Even keeping it down to a handful a day, it's now three days without. Don't think about the filthy things. It's time to give it up, just have to allow his body to get used to the idea. Lacing his fingers behind his head he stretches. Jose passes again. Gliding. Now both of Oscars feet are tapping.
Jose. What a guy. All the women like him, but the guy doesn't even seem to try. At anything. He has perfect skin, golden, not pasty white. Not an acne scar or blemish on his face, straight teeth, long lean limbs. Thick bloody eyelashes. Soulful eyes. His movements are languorous, feline. Sensual. Right. He doesn't seem terribly bright, not stupid just not quick. It's not bloody fair.
And he's not even especially nice to women.
Well, at least he exercises, that's something, at least he has to work to keep up the body the women pant over. Still, it's the only time Oscar has seen Jose here. Not that he comes as often as he should, himself.
Okay, they pant over Boris's body too, but at least there's a reason. Boris has washboard abs from spending the other half of his life in the weight room, swimming, or on the track. When not taking pictures Bo is quite the jock. He even saw Bo running and taking pictures at the same time last week. Oscar smiles at the memory. Maybe video, you never know with the artsy guys. That Krystal though, she's just so single minded about Jose. Maybe Jose should be told. The girl is just so bloody hung up on the guy, and if Jose gave her a tumble it'd brighten her last days.
There he goes again. Doesn't the bastard sweat at all? Oscar reaches for his non-existent cigarettes again, then realizes what he's done. Oscar gets to his feet and yanks off the sweatshirt, tossing it back on the bench before he does a 'Rocky' bouncy thing and gets back on the track again.
Running is just so god damned boring. Maybe he should bring his MP3 player, so at least his brain wouldn't shrivel up. Some good music would help him dance round the track. Maybe not. Maybe a couple of podcasts. Maybe enough running will beat down the craving for a smoke . . no. Don't think about it.
Run run as fast as you can. Run. Running on a track is just too bloody boring, you don't even get to see anything interesting, each circuit the same, at least until you start dying because you're in such rotten shape when the oxygen overdose kicks in and makes the sky look pink and the track look gray.
Too much time at the keyboard surely. It is high time to find some way of moving the physical body parts on a regular basis. There must be a better way to get exercise than this running around in circles. Alright, this track is an oval. Still. Maybe he could get some of the others interested in some football. Soccer.
Pound . . . pound . . . pound . . . the shadow prepares him for being overtaken by Jose again so at least this time he won't jump out of his skin when startled. It's merely humiliation now. Jesus, Jose. Not too bright but apparently that's what women want.
Oscar shakes his head a little. If he told Jose about Krystal, and it led to Jose paying attention to her, hell, it would make Krystal happy. Or maybe not. But then, mooning over Jose from afar isn't getting her anywhere either. On the other hand maybe it is. This way it's a perfect dream unmarred by personalities, sticky sex or reality's grunge. If Oscar were to tell Jose and he didn't handle it well, what's left of her life could be screwed. Only not in a good way.
So it's for the best then. Telling the man would not be a good thing. She actually said she wouldn't want Jose out of pity. Much better to leave things as they lay. The problem with having women for friends is knowing all this shit.
chapter 107 . . .
Mouse is stretched out in the recliner with a bowl of pretzels balanced on her stomach and a bottle of beer in easy reach, while Quentin perches on the sofa playing with the remote, flicking through the cable universe, the sound murmuring on low.
Several more bottles crowd the edge of a coffee table buried in pizza boxes.
“So your Tamara thinks you did not come out of spite?”
Quentin nods desultorily. “Yeah, that's about it. She always thinks the worst of me. Nothing I do is right. I've been afraid to tell her how bad I'm doing. I shoulda gone somewhere with a documentary program.”
“Why didn't you, Q?”
“I want our marriage to work. It seemed more important for her to be at a good med school. You can do film anywhere. Or so I thought. Anywhere but here.”
“I do not understand why you do not make your own movies? It is supposed to be so cheap to do.”
“Problem is, when I'm supposed to be shooting some stupid still photos I end up making video.”
“That sounds pretty good then Q. Why not just keep that up, then?”
“Truth be told, I'm not doing well with my assignments. I'm flunking out, Mouse. The hell of it is that the classwork and assignments are the opposite of what I need to learn, I need film theory. I've already learned what I can by trial and error. You can do any art on your own but you end up re-inventing the wheel.”
“I don't understand.”
“You make the same mistakes everybody else made before while you figure out what the rules are. A good arts course teaches you what's gone before, what works, what doesn't.”
“That makes sense.”
“Yeah. But because I love Tamara, It seemed easier to not think about how miserable I was. Blow off assignments, let classes slip, smoke up, have a good time. But it's not a good time anymore and I couldn'ta pissed off Tamara more if I'd tried.”
“What are you going to do? Maybe they would let you do film as independent study?”
“That's what Natasha said too, so I've been looking into it. The problem with that is there's no film community here.”
Mouse asks, “Is that so important?”
“I think so, yeah. Isn't it important in English Lit too?”
Mouse nods, “Yes, you're right, I didn't think. Discussing the work is very important.”
“Other people learning the same shit, you know? The counsellor I talked to said if I managed to pass any courses, I could probably port credits to another school if I transfer.”
“That would be really good then Q. That would solve everything. What does Tamara think?”
“I don't know, Mouse. I've tried texting, calling, email, but she doesn't answer and she doesn't come home. Maybe she's staying at Barb's, but I'm not sure. She won't talk to me at all.”
“You need to talk to her Q. What is her schedule today?”
“It's on the fridge.” Quentin balances the remote on the arm of the sofa and goes into the kitchen. Mouse follows carrying several of the empty beer bottles which she stows in the empty case in the corner of the kitchen. Reading Tamara's schedule magnetized to the fridge door, Quentin says, “She's in a lab until five today. I could maybe catch her when she's done.”
“You must talk to her, Q.”
“Don't you have a class this afternoon, Mouse?”
“No this is my break day. We find a movie to watch and then it will be time for you to wait for her, yes?”
“Do you think she'll talk to me?”
“Certainly she will. But she must stop being angry first. You must talk I think. Just now find something to watch. I'll make some Kool-Aid. Relax now, talk to Tamara at five.”
“That's not a bad idea Mouse. Let me hook up the hard drive, I think Die Beauty came in.”
“That would be good. I want to see that one because it looks so delightfully creepy.”
Mouse shakes the packet into the pitcher of water, stirring lime Kool-Aid vigorously.
Mouse hears the doorbell ring as she carries the jug into the living room, where she finds Jose and Quentin huddled over the computer.
“Hey Jose, can you move the pizza boxes please?”
Jose grabs the stack of boxes so Mouse can put the pitcher down on the empty spot. Jose standing there holding the boxes, not sure what he's supposed to do with them. She grins and takes them into the kitchen, stacking them on the over flowing Blue Box for recycling, then grabs three glasses to take back out.
Quentin has the
drive hooked up to the television, and now he's in the recliner. Jose's on the sofa leaned over the coffee table rolling a joint from the baggie of pot now laying beside the jug.
Quentin says, “Jose'd rather watch Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle instead. It's supposed to be pretty funny.”
Jose shrugs, “I'm in the mood for a comedy, Mouse.”
“I'm easy.”
Mouse is thinking about the blog post she will write later about the folly of getting married before going to university. She smiles, secure in the knowledge that none of her classmates will bother to read it since she posts exclusively in Hollands. Blogging is excellent grounding for her future as a world renowned journalist.
After pouring the Kool-Aid out into glasses for everyone, Miese stretches out on the sofa. As she slides her feet into Jose's lap she thinks that some things are better left unblogged. Quentin starts the movie as Jose lights up.
chapter 108 . . .
Maggie is curled up in bed staring up at the ceiling. On her night table, cellphone, MP3 player and ear buds are twisted together in a clump atop her dark laptop. The blinds are drawn, and Maggie's blanket is pulled up to her chin.
There's a soft knock at the door and Maggie ignores it, hoping whoever it is will go away. It's too early to be Oz. She doesn't want to see anybody. She just wants to sleep. Another knock, louder. Maybe if she covers her head with the pillow, too, whoever it is will just go the hell away. But no, more knocking. And a whispered “Maggie?”
“Go away Amelia. I'm sleeping.”
From the other side of the door she hears a brief suppressed snort, then “Five minutes, Maggie, then I've got to get to work.”
“Then come in already, just so I can get rid of you.”
Amelia comes into the darkened room lit only by the bits of sun squeezing in around the edges of the heavy blind. She perches on the corner of the foot of the bed. “Oscar told me that you're really upset about the flasher.”
“Yes I'm upset. But I don't plan on telling you anything. You might write it in a story sometime, and I'd rather you didn't.”
“If you don't want me to write about something I wouldn't write about it. I'm not a vampire Maggie. I'm a writer. But I thought I was your friend too. Look, I'll just go then.”
Amelia gets up and Maggie says, “Look, I'm sorry I'm being such a bitch but that's part of why I'm in here. I am really bummed by this all.”
Amelia turns back, settling back down again. “I'm not trying to make it worse, but I am trying to help. Did you get flashed or abused when you were a kid or something?”
Maggie props herself up on one elbow. “That's what you think? No. It's nothing like that. It's that I feel like such a shit, because if I'd gone to the cops before, Natasha might not have gotten attacked. How much shittier can it be? It's all my fault.”
“Don't be such a drama queen. What would the cops have done? Maybe they would have written it down. Maybe. If they didn't laugh at you. They might even think it was a prank. You think they've got manpower for a college flasher? An elementary school, sure. But the world doesn't revolve around you. It will get screwed up all by itself.”
“What, that's supposed to make me feel better? Being told I'm an egomaniac? Well fuck you and the horse you rode in on.” Maggie rolls over and pulls the blanket right over her head.
Amelia shakes her head. “Glad we had this chat. Oughta do it more often, but I gotta go, really. Talk to Stu, Maggie. And stop beating yourself up.” Amelia pulls the door closed softly behind her.
chapter 109 . . .
Wolfrom sits on his side of the table across from the suspect in the cramped Interrogation Room.
Neil Molony looks past Wolfrom, rigidly watching Detective Lewis pace. Speaking conversationally, Lewis says, “We've known for some time that it was your bicycle, Neil. But now we have witnesses placing you there, too. You could try to lie and say you weren't there, but we both know that will just make you look bad on the stand when our witnesses refute you. Why not just tell us your side of the story and maybe we can get it all straightened out.”
She sounds reasonable. Helpful.
Surly. “It isn't a story. I didn't do anything.”
Lewis softens her tone. “You know what they say, Neil, confession is good for the soul.” She lays her palms flat on the table and meets his eyes.
Neil Molony looks at her.
Her lips are parted, she's hardly breathing, expectant. This woman is really looking at him. He can't remember the last time a woman made him the centre of attention like this.
An appealing woman.
It's intoxicating. Softly, she says, “You'll feel a lot better after.”
Dropping his eyes he decides the suit jacket she wears to conceal her feminine form just makes it more tantalizing. Maybe if he tells her, she'll . . .
“No. You won't,” an imperious voice snaps from the doorway. Lewis whirls to see Colm Molony fill the doorway like a bad dream.
The lawyer levels a glare at the detective. “Do not say another word to these people, Neil.”
Neil nods, mute. If anything he looks more scared.
“Detective Lewis, why was I not informed?”
“Neil waived the right to an attorney. He's an adult.”
Molony shakes his head. “Neil wouldn't do that.” He directs his attention to Neil. “Would you, son?”
“I just told them . . .” Molony holds up a warning finger and Neil claps his hand over his mouth.”
“You tell them nothing boy. Not another word.” Molony leads Neil to the door while Lewis folds her arms in frustration. She knows the little bastard was about to spill it all at her feet.
Lewis grips the table tightly, knowing if she gives into her impulse to kick something it won't end pleasantly. It's so damn infuriating that a powerful bastard like Molony has enough clout to twist the law to suit himself.
At the door Colm Molony stops, levels a finger at Lewis. “You're on notice, Detective. No one talks to my nephew without legal counsel.”
chapter 110 . . .
“So,” Nick rinses a plate before stacking it in the drying rack. “She's asked you to talk to him?”
Kate wipes the kitchen table, pausing to say, “Uh, no, not exactly.”
Nick concentrates on washing the dishes, careful not to look at his darling wife, whose tendencies he knows all too well. “So. She's asked you not to say anything to him?”
“Um, no, not really.”
“So. You're planning on meddling in their lives just for the fun of it?”
“It's not really meddling, it's just so obvious that something has to be done. Whenever he's anywhere around it's like her radar goes off. She loses all ability to concentrate on anything else. Maybe he'd want to go out with her if he knew.”
“He'd probably ask her out if he wanted to go out with her. It's none of your business, hon.”
“Mmmm.” Kate says, “Sometimes people just need the teensiest bit of encouragement.”
Kate carries the cloth to the sink, where she slides her arms under Nick's, encircling his waist with her arms as she wrings out the dish cloth in the soapy water.
“Don't interfere, woman. If Krystal likes Jose she should just ask the guy out. If she isn't ready or whatever, that's her call, babe. Not yours.”
Kate drops the cloth but tightens the casual embrace into a hug, resting her head on his back, he can feel her breath between his shoulder blades.
“She likes him too much. She'd be devastated if he turned her down.”
“Are you trying to distract me?”
Kate giggles into his back. “You ought to know by now I'm not that subtle, babe. If I was trying to distract you I'd do this.”
Nick swallows, applying all of his considerable willpower to focus on the tasks at hand. “Does she even talk to him?” Concentrate on getting the dishes done. “Do they have anything in common at all? I mean from what you've told me she doesn't even know him, it's just lust.”
; Unable to continue in the face of Kate's ministrations, Nick throws the dish brush in the sink and turns to enfold her. As Kate reaches up for a kiss, she murmurs, “Lust is good.”
chapter 111 . . .
Detectives Lewis and Wolfrom sit in an unmarked sedan in front of the M&M Tower. “You know they're gonna cry harassment,” Wolfrom says in his most reasonable tone.
“What harassment? We're police officers. We're on city property. No harm no foul.”
“Don't go all innocent on me Lewis. My shield may be new but I'm not stupid. Pull it on the bosses all you like, but I'm your partner, and we're both of us sitting here in this official car, tempting fate.”
“Sorry Wolfie. It's just I'm so pissed off, you know? That little prick was gonna crack. I know it.”
“Probably. Uncle M knew it too.”
“Think we can tag Uncle M as an accessory?”
Wolfrom laughs aloud at the absurdity of the suggestion.
Lewis tenses, suddenly alert. “Look there, the staff is starting to let out for the day.”
They both open their doors and get out in unison. A half dozen women are crossing the pavement when the detectives approach, flashing badges. “Excuse me, I'm Detective Lewis, this is Detective Wolfrom. We're looking for information. I wonder if any of you might be able to help our investigation.”
“Is this about Neil?” asks one of the women.
Lewis nods. “If any of you have anything to say, you can tell us in confidence.”
“Right, and get in trouble,” a short brunette says.
Another woman asks the brunette, “Just how does keeping that little creep out of jail help me?”
The brunette says, “Good jobs don't grow on trees, Mare,” as another shakes her head and hurries away.
Wolfrom produces a stack of business cards, passing them out. “Ladies, just take a card, and if you know anything give us a call. Or if you think someone else might want to speak to us, pass the card along. That's all. We don't want to get anyone in trouble.”
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