Reprisal ac-5

by F. Paul Wilson

  "You'll do it."

  "Uh-huh. Can I call you when I get stuck?"

  "You can try."

  "Oh, right. The man without a telephone. How could I forget."

  Even after all this time, Lisl still could not get used to the idea that Will managed to live in the modern world without the benefit of a telephone. She realized no one would ever get rich as a groundskeeper, but the men had a union that had bargained them up to decent wages and good benefits. So Will's lack of a phone could not be due to a lack of money.

  "You've got to get a phone, Will."

  He finished off the last of his sub. "Not this again."

  "I'm serious. A telephone is an essential tool of modern living."

  "Maybe."

  "And I know they've got phone lines out there on Postal Road." After realizing she had nothing to fear from him, Lisl had visited his home a number of times. He lived in an isolated cottage but it wasn't in the boonies. "What if I call the phone company for you. I'll even pay—"

  "Forget it, Lisl."

  She sensed from his tone that he wanted her to drop it but she couldn't. No phone… it was crazy. Unless…

  "You're not one of those Luddite types, are you? You know, antitechnology?"

  "Now, Leese, you know better than that. You've seen the place. I've got a TV, a radio, a microwave, even a computer." He looked at her. "I just don't want a phone."

  "But why on earth not? Can't you give me a hint?"

  "I simply do not want one. Can we leave it at that?"

  His voice carried only mild annoyance, but his eyes surprised her. Just before he looked away, she could have sworn she caught a trace of the fear she had seen before.

  "Sure," she said quickly, hiding her concern and the curiosity that burned inside her. "Consider it dropped. When I hear that my paper's been accepted, I'll let you know immediately—by carrier pigeon."

  Will laughed. "You'd better drive right out and knock on my door. Promise?"

  "Promise."

  "What's up in the faculty world?" he said in an obvious attempt to steer the conversation away from the subject of telephones.

  "Not much. Dr. Rogers is having his annual Welcome Back party Friday night and he invited me."

  "He's in the psychology department, isn't he?"

  "The chairman. The party's just for his department, but since I helped him out with some tricky math glitches he was having over the summer, he says I'm an honorary member. So I'm invited."

  "And knowing you, you turned him down, right?"

  "Wrong," she said, lifting her chin, glad to be able to surprise him. "I've decided to show up with bells on."

  "Good for you. You need to get out more with the rest of the faculty instead of spending your free time with a broken-down groundskeeper."

  "Right. You're positively decrepit, and intellectually backward as well."

  Will glanced up at the faculty office building.

  "Will Professor Sanders be going?"

  "No. Why would—?" she began, then broke off as she caught his meaning. "Oh. Is he watching us again?"

  "Yep. Having his after-lunch cigarettes."

  Lisl glanced up at the second-floor window of Ev's office. No face was visible in the dark square, but at regular intervals a puff of white smoke would drift out through the screen.

  Everett Sanders stared down at Lisl Whitman and the grounds-keeper as they sat together beneath the tree. They seemed to be staring back at him. But that could be no more than coincidence. He knew he was invisible to them when he stood this far back in his office.

  He drew deeply on his cigarette, his sixth for the day, his first after a lunch of eight ounces of tuna salad, a cold potato sliced and smeared with mustard, and a medium-sized peach. The same lunch he brought every day and ate right here at his desk. He kept rigorous track of his nutrition, and balanced it carefully. His fourth cup of coffee cooled on the desk. He allowed himself a dozen cups a day. Excessive, he knew, but he'd found he couldn't function well on less. He smoked too much too. Twenty cigarettes a day—opened a fresh pack of Kool Lights every morning and finished the last just before bed. Coffee and cigarettes—he wanted to give them up, but not yet. He couldn't give up everything. But maybe in a few years, when he was more confident about his level of control, he'd try to get off tobacco.

  He watched Lisl and wondered again at the type of man with whom she chose to spend her precious time. Here was one of the most brilliant women he had ever met wasting her lunch hours dallying with a common laborer—one with a ponytail, no less. A mismatch if he ever saw one. What could they possibly have in common? What could a man like that possibly have to say to interest a mind like hers?

  It plagued him. What could they talk about, day after day, week after week? What ?

  The most frustrating aspect of the question was knowing that he would never have the answer. To obtain that he would either have to eavesdrop on them or join them, or ask Lisl directly what they talked about. None of which he could do. It simply wasn't in him.

  Another question: Why on earth was he wasting his own time pondering such an inconsequential imponderable? What did it matter what Lisl and her big gardener friend discussed at lunch? He had better things to do.

  And yet… they looked so relaxed together. Ev wished he could be so relaxed with people. Not even people—he'd settle for just one other person in the world with whom he could sit down and feel perfectly at ease discussing the secrets of the universe and the inconsequentials of daily existence.

  Someone like Lisl. So soft, so beautiful. Maybe she wasn't beautiful in the accepted modern sense, but her golden blond hair was thick and silky smooth—he wished she'd wear it down and loose instead of twisted into that French braid she favored—and her smile so bright and warm. She was small-breasted and carrying too many pounds for her frame, but Ev wasn't impressed by exteriors. Appearances meant nothing. It was the inner woman that counted. And Ev knew that beneath Lisl's dowdy, pudgy shell was a wonderful, brilliant woman, sweet, sincere, compassionate.

  What did that handyman see when he looked at her? Everett sincerely doubted the other man was attracted to Lisl for her mind. He didn't know him, of course, but it seemed that the groundskeeper possessed neither the values nor the depth of character that would set him in pursuit of a woman's mind.

  So what was his angle?

  Were they sexually intimate? Was that what it was all about? Pleasures of the flesh? Well, there was nothing wrong with that, as long as it didn't interfere with Lisl's future. Tragic if she were drawn away from her career. A brilliant mind such as hers did not belong at home all day changing diapers.

  And of what concern was any of this to Everett Sanders?

  Because I want to be where they are.

  Wouldn't that be wonderful. To have her as a friend, a confidante, a sharer. To have almost anyone to share even a few hours. Because, Everett knew and freely admitted to himself, he was lonely. And although loneliness was far better than other problems he had known in the past, it could be a terrible burden at times, a constant gnawing ache in his soul.

  Lunches with Lisl, silly chitchat with Lisl. It was more than he could hope for.

  More than he would hope for.

  The whole idea was ridiculous. Even if it were feasible, even if it were possible, he couldn't allow it. He couldn't permit himself to become involved in an emotional relationship. Emotions were too unpredictable, too difficult to control. And he couldn't let any area in his life slip -from his control. Because if one area broke free, others might break loose and follow. And then his whole life might slip free from the iron grip in which he clutched it.

  So let Lisl Whitman dawdle with her groundskeeper friend and/or lover. It was none of his business. It was her life and he had no right to think he should control it. It took all his resolve to control his own.

  Besides, he should have been reading instead of wasting time at the window like this. Especially on a Wednesday. He had the weekly meeting toni
ght so he had to do his daily page quota on this week's novel earlier in the day. It was Daddy by Loup Durand. A few years old, but someone had recommended it to him as a thriller with a twist. And indeed it did have a twist. More than one. He was enjoying it immensely.

  Everett had come to find fiction a welcome relief from the constraints of working with numbers all day, so years ago he had resolved to read one novel a week. And he did. He started a new novel every Sunday. Faithfully. Daddy was 377 pages long. So, to finish the novel in a week he had to read 53.85 pages a day. This was Wednesday, which meant that he had to reach page 216 before he slept tonight. Actually, he was a little ahead of the game today because he had gone past his daily page increment last night and continued to the end of the chapter. That wasn't a bad idea in itself, but he didn't like breaking his own rules.

  He stubbed out his cigarette and lit another immediately. He allowed himself two in a row after lunch. He opened the book to the top of page 181. Thirty-five to go. He settled himself at his desk and began reading.

  THREE

  Will glanced at his watch. Almost quitting time, but he wanted to get this tractor-mower running before he knocked off for the weekend. That way it would be ready to roll first thing Monday morning.

  He looked across the gently rolling field of the lower campus where the soccer and football teams were practicing on the freshly mown grass. Keeping the campus pruned and trimmed was an endless task, but Will loved it. Never thought he'd end up a groundskeeper—not with his background and education—but he had to admit it had its rewards. He found a very real satisfaction in doing simple labor with his hands. Weeding, edging, pruning, doing motor maintenance, it didn't matter. While his hands were busy, his mind was left free to roam. And roam it did. It occurred to him that he had done more heavy-duty thinking in the last few years than he had done in his entire life, and that was pushing half a century.

  But still he hadn't found any answers. Only more questions.

  Back to the tractor. The old John Deere was one of the crew's workhorses and it had been kicking up all week, coughing, sputtering, stalling. He thought he'd heard something that sounded like a bad wire. He'd replaced it. Now came the test.

  The engine started on the first turn of the key. Will listened carefully. He could tell a lot about an engine just from the way it sounded. It was a knack he'd discovered back when he began fooling around with cars as a teenager.

  "Hey, Willie! Sounds great!"

  Will looked up and saw Joe Bob Hawkins, the foreman of the grounds crew, standing over him. He was younger than Will—about forty or so—but his receding red hair and big, burly barrel-chested physique made him seem older.

  "Bad wire," Will told him.

  "You got that magic touch, I tell ya. Ain't never seen a body could fix an engine the way you do. Y'all got a degree in motor medicine or something?"

  "You got it, Joe Bob. I'm an M.D.—a motor doctor."

  "That you are, guy," he said with a laugh, "that you are. Tell you what. You stow that thing in the garage and then join me in my office. I'll buy you a TGIF snort of sour mash."

  Will thought about that. A drink would be good about now, although he'd have preferred a cold beer to a shooter. And some simple conversation with an affable good oF boy like Joe Bob would be good, too. But he couldn't risk it.

  "Aw, I'd love to, J.B., but I've got to hit the road as soon as I'm off. My ma's been kinda sick and so I'm heading north for the weekend."

  "That's too bad. She's not bad sick, is she?"

  "Yes and no. It's her heart. Sometimes it acts up and sometimes it don't. Lately it is."

  Will hated the easy way the lies tripped off his tongue, but this story was so well practiced he almost believed it himself.

  "Well, okay," Joe Bob said. "I reckon y'all better get hustlin'. I hope she's all right. If there's anything I can do, you know, if you need some extra time off to stay with her or anything like that, you just let me know."

  "I hope it won't come to that, but thanks for offering."

  Will was touched by Joe Bob's genuine concern, which made him feel worse than usual for lying. But there was no way he could go kill a halfrhour or more sitting and sipping in the foreman's office.

  There was a telephone there.

  Will drove the tractor over to the garage and stowed it away for the weekend, then headed for the parking lot.

  On the ride home, Will cruised Conway Street and thought about the day. He hadn't connected with Lisl today, so at least he hadn't had to lie to her again about rereading The Stranger. Couldn't let her know what he really was reading. She'd ask too many questions. Questions he couldn't answer.

  Pretty foolish stunt, bringing it to work with him. Almost as if he wanted her to see it, wanted her to ask those questions. Was that it? Was his subconscious deliberately nudging him into exposing his past, pushing him to get off the dime and into motion instead of marking time here year after year?

  Maybe. But no matter what his subconscious wanted, Will knew he wasn't ready to surface again. He still had a ways to go before he could even consider going back.

  Maybe he'd never go back. He liked it here in N.C.; he was fitting in, and Lisl was a big part of that comfortable feeling. She made him feel good. Yet she had her share of hang-ups, the most glaring being her lack of self-esteem. She was bright, warm, real, so free of pretense, a refreshing trait these days on the campus of "the new Harvard of the South." She'd had no trouble convincing Will of her brilliance, her sweetness. Why couldn't she see it?

  Somebody had done a real number on Lisl. The most obvious culprit was her ex-husband, but Will sensed that it went deeper than that. What were her parents like? How had they raised her? Stuck her in front of a TV? Like so many people he met these days, Lisl seemed to have been raised with no values. She was brilliant, but she lacked focus. She was incomplete, vulnerable, and lacking a vital piece: someone to love. The right someone could make it all come together for her. The wrong someone—again—could unravel her. Will knew he was one of the wrong someones.

  He wished he could help her, but didn't know exactly what to do with her—pulling her closer, pushing her away, wanting to open up to her the way she had opened up to him, yet knowing he couldn't really open up to anyone ever again.

  Lisl parked her car in her assigned space and got out. The sun was well on its way down the sky, but the early September air was still warm and slightly hazy with the humidity. Hazy enough to mute and blend the various shades of green on the trees and the wild splotches of color from the bunches of mums blossoming all over the grounds. Only the aging garden apartments kept the scene from being an Impressionist's dream.

  Brookside Gardens was a set of two-story brick apartments, occupied for the most part by young marrieds, many with kids. It could get noisy here on Saturday afternoons. But Brookside adequately suited Lisl's needs. Her one-bedroom unit offered security and comfort, was the perfect size, and didn't strain her bank account. What more could she ask?

  Right now? Maybe a little company. She wished Will lived nearby instead of out in the country. She had this urge to drop in on someone and plop into a chair and talk about nothing over a glass of wine. But there was no one here she knew well enough for that.

  That was one problem with Brookside. She had no real friends here. She didn't fit in with the young marrieds surrounding her. Sure, they welcomed her to their parties and cookouts on holiday weekends, and she'd drink and talk and laugh with them, but she never felt at ease with them, never really felt she belonged.

  Well, it wasn't really relevant tonight. She had to get herself spruced up for Dr. Rogers's Welcome Back party.

  In the old days, it might have been called a faculty tea. Nowadays it was a cocktail party. Lisl really didn't want to go. She wouldn't know anyone there. After all it was the psych department, not math. She and Ev had only helped them with a few snags over the summer. No big thing. No reason to invite them to the party. Of course it would have been a little
easier to take if Ev were going. At least she'd have someone to talk to. But Ev never went to parties.

  Lisl wasn't a party person either. She saw herself as the dullest of people. A rotten conversationalist who could think of nothing to say once she'd covered the weather and general comments about the incoming student body. Then there'd be these long uncomfortable silences and she and whoever she was with would slowly drift to different rooms.

  Funny, she never seemed to run out of things to say to Will.

  But Will wasn't going to be there, so forget that. If tonight followed the usual pattern, she'd wind up alone, standing by the bookshelves, nursing a plastic tumbler of too-tart chablis as she sneaked looks at her watch and pretended to be interested in what titles and authors were stacked on the shelf. Usually the selection was as uninteresting as she felt.

  But this.past summer had proved an unusually solitary one. She'd shuttled between her apartment and her office six days a week with little or no deviation in pattern. Over a long, lonely Labor Day weekend she had decided it was time to force herself into some sort of social… what? Whirl? Her social life would never whirl. And she wasn't sure she wanted it to. A social crawl was more her speed. She'd settle for that. Gladly.

  And so the old Lisl was determined to become a different

  Lisl, a new, improved, socializing Lisl. She would turn down no invitation to a social gathering, no matter how dreadful she thought it might be.

  Which was why she was determined to show up at Cal Rogers's party tonight.

  But the most immediate problem was what to wear. These things were casual but Lisl didn't want to be too casual. Most of her comfortable clothes fell into the too-casual category; and her good stuff really didn't fit her anymore. She'd gained more poundage over the summer and was now weighing in at one-sixty-five.

  You're a cow, she thought, looking in the mirror.

  She rarely looked in the mirror. What for? To check how she looked? She wasn't all that interested. Since the divorce she hadn't been able to dredge up much interest in anything besides her work. Certainly not much interest in men. Not after what Brian had put her through. Six years later it still hurt.