Authors: Richard Laymon

Out Are the Lights (13 page)

BOOK: Out Are the Lights

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Not necessarily.

He only had to get rich.

Only.

If it were easy to get rich, he'd have done it long before now.

He could think of only one way to do it: marry money. Must be plenty of rich gals around town. But he only knew one.

Damn, he was halfway to home base before this Peter stuck his nose into the picture.

Sure: his nose. Stuck in more than that, the bastard.

Look on the bright side, though: maybe he will dump Connie. Could happen.

Especially with a little help.

Dal lay with his eyes shut, oblivious to the noise of cars passing just outside his window, and thought about ways to help.

***

In the morning, he woke up feeling good. He took a long, hot shower. Then he went for a walk. He ate a breakfast of sausage and eggs at Sambos. At a Drug Mart down the street, he brought an injector razor, a can of shaving cream, and roll-on deodorant.

Couldn't face Elizabeth looking like a bum.

Grinning, he returned to his motel room. He shaved, rubbed the sticky ball on his armpits, and checked out.

He practiced his story as he drove to Elizabeth 's house.

She opened the door, looking as radiant as Dal felt. She wore a silken robe that matched her green eyes. It was belted loosely shut. It barely hung low enough to cover her groin.

'You look beautiful this morning,' Dal said.

'Don't stand there gawking. Get in here and kiss me.'

He gladly obeyed. As he kissed her, his hands roamed down the slick robe and under it. He squeezed the cool skin of her rump. He pressed her tightly against him.

'I don't have much time,' he said. 'Connie's at church. I just had to stop by, though.'

'Did it go well?'

'It went great. Unbelievable.'

'Tell me.'

'Later,' he said, grinding his hardness against her.

'Now,' she said. She pushed herself away, and walked ahead of him into the living-room. She sat on a white davenport, and put her feet up.

Dal sat by her feet. 'I did just as you suggested. I bought her flowers, on my way home yesterday.'

'And did she like them?'

'She loved them. Absolutely loved them. She cried, and apologized for the way she burnt dinner, and wanted to know where I'd spent the night.'

'What did you tell her?'

'That I'd spent most of it just driving around aimlessly, in a daze. And that I'd finally parked on a quiet street, somewhere, and gone to sleep on the backseat.'

'Lovely,' Elizabeth said. Her foot patted his thigh.

'Oh, Connie ate it up. I've never seen her look more guilty.'

'I hope you quickly moved in for the kill.'

'You'd have been proud of me.'

'Would I?'

'While Connie was crying and full of remorse, I took her into my arms and said, "Why don't I take you out for dinner, tonight, and we'll have a good time and forget all about our little quarrel." '

'And did you?'

'We did.'

'Bravo.'

Dal patted the lightly tanned top of her foot, and moved his hand up her shin. 'We went to a quiet, French restaurant…'

'Which one?'

'Henri's.'

'Ah, lovely.'

'And I proposed to her.'

'Did she accept?'

'How could she refuse?'

Dal slipped his hand beneath her upraised leg, and caressed the smoothness of her calf.

'She did accept?'

'Of course. And I gave her the ring.'

'Did it fit?'

'It was a bit tight. Weil take it to a jeweler, next week, and have it expanded.'

'She liked the ring?'

'She was flabbergasted.'

She said, 'It's magnificent.'

'I think she was a bit shocked to think I would spend that kind of money, but I didn't hear her complain.'

'So, you are now an engaged man.'

'Yep.'

'When's the big day?'

'July thirty-first.'

Elizabeth grinned. She swung her leg upward, and propped it on the back of the couch. 'Let me be the first to congratulate you, dear.'

***

'I don't want to,' Connie said.

'It won't take long,' Pete told her. 'I'll give you a hand. Both hands, if you prefer.'

'I'd really rather not. Let's just go somewhere. He can come in and get the stuff, himself. If I put it outside. I'd be worried someone might take it.'

'That'd be too bad.'

'I'm the one who'd feel guilty about it.'

'You aren't afraid he'll come in and tear the place up?'

'Dal? No. He's basically pretty timid.'

'Those are the kind who go haywire when things get rough.'

'Really, Pete, you worry too much.'

'You keep telling me.'

'Because it's true.'

'Even paranoiacs have enemies.'

She smiled. 'I know. And a broken clock is right twice a day. More coffee?'

'I'll get it.'

Pete left her. Alone on the private, rear balcony, she moved her lawn chair closer to the railing so her face would be in the sunlight. She sat back, and took a deep breath. The morning breeze was cool, the sun hot. She wondered if she had ever felt this good before.

Sure. Yesterday. And Friday night.

Being with Pete.

It was like being reborn-young and fresh and happy, the day ahead full of promise.

He came back, and handed her the coffee mug. He sat down on the chair facing her.

'How about going to the Marina for a champagne brunch?' he asked.

'Great!'

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Freya stayed home from work Monday morning. She called in sick. Though she felt fine as she dialed, her heart began to race and her stomach suddenly hurt when Dr Eginton answered the phone.

Sheila Eginton, Dean of Women, the condescending bitch.

'I do hope it's nothing serious,' she said.

'I do too,' said Freya, making her voice tight as if holding back a groan of pain. 'I… I'm going to the doctor this morning.'

'I see. We'll do our best to forge along without you.'

'Fine.'

'Do take care of yourself.'

'I will.' She hung up.

Well, she wouldn't have to put up with bitch Eginton much longer. If everything went as planned, she'd be kissing the job good-bye at the end of the summer quarter.

Too bad she couldn't get Edgy out to Todd's house. She'd love to see her in Schreck's hands. The dean was too big, though; her disappearance would cause a stink.

So far, their caution had paid off.

Only the disappearance of the camping girls got any play in the news. Todd had been a bit careless there. Overconfident, maybe. But he assured Freya that he would hang onto that tape. not even send it to the lab for conversion to 35mm, until the thing had blown over.

Then there was the business with Tina. That should've worked perfectly; neither Tina nor her boyfriend had living parents to miss them. Tina moved out, ran off with the guy, and left no forwarding address. That was supposed to be the story if anyone asked. Freya should've stuck to it when the roommate called. That'd been a dumb mistake. But, who would think the gal'd keep pushing it?

Well, they took care of that little problem. Nobody had popped up, yet, asking about her. A good sign. Maybe she hadn't even been missed. Could be trouble, though, when they showed the film.

Good old Brit might have friends who frequent the Haunted Palace.

Shit, why worry? With the over-dub and dyed hair, who would recognize her?

Should've dyed Tina's hair. Couldn't, of course, the way it was shot. Probably wouldn't be able to do it with Chelsea, either. The gal has to be under control, for that. Like what's-her-face in the Inquisitor film. Or that moronic hitchhiker Todd picked up for his first one, Schreck the Executioner.

A small change of appearance, like that, was probably enough to keep folks from recognizing their friends.

If she could think of a way to disguise Chelsea… What the shit, Chelsea 's from Oakland. That's a long, long way from L. A.

Freya poured herself a cup of tea, and glanced at the kitchen clock. Seven-thirty.

Banks open at ten.

Chelsea the Pig should arrive by eleven.

Plenty of time to kill. She went into the living-room, turned on the television, and switched the channel to Good Morning, America.

***

At 10:32, the doorbell rang. Freya got up, tugging at her tight shorts, and opened the door.

Chelsea, a cheerless smile spreading her cheeks, waved a handful of green in Freya's face. 'Six hundred bucks,' she said. 'Didn't think I'd be here, did you?'

'I never doubted for a moment.'

Today, her T-shirt read, 'Save a tree-eat a beaver'.

Freya took the money. She stood in the doorway, counting it. Six hundred dollars, in fifties.

'Receipt, please.'

'Of course. Come on in.' As she filled out a receipt, she said, 'Are you always this obnoxious, Chelsea?'

'When it suits me.'

'Suppose we call a truce? I'll help you bring your stuff up, and I'll even take you out to dinner, tonight, to celebrate.'

'You'll pay?'

'Of course.' She waved the six hundred at Chelsea, I just came into a lot of money.'

'You're a doozy.'

They went down to the street. Freya saw a dull, gray van plastered with bumper stickers: NUKE IRAN; PLEASE TAILGATE-I NEED THE MONEY; I NEVER HAD IT; I BRAKE FOR MIDGETS; STILLBORNS HAVE MORE FUN, and half a dozen others.

'Your van, I presume.'

'How'd you guess?'

***

As they unloaded it, Freya appraised the goods. Not much looked promising. The stereo, portable television, and typewriter might bring in a few bucks, but everything else looked like junk.

'Where you taking me for dinner?'

'It's a lovely restaurant up the coast.'

'Up the coast? How far up the coast?

'Only about fifteen minutes,' Freya said.

'There's gotta be someplace closer.'

'Nothing this nice. It has a lovely view of the ocean.'

'Do I have to dress up?'

'Is it possible?'

'Now who's obnoxious?'

'You look very nice,' Freya said when Chelsea came out, of the bedroom in a dress that looked like an old table cloth.

'I pass inspection?'

'With flying colors.'

They went down to Freya's car.

'Fifteen minutes?'

'About that. Maybe a little longer. The place is worth it, though. Best food you've ever tasted.'

'Hope they serve plenty,' Chelsea said. 'I could eat a horse.'

'They don't serve horses.'

'You said fifteen minutes.'

'We're almost there,' Freya said. The sun was higher above the ocean than last time, and made the driving easier.

' Lot of trouble to go through for a dinner.'

'This place is special.'

'So you say.'

'Wait till you see it.'

***

When Freya swung onto the turnoff, Chelsea said, 'You've got to be kidding. There's no restaurant up there.'

Fortunately, Todd had remembered to leave the gate open. That would've really aroused Chelsea 's suspicion. So far, she didn't seem worried-only curious.

When Chelsea saw the house, she shook her head. 'That's it?'

'That's it.'

'Is this a joke?'

'It's a restaurant. The finest restaurant for miles.'

'I'll believe it when I see it.'

A single car, a blue Plymouth, was parked in front. Freya pulled alongside it.

'If this place is so great,' Chelsea said, 'why's there only one car?'

'It's very exclusive.'

Freya climbed from the car. Chelsea opened her door against the Plymouth, and squeezed out. 'Couldn't park any closer to it, could you?'

Freya smiled. 'Don't be a spoilsport.'

'This is sport?'

They headed for the porch stairs. As they started up, the front door opened. Todd stepped out, wearing a tux. He held the door wide.

'Ah,' he said. 'Young ladies, we've been expecting you. Welcome to Hillside Manor. I am Clarence, the maitre d'.' They followed him into the foyer.

'As you see, young ladies. Hillside Manor is a most unusual restaurant. It is the home of Rudolph Webb, noted chef and author of Webb's Cuisine. He opened his home to the public, fifteen years ago, as a - shall we say - testing ground for his recipes.'

They entered the dining-room. The long, mahogany table was set for three. Todd seated Freya and Chelsea across from each other near the head of the table.

'As diners here,' he continued, 'you shall be partners in the creation of an original dish. Would you care for a cocktail before dinner is served?'

'Gin and tonic,' Chelsea said.

'I'll have white wine. The house wine, please.'

BOOK: Out Are the Lights

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