prodded her spine.

Celia started to laugh.

Whirling around, Alison found a knotty cane leveled at her belly. At the cane’s other end stood Dr. Teal, a grocery bag in his free hand. He swung the cane back, resting it on his shoulder. As he looked at the three, his eyebrows lifted, crinkling his brow. “Setting out, I see. A fine day for an excursion.”

“A blustery day,” Alison told him. He was a man who appreciated allusions.

“Keep a sharp eye out for Eeyore’s tail,” he said.

“Want a hand with the groceries?” Alison asked.

“Thanks for the offer, but I must not keep you from your expedition. Proceed!” He stepped off the cobblestones into the wind-bent grass, and made a sweeping gesture with his cane.

Alison stepped past him and turned around. Celia tipped her cap to the professor.

“You, my dear, have looked better.”

“I got a little banged up.”

“I’m very sorry to hear it.”

“You oughta see the other guy.”

Shaking his head, the old professor patted her gently on the shoulder as she stepped by.

“Say-hay,” Helen greeted him.

“Say-hay.” He leaned close to her and said something Alison couldn’t hear. Then he walked around the stairway, stopped at his side door, and propped his cane against the wall.

Alison walked a little farther, then waited for the others to catch up. “What’d he say?” she asked Helen.

“I don’t know, some nonsense. That guy’s battier every time I see him.”

“But what did he say?” Alison persisted.

“‘Let the albatross live.’ Whatever that’s supposed to mean.”

“I think,” said Alison, “he was saying he liked your outfit.”

As she reached the sidewalk, she saw a man on the next block. He was leaning into the wind, clutching his tan jacket shut. He had light brown hair like Evan. Alison felt her heart quicken. She squinted, trying to see him better.

They’ll just have to go on without me, she thought. They’ll understand.

He’s come back to me. In spite of my ultimatum.

She’d almost given up hoping, but Evan must’ve decided to try the new arrangement.

She was glad she was wearing the jumpsuit. Of all her outfits, it was Evan’s favorite. The zipper down the front drove him wild.

As she walked toward him, she popped open the snaps of her windbreaker and lowered the jumpsuit zipper a few inches.

She could take him to the house. It would be warm and cozy, and they would have the place all to themselves until Celia and Helen got back.

Not such a great idea, she thought. It’d be asking for trouble.

On the other hand, it would be a good test. If Evan, could resist temptation under those circumstances…

The man was closer, now.

He didn’t look so much like Evan, anymore.

He turned away at the corner, and his profile was all wrong—his nose too long, his chin too weak.

“That guy looked a little like Evan,” Celia said.

Alison shrugged. She felt cheated and empty. “Evan can take a flying leap,” she muttered.

The warmth of the enclosed shopping mall felt good. Alison’s windbreaker was light enough so that she wasn’t bothered by keeping it on, but she pitied Helen. The poor gal had to feel stifled under the heavy raincoat.

Don’t feel too sorry for her, Alison thought. She could’ve put on decent clothes if she hadn’t been so lazy.

The three wandered along the concourse, close to the left side. While Celia and Helen looked into shops, Alison scanned the other shoppers. Many of them were students. One of them might be Evan.

At Contempo Casuals, Celia stopped and gazed at the mannequins near the entrance. “I want to check it out,” she said, and they entered.

Helen took off her huge, floppy hat. Her round face looked moist and florid. She opened the top buckle of her coat.

“Better stop there,” Celia warned. “They’ll sound the slob alarm.”

“Eat it,” Helen said. But she left the lower buckles alone.

They followed Celia to the rear of the store, where she began looking at negligees.

“You’re not getting
another,”
Helen said.

“Oh no?”

“What’ve you got, twenty of them? And at the rate you go through guys, none of them gets a chance to see more than one, anyway.”

“Jealous?”

Helen just shook her head.

Celia took her time studying the selection, lifting various garments on their hangers and inspecting them, pondering, putting them back. She went about the task one-handed, so after a while Alison began to help by returning the rejected garments to the crowded racks. At last, Celia found one she seemed to like. She turned to Alison, holding it up. “What do you think?”

It was a backless nightie, very short, of glossy royal blue. It had spaghetti straps which tied at the back of the neck, and an open, plunging front. The cups were wisps of blue gauze.

“Figures you’d pick a thing like that,” Helen said.

“Looks fine to me.” Alison wondered if there was another one just like it. If Evan saw her in something like that…
Forget him.

“I wouldn’t get it,” Helen said.

“Of
course
you wouldn’t.”

With one side of her lip curled up, Helen flicked the sheer gauze. “You don’t want that. And I’m not talking modesty here. I realize you’re far beyond such things.”

“Then what
are
you talking about?”

“That color. It’ll make your titties look sick. You want to look like you’ve got blue boobs and purple nips?”

Celia raised her eyebrows. She looked at Alison.

“I hadn’t thought of that,” Alison admitted.

“See if they’ve got the same thing in black,” Helen suggested.

“Good idea.” She smiled. “Thanks.”

“Though, if you ask me, you’d be better off putting your money in potato chips.”

Alison held the blue nightie until Celia, searching the rack, came up with a black one in the same style. “Great,” Celia said. “Perfect.”

Alison hooked the hanger over the rail, then unhooked it and looked again at the garment. The blue was deep, bright, and shiny. She caressed the fabric. It felt slick, and clung to her hand. She wondered how it would feel on her, how it would look. She had never owned anything like this. She raised her eyes. Celia and Helen were both staring at her. She grinned.

“Blue boobs,” Helen warned.

“I can live with it,” she said.

Celia grinned. “A little something just in case Evan comes through?”

“What happened to your vow of chastity?” Helen asked.

“This has nothing to do with it,” Alison said.

“Oh, no?”

As they left the shop with their purchases, Alison offered to carry Celia’s bag.

“Yeah,” Helen said. “Take it off her hands. Something like that, it must weigh a ton.”

“Maybe you should’ve bought one,” Celia told her.

“Ready to go?” Helen asked, ignoring the remark.

“We just got here.”

She curled her upper lip. There were sparkles of sweat above it. She had to be suffering, Alison thought, trapped inside that heavy raincoat.

“Maybe we should go,” Alison said.

“I just want to be fair to you guys,” Celia explained. “Poor Helen needs to ogle the puppies and hit the doughnut shop, and you want to check out the bookstore, don’t you?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Alison told her. “I think one of us is melting.”

“I’m all right,” Helen said, though clearly she wasn’t.

Celia grinned. “That perked you up—doughnuts, maple bars, bear claws, chocolate eclairs…”

“I could sure use a soda,” she admitted.

With Helen in the lead, they headed across the concourse toward the wing of the mall where the food stands were located.

“Salutations,” someone said from behind them.

They turned around.

It was the weird kid. Though Alison didn’t know his name and had never spoken with him, she had noticed him around the campus. He was impossible not to notice, the strange clothes he wore and the way he parted his hair in the middle. Right now, he was wearing a garish sport jacket and a T-shirt with a gash spilling blood and entrails printed on its front. He was clutching a bag from Spartan Sporting Goods.