Resurrection Dreams (21 page)

That’s how it should be. Not from first dinner to bed all in the space of a couple of hours, missing out on the small but wonderful joys of journey.

Jack might not look at it that way, though. Most men didn’t. They felt cheated if you didn’t go straight to bed with them. Vicki wondered how persistent Jack would be. She wondered if even she would have the willpower to hold off.

As he placed his Mastercard on the small plastic tray with the bill, she wondered if he had a condom. If not, that would settle the problem. She didn’t have any (no need, since she hadn’t been seeing anyone), and though Ace undoubtedly had a trunk-load somewhere, Vicki certainly had no intention of asking her for one.

She had a diaphragm. She could put it in. But she wouldn’t.

It wasn’t pregnancy that worried her.

Might get a little embarrassing, but he certainly couldn’t accuse her of being a prig or a tease if she called a halt to things for lack of a rubber. Not with AIDS rolling through the country like a plague.

Maybe he carried one, just in case he got lucky.

Well, he didn’t get lucky.

Neither did I, Vicki thought.

“We had a disagreement,” she told Ace.

“You’re kidding.”

“You don’t see him, do you?”

“Well, shit, how’d you manage that?”

“It was easy.”

“He turn out to be an asshole?”

“Not exactly.” Vicki sat down on the couch. She kicked her shoes off, stretched out her legs and rested her feet on the corner of the coffee table.

“Let me guess,” Ace said. “He’s married.”

“Divorced.”

“Ah-ha. And therefore bitter, resentful, suspicious, wary of any involvement because he doesn’t want to get hurt again. Who’s to say you’re not his ex, cleverly disguised?”

Vicki smiled. “How’d you get so smart?”

“The school of soft knocks, hon.”

“Beneath my clown suit beats the heart of an Amazon career bitch baby-killer.”

“Baby-killer?”

“His ex had an abortion because she decided a kid would mess up her law practice.”

“And Jack wanted the kid?”

“Yeah. So now he assumes I must be the type to pull a stunt like that.”

“Naturally.”

“The bastard.”

“So how was he otherwise?”

“What does it matter?”

“You must’ve thought he was pretty nifty, or you wouldn’t be so upset about this little development.”

“He was okay, I guess.”

“You were crazy about him.”

“Maybe. But…”

“Facts of life, hon. Fact one, you’re pushing thirty. Fact two, I don’t think you’re into pimply, vapid teenagers. Fact three, there are no guys out there of a suitable age who aren’t carrying some kind of garbage.”

“The good ones are all taken?” Vicki muttered.

“Or were. And we know damn well you wouldn’t want to mess with the others. You find a guy over about twenty-five who hasn’t been married, or at least had a long-term relationship with some gal, he’s gotta be totally fucked. One way or another. Take our friend Melvin, for instance.”

“Thanks, I’d rather not.”

“He’s available, hasn’t been divorced.”

“And I thought I was depressed before.”

“I’m trying to cheer you up.”

“And doing a good job of it, too.”

“What I’m getting at, you just aren’t going to find a guy who doesn’t have a certain load of garbage. If he’s available—and isn’t totally fucked that he never had a relationship—there has to be a woman in his past who either messed him up or died on him. Either way, you inherit the shit she dumped on him. It goes with the territory.”

“You’re so full of understanding, you should go out with him. I’m sure he’d classify you as an adventurer. Just watch out if he asks how many proposals you’ve turned down.”

“That’s the trick question, huh?”

“Was for me.”

“What’d you tell him?”

“Three.”

“Where’s the problem? That just shows you’re picky.”

“Not to him. The way he sees it, I laid waste to the guys because marriage would conflict with my career goals.”

“Was he right?”

“Good question. Excellent question. He didn’t bother to ask it. That’s the whole damn reason…” Her voice slipped upward. Her eyes flooded.

Here I go again, she thought.

Ace scooted across the couch and put an arm across Vicki’s shoulders. Vicki turned to her, held her, wept against her neck. She felt Ace stroking her hair.

She should’ve been here on the couch in Jack’s arms. That was the plan. It was supposed to be Jack, not Ace. They’d be here right now, and she’d be wondering about condoms, and…she cried all the harder.

“It’s all right,” Ace murmured. “It’s all right.”

“I…wanted him,” she blurted.

“I know.”

“What’s…wrong…with me?”

“Nothing. Nothing, honey. You’re just lonely. It’s been too long and you had too many hopes pinned on this guy.”

“The bastard.”

“Look on the bright side.”

“What…bright side?”

“You’ve got me.”

“I know. I know.”

“That was supposed to be a joke, hon.”

“Even so…”

Ace squeezed her, gently kissed the side of her head. “We’ve got each other,” she whispered. “No joke.”

“I know. God, Ace…”

“Just keep your hands off my tits.”

Vicki laughed and choked on a sob.

“Poor thing, you’ve struck out twice in one night.”

“Bitch.”

Ace eased her away. Her eyes were red and wet. Her fingertips stroked the tears off Vicki’s cheeks. “Better?”

Vicki sniffled. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“So what are you going to do now?”

“Go out and buy a vibrator?”

“Other than that.”

“I don’t know.”

“Guess what? Jack’s probably not overjoyed by the way things turned out tonight, either.”

“I’m sure.”

“He’s probably home alone right now, crying out his own little eyes.”

“I bet.”

“Being a guy, of course, he’s more likely getting drunk and crushing beer cans on his face.”

Vicki laughed and wiped her nose.

“Why don’t you give him a call?”

“Are you kidding?”

Ace shook her head.

“I don’t know.”

“What’ve you got to lose?”

“What’s the point?”

“He’s a man. You’re crazy about him, or were, till you had this misunderstanding. He’s probably breaking a leg trying to kick his ass about all this.”

“Or just grateful he ‘found me out’ and got while the getting was good.”

“So call him up, find out which it is.”

“No. Huh-uh. It’s his problem. Let him do the phoning if he wants. I’m going to bed.”

Vicki stood up.

“Sure you don’t want to wait up for his call?”

“There won’t be one.”

“Right. He’ll probably drop by, instead. Maybe I’ll slip into my nightie, just in case.”

“My friend.”

Later, lying in bed, Vicki stared at the dark ceiling. She heard quiet voices and background music from the television. She heard no ring of the telephone, no doorbell. But she stayed awake for a long time, listening.

“Okay,” Melvin said, “stop the car.”

Charlie stepped on the brake. The car jerked to a halt, throwing Melvin forward. He slapped a hand against the dashboard to brace himself. Then he opened the passenger door.

“Where y’goin?’ Charlie asked, his words slurred by the martinis he’d been gulping for the past hour.

“Nowhere,” Melvin said. “Sit tight.” The gasoline inside the doctor’s medical bag sloshed as he lifted it off the floor and placed it on the seat. He climbed from the car, shut the door, and stepped around to the driver’s side. “Take off your seat belt,” he said.

Charlie unlatched the safety harness and reached for the door handle.

“No, don’t get out.”

“Huh?”

“When I say ‘go,’ I want you to push the accelerator all the way to the floor. Drive around the bend as fast as you can, and run into the bridge over the creek.”

“Wha’ y’mean, run into it?” He sounded confused.

“Crash against it. As hard as you can. That wall on the side of the bridge.”

“The parapuh?”

“The parapet, right. I want you to hit it full speed.”

The man frowned up at Melvin through the open window and scratched the side of his head. “Y’wan’ me t’crash?”

“That’s right.”

“That’d ligely kill me.”

“Nah. Don’t be an idiot. You’re already dead.”

“Well, yes’n no.”

“Do it!”

“Wha’ for?”

“Because I told you to. I brought you back to life, I could make you dead again if I want. So do what I tell you.”

Charlie sniffed and rubbed a hand under his nose. “I don’ wanna make you mad.”

Melvin patted his shoulder. “I’m not mad. I just want you to crash into the bridge. I promise you won’t get hurt. I have a real good reason for wanting the car smashed, and I’ll tell you all about it on the way home.”

“How’ll we ge’ home, I wreck my car?”

“We’ll walk back to my station, and take the tow truck.”

“Oh. Ogay.” Charlie shrugged, then drew the safety harness across his body.

“You don’t need that,” Melvin told him.

“Y’wan’ me t’jump clear?”

Melvin sighed. Though he heard no cars approaching, he glanced up and down River Road. “If you jump out, the car will slow down. I want it to hit full-speed.”

“How y’know I won’ get hurt?”

“Trust me, Charlie. You’re my pal. Besides, I’ve got big plans for you.”

“Yeah?”

“I’ll need your help getting me some more gals. And I’ll let you take your pick. You can have one all for yourself.”

“Yeah?”

“Right.” Melvin squeezed his shoulder.

Charlie nodded.

Melvin stepped back. “Ready, set…go!”

The engine roared. The Mercedes shot forward. It was powered by gas, not diesel fuel, so it had great pick-up. It rushed around the bend, out of sight beyond the trees. “Go go go!” Melvin yelled. He clapped his hands, winced at the pain from his bite, and waited for the night to shake with the noise of the collision.

The crash, when it came, didn’t shake the night.

Melvin raced around the bend. The car wasn’t a ball of flames, as he’d hoped. It just sat there.

He muttered, “Shit.”

Charlie, holding his forehead, looked out the window. “How’d I do?” he asked.

“Fine,” Melvin said. “Just fine.” He stepped to the front of the car. The concrete wall had bent the bumper on the right side, smashed the grill slightly, dented the front of the hood, and broken the headlight. From the look of the damage, Charlie must’ve hit the parapet going all of ten miles per hour.

Damned old fart.

Charlie swung the door open.

“Stay in there!”

He shut the door.

Melvin went to him.

Charlie looked out the window. He was pressing a handkerchief to his forehead. “Aren’ we gonna go home, now?”

“In a minute.”

Charlie lowered the handkerchief. His forehead had a nice gash. He looked at the bloody cloth, then pressed it to his mouth and began sucking on it.

“Hand me your bag,” Melvin said.

Charlie searched, found his medical bag on the floor, and lifted it to the window. “Wha’s in here?” he asked, shaking it.

Melvin didn’t answer. He opened it, dumped gasoline onto Charlie’s lap, then bent down and hurled the remaining gas under the front of the car.

“Wha’ y’doing?” Charlie asked. He sounded worried.

Melvin ignored him. He struck a match and touched it to the moist pavement near the tire. A faint bluish flame rose and spread over the spill. Melvin stood up. He dropped the burning match into the doctor’s bag. With a soft whup, the satchel filled with fire. He tossed it onto Charlie’s lap.

“Hey now!” Charlie blurted as he went up. One of his flaming arms knocked the bag aside. The door started to open. Melvin kicked it shut.

“Stay,” he ordered.

“Wha’s the big idea?” Charlie asked, frowning through the blaze. His shirt was on fire. So were his eyebrows and hair. “Le’ me out, ‘fore I’m ruined.”

“Stay.”

Charlie rammed a burning shoulder against the door. The door flew open. He swung a leg out. It wasn’t burning yet. Melvin hurled the door shut. There was a soft thud as it struck the man’s leg. Melvin tried to hold the door shut, but Charlie reached out the window for him. He lurched away from the blazing arms.

The door flew open again. Charlie, afire from the knees up, climbed out of the car and looked down at himself. He started slapping at the front of his tattered, burning pants and shirt. Then he gave up. He planted his fists on his hips and turned his head toward Melvin. He swept a hand across his face a few times as if trying to bat the flames aside to allow himself to see better. “You’re tryin’ t’kill me all over again,” he said.

Melvin glanced at the car. Flames were licking up through the cracks around the hood. Before long, a gas line would burn through.

“Get back in the car,” he said.

“Why, I don’ imagine I will, y’damn back-stabbin’ s.o.b.”

With that, Charlie raised his blazing arms as if reaching for Melvin, and started limping toward him.

Melvin lurched past the old man and ran to the middle of the bridge. Charlie staggered after him.

The front end of the car was now engulfed in flames.

If only Charlie was still inside!

How could it go this bad? Melvin wondered. He never guessed it would go this bad.

Melvin backed against the parapet.

The blazing man, arms out like a movie zombie, stumbled closer and closer. He littered the pavement with flaming bits of cloth. His hair had burned away, leaving his head black and charred. His pants and shirt still burned. Flames still fluttered in front of his face. One eye was a bubbling pool. It burst, and fluid streamed down his cheek.

He was on the walkway, only a few steps from Melvin, when the other eye went.

Melvin sprang away from the parapet. He ran out into the road, then rushed Charlie from the side.

His bandaged hand rammed the man’s burning shoulder.

Charlie stumbled sideways. The edge of the wall caught his hip. One leg flew up, but Melvin saw that he wasn’t going to tumble over the top without some help. So he grabbed Charlie’s ankle and shoved it high. The old man, his weight on the broad top of the parapet, squirmed and kicked as Melvin forced his leg higher and higher.