Sintown Chronicles III: In Dark Corners

by David O. Dyer, Sr.

  She didn't answer.

  "Make love to me, Jodi,” he pleaded as he fumbled with the buttons on the pajama top. “I need you."

  She clamped her hand over his. “At the end, are you going to cry out, ‘Mariah'?"

  He rolled over on his back. “Forget it."

  She stared at the ceiling and mumbled, “Whatever."

  Chapter Five

  Nathan pushed back from the computer and glanced at Jodi, sitting at the conference table. He winced when she licked the tip of the red pencil and scratched another comment. “You have any more of the text ready for me?"

  She turned the page and remained silent.

  "Did you finish cleaning the house this morning?"

  "Can't get you out of here long enough to finish,” she grumbled without looking up.

  "Did you read my love letters?"

  Without lifting her eyes from the page, she relied, “You hid them from me.” She made another mark on the manuscript.

  "I didn't hide them, Jodi. I just moved them to the file cabinet in here. They are love letters from my wife—my former wife. I don't know why I keep them."

  She turned the page.

  "The salad you fixed for lunch was delicious."

  Jodi scribbled something and turned another page while shaking her head. “Text for a book manuscript should be double-spaced. I'd think you'd know that by now."

  Damn. I forgot.

  She flipped over the last page, stacked the loose leaves and slid them towards him. “You need a glossary and index."

  "I never prepare either. The editor comes up with the index and there is no need for a glossary."

  "The manual is for a game. You use many technical terms in it without explaining them. Computer game players are not usually computer experts. You need to either create a glossary or go back through the manual and add explanations."

  "It takes too long to create either a glossary or an index."

  She looked at him stoically. “You use Microsoft Word, don't you?"

  "You know I do."

  "Word will do it for you."

  "What? How? I didn't know that."

  "Read the manual."

  Three hours later Nathan again pushed away from the desk, moved the pointer to the printer icon and clicked it. She found errors on practically every page, he thought, and all of her revision suggestions are good. Damn it, she was right about the glossary and index too.

  He stood, stretched and went to the kitchen for another cup of coffee as the printer chugged. She's really pissed off. She refused to jog with me this morning and, although she cooked my breakfast, wouldn't eat with me. Didn't have lunch with me either. He blew on the steaming black liquid and sipped it carefully. I didn't do anything wrong. It's not my fault women find me interesting.

  He wandered back to the study and added paper to the printer. That should be enough. Wonder where she is?

  He walked out on the porch and smiled as he saw her stretched out on a blanket near the water's edge. Quickly he put on bathing trunks and rode the golf cart to the beach.

  "I finally finished all the revisions,” he said as he stretched out on the blanket. “It's printing out now."

  She kept her face turned away from him. “Did you create a glossary?"

  "Mmm—index too. You were right. It's simple when you know how."

  "You write manuals but don't read them."

  "Still don't. I clicked on the help menu. If you don't mind, Jodi, I'd like you to proof it one more time."

  "You don't need a proofreader."

  "Why are you being so antagonistic? I was wrong about that, okay?"

  "Did you make all the suggested changes?"

  "Every dad-blamed one of them."

  "Then it doesn't need any more proofing. Put it in the mail."

  "I don't mail manuscripts—I send them as e-mail attachments. I'm printing it out so you can proof it once more. I may have made a typing error, or you may not like the wording of some of the revisions."

  "Why should you care what I like or don't like?"

  "You made a believer out of me and, beside that, I like you. That alone makes your opinion important to me."

  "Kiss my royal behind."

  He chuckled as he scrambled to his knees, remembering the last time they played this game, but she sprang to her feet before he could carry out her instructions. He watched as she jogged to the edge of the surf, dipped her toe into the water and then waded out beyond the three-foot high breakers, their white foam coating the top of her one-piece suit as she passed through.

  He raced after her. An unexpected rising swell caught his knees and he pitched forward into the salty brine. He stood, laughing and wiping salt water from his eyes.

  Jodi apparently did not notice his clumsy tumble. She was floating on her back as if she were an inflated raft. He pushed beyond the breakers, tried to imitate her, and promptly sank out of sight. He came up sputtering. How can she do that? He waded towards her, but she had drifted out into deep water. He pitched forward and swam in her direction, dog-paddling when he reached her side. “Better row your boat back towards shore,” he advised. “You're in over your head."

  She did not reply.

  "You ever made love in the sand? It's a private beach."

  "No thank you, Mr. Watson."

  "Don't be like that, Jodi. I did nothing wrong."

  "That, sir, is a matter of opinion—yours. I don't happen to share it."

  You owe me, Jodi. You said so yourself. I saved your life. I took you in and gave you a new life—a very good life. Is this any way to express your appreciation?

  He swam back to shore, dried off with her towel and rode the cart onto the pier. He used the bathroom in the pier-house, pulled a small package of frozen shrimp from the freezer compartment of the refrigerator and selected his favorite rig from its place of honor hanging to the left of the small cot.

  As he walked towards the heavy wooden table near the end of the pier, he watched Jodi swimming just beyond the breakers. More graceful than a seagull. He placed the rig on the table and opened the plastic pouch, spilling the lump of shrimp onto the weathered top. Won't take long to thaw in the mid-day sun. Still watching Jodi, he retraced his steps to the pier-house and returned with a plastic bucket and a Pepsi.

  Jodi swam back to shore as he tied a rope to the bucket handle and lowered it into the foaming water below. Now full of salt water, he tugged it back up and poured it into the larger container under the table. Admiring his handiwork, he thought, That ought to hold the largest of the fish I catch. He watched Jodi dry her hair as he threaded bait onto the two hooks of his rig. He turned his back, cast out towards the Atlantic and waited, lost in thought.

  "Any luck?"

  He jumped as if he'd been shot and grinned sheepishly. She was standing ten feet away, a baited rig in her hands. “I didn't hear you approach,” he explained. “No luck yet, but I just got here."

  "You've been out here over an hour,” she replied dryly. She cast expertly into the inlet.

  Is there anything you don't do well? “Some days are like this,” he alibied.

  Jodi yanked back her rod and began to reel in furiously. She paused, keeping the line taunt and slowly resumed turning the reel's crank.

  Nathan watched her shoulders pull backward and the muscles in her arms tense. He smiled as he gazed at the firm set of her jaw. “You have a whale?"

  "My guess is a flounder."

  "There are no flounders in the inlet. It could be a sea bass, though."

  "It's a flounder—a big one at that. You have a net?"

  He headed for the pier-house where he kept a large net with a telescoping pole hanging on the outside wall. “Even the little sea bass fight like the devil,” he muttered stubbornly.

  Nate extended the handle and leaned over the railing as she brought the fish closer to the pilings. The flat white underside of the flounder flashed at the surface and Nate dipped the net beneath it.

  Jodi dro
pped her rod and reel and helped haul in her catch. “Funniest looking sea bass I ever saw,” she said sarcastically.

  * * * *

  "You're not going to dinner with me?"

  "I'm having flounder. You're welcome to join me."

  "I told you I like to eat out at night."

  "We agreed I could cook one night a week."

  "Tonight's not the night,” he said as he stormed out the door.

  Jodi shrugged her shoulders and muttered, “Whatever."

  Nathan drove to the cafeteria and sat in the same booth they occupied the previous evening. He scanned the dining area. Neither Mariah nor Rosie was present. At least tonight, I don't have to share my chocolate pie.

  I didn't do anything wrong, damn it, but I'll apologize anyway, he thought as he hurried home. The lights were out. He tiptoed to the master bedroom. The bed was empty. He glanced across the hall. The door to the guestroom was closed.

  He raced to his car; then hesitated. I'm going to drive the damn convertible. I paid for it. He went back inside, found her purse in the great room, pulled out the keys, returned to the car and cranked its engine. He immediately shut it off, stormed back to the house and removed a foil package from his bedside table.

  Nathan drove back to Kmart and immediately went to the pharmacy where he impatiently waited for the older gentleman wearing a white jacket to come out of the glass cubicle.

  "I'm looking for Mariah Gentry,” Nate explained.

  The pharmacist examined Nate over his reading glasses. “She works the day shift—got off at six. May I help you?"

  Of course she works the day shift, stupid. “Would you happen to have her phone number?"

  "I do, but I can't give out that information."

  Work, brain. “We just met, but I'm sure she wouldn't mind."

  "Can't do it, son.” He turned back toward the cubicle.

  "Sir, please. Call and tell her Nathan Watson wants to speak with her."

  Again the pharmacist studied Nathan over the top rim of his glasses. He smiled and picked up the telephone. After a brief explanation, he handed the receiver to Nathan.

  "Hi, Mariah. It's Nate.” He turned his back to the pharmacist and lowered his voice. “I, uh, decided I'm interested in hay also."

  "What seems to be the problem?” she asked.

  Weird response. “I just need directions to your place."

  "I believe that can wait until tomorrow, sir."

  "What's going on, Mariah? I can't wait and if your panties are as wet tonight as they were yesterday afternoon you can't wait either."

  "The first part of your sentence is correct, sir, but there is absolutely nothing I can do for you tonight."

  "You have someone with you?"

  "That's correct, sir. Drop by to see me tomorrow and I'll take care of you."

  Nate laughed. “Have a good evening. Climb that mountain, Mariah."

  "I already have, sir, and I intend to do it several more times. You take care, now."

  Nathan visualized Mariah and her unknown lover as he drove to the Sands Hotel. Using the house telephone, he called room 121.

  "Hello."

  Nathan recognized Rosie's voice, but it sounded strange.

  "It's Nate. I couldn't get away yesterday but I'm curious as to what wonderful things you can do with your, uh, petite mammary glands. I know it's a long shot, but I'm free tonight if you're interested."

  "Ooh,” she gasped.

  "Rosie, are you okay?"

  "Oh,” she gasped again. “With whom did you wish ... oh, God ... did you wish to speak."

  Nate chuckled. “Old Bald Dome's not so bad in bed, is he Rosie?"

  "Wrong ... ahhh ... number."

  The line went dead and Nathan's grin vanished. “Everybody's having a good time tonight except me,” he mumbled.

  It was too early in the season to enjoy people-watching at the pavilion, but he went there anyway. For ten minutes he stood in front of the giant calliope, enjoying its strange music. With hands jammed in his pockets he strolled through the kiddy rides, crossed the street and walked into the arcade. He posed in front of the twisted mirrors, but his contorted reflection failed to amuse him.

  He surveyed the handful of middle-aged people playing the machines. In a month or so, the place will be packed with gorgeous teenagers, he promised himself. He dropped a quarter in a pinball machine. The flipper on the left side did not work. He rocked the machine as the ball hurried towards the bottom of the board. Bells rang and large letters reading “tilt” flashed at him. The game was over.

  He leaned heavily on top of the machine and his eyes glimpsed a row of new Skiball machines on the opposite side of the pavilion. He dug a quarter from his pocket as he approached the machines, dropped it in the slot, pulled back the lever and watched ten brand new balls roll down the chute. He selected one, assumed the proper stance, aimed and rolled it towards the target. The ball leapt off the top of the ramp and landed directly in the bull's-eye but immediately jumped out, bounced across several rims and wound up in the outer ring.

  "Ten points,” he mumbled as he watched the score register. “If that had been Jodi, the damn thing would have stuck in the center for 100 points.” In quick succession he rolled the remaining nine balls up the alley and smiled faintly as bells rang and the scoreboard struggled to keep up.

  Jamming his hands back in his pockets, he strolled onto the boardwalk and looked at the incoming whitecaps. A young couple, dressed in hooded sweats, were locked in a torrid embrace at the water's edge.

  "Chilly out tonight."

  Nathan searched for the source of the voice. A woman his own age, perhaps a little older, sat on a bench with a blanket over her legs. He smiled, nodded and walked towards her.

  She lifted one end of the lap robe. “Want to share my blanket?"

  He slid in beside her. She pressed her hip against his as she smoothed the cloth over his thighs. “Think it's gonna snow?"

  Nathan glanced at the star-studded sky. “I don't think so,” he replied with a chuckle. “No clouds.” He turned and looked into the woman's black eyes. “The temperature does funny things at the beach this time of the year. It gets nice and warm during the day and drops into the fifties at night."

  "You on vacation by yourself?"

  He shook his head. “I live here. I'm a little restless tonight and decided I'd check out the action at the pavilion. Doesn't seem to be any."

  "Tell me about it,” she laughed.

  Nathan felt her fingers kneading his thigh. It felt good.

  "I like muscles,” she said seductively.

  "I work out every morning,” he bragged, placing his arm around her shoulders and pulling her closer.

  "Ooh, you're so warm,” she said as she wiggled even closer. “Are you interested in what I think you are?"

  "I have a condom. Is your place close?"

  Her hand dipped to the inside of his thigh. “Two hundred for intercourse or a bill for the best blow job you ever had."

  "You're a hooker?” he asked, sliding away from her.

  Her hand darted to his crotch. “I sure ain't no nun, honey."

  "No thank you."

  Her hand gripped him painfully. “Wait, fella. Business ain't good this early in the season. I'm hungry, man. Gimme a bill and you can spend the night."

  He jumped up and walked briskly back to the arcade. He paused, dug in his pocket, produced a twenty, and returned to the smiling woman on the boardwalk.

  "Change you mind, honey? I guarantee a good time."

  He shook his head while pressing the twenty in the palm of her hand. “This is just in case you were telling the truth about being hungry."

  The hands went back in his pockets and he strolled back into the pavilion. The laughter of two obese women caught his attention. They were playing the same pinball machine he had played. The flipper was working for them. As he watched, his mind wandered back to the whore on the boardwalk.

  Hell, why not? He retraced his s
teps but stopped dead in his tracks when the bench came into view. Another man was under the lap robe with the hooker, his lips locked to hers and his hand obviously active underneath the windbreaker she wore. Nathan chuckled. Wonder what she charges for a quick grope.

  Nate drove directly home, slumped in his recliner and watched television with the volume turned low. After the eleven o'clock news, he locked up, turned off the lights and tiptoed down the hall.

  He paused beside the guestroom door. She needed me last night. Now it's my turn. Although it was late, he showered, brushed his teeth thoroughly, shaved, splashed on a generous quantity of Aqua Velva and, remaining totally nude, slipped back to her door. He eased his hand to the doorknob with a big grin on his face.

  The door was locked.

  Chapter Six

  Although it was still early in the morning and a gentle breeze was blowing, rivers of perspiration filtered from Nathan's forehead through his bushy brows and stung his eyes. Again he yanked on the starter cord but the push mower refused to respond. He shoved the red contraption back inside the garage, removed, cleaned and gapped the sparkplug. He used a clean rag to wipe dirt from the engine housing and replaced the plug.

  Nathan pulled the lever to “start” and yanked the rope. Nothing happened. He tried again. Still nothing. He grabbed a paint scraper from his toolbox and pushed the mower back into the yard, tilting it on one side. Carefully he pried away matted grass from the underside.

  He heard Jodi come through the front door but did not look up. Setting the mower on its four wheels, he again checked the throttle lever and yanked on the rope repeatedly but still there was no roar from the engine.

  "You going somewhere?” he asked as he mopped perspiration from his forehead with the back of his arm.

  "Yes,” she replied without further explanation. “You need anything?"

  "Looks like I need a new mower,” he said, kicking one of the tires a little harder than he meant to, “but don't worry about it. I'll see what Kmart has to offer."

  You already know what Kmart has to offer, you two-timing jerk. “Does it have gas in it?"

  "Of course it has gas. What do you take me for?"

  Nathan ogled Jodi's legs as she walked to the convertible. God, she's gorgeous.