by Elena Hearty
Finally, when there was a sufficient break in the conversation, and when Lenore was feeling particularly calm, she looked up at Richard and said, “Hey, I don’t want to sit here all night.”
“I can’t let you out of here.”
“I know.”
“What are you trying to say?”
“Just do it.”
“Are-Are you serious?”
“Yeah,” she said. “Do it before I lose my nerve. I don’t want to die in hysterics—and that isn’t something to impress you—it’s for me.”
“Lenore, I’m not that bad. You’ve got some time. I could probably even go another night, to tell you the truth, but it's the principle of the thing.” Richard looked at his watch. “Paul’s going to be pissed if he gets back and you’re dead…he hasn‘t even been gone an hour yet.”
But Paul wasn't coming back, and Lenore was through with false hope. There wasn't a perfect universe, there was only this universe, and she needed some control. She needed some dignity. “You can tell Paul it was my decision. He’ll understand.”
Richard raised his eyebrows and nodded. “Okay. He…um…he really liked you, for what it’s worth. I liked you too. I’m sorry about all of this. Last chance to change your mind. Are you positive? You need to be positive because once I start, I'm not going to stop.”
She stood up. “Yes.”
“Okay. Then come here.” They met in the center of the room, and he placed his hands on her shoulders. “This should be fun. I don‘t get to do this every day.”
“What? What do you mean?” she asked, looking around uncomfortably.
“That you’re—you know—not struggling or trying to get away. Should make it pretty interesting. Probably a lot easier for both of us.” He ran his thumbs over her sweater.
She winced. “This…this shouldn’t be fun. You promised not to hurt me.”
“I won't hurt you—well, I'll try not to, anyway—but that doesn't mean I can't enjoy it. I want you to do something for me. I'm trying to remember something. Take off your shirt.”
“No. Why? Don’t make me do that,” she said, trying not to cry.
"What do you care at this point?" He started removing it for her, and Lenore stood there, letting him. After all, how could she possibly stop him? Richard threw her sweater onto the chair and ran his fingers over her collarbone, her breasts, and then the back of her spine. "I love women, Lenore. They're so beautiful. I can't enjoy women the way that I used to, but I remember how it felt. I love the way you curve…you're shaking."
And she was. "Your hands… they're freezing."
“That’s okay,” he smiled, cupping her waist with both hands, pulling her closer. “You’re going to make me warm.” His forehead touched her own. “Any last words?”
“I’m scared,” she whispered, closing her eyes.
“Hey,” he replied softly, touching her cheek. “We’re all scared.” Then he stroked her hair for a moment before twisting it back with his hand and pulling it away from her shoulders. “I think you’re going to do great, but stop squirming like that. If you keep squirming like that I’m going to wind up snapping your neck.”
There was a commotion in the hall, and the door burst open.
Paul looked angry at first and then settled into a comfortable, medium-sized grin. "Am I…interrupting something?" he asked wryly as if he had caught the two of them making out behind the bleachers.
Richard still held Lenore and turned his head in anger. "YES. Actually, yes. You ARE interrupting something. I'll be finished in a little while, please wait outside."
“Can’t let you do that. I’ve got something better—worth the wait”
“Charles? He‘s here…I can smell him.”
“Better.”
“Better than Charles?” Richard loosened his grasp on Lenore.
“His girlfriend, Deirdre. You were right. He wasn‘t sick. I found the two of them smoking behind Thorn.” (Thorn, Lenore knew, was a Goth Industrial club)
Excitedly, Richard left for the hallway, and Paul’s grin appeared to follow him out the door. Eyebrows knit, he frowned at Lenore, who shivered in the corner, arms folded to conceal her naked chest.
“What was Rich…what was he doing to you?” he asked, grimacing. “Why’s your shirt off? Why would he take you back here? I said I’d get Charles. Jesus Christ. I couldn’t have been gone for more than an hour. Didn’t anyone believe me? Doesn’t anyone listen to me?”
She opened her mouth to speak but stopped. A few seconds later, she tried again, "Paul, please. Please don't look at me like this."
He turned his head. “Jeez. I’m sorry. Where’s your shit? Is it in here? I can get it for you if it‘s not.”
“It’s over on that chair. I’m going to get it. Just turn around, please. Don’t look at me.” Paul obeyed, and Lenore swiftly redressed. “You can look now.”
“Are you okay?”
“Yes,” she said coolly. And now that her shirt was back on, she was. But no—it was more than that. Lenore had faced death on her own terms and came out unscathed; there was nothing that Richard could do to her at this point that had not been done before.
“We’re getting out of here. You can spend the night at my place. I‘m sorry you had to see this room. I‘m like fucking sick over this. I‘ve fixed your problem, though, you‘ll see.”
Lenore followed Paul into the kitchen, where two doomed lovers sat at the table. Charles’s girlfriend was visibly upset and sobbed quietly in his arms; he held her hand fiercely and promised to make everything alright. Deirdre struck Lenore as exquisitely beautiful, and not in a cartoonish Elvira sense; her plain features possessed an almost perfect symmetry, the hallmark of physical attractiveness.
Standing behind the table, and looking like he had just bought a new car, was Richard, who antagonized the tragic pair mercilessly. He shot Lenore a triumphant grin when she entered the room. “Hey Lenore, look who’s feeling better? It’s Charles. He’s made a miraculous recovery, and has decided to join us after all.”
She grinned back at Richard, feeling that things were different now between the two of them; their scene in the laundry room would remain in the laundry room, paused and momentarily forgotten. For now, they were in alliance, united against a common trench coat wearing fiend. "No kidding," she said, playing along. "What a relief. You know, I've heard the flu can be fatal."
He grinned at her meaning. “Aha! That’s very true. Especially the fallacious flu, and I’ve heard that’s been going around this time of year. Can’t be too careful. Speaking of which…Charles, you cad. Suppose you were contagious? You may have risked your poor girlfriend’s life, just by hanging out with her tonight.”
Deirdre began whimpering, and Charles reached over to massage the back of her neck. “It’s okay, Dee. Everything’s going to be okay.”
Richard chortled menacingly. "Fat fucking chance." Then he placed one hand on the shoulder of each, pulling them all together in a sarcastic embrace. "We're going to have so much fun tonight. We're going to play lots of games. Lots and lots of games. Paul loves games. It’s a pity he won’t be joining us.”
Charles's jaw went slack. "Paul? What does Rich mean by that? You're not leaving. You can't just leave us here. You can't do that. Deirdre didn't do anything. Paul, she hasn't done ANYTHING. You can't do this. PAUL. SHE HASN'T DONE ANYTHING."
Paul shifted uncomfortably to avoid Charles's gaze, looking at Richard instead. "You can kill her," he said, pointing to Deirdre, "but don't kill Charles. He's mine, and I'm going to dispose of him in a manner that I see fit."
The girl in Charles’s arms began screaming, and Lenore felt truly sorry for her.
(“COME ON. DEIRDRE HASN’T DONE ANYTHING. YOU GUYS CAN’T DO THIS.”)
Richard walked over to the counter to grab a roll of paper towels. “He’ll be breathing when you get back. That’s all that I’m going to promise you.”
(“PAUL. LISTEN TO ME; YOU CAN’T DO THIS TO US. WE TRUSTED YOU WHEN YOU
BROUGHT US HERE.”)
“Fair enough. Listen, Lenore’s staying over at my place tonight. She doesn’t need to be here for any of this.”
(“YOU CAN’T JUST LEAVE US HERE.”)
Richard tore several towels off the roll and wadded them together before forcibly shoving them into Charles‘s mouth, causing Deirdre to scream uncontrollably. Richard shook his head and stuffed her mouth as well before resuming conversation with Paul. “I’d think Lenore would want to stick around. She’s got as much stake in this as I do. Lenore, do you want to stick around and mess with Charles all night? You are cordially invited—I’ll give you a front row seat to the show.”
“No thanks,” she said. It was difficult to tell for sure, but Richard actually looked disappointed. “Throw a punch for me, though.”
"I'll throw several." He looked over at Paul, scratching his head. "You're going to bring her back tomorrow? I'm not sure how this little sleepover is supposed to work."
"Yeah, tomorrow's good. Email me when you've had so much fun that you can't stand it anymore."
“Will do. Hey…do you want to make a trade here? Lenore for Charles? He‘s going to be pretty damaged when you get back and -”
“Just stick with the original plan.”
“I’m just offering -”
“Yep. I know. Answer’s no. Have fun.”
Chapter 8
The Penthouse
Paul did not speak to Lenore again until they were inside a rickety old elevator heading up to the penthouse. “What the fuck was that? I want to know exactly what happened back there.”
"What do you mean?" she asked, catching her reflection in the mirrored wall. She understood now why the doorman had sneered at them as they walked through the lobby. He probably thought Paul was bringing home a prostitute, a crack-head, or—more likely—some unflattering combination of the two. The past week had done nothing for Lenore's personal hygiene, leaving her face gaunt from lack of sleep and nutrition. When was the last time she even bothered to shower? She pondered that question as she looked down at her vomit-stained sweater, noticing for the first time since putting it back on that it was inside out. Lovely.
A light overhead marked their passage over the fifth floor.
“You know exactly what I mean,” Paul said, forcing her back to attention. “Why was Rich about to feed? I can’t believe he didn’t wait. I can’t even tell you how pissed I am right now.” And Paul did look pissed. He leaned forward, nose almost touching the door, hands stuffed rigidly in his pockets. Lenore noticed with some level of satisfaction that his jaw was clenched.
She met his eyes in the mirror. “Rich was going to wait. I told him to go ahead with it.”
“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” his double scowled. “Are you out of your mind? I was coming right back. I told you I was coming right back. Why would you do something like that?”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” she whispered, eyes on the ground.
Paul spun toward her, and the box that held them swayed with his weight, causing Lenore to stumble backward into the wall. "Oh? Well, I fucking do."
“You’re the one who’s always telling me that I’m just dragging things out,” she said, trying to regain balance.
Paul hovered over her like a menacing storm cloud, waiting to erupt. “Fine. I don’t have a problem with that in theory or anything, but don’t you think you could have had your big realization before I went out and got Charles? There's going to be some serious fallout over this. I really stuck my neck out for you tonight.”
She shot him an icy glare. “Sorry to have inconvenienced you.”
The lights flickered for floors ten, eleven, twelve.
“You want to die that bad, huh?” he asked, turning back toward the exit. “You know, I haven‘t eaten in a couple of days. Maybe I‘ll just finish you off when we get inside. I’ll bet you’d make a pretty tasty snack.”
Lenore’s grit her teeth. “Go ahead.”
“Oh really?” he smirked. “Great. Are you get to let me take your shirt off too?”
“Oh my God. You’re jealous.”
Floor nineteen illuminated, silently interrupting their conversation. The elevator stopped and the doors opened.
Lenore stood at the entrance to apartment P19 as her host fumbled with the keys. Paul turned the handle, muttering. “Unbelievable. Everyone’s pissing me off today.”
She followed him inside, wondering if it might have been a wiser choice to remain with Richard instead; at least he seemed to be in a jolly mood when she left him.
“Welcome to my humble abode,” Paul said, dropping his keys on a marble stand by the door. Then he turned to her, half smiling. “So where should I kill you? Should we go in the living room where it's more comfortable, or in the kitchen where it'll be easier to clean up the mess?”
“Right here is fine,” she replied, unsure if she was calling Paul's bluff or if it was the other way around. She wondered how far the game would go before someone finally yelled chicken.
Paul cocked his head to the side, arms folded, perhaps wondering the same thing. “Nope. Let's do this in the living room. I'll feel all rushed out here.” He started walking and motioned for her to follow. “We wouldn't want it to be over too quickly.”
Lenore closed her eyes so that she could roll them. "No. We certainly wouldn't want that."
Paul was not much of a decorator. Or a housekeeper, for that matter. The inside of his apartment was barren in most places, with no carpets or area rugs to break apart the bamboo floors, and it was clear that the walls had never been painted. The only exception to the Spartan décor was the mess in the living room, which swirled around a small television and sofa like rings about a domestic nucleus. Strewn with the remnants of a serial hobbyist, the area contained loosely organized stacks of crosswords, jigsaw puzzles, video games, music equipment, models, and sketch pads. Interestingly, atop one of the pillars sat a rotary phone.
"Oh, we're nipping that in the bud right now," Paul said, having noticed the object of Lenore's attention. He walked over to where the phone sat and started to unplug the cord from the wall but then paused for a moment before stopping altogether. "No. You know what? I'm not going to do that. You know what I‘ll do to you if you go near that phone, right?"
Lenore nodded.
“Well, the same goes for the front door. I’m not going to bother locking it. Just don‘t go near it.”
She shrugged. “I’m not stupid, you know. You don‘t have to insult me.”
“Well, you were looking at that phone awfully hard.” He took a step toward her and then shook his head. “You can sit down if you want.”
Lenore took a seat at the edge of the sofa, sliding a pile of magazines off the cushion to make room. She grabbed the topmost periodical and began leafing through the pages. It was a comic book.
“So you told Rich you were calling it quits, huh?” Paul asked, removing his jacket and tossing it on the floor. “Maybe this isn’t your universe after all?” He kicked his shoes into a corner, where they joined a larger mound of discarded apparel.
"Maybe not." Lenore looked around the room uncomfortably, as if there were some other conversations she might join.
“What made you change your mind?”
Lenore took a deep breath. “You saw where he was making me wait, Paul. I'd never felt so… God. I didn't realize. He—he tears people apart like they're nothing, and then he washes them down that drain. There's no…” She trailed off, afraid to finish the sentence, afraid of the emotions it might wring.
"Dignity?" Paul asked as if plucking the word from her mind.
“Dignity,” she whispered. “I wanted some dignity. Stop beating me up for that.”
Paul's stance softened, and he came to sit beside her, causing an avalanche of comics to topple onto the floor. “I'm really sorry you had to see that room. But you knew I was coming back for you.”
“No I didn't,” she said, sliding away from him. “Why woul
d you, Paul? You guys kill people all the time. Why would I be any different?”
He lifted his eyebrows and smiled. “Well, that's easy. You're different because I say you're different. You're different because you're my friend.”
“Like Angela?”
His head jerked back. “Now why would you bring her up?”
“You just handed her over to Rich that night.”
“And you thought I was doing the same to you? Jesus Christ, that's so stupid. Angela came at me with a fucking knife, Lenore. How was I supposed to protect her at that point? If you come at me with a knife—fair warning—you're on your own. Other than that, I'll see to it that you stick around.”
“Oh yeah? For how long? How long are you going to see to it?” Lenore pictured herself twenty years older, a tube still running out of her arm.
“I don't know,” Paul said, springing from the sofa. “A while. Let's leave it at that.” He stopped in front of her with his hands on his knees. “Look, I don't want to walk into Rich's place and find out that you're dead. That would be so depressing. Who would I take to the diner? Who would kick my ass at Tetris? Who would bore me to death with logic problems and the history of vacuum cleaners, of all things? You're just about my favorite person these days, Lenore. I feel like I'm just getting to know you.”
“If you really feel that way, you should let me go.”
He raised his hands in frustration. “I can't let you go.”
“You mean you won't.”
“Fine. I won't let you go. Not even if I traded you for Charles.”
“Don't talk about me like I'm property,” she said, shuffling her foot along of the mess on the floor. “I don't appreciate it.”
“Oh grow up. What do you think this is? Do you think you have rights? More importantly, do you think Rich thinks you have rights?”