The Executioner's Song (27 page)

                At midnight, Gary drove out to Spanish Fork one more time to see if Nicole might be there in the house without furniture, and he walked through the empty rooms, and took out a little more of his clothing and put it in the trunk of the Mustang. He was living out of the Mustang by now. Then he drove to the Silver Dollar and had a couple of drinks.

                Behind the bar, tacked to the mirror, were some cartoons. One said: HAPPINESS IS A TIGHT PUSSY. It showed a fat woman with breasts hanging out of her halter. She had a big wrinkled belly button and was sitting on top of a mountain of empty beer cans.

                Another drawing showed a man with a face of pure misery sitting at a desk. Underneath was printed:

                I'M SO HAPPY HERE

                I COULD JUST SHIT.

                GERMAN SAUSAGES STEAMED IN BEER

                HAPPINESS IS A COLD BEER

                NO CHECKS CASHED

                NO CREDIT

                When he finished his glass, he went out and got into his truck and stopped off at Vern's. They were all asleep so he went down to the basement and found a cot.

Sunday morning he went to the hospital to visit John who was recovering from the hernia operation. John's dad, who was a Mormon Bishop, was there, and he was a little on the strait-laced side. Gary came up wearing a dirty white T-shirt, old slacks, tennis shoes, and, by God, a joke tie that came down to his knees—it had very wide alternating stripes of maroon, gold, and white. On top of his head he had a little hat. He sat around and tried to make conversation with the Bishop. Nothing much got said.

The apartment in Springville was not as nice as the house in Spanish Fork. It was just a two-room cinder-block apartment in a two-tier development of cheap apartments on a little old side street. There were kids around, and dogshit on the stairs and in the parking lot. The day she moved in, three rotting mattresses were leaning against the side of the building, and an overturned tricycle was lying in a mud puddle. The doors to the apartments were plywood, and her bathtub had been painted blood red by the last tenant. Still, she had a view from her balcony. Just two blocks away, the town came to an end, and the land went up into the mountains. She was free of Gary. Free to feel a lot of fear. Her breath was heavy.

                Without her vacuum cleaner, Nicole couldn't keep the apartment clean, so on Sunday, she had to go back to Spanish Fork to pick it up. As she came to the house his car wasn't there at all.

                Still she had a feeling that Gary was inside, and the Mustang was stashed around the corner, and, in fact, when she walked up the door was open, and she could hear water running in the tub. Gary's clothes were on the living-room floor right next to her vacuum cleaner which was also placed in the middle of the room as if he set it out for her. So she picked it up, and carried it to the trunk her car. Then she came back for the accessories.

                She could have rushed but somehow she didn't want to sneak out with the last parts while he was still in the tub. Maybe she'd have been more afraid if she didn't have the gun, but she waited. She wanted to see into his eyes. It almost felt good waiting. Like the end of a lot of tension might be near.

                He didn't look vengeful when he came out of the tub, just all worn out. Right off, he told her he loved her, and asked if she loved him. She said no. He began to hug her. She tried to push him away. Nicole wasn't really scared, but something nauseating got into her like she was going to pass out if there wasn't some fresh air soon. She said, "I have to sit down."

                They rested on the outside steps. She told him she couldn't live with him anymore. They sat. She had to get away. After a few minutes, she took the kids and got into the car. But now he wouldn't let her go. He put his hands through the open window and held her. She opened her purse, took out the gun and pointed it at him.

                It was a .22 Magnum and he had told her it was capable of putting a hole in you like a .45. Gary stood there for one minute after another. Just looked at her. He didn't move. She knew if he reached for the gun, she would pull the trigger.

                Then he said, "Go ahead and shoot." She said, "Get away from my car." He wasn't about to get away, he told her. Finally she put the gun in her purse. "You left the accessories for the Electrolux," he said. "Come back and get them." That was one thing he had not ripped off—the Electrolux. A long time ago he had missed the first payment on his Mustang to buy her the Electrolux. Now, if she left the accessories, somebody would steal them for sure. Too bad. She started the motor, put the car in gear, and drove off.

Roger Eaton wasn't too backward about telling Nicole how he was well liked, and had practically been a movie star at his senior prom in high school. He'd had a nice time dating his wife, who was a sweet, smart hometown girl from a good Mormon family. Which was all right with Roger. He didn't practice anything, but he didn't mind having a little religion in the family. What with the salaries he and his wife were making, they could buy a Dodge for her and for himself a nice little Malibu hardtop. It would have been swell, he assured Nicole, but here they'd only been married six months and his wife had developed colitis.

                Being a high-school basketball star, Roger had wanted to play college ball, but didn't like to wait all those years to make real money. Wanted it right away, he guessed. So he had gotten this administrative position in the Utah Valley Mall, and there he met his wife who was in administration for the supermarket. He had been at the Mall for a couple of years now, and was into management training. He earned $1,800 a year, he told Nicole. Felt right about life except for the wife's ailment. It certainly had her out of action.

                Roger had a friend who lived down the street from Nicole in Spanish Fork, and he got along pretty well with this fellow's folks, and visited them all the time. So he'd heard plenty about Nicole before he ever saw her. Nicole had to stand out in a place like that. His friend's parents were as Mormon as you come, but they were some of the biggest bullshitters Roger had ever known. One they told about Nicole was that a fellow drove up to her door one day last winter with a big bag of groceries, got out, handed her the bag and then, right there on the street, started feeling her breast. Roger didn't really believe the story because, one, it was winter, and, concerning sexual things, these people couldn't see straight. But was fascinated all the same with stories about the girl, and after he got his first look at her, he felt real drawn. There she was, divorced, and living with a man. Roger found himself traveling Spanish Fork just on the chance he'd get another look. He thought it was stupid to get involved with such people, but he wanted to get to know her. The guy she was living with didn't even faze him at first.

                Roger wrote a letter. He said if she needed help, in any way, she should turn on her front door light come Wednesday evening. He would get in touch. He didn't identify himself in the letter, but Wednesday night he went by to visit the bullshitters and there was no light. He tried to forget about it.

                A few weeks after he wrote the thing, he was getting gas in Provo, and saw her Mustang pull in. Roger was afraid. If his wife found out, it'd be a catastrophe. He simply didn't understand what was drawing him. Never done anything like this in his life, but he said to her, "Aren't you Nicole Barrett?" When she answered that she was, he said, "I'm the one who wrote that letter." She kind of laughed. "Let me buy you a Coke," he said. She just walked past him into the office to pay for her gasoline.

                He waited for her to come out and repeated his offer. Finally she said, Okay, and told him she'd follow his car. So they met at the High Spot, and he told her where he worked, stuff like that. Found out the fellow in her home was an ex-convict. At which point, Roger said, Okay, let's just forget it. He was frankly scared to be dealing with an ex-con.

                She said, "Well, you know, I might need your help." Nothing to do then but tell her how to find his office.

                Sure enough, she came the very next day, and without the kids. They talked a lot. Before she left, he gave her ten dollars she hadn't even asked for, but was not embarrassed to receive. Just pocketed it.

                After that, she'd visit him every other day or so, and they would talk. They were each pretty interested. The other's life was so different. He could really sympathize with her troubles. That ex-convict was someone to be afraid of, apparently. One morning she came to see him, and was a little beaten up. There were a couple of bruises on those juicy thighs.

                After a couple of weeks, she got in the habit of meeting him almost every day. Sometimes she would come to the Mall, but usually they met in a park over in Springville after work. Talk maybe an hour. A couple of times they went off in the Malibu and made love. It was interesting, maybe even a little beautiful, although Roger could never tell how special because frankly they didn't have time to do it right, just a half hour or less, and he was in a state somebody would spot him and bring his marriage down around him. So they were always driving on back roads. It was dangerous, to say the least. Then of course her kids were with her, and apart from frustrating any ideas of sex, they didn't always put Roger in the best mood. At times, they weren't too clean. Roger remembered the first time he met her over at the High Spot. The little boy was wearing no pants, and went out in the parking lot and took a shit right there on the asphalt. Of course, he was only two years old, but Roger was awfully embarrassed. Jeez. Nicole didn't care. She just said to Jeremy, Get back in the car where you belong. Put him in with no pants. He started bawling and screaming and went to sleep after five minutes.

                One day she came over and laid it on him. She wasn't living in Spanish Fork anymore. Had fled this fellow Gary, and was living in a little apartment her ex-husband had found in Springville. All while she was talking, it got to him how much she needed clothes. So he told her to come by after six and he would take her shopping for an outfit. After he bought it, she stayed with him and they really had a night. She was living with this ex-husband now, she told him, but was not afraid of him. They could do this again real soon. The weekend was hopeless, and even Monday was out, Roger because his wife's family was coming over, but they agreed she should call him Tuesday morning, July 20. All through Sunday Roger was thinking of getting through Monday.

"Nobody," offered Brenda, "said it was going to be easy out here." Gary said, "I can't handle it."

                "I know," she said. "At the time, it always feels like you can't"

                "No," he said, "you don't know. You and Johnny have always been happy."

                "John and I," said Brenda, "have come very close to divorce. Gary, I've been through separation and divorce. It can be awful frightening."

                Gary looked like he was mulling over his pains. "Hey," he said, "I'm beginning to find that out."

                She said, "Nobody is ever really free, Gary. As long as you live with another human being, you're not free."

                Gary sat there like he was grinding bones in his mind. When he spoke, it was to say, "I think I'm going to kill Nicole."

                "My God, Gary, are you that selfish of a lover?" Brenda's pep talk was bombing out in her face.

                "I can't take it," Gary said. "I told you I can't take it."

                "Some things in life we can't handle. Okay. Maybe this is yours. But, God, it'll pass! If you kill her, that won't pass. She'll be dead forever. You're damned stupid, do you know that, Gary?" He didn't like to be called stupid.

                "When she pulled the gun on me today," he said, "I thought about taking it. But I didn't want Nicole to start screaming." He shook his head. "She was frantic to get away from me."

                Brenda was not unhappy when he left. What with Johnny at the hospital, this was too much emotion to be nursing on a hot summer night.

                Craig told him that if he couldn't find a place, to come on back. After visiting Brenda, Gary did, in fact, go over on Sunday night and sleep on Craig's couch. He told Craig that he was close to an ulcer now from misery and beer. As of tomorrow, he was going to give up drinking.

PART FOUR

The Gas Station and the Motel

THE GAS STATION

She had once been told she looked like a Botticelli. She was tall and slender, and had light brown hair, ivory skin, and a long well-shaped nose with a small bump on the bridge. Yet she hardly knew Botticelli's work. They did not teach a great deal about the Renaissance at Utah State in Logan where she was majoring in art education.

                It was at Utah State that Colleen was introduced to her future husband, Max Jensen. Afterward they would laugh at how long it took. The few times Max saw Colleen Halling on the campus she happened to be talking to her cousin. Max decided the fellow was her boyfriend, and therefore it never occurred to him to ask her out.