Shame (22 page)

He stopped talking so that they could hear more.

“...where Ms. Line escaped serious injury by sounding her horn and attracting attention. According to witnesses, the assailant was dressed in a sailor’s outfit. Unfortunately, that’s the dress of choice for many thousands of San Diegans today, as the aircraft carrier
Constellation
just pulled into port this afternoon. Despite that, police are continuing their search for Parker throughout the downtown area.”

“What the hell is going on?” said Caleb. He slapped the arm of his chair and then smacked his own forehead. Lola pretended not to notice; her eyes never wavered from the television.

“Elizabeth Line is probably best known for writing the book
Shame,
a biography of Parker’s father. Whether Line is acquainted with Caleb Parker is not yet known, but she
has been
in the San Diego area for at least the last two days. I had the opportunity to interview her this morning at the sheriff’s press conference, where she proved very reluctant to talk about her involvement in this case.”

“Who says I attacked her?” asked Caleb. “Who the hell says that?”

The camera shot changed from the street to the studio. With a somber and stentorian voice, the anchor asked, “Lisa, have the police confirmed that Parker was the assailant?”

The anchor believed in practicing journalism the way trial lawyers practiced jurisprudence: always know the answer before
asking the question. The screen split, allowing viewers to see both the anchor and the reporter.

“Police on the scene won’t say anything for the camera,” said Lisa, “but I just got off the phone with SDPD spokesperson Karen Coben, and she told me that Elizabeth Line herself identified her attacker as Caleb Parker.”

“No,” said Caleb. His mouth was open and his head was shaking. “No.”

Lola sat very still, frozen like an animal trying to escape being noticed.

“Maybe that’s why she couldn’t talk to me,” Caleb said. “I noticed her voice sounded funny, but I didn’t really think about it. She was breathing heavily when she called, and her voice sounded raspy and strained.”

Lola didn’t say anything, still wouldn’t look at him.

“You don’t believe me,” Caleb said.

“That’s not it,” she said quietly. “Like you, I’m trying to figure out what could have occurred.”

“I’m not insane, and I don’t have rabies.”

“I never suggested...”

“Your tone did. You don’t need to be scared of me. I haven’t murdered any women. And I didn’t attack Elizabeth Line. I just wish I’d stayed here so that you could be sure of that.”

Caleb tried to think of something, anything, to make her believe. But he’d already exhausted his resources in gaining her tenuous trust. There wasn’t anything he could say or do. It was a wonder she wasn’t already screaming.

In desperation, Caleb said, “Tie me up.”

“What?”

“You’re ready to call the police, and I don’t blame you. So tie me up for a few hours. That way you’ll know I can’t be a threat to you or anyone else.”

Now she was looking at him. “Tie you?”

“Or lock me up, or cage me, or do whatever it takes to give you peace of mind. I don’t know why, or even if, Elizabeth identified me as her attacker. I only know I didn’t do it, and she can tell you that same thing.”

He put his hands together and held them out, not to beseech but to be tied.

“That’s not necessary,” Lola said.

But both of them knew that it was.

Caleb sat trussed up on the sofa. Lola had used duct tape to secure his hands and feet. While she was binding him, they didn’t speak, but Caleb had trembled uncontrollably. Lola had put a comforter over him, but it hadn’t helped. Caleb’s claustrophobia made being bound a torture.

Together they watched the local news, and Caleb saw his greatest fears being played out in front of him. His nightmare worsened when he saw the trailer on national news. If he hadn’t been tied up, Caleb would have run out of the room, out of the house. The anchor said, “Like father, like son, the Shame murders past and present,” and then Caleb saw a face from the past. “Why’s everyone so surprised he’s a killer? Over twenty years ago he tried to kill me, and I told everyone it was just a matter of time before he started murdering people just like his daddy.”

“I know her,” Caleb said. Even through her overly generous use of makeup, and the passage of years, he recognized Earlene Crosby.

“Who is she?”

“A girl from high school.”

Not just any girl. Earlene’s folks had owned one of the biggest ranches in the county. And she’d been pretty, Texas pretty. Along with her looks, Earlene had been the class sprite, the provocateur; the boys had all wanted to please her, had ached
to do her bidding. In many ways it had been easier for Caleb to face up to his male classmates. With the boys it was mostly a physical thing. They were happy with beating him up. But the girls were more dangerous. To them he’d been a curiosity, a regular novelty, and Earlene Crosby had been the most curious of all. Caleb had been afraid of her interest and at the same time desperate for it. Earlene had a car, and when they were both seventeen, she had coaxed Caleb into going with her on a private (“Just our secret, Cal”) picnic out to O. C. Fisher Lake.

“When Mr. Toad said that the warriors in that religion used to drink bull’s wee-wee,” Earlene said, “I just about lost it.”

Mr. Toad was the name for Mr. Joad, Caleb and Earlene’s world history teacher. The previous week they’d been studying religions of the world.

“Now what religion was that?” Earlene asked.

“Zoroastrianism,” he said.

“Zor-ro? I can’t even say it. How are you supposed to practice a religion you can’t even pronounce?”

“It’s not widely practiced anymore. People found something else to worship.”

“Well, I shouldn’t wonder, what with their men having to drink that you know what.”

“Makes Sunday communion look wonderful in comparison, doesn’t it?”

She started laughing. “Stop it, Cal, ’fore I split a gut.”

Caleb couldn’t believe he was making Earlene laugh, couldn’t believe that she was there with him. Girls like Earlene were in another class, like that other religion they had studied, Hinduism. She was a Brahmin. And he was an Untouchable. Definitely an Untouchable. Lower than low. That she had arranged for their being together was a miracle. Cal had been suspicious about that. He had figured she was somehow setting him up. But to be with Earlene, he had been willing to take that chance.

And maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t some trick. Earlene was daring enough. She had a reputation around school of being fearless, like the time she’d ridden Tommy Lee Baker’s motorcycle, done a wheelie as she drove past the Riva Cinema Theatre, even though she’d never been on a bike before. It was the kind of thing only a movie star, or Earlene, would have done.

Caleb dared another quick look at Earlene. Her complexion was very white; she had a few moles scattered around her body that showed just how white she was. She had straight brown hair, and her bangs went almost to her eyebrows. Earlene was small, not much more than five feet, but most of that was curves. She wore tight blouses and tighter pants.

“How do you say that religion again?” she asked.

“Zoroastrianism.” A religion, remembered Cal, that believed there was a universal struggle going on between the forces of light and darkness.

“Zor-ro-ass...Forget it. You’re smart, Cal. But you’re always so quiet. ’Course they say it’s the quiet ones you got to watch out for.”

He basked in her praise. The farther they had gotten from Eden, the more human Caleb had felt. Earlene made it easy for him. She was a great talker. He could almost forget who he was, what he was. Little by little he had become more comfortable. He knew other kids did things like this. Caleb saw them going places together after school, and heard about their parties. But he had always been the outsider.

Caleb had always imagined how nice it would be to just have a friend. That was about as far as his fantasies had taken him. Caleb thought about the opposite sex, dreamed about them, but he was grounded in the reality that he was Shame’s son, which meant he was dirty and defiled and something to be feared. Untouchable.

The lake was out of the way, far enough from Eden for them not to have to worry about seeing anyone they knew. That made
it special, like they were the only two people in the world. Earlene had outdone herself with the picnic basket. Though Cal had offered to take her out to lunch in San Angelo, she had told him a picnic would be more fun and had forbidden him to provide anything. “It will be my pleasure,” she had told him. Earlene had made three kinds of sandwiches, potato salad, some ambrosia, and even a pecan pie.

“This is great,” said Caleb, holding up a sandwich.

“Oh, come on.”

“This is great,” Caleb said, digging into the ambrosia.

But the truth of the matter was that he couldn’t taste anything. He was overwhelmed at being with her. That was what was great.

Afterward, they fed the ducks and then walked around the lake. A few times Earlene’s body brushed up against his, and on each occasion it took his breath away. He had never felt so right with the world in all his life.

As the sun was setting, Earlene gave him a long look and said, “I want to take you where you’ve never been before.”

“Where’s that?”

“Oh, you’ll see,” she said. “Oh, yes, you will.”

The way she said it, the way she promised so much with just her tone, made his stomach feel funny and his heart race. He was afraid, but not in the way he was usually afraid.

She drove to an overlook just outside the city of Wall, a spot that was deserted and quiet—a good place, Earlene said, for them to “talk.”

Caleb had no expectations for what might happen there. Just being with Earlene made him as happy as he could ever remember, but that wasn’t what she wanted. She took Caleb by the hand, led him to the backseat of her car, and took a seat on his lap. His hands were sweaty. They didn’t even feel like his hands. He was all fingers as he tried to unlatch and unbutton her clothing, and was more a hindrance than a help in removing it.

A full moon revealed her white skin, her nakedness. She looked like one of those classical statues. Cal had never seen anything so beautiful or so intimidating.

“Come closer,” she said.

At first Caleb was afraid to touch her. He didn’t trust his hands to do the right things and was sure no boy had ever been so stupid, but she drew him to her and demonstrated that he was more than ready for the dance, even if he wasn’t sure of the steps.

“That’s right,” she told him. “That’s right.”

Because of who he was, Caleb had been sure he’d always be alone. He couldn’t believe he was actually holding a girl, couldn’t believe he was touching her skin. She felt so soft, so wonderful. He cupped her breasts, felt her nipples harden.

She reached for him, guided him into her, helped him get started. Caleb found her rhythm, and for once he forgot everything. He didn’t know who he was, didn’t remember his name and his roots, was just totally taken by the moment. His climax released him from gravity, from everything. He felt alive, felt as if his lifelong sentence had been commuted. The weight that was always with him, that forever seemed to be crushing his chest, was lifted.

I love you, Caleb thought. And he would have told her that, but Earlene spoke first.

“I used to see your daddy on the TV,” she said, “and in the magazines and papers. All the other girls had crushes on singers and actors, but your daddy was my first love.”

Caleb thought he was going to be sick, but Earlene just kept talking. He wished he could run away. Caleb felt violated. Used. Earlene kept referring to Shame as his “daddy,” as if that were the most natural reference in the world. Caleb had never called him that. Never.

“I used to dream about him. They were wild dreams. I was the only one who could tame the beast in him. That’s how I pictured us, beauty and the beautiful beast. But not the fairy-tale version.”

Caleb reached for his pants. He wanted to cover himself, but Earlene collected his hands into hers.

“You look like him, Cal.”

“Do not.”

“Oh, you surely do. You have his same hair and teeth, and you’re already growing into his build.”

“We’re nothing alike.”

Earlene scrutinized him, pinned him like a prize butterfly to some matting, and was satisfied with what she saw. “Only thing that’s different is your eyes. He had cat eyes. Wild.”

“We better get back.”

“Not yet.” She moved her hips in a soft roll and closed her eyes. “I want you,” she said.

It’s not me you want. Caleb knew that. He wanted to just put on his pants, but Earlene reached for him and brought him atop her. He could have pulled away, but he didn’t. Caleb felt himself responding. He wanted that amnesia again and was willing to pay the price. All his father had ever brought him was pain. He deserved a few moments of pleasure, even if they weren’t real.

Earlene started moaning. She kept saying, “Gray, Gray.” It was the name Caleb had been born with, but it was no longer his name. It was his father’s name. She was calling out to him.

Their pushing into each other became more frenzied. The passion brought out her calls. Between gasps, Earlene kept saying, “Squeeze my neck.”

Her words became rhythmic and demanding, exclamations offered between her moaning and thrashing.

“Squeeze it! Squeeze it! Squeeze it!”

Her command was ever more frantic.

His hands rose. They traveled up her body but stopped at her shoulders. Earlene was bucking, crying.

“My neck,” she said. “Squeeze it.” Between her pants she rhythmically repeated her command: “Squeeze it. Squeeze it.”

He did squeeze, but only her shoulders. He gripped them with a fury, pressing his fingers into her flesh, letting his anger come out in his hands while he spent himself inside of her.

Caleb found himself straining against his bonds. Squeezing his hands. The present intersected with the past. Earlene was on the television. She was heavier, but the extra weight added to her voluptuousness. Her eyes had lost none of their magic. Even through a camera’s lens, they beguiled.