by Jack Ketchum
Matthew passed her in the hall standing in front of the elevator. He gave her a wave and a little smile which she returned. The smile for once was not dutiful. But it didn’t make him any happier to see it there.
He knew that just-fucked look from long experience.
Jesus jumping christ, Jim, he thought. What the hell are you doing? What the hell have you done?
TWENTY-THREE
Linda
Her father had gone crazy. It was the only explanation she could come up with. He’d gone clear fucking out of his mind. He broke the news to both of them, sitting them down in the living room. And it clearly wasn’t open to debate. Fuck that. She debated him anyway.
“For god’s sake, daddy! She’s only been dead a couple of months! How can you even think this? What the hell are people going to say?”
“Hey. You watch your language, young lady.”
“What am I going to say?”
“You can say whatever you want, Lin. There’s nothing improper here. Nothing to be ashamed of. It’s ridiculous for her to continue paying for that hotel room every week. It’s costing her a fortune. She’s an old friend and we’re giving her our spare bedroom, that’s all.”
“She’s an old lover, daddy. That’s a little bit different, isn’t it? An old lover staying in our house?”
“Lin, she’s staying. It’s a done deal. Okay?”
She looked to Jimmy. Jimmy was going to be no help at all. He just sat there twirling a baseball cap on his index finger.
“I don’t see how you can do this to me, daddy!”
She took the stairs two at a time and slammed the bedroom door. Damn him! He was going to pay for this. She didn’t know how yet but she’d make him pay.
TWENTY-FOUR
Dora
She was sleeping later and later and she thought it was because of the dreams. Her dreams had become so vivid she hated to abandon them. She’d had a psychoanalyst once who believed that dreams were reminders of something, big or small, that remained to be accomplished. Of something left unfinished. And she thought that he was right. It was as though she were working on something in her dreams. Only she didn’t know just what and she was loath to leave the puzzle for the reality of morning.
And now she’d fallen asleep by the pool in the afternoon sun with her vodka tonic gone warm and flat at her side. In her dream she was in her New York apartment sitting on the couch watching television with a dog she didn’t own and a cat she didn’t own sleeping on either side of her. The cat was a small tuxedo and the dog a golden.
When the front door opened the golden went on full alert. The cat opened its eyes and blinked and then slept on. A pale blonde woman in a red hooded sweatshirt stepped into the room. Who the hell are you? Dora said and the woman said sorry in a very small voice and turned back toward the door and Dora said it again, who the hell are you? which must have angered the intruder because when she turned again she was no longer a she—she was a large unshaven man with menace in his eyes who took one step toward her and that was when she woke. Grateful this time to leave the dream behind.
She needed a shower.
She climbed the stairs and on the landing heard laughter coming from Linda’s room. Male and female. Jim was at work. Jimmy had a playdate at a friend’s house.
Which left exactly who?
She opened the door. Jesus! Linda said and pulled her open blouse together but not before Dora had a chance to observe that her nipples were very fair. Rick shrugged his shirt back up over his shoulders
“Get out,” she said to him.
“Hey, Miz Welles…”
He was trying to apologize.
“I said get out, you little shit!”
And then they were both off the bed and on their feet in front of her, Rick backing away but Linda directly in her face.
“Who the fuck do you think you are, Dora?”
“I’ll talk to you later, you stupid, stupid little girl. I want him out of here!”
“You’re not my mother! Who the hell do you think you are?”
“Get out, dammit!”
He moved around her and out of the room as though she were a downed wire. And maybe at that moment she was.
“Rick? God damn you, Dora! Rick!”
She blocked the door.
“Button your blouse for god sakes. Have some decency. Have some pride.”
“How dare you?”
“How dare I? The only reason he’s even allowed in the house is because of me. And then you turn around and do this to me? Have you fucked him yet, Linda? Or were you just getting around to that.”
“What I do is none of your business. You are not my mother, Dora!”
“No. I’m not. Lucky you. You’re really very lucky that I’m not.”
And she didn’t know what the girl was seeing in her eyes but it must have been something because she backed off a little then and began to button her blouse. She felt her own anger subside. Or maybe it got submerged in a sudden sense of her own hypocrisy. Whenever the kids weren’t around she was sleeping with their father.
“ We are going to try to get along, you and I,” she said. “For your father’s sake and for Jimmy’s. Because I wouldn’t want anything to hurt them. Because that’s what I’m here for—to make sure that nothing happens to them.
“You really don’t understand, do you? You don’t realize, Lin, what can happen to you. When you let them. When you give and give and you wait for something back. And it never comes back. I don’t want boys or men to hurt you and they will unless you’re very strong. I can teach you. You are going to let me teach you. It’s nothing you ever wanted to know but it’s something you need to know. I only want to help you. And you’ll let me help you. Won’t you.”
“I…”
“Good.”
She felt much better now. She turned toward the door.
“There’s no need for any of what happened here to go beyond this room. Your father would be very upset. Very unhappy. Just don’t let it happen again. We’ll talk, you and I. In the meantime…”
She laughed.
“…if you need to feel hands on your breasts, use your own.”
TWENTY-FIVE
Linda
No way she could sleep.
She had never liked Dora but she had never been scared of her either. Now she had the feeling her father had involved them all with a total nutcase. Her words kept repeating over and over. Lucky you. You’re really very lucky that I’m not. And I can teach you. You are going to let me teach you. She had never seen anybody go really postal before. And what was that completely strange business about boys and when you let them. When you give and give…
Jesus! She needed to talk to her dad.
She was going to get into a world of hurt over letting Rick go as far as she had but she needed to talk to her dad so she got out of bed and padded down the hall to his room and at the threshold the horrible disgusting thought occurred to her that he might not be alone in there. That she might be with him.
But if that was the case she needed to see. And besides, she didn’t want to doubt her dad who said there was nothing going on between them so she turned the doorknob as quietly as she could and stepped into the room and in the dim light from the hall she could see that he was alone. He was snoring lightly. She didn’t know he snored. Her mom had never mentioned it.
“Dad?” she said.
He didn’t wake. And what was she going to say to him, anyway? That she couldn’t sleep because she suspected his ex-girlfriend was a fucking lunatic? He’d chalk it up to stress or the shock of her seeing them there like that or some damn thing and she’d still be busted bigtime over Rick. It was a no-win situation.
Maybe Beth and Suzie would know what to do. Bethie was smart as hell. She’d talk to them tomorrow.
At least she’d learned one thing. He wasn’t fucking her, thank god.
Not now anyway.
There was a light burning in Dora’s bedroom at the end
of the hall. She could see it under the door. She hadn’t noticed before because she was intent on her dad but it looked like Dora wasn’t getting a whole lot of sleep tonight either. Did she have her TV on? She heard a voice or voices.
It was scary as hell because she expected the door to come flying open any second but she tiptoed over anyway. It was only one voice. Only Dora’s. Like she was having a conversation but there was nobody there. She could make out some of the words. I could tell you…oh yes…what I could say…about boys…about daddies…
She backed away. Went to her own room and closed the door.
The woman was bent. Seriously bent.
TWENTY-SIX
Matthew
He hated doing this but somebody had to.
Lunch—Jim’s Caesar and his Waldorf—remained pretty much untouched but they were doing well with the second scotches.
“What I’m saying, old buddy, is that somebody’s not playing exactly straight here. I called every major dealer in L.A. and with one exception they never heard of her. The exception visited her shop a couple years ago in New York. Period. So what’s this ‘buying trip’ stuff all about?”
“Private dealers, maybe.”
“Private dealers maybe? Jesus, Jim, you used to wear a mind when you went out in the morning. How could she get to the private guys without the majors?”
He had no answer to that one. Just sipped his scotch. Matthew felt bad for him but he still needed to press his point.
“A s far as I can see the only people she knows in this town are you and me and your family. Us and some redneck over at Hugo’s maybe.”
“Redneck?”
“I saw her handing some guy an envelope or something over in their lot one night. They both seemed pretty pissed off at first and then she hands him this envelope. I dunno what in hell it was all about. Hey look, maybe I’m wrong. Maybe he’s a ‘private dealer,’ right? Antlers and antique gun racks. Big market for that kind of thing in New York City.”
“This guy. What’d he look like?”
“Like he had a pickup dating from 1967 with human bloodstains in the back. Big guy. Shaved head. Leather. Why?”
“Just wondering.”
But he wasn’t just wondering, Matt could tell. He’d hit some sort of nerve here. Clear as day. But he knew Jim Weybourne and the tone of voice told him he wasn’t about to discuss it further. He pushed back in his chair.
“Look,” Jim said, “I’m not real hungry. We’d better be getting back.”
“Okay, we’ll call for the check. You’ll think about it though, right? I mean, who is this woman anyway? She’s sure not the college kid you remember. I just feel you’re making a big mistake here, buddy.”
“Don’t worry, Matt. I will. I’ll think about it.”
TWENTY-SEVEN
Jim
He was getting no work done at all. Not a damn thing. He kept poring back over the details of that day in the lot. To hell with it he thought finally and pressed the call button on his desk.
“June? Put me through to a Barbara Tilldon at Welles’ Antiques on Madison Avenue in New York City. That’s right. T-I-L-L-D-O-N. Thanks.”
June was fast and efficient as always. He picked up the phone and asked his questions.
His foot was killing him today and between that and Dora he barely noticed Linda and Jimmy sitting on the couch in front of some cop show until she said hi daddy and knew she saw that something was wrong.
“Where’s Dora?” he said.
“Kitchen.”
“Do me a favor, will you? Take the show upstairs for a while.”
“Ahhh, dad…” Jimmy said.
But Linda got it, bless her.
“Come on, dweezle.”
She got up and clicked off the television and led Jimmy up the stairs and only glanced back at him once. Still the look was troubled. He walked to the dining room and put his briefcase down on the table and proceeded to the kitchen where she was stirring something that smelled of onions and potatoes and vinegar on the stove.
“Hi,” she said. “You’re early.”
“Turn if off, Dora.”
“What?”
“Turn off the stove.”
She frowned but did as he asked and put the slotted spoon down on the counter and turned to him.
“I want to know what the hell you’re doing here.”
“What do you mean, what am I doing here?”
She seemed genuinely flustered and confused.
“I called your partner today. Your ex-partner. She likes you very much and she’s very loyal. But she told me about your selling the business right away because she wondered if you were all right. She’s concerned because you haven’t cashed her check yet and she wondered why. She was also concerned when I asked her what items you’d sent back to her for the shop because she wasn’t expecting any. There were business trips and pleasure trips, she said.
“You lied to me. Matthew did some checking. There were no dealers. And no New York buyers.”
He waited. She said nothing and it was impossible to read her.
She moved past him into the dining room and sat down at the table. He followed.
“Why?” he said.
She wouldn’t even look at him. She only shook her head.
So that was how it was going to be.
“I want to know who the guy was in the parking lot, Dora.”
That got her attention.
“What?”
“You set it up, didn’t you? It was the night we slept together ‘for the first and last time ever,’ remember? You had me playing hero out there like a goddamn idiot. How hard was he supposed to hit me, anyway? I personally think he overdid it a little.”
“Jim…I only…I didn’t know how to…”
And he heard the rest of it clearly in his mind—how to get to you—and where he’d come home angry god knows now he wanted to beat the living shit out of this woman for playing him and all of them this way.
“And then jesus, Dora, Karen dies. And suddenly here you are all over me! All over us…like some leech, like some fucking mother hen! What the hell were you thinking? What is this? Carpe diem? And what the hell brought you out here in the first place? After all this time.”
She got up and started to move toward him around the table and there was clear misery in her face but he wasn’t going wherever she was, misery or no misery, not now.
“Jim, please…”
“No! You stay the hell away from me, Dora! Was it me? Did you came out here for me, Dora? I think you did.”
“No, it was work…a working vacation. I tripped over you in a restaurant, remember? It was just an accident.”
“Just dumb luck, huh? I don’t believe you. I think you’re happy Karen’s gone. I think you used it. I want you out of here, Dora. I want you out of here now.”
And she started toward him again anyway the arrogant conniving bitch until he saw her eyes shift to something behind him so he turned and there was Linda standing in the doorway, her eyes cold and hard staring straight into Dora’s. He had never seen his daughter like this but those eyes would have stopped a mad dog in his tracks. Dora folded.
“All right,” she said. “Okay.”
She walked past them into the living room, Linda not even stepping aside for her as she passed so that she lightly brushed his daughter’s shoulder. She scooped up her purse off the armchair and headed for the door and then she stopped and turned.
“Your dinner’s on the stove,” she said. “I hope you choke on it.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
Laura Foster, Greg Lambert, and Bob and Nellie Bates
She was beating him up the hill again and this time Greg thought okay, let her. On a bike Laura was literally hell on wheels from working out five times a week and while Greg was in pretty damn good shape himself his own sport was baseball and pitchers didn’t need the power in their legs that you did in, say, left field. Anyhow he liked to watch her tight little butt shift from l
eft to right and back again as those strong legs pumped away.
So far that butt was all she’d let him touch reaching back inside her shorts unless her breasts outside the shirt counted which he guessed they sort of did but they’d only been together a week now and he knew that would be changing soon. She’d pretty much promised him at Baadeker’s party. Let’s take our time she said and that was okay with him, he could wait. It was kind of fun to wait and build up to the thing a little at a time. He figured he loved her for sure and that the feeling was mutual. And she was already taking care of those pesky hard-ons.
Laura was a year older than Greg—a junior to his sophomore—and as his parents used to say about Greg’s big sister, she’d filled out nicely. Which, translated, meant she had a body to die for. She was a transplant from Tennessee and the minute he’d seen her walk into the cafeteria and then heard that incredible silky southern accent coming from the next table he’d fallen like petals off a flower. Then the next day when he reported for his waiter’s job at TJ Express there she was putting on her apron.
He figured it was meant to be.
She was distancing him by a couple of yards now though which was way too much even for him so he put on some speed.
Laura decided to give the poor guy a break and eased up a little.
Her mother had taught her that you don’t humiliate a man if you expect him to stick around and proved her point over and over again with her father who she certainly could have humiliated easily. Her mother read books and novels in the original French and her father read nothing heavier than the Wall Street Journal. Business excepted her mother could think circles around her dad. And she had all the inherent grace and style of a true southern lady while her father was often too hearty, too abrasive, with not a whole hell of a lot of social skills that Laura could see.
They fought like hell sometimes. But never in public.
Her mother wouldn’t dream of it. Her mother was a lady.
Laura was no lady. She intended to fuck Greg’s eyeballs out when the time was right but that didn’t mean the lesson was lost on her. Not at all. So she feigned a bit of fatigue and let him gain a bit. Not too much. Just enough to keep that pride of his intact. You had a man without pride her mother said, you had no man at all.