The Day I Killed James (5 page)

Normally the hilltop rose above the summer fog. Which is why Hearst’s father camped on this site, she’d grown sick to death of saying. But this morning the fog hovered at hilltop level, cool and welcome.

Todd didn’t talk much, an appealing quality.

She said, “Happy belated birthday, by the way.”

He said, “Thank you.” Apparently surprised and flattered.

They sat quietly another minute or two, and Annie finished her sweet roll and wiped her sticky fingers on a napkin. And looked at Todd. She wore her sunglasses, even in the fog. Maybe the better to look at Todd.

He was big and broad-shouldered and blond and handsome. More to the point, he was quiet and polite, which figured into her attraction to him. And that represented a problem to Annie, who knew she could take him apart if she were to let those thoughts pull her all the way into actions.

She took out a cigarette.

Then Art stuck his head out the back trailer door and said, “Hey, Annie. Leander’s on the front patio. I figured you’d want to know.”

And some part of her, a part she’d yet to acknowledge, felt relieved to see Art. As if it had been in question whether she ever would again. And even though none of that made any genuine sense, it felt real enough to cause her to overlook the fact that he was teasing her in a not entirely pleasant or well-meaning way.

“Art. Sorry about yesterday.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not.”

“It’s not a big deal, okay?”

He disappeared again.

And she thought, Thank God. He’s here in one piece. I can stop thinking about that. Though she hadn’t been thinking about it. Not consciously. She tried to strike a match, noticing her hands shake slightly.

Todd watched in silence, his head tilted slightly to one side. Then he took the matches from her hand and lit the cigarette for her. She could easily have touched his hand to steady the flame, but she didn’t.

“I shouldn’t do this. I’m helping you kill yourself.” A pause, during which he handed back the matches. “He means well.”

“Who, Art?”

“Yeah. Art. It’s just, when he likes somebody, he’s kind of loud about it.”

“Strident.”

“Yeah. Strident.”

“He’s okay. Bit of a pest. But I don’t actually dislike him or anything. I’m just trying to make him stay back a few steps. For his own sake.” Then she talked over the moment to avoid questions. “Tell me something, Todd.” His head took on that slight tilt again. Unlike her—unlike most people—he watched and listened. “What in God’s name do you guys see in me? Honestly.”

“Well, it’s not
all
the guys. Just a group of them. Actually, it’s mostly Art and that whole little group of college trainees. Well, it’s most of them. You’re right.”

“And you.”

“What gave me away?”

“Art did. Besides, you gave me half your cinnamon roll.”

“Yeah, that I did. Well. You’re beautiful.”

“I’m also nearly bald, thirty pounds underweight, and hard to get along with. Plus, how do you know I’m even old enough to be legal?”

“You couldn’t have gotten a job here if you weren’t eighteen. There’s just something about you, I guess.”

“Like what?”

“Like an attitude thing. You’re an enigma.”

“I dismiss you, so I’m an enigma.”

“Yeah. I think that’s it. You want nothing to do with us. And that’s attractive.”

There’s plenty I want to do with you, she thought, and just for a moment that thought swept her aside, like a wave that hits you hard as you wade out. Moves you a few yards back before you can get to your feet again. But she pushed the thought away.

“Who knew disdain was such an aphrodisiac?”

“Best one there is,” he said, and they sat quietly for a time.

The sun broke through the fog, warming her scalp.

Todd said, “So
do
you have a thing for that Day Security guy?”

“Who, Leander?”

“Yeah. Leander.”

“No.”

“You’re always looking at him.”

“He just reminds me of somebody. I just keep looking at him, thinking how he reminds me of a guy I used to know.”

“But it’s not, like, a romantic thing.”

“No.”

“So us guide guys still have a shot with you?”

Annie laughed, blowing smoke out her nose. “Not a chance,” she said.

TWO

By Her Fruits Ye Shall Know Her

Annie sat at the bar, staring straight ahead. Holding a cigarette in her right hand, which was rested on her ear, smoke curling up against her head. Watching herself in the bar mirror. In her periphery she saw Todd come in.

He sat on the bar stool to her right.

Sunday night. The place was quiet. Sparsely populated. Comfortable.

“Annie.”

“Hey, Todd.”

“You shaved your head again.”

She watched his face in the mirror without comment. Saw his hand come up, as if to touch her bare scalp. Hesitated there a moment.

“May I?”

She only shrugged.

He ran his hand over the smooth skin of her scalp. More than once. And she held still and allowed it. Reacting slightly to his touch—to being touched at all, by anyone—but careful to keep that to herself.

“It’s so smooth. Just like a baby’s butt.”

“So the more you keep doing that, the more that makes you a pedophile and a pervert. Right?”

“Well, when you put it like that.”

He brought his hand down. Faced ahead. Looked into the mirror and caught her eye. The bartender looked questioningly to Todd, prepared to take an order.

“What are you drinking, Annie?” Todd asked.

“Tequila.”

“Can I buy you another one?”

“Sure you can.”

He ordered another round for her, a Michelob for himself.

They fell silent for a time. She was hoping he wouldn’t comment on her age. So far the bartender hadn’t bothered to wonder. At least not out loud.

“Thanks for the drink.”

“It looks good on you.”

“What does?”

“The skinhead thing. It works on you.”

Annie let out a breath, hard and audibly. Rolled her eyes and set her head down on one folded arm. Snubbed her cigarette into the ashtray without looking.

“Was that not the right thing to say?”

She came upright. Shook her head slightly. Rubbed her face, her eyes. Then remembered she was still wearing makeup. Looked at the damage in the mirror and realized she didn’t care.

“That is just, like, so far from the intention.”

“What’s the intention?”

“I don’t know. Kind of hard to explain. Not to be more attractive, that’s for sure. I guess it’s my version of a hair shirt. No pun intended. Plus, if it really is beauty you guys are looking for, it’s my best shot at ugly.”

“Not working. It’s not your only kind of beauty.”

“I have no idea what that means. But I’m not going to ask. Because you might tell me.”

“There’s something from the inside, too. Like a light.”

“And you can actually see this through the basket I’m hiding it under?”

“Must be a pretty strong light.”

A noisy couple spilled in the door. As if already drunk. Laughing and talking too loudly. Annie turned her head to see. Her stomach tightened. Todd glanced around, reacting to whatever he’d just seen on her face. Seeing nothing odd, he looked back.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Silence. He didn’t ask. And she appreciated the fact that he didn’t ask, so she told him.

“I just don’t like that girl.”

“Isn’t that the girl from Gardening?”

“Yeah.”

“The one that dates Leander.”

“Yes.”

“Why don’t you like her?”

“Who is she with now, Todd?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know that guy.”

“Is it Leander?”

“No.”

“Does that answer your question?”

He sipped his beer and chewed on that awhile in silence.

Meanwhile the girl and her date managed to destroy whatever silence may have been left to enjoy. The girl hit the jukebox, punched in three songs, and racked up a game of pool. The first song came up, blaring country and western.

Annie’s jaw set more tightly. She lit another cigarette. Thought about leaving. But first she had to talk to Todd. She had to settle this thing with him once and for all. Because even if you don’t openly encourage a guy, it still happens. It’s still building up. It’s all in what he’s thinking, what he expects. Allows as a possibility.

But now she couldn’t think, what with the bad music and the clack of pool balls and the voice of that girl grating at her.

Todd said, “Maybe they have an open thing.”

“He adores her. He never looks at anybody but her.”

“Okay. But even so. I mean, maybe she’s an okay person. I mean, she could be nice. Just not be very…you know…monogamous. I mean, nice people can do things like that.”

Annie massaged her forehead, took a long draw off her cigarette, blowing the smoke out through her nose; she tried to erect an inner barrier against the noise and disturbance.

She said, “So many people will steal from work if it’s only a pen.”

Todd sat with that for a respectable length of time, then said, “I’m not sure what you’re trying to tell me.”

“A few days ago I was walking by the Roman Pool. Nobody else around. And one of the guys who’s restoring the floor in there, he calls me in. Wants to give me a handful of the original Hearst gold floor tiles. I think he’s trying to make me. ‘Here,’ he says. ‘Nobody’ll know. No big deal.’”

“What’d you do?”

“I didn’t take them.” Pause. “Want to know why not?”

“Yes. I do. Very much. I would really like to know anything about you that the other guys on the hill don’t know.”

She turned her head and looked directly at him for the first time since he’d come in. Right into his eyes. It seemed to alarm him slightly.

“Because if you take something you’re a thief.” She nursed the silence a moment. Downed the balance of her drink and silently signaled for another. “Sounds simple, but you’d be amazed how many people don’t get it. They steal but they call themselves honest. They cheat on their spouses and lovers but they think they’re good people. They lie but they’d never call themselves liars. Well, let me tell you something, Todd….” She pointed toward him with her right hand, with her lit cigarette. He leaned away slightly. She looked into the mirror of his eyes and saw herself going too far. “You are what you do. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. What we do defines us. However we behave, conduct our lives…that’s real. The rest is just a story for publication.”

She dropped her hand again. They sipped their drinks for a moment in silence.

Well, not silence. There was that damn music, that clacking of pool balls. The chatter and laughter of that girl she couldn’t stand.

“Sorry,” Todd said. “Didn’t mean to hit a nerve.”

“No, it’s not your fault. It’s my fault. Look, I’m gonna get out of here.”

She tossed back the rest of her drink and slid, wobbly, to her feet. Made her way for the door fast and straight, as if to plow right through that other girl, causing the girl to jump out of the way.

Cool air hit her face as she strode out onto the dark sidewalk.

“Annie.” Todd’s voice behind her. Following her out. “Wait, Annie. Let me give you a lift home.”

She waved him off without turning around.

“Annie. I don’t think you should drive right now.”

“I’m not driving. I just live right down there. In that trailer park right down the street there.” He pulled level with her. “I’m just going to walk home and get some sleep.”

“At least let me walk with you, then.”

“I’m fine, Todd. I’m sorry. I’m just not good company tonight.”

“It’s late though, Annie, just let me walk with you. It’s safer if I walk with you.”

But it wasn’t safe, not at all, and she knew it. If she opened the door of her trailer and he was right there with her. That would not be safe. She knew she might pull him in with her and lock the door behind them.

As they crossed in front of the bank, Annie slammed her left shoulder hard against a wooden post holding up the building’s awning. Meant to walk right by it but misjudged and hit it hard and bounced off again. Stood feeling surprised and wounded, and Todd stopped. He came close and rubbed her shoulder gently.

“You okay?”

She purposely fell forward into his arms. Held him. Rested her head on his shoulder, close into the crook of his neck. And it must have startled him, because a second or two passed before he circled her with his arms.

He lifted her chin and tried to kiss her, but she pulled away.

“No, don’t,” she said.

She leaned back against the post that had stopped them in the first place. And pulled him back with her, against her. Apparently surprising him again.

“Just hold me,” she said.

And he did, for a longish time. How long, she found herself unable to judge. His hands ran up and down her back, dipping a little too low each time, as if trying to sneak a border transgression past them both. But she had no intention of giving in to that. It would have been blissfully easy, but she couldn’t. She knew she couldn’t.

“I miss being held,” she said. “Being touched. I’m lonely. There. Now you know something about me that the other guys don’t.”

“Come home with me,” he said.

“I can’t.”

“Okay, I’ll come home with you.”

“No. I can’t.”

She pulled away and headed for home again. More slowly and carefully.

“You can’t tell me you don’t want to,” he called.

She stopped, turned around. He looked lonely and small, standing on the dark sidewalk on Sunday night, alone. She felt sorry for him.

See? She’d already done him some harm.

“I didn’t say I didn’t want to. I said I wasn’t going to. Oh my God. Don’t you get it? I’m just trying to make everybody stay away. Just stay away.”

She threw her hands up in frustration. Turned and walked steadily for home again.

A few steps later he appeared at her right. On the street side, the way a gentleman is told to walk with a woman.

“It’s still safer if I walk you,” he said.

She took his hand and held it as they walked. For the first time in as long as she could remember, she felt as if things were maybe okay. Or at least could be.

At the door of her trailer she kissed his cheek and did not invite him in, and he left without comment.

Sometime later that night, she was startled by a knock at the door. Her muscles jumped, spasmed the way they might in a dream about falling. She squeezed her eyes shut. The sweet thoughts of Todd, of anybody, a body, a touch, evaporated in the sure knowledge that all of those things lurked in dangerous proximity.

“Don’t do this, Todd,” she said. Quietly and out loud. “I had so much respect for you because you didn’t do this. Don’t screw it up now.”

Another knock. But this time she was prepared.

She pulled on a robe, made her way through the dark hall without stubbing her toes, rested her hands on the door latch, and squeezed her eyes shut one more time.

She swung the door wide.

There on her dim porch, half illuminated by the corner streetlight, stood Frieda.

She looked at Frieda, and Frieda looked at her.

She had changed a little over the months, Annie noticed. Her hair had been done in a frizzier style, and her lips and nails, classically blood-red, looked almost dark purple in this limited light. Still nothing had been said.

Annie spoke first. Leaned through the door and addressed Frieda in a hushed tone, a near whisper. “What are you doing here?”

Frieda leaned in to meet her halfway, stage-whispering in an obvious parody of Annie, “I was just about to ask you the same question. Why are we whispering?”

“It’s late,” Annie said, which wasn’t why.

“Yeah, sorry about that. Who’s Annie Stewart?”

“Oh. Well, that’s kind of a long story.”

Frieda’s arms flew out wide, as if to take in every possible explanation. “I’ve got nothing but time.”

Out of options, Annie conceded that she had best come in.

I’m doing this very well after all those tequilas, she thought as she stepped back from the doorway, allowed Frieda into her living room, closed the door behind them.

She turned back to Frieda, who said, “Boy, you’re hammered. Huh?”

“How did you find me here?”

“Look at you. Not even peach fuzz.”

For the second time that night, a smooth hand across the bare skin of her scalp.

“I was growing it out for a while. But sometimes I still—how did you
find
me here?”

“Well, honey, that’s kind of a long story, too. Why don’t we save long stories for the morning? You won’t remember any of this tomorrow anyway.”

“I’m not that drunk.”

“Honey. I know you.”

You don’t, she thought. Nobody does. You knew Theresa. But she didn’t say so, because it would sound like a hurtful thing to say. And because even Annie had to concede that she probably shared Theresa’s lack of resistance to alcohol.

Frieda smiled suddenly and held her arms out. From force of habit and probably much more, Annie walked in. Frieda was a big, tall girl, and Annie’s head rested comfortably on her shoulder, her face in the crook of her neck. Frieda held her.

It was every bit as comforting as embracing Todd, and a whole lot safer.