Grist 01 - The Four Last Things (30 page)

“You’re going to see a lot more of it,” he said. We were heading toward the kitchen. “You’ll see it on your girlfriend.”

“You’re going to fork my girlfriend?” We passed the air-conditioning unit, humming busily away. “That’s not very polite. Where I come from, a gentleman doesn’t say that to another gentleman.”

He grunted.

“So much for snappy patter,” I said as he propelled me into the kitchen. “Oh, I see. Put me on ice. It’s that sweet little refrigerator, isn’t it? Good. I have a theory. All shivering is caused by the attempt to reduce the amount of body surface exposed to the cold. Open up, I always say. Open up and let the cold in. Then you won’t shiver. What do you think?”

“I think,” he said, opening the refrigerator door, “that you’re going to want to be cold in a few hours.”

“Jesus,” I said. “You sound like a Friars’ roast for one of Bob Hope’s writers.”

“Bundle up,” he said, pushing me in and closing the door.

Somebody inside sighed.

“Well,” Eleanor said, “what took you so long?”

Chapter 28

T
he darkness was absolute. The rods and cones of my retina worked overtime to impose squirmy little red and green paramecia on the air, but when I looked down I literally could not see my body.

“He hurt my fingers,” she said.

“It’s his hobby,” I said. “Some men collect stamps or guns or varieties of begonia. He collects fingernails.” I was babbling. I’d been talking compulsively ever since I’d unloaded on Merryman. It was as though that action, childish as it had been, had pulled the cork on all the emotions I’d been choking down since Merryman’s call woke me up. I bit down on my tongue until it hurt and counted to twenty. Then I leaned over and tried to kiss her on the cheek. I felt her lips beneath mine, and then her arms went around me. She’d been looking at me in the total darkness, the way a lover will. Her hands on my neck were icy. I put my arm around her waist. The slenderness of her was familiar and sweet.

“How long have you been in here?”

“Forever. I can’t tell. What time is it now?”

“A little after nine.”

“Four or five hours, then. Simeon, there are rats in here. One of them touched my hand, and then it ran over my feet. I screamed. I felt so stupid, screaming in a refrigerator when obviously no one is going to come and help me. I mean, why do you scream? For help, right? But this was just screaming. The way I screamed when that man hurt me.”

“We’re going to kill him,” I said, wishing I believed it.

“Oh, be real. We’re locked in this thing and there’s no way in the world to get out. That door is six inches thick and they’ve pulled off the handle on this side. There’s nothing there but some greasy-feeling rollers. I threw myself against the door so hard that I’ve got a bone bruise on my shoulder, but it’s closed tight. Even if we get out, we’re in this awful basement and we’re surrounded by zombies.”

“Listen,” I said, laughing at the cliché in spite of myself, “I have a plan.”

“Well,” she said, “I’d love to know what it is.”

I felt around in my windbreaker and located the bottom of the zipper. I peeled back the lining and pulled out the pimp’s knife, then took her hand and dropped the knife into it.

“What’s this?”

“It’s a pimp’s knife,” I said.

“What are we going to do, commit double suicide? Boy, wouldn’t that burn them up?”

“The door closes through a system of rollers, the ones you got your hands all greasy touching. We’re going to use the knife as a lever to manipulate the rollers. Then we’re going to push the door open and walk out.”

“Into the arms of the zombies.”

“One thing at a time.”

“Okay,” she said, “I’m game. Anything’s better than sitting here feeling like the Thanksgiving turkey. What do you think the temperature is, anyway?”

“Low forties. Cold enough for hypothermia.”

She handed the knife back to me.

“What do you want me to do?”

“Wait for a while.”

“What for?”

“The Revealing. It’s on television from the studio next door. Everybody goes to watch. It will cause a sudden drop in the zombie population. Also, we’re waiting for a man.”

“Who?”

“I don’t really know how to tell you. If he shows up, I’ll introduce you.”

“If he shows up?”

I gave it a moment’s thought and then shrugged. “I didn’t have time to put him under contract,” I said. “You came as a bit of a surprise.”

“They were waiting for me in the parking lot. I’d just said good-bye to Jeannie Seaver, she’s in Features, and I opened the car door and got in, and this man got in next to me and pushed me into the passenger seat. It was the one called Barry, the one who did that thing to my fingers. Then he unlocked the back door and another man got in, and they drove me here.”

“Where you met Dr. Merryman.”

“Is he that ghastly handsome man? Oh, Simeon, he oozes poison like a toad. Barry’s awful, he’s sick and revolting and vile, but the other one’s worse. He smiles at you and even flirts with you, and there’s nothing in there but cold. When the other man, the old man, I mean, Brooks, arrived, Merryman peeled him alive in front of everybody. This was about midnight. He just poured abuse on him for an hour or so and then got up in the middle of a sentence and left the room. When he came back he’d changed his shirt, and he picked up exactly where he’d left off.”

“He’s my favorite too,” I said.

“They wanted to know all about Mr. Ellspeth. I thought at one point they were going to go right out and kill him. I told them he was scared of his own shadow, that he only talked to us in the first place because we threatened to publish his name and address if he didn’t, and how would they have liked that, I asked them. Every reporter in America making a campfire to cook wienies on his doorstep. Merryman gave me that veneer of a smile and said they wouldn’t like it at all. Then he said to Barry, ‘Play a little tick-tack-toe on her.’ ”

“You didn’t tell them. You’re something.”

“That pig,” she said. She settled against me. “How come you’re always warm? I’ve wondered about that for years.”

“The banked fires of genius.”

“We’re going to need them.”

“Fortunately, they didn’t think of throwing water on me.”

She stiffened. “Oh, no. Did they hurt you too? Jesus,” she said uncharacteristically, “I didn’t even ask.”

“Not much,” I said, feeling brave.

“That’s just like you. Eagle Scout to the toes. Did they?”

“I’ll be a few short on my five-finger exercises for a while.”

“Oh, my gosh. Do you think you’ll lose the nails?”

I laughed again. “I certainly hope so. That would take weeks.”

“We’re going to get out,” she said. “We’re going to get out and then we’re going to glue those two together with Krazy Glue and give them to Al Hammond. Merryman’s front to Barry’s back. No, reverse that. I think Merryman would enjoy it.”

“I think they’d both enjoy it. Why don’t we just glue their lips and nostrils closed and watch them try to breathe through their ears.”

“Poor old Brooks,” she said. After a moment she said, “On the other hand, fuck him.” I’d never heard her use the word before. “Let’s just worry about us.”

“The problem,” I said, “is how to measure time. Getting out of here early would be almost as bad as not getting out of here at all.”

“That’s easy,” she said. “We’ll just wait until we think it’s time and then we’ll wait a lot longer.” She shivered. “How long do you think it might be?”

“Two hours, maybe three.”

“That’s a long time. What do you want to do in the meanwhile?”

“We could neck.”

“We could keep warm if we made love,” she said, startling me, “if it weren’t for the rats, that is.”

I wrapped both arms around her, feeling an absurd surge of desire. “To be perfectly frank, though,” she said, “I’ve made love with rats before. We’ll have to keep most of our clothes on, obviously.”

“No problem,” I said.

For the next hour or so, in pitch-darkness, we rediscovered each other. All the sweet familiarities flooded back, all the half-forgotten textures, smells, hills, mounds, the secret valleys, the most intimate landscapes. I twined her hair around my fingers and inhaled the yeasty scent of her skin. She licked the side of my neck in long, languorous cat-laps. It had always driven me crazy, and I was obscurely touched that she’d remembered.

“You need a shave,” she whispered.

“Do it with your teeth,” I said.

The clothes got in the way, and it didn’t matter. When the cooler came on I noted the noise but didn’t feel the drop in temperature. We achieved release together, just as we almost always had. Then Eleanor laughed.

“I hope you understand,” she said, “that I don’t usually do it in refrigerators.”

“Plead special circumstances,” I said.

“Oh,” she said, “I do. I do.” She blew warm breath into my mouth. “Another first,” she said.

“I do my best.”

“You do better than anyone. Gee. Suppose someone had come in.”

“This bunch, they’d have enjoyed it.”

“Not as much as I did.”

Then she was silent. I heard her fingers scrabbling over elastic and buttons.

“What are you wearing?” I said.

“Oh, Simeon. You always used to ask me that on the phone. Remember?”

“And you used to answer me.” The basic, horrible fact of our situation reasserted itself.

“A pink blouse. And those black pants you bought me in Santa Monica, the ones with the big zippered pockets. Flats.”

“Good. A skirt would have gotten in the way later.”

“When has a skirt ever gotten in your way?” She was teasing on the square. This was the Eleanor I’d grown accustomed to over the past few years, and it had been my fault.

“Did you explore?” I said to change the subject.

“Only the door,” she said. “After that I sat down and the rat touched my hand. Then I didn’t want to go anyplace. I just sat there, and after a while I think I went to sleep.”

“You slept?” Eleanor could sleep anywhere. She invariably fell asleep in planes before they took off, while I was coiled in my seat clutching a drink and repeating a secret mantra that went “Oh, my Lord, preserve the lives of those on board.” And I didn’t even believe in God.

“I was up all night,” she said. “And what that man did to me wore me out.”

“Of course it did,” I said, getting up.

“Where are you going?”

“Out for a little air.”

“Very funny. I think I should get straight answers at this point.”

“I’m going to fool with the door.”

“It’s not time yet. It can’t be more than ten-thirty.”

“I want to know what I’m up against.”

“What
we’re
up against,” she said a trifle acidly.

I felt around the edges of the door. The walls were all tile, about four inches by four inches, separated by narrow grouting. Moisture had condensed on the tiles. The door itself felt different: cold, metallic, and slightly rough to the touch. Zinc, maybe. The rollers were on the left side of the door, about hip-high. They felt rubbery. As she said, the handle had been removed. I felt around the rollers, closing my eyes even in the darkness to envision them.

“Piece of cake,” I said.

“My hero,” Eleanor crooned.

I pulled out the knife and pushed the button. It snicked open with a lethal little click.

“What’s that?” she said.

“The knife,” I said. “I’m going to fool around a little.”

“Don’t cut yourself,” she said automatically, and then she was laughing and I was laughing with her. Still laughing, I located the largest of the rollers with my fingers and slipped the knife into the crack between it and its neighbor. I worried it back and forth a little bit, feeling a reassuring give in the rollers. “God,” I said, “this thing is ancient.” I pushed the knife farther to the right.

The knife snapped.

“What was that?” she said.

I stood there, looking down through the darkness to the place where the broken knife blade would be. “Goddamn cheap fucking pimp,” I said. “Stingy, skinny-nosed, cocaine-sniffing son of a bitch.”

“What is it?” she said.

“What kind of asshole economizes on his knife? If you’re dumb enough to carry one, you should be smart enough to carry a good one. Cheap piece of Taiwan shit.”

“It broke,” she said.

“Of course it broke. I should have known it would break. Gold wire wheels. Of course it broke.”

“So what are we going to do?”

“We’re going to wait for them to come for us,” I said, sitting back down next to her. “Then we’re going to rip them to pieces. What else can we do?”

“That was your plan?” she said. “The knife?”

“That was the beginning.”

She leaned against me with a long sigh. “I wish I hadn’t asked,” she said.

About two hours later she said, “There must be a light.”

I’d been dozing in a sort of fitful free-association, and when she spoke I started. “What?” I said.

“A light,” she repeated. “People worked in here with the door closed to keep it cold. There was a handle on this side originally. Why wouldn’t there be a light switch?”

“Why would there be a bulb?” I asked a little nastily. “So we can see our breath?”

“How do you know there isn’t?”

“Because these people don’t work that way. They want us to be in the dark. They didn’t bother to give us blankets, did they?”

“Don’t be insufferable. Have you got anything better to do with your time than look for the light switch?”

“No,” I admitted.

“Well,” she said, “if it’s here, it must be near the door.”

I let out an exasperated sigh, just to be doing something, and got up. I found the door and ran my hands around its perimeter. Then I put my palms flat against the tile wall and slid them upward along the right side of the door. Then I tried the left. There it was.

“Well, what do you know?” I said, and flipped it up.

Dim, chalky light filled the room. Eleanor, looking beyond me, squinted once and then screamed.

I turned around and screamed myself.

Standing in the corner, looking me straight in the eye, big as life and twice as dead, was Ellis Fauntleroy. He had a sign hung around his neck.

The sign said
surprise!