Slipstream

by Leslie Larson

  It wasn’t his imagination. She wanted him in the worst way.

  “Everything’s getting off to a late start this morning, I’m afraid,” she said, smoothing back her hair. “Danny had a bad night and we had a crisis in the kitchen. Raccoons got in and ransacked all the cupboards. Christina spent the whole morning cleaning it up. And I have to be at an appointment in a half hour.”

  She looked nervously around the room, as if something else might go haywire. Finally her eyes rested on Logan, who had risen from the couch and stood with his hands in his pockets, smiling. She smiled back. “And how are you?” she said, touching him on the shoulder. “Can I get you anything?”

  “I’m just fine.”

  Yep, she wanted it. Logan was used to it. All his life he’d been like that, catnip to the ladies. Despite all the speed he’d done, the time he’d spent inside, the week-long binges, he still had a fresh, boyish look. Maybe a few extra crinkles around the eyes and a crease or two down his cheeks, but that only added some spice. He’d never worked out a day in his life, but he had an athlete’s build: broad shoulders, full chest, narrow hips. He looked cuddly, ready for fun. Women wanted to dress him in something soft and hide him in their rooms. And this one, Sylvia Salvetti, was no exception. Logan could see it in her eyes. She was just itching to get him all squeaky clean and good-smelling in her sunk-in whirlpool tub. Then she wanted him to climb between her 600-thread-count sheets and really put it to her. Uh-huh. Which he wouldn’t mind doing, only it could get messy. Stay focused, he reminded himself. Eye on the prize.

  “Well, let’s go on up,” she said. “Danny will be wondering what happened to us.”

  Logan walked in the contrail of her perfume as she led him up the stairs. Something floral, jasmine or gardenia. He eyed her butt, which swayed from side to side as she took the steps. Skinny, but not bad.

  “I’m going to leave it to you,” she said, motioning to the open door of her husband’s bedroom when they reached the landing. “I’ve got to finish getting ready so I can get out of here.”

  “Sure, don’t worry,” Logan said. “We’ll be fine. I’ll see you tomorrow morning, then.”

  “Right. Do you have everything you need?”

  Logan remembered his empty gas tank. If he didn’t bring himself to ask now, he’d be in a fix. But how could he? It wouldn’t look good to admit he didn’t have five bucks to put gas in his car. But it wouldn’t look good not to show up at all, either, because he’d run out of gas. He’d be lucky if he even made it home. Sylvia watched him, waiting for him to answer. Friday, she paid him on Friday. Three more days.

  She glanced at his crotch. Real fast, but he caught it.

  “Everything’s fine,” he said. “Go ahead.”

  Salvetti’s head was turned toward the door when Logan walked in. His body was hidden under the blankets.

  “Good morning, how’re you doing?” Logan said.

  He was getting the hang of it. Pancake flipping, the guys at the residence hotel called it. Three or four of them did it for a living. They were the ones who’d turned Logan on to the job, who’d given him the name of the agency that had set him up with Salvetti and two others.

  Logan didn’t know why, but Salvetti couldn’t talk, at least not in a way you could understand. Maybe he got hit on the head in the accident, too. It wasn’t right to ask. Still, he made a sound that Logan understood as a greeting and nodded his head several times.

  “Okay, I read your horoscope this morning and it said a bath’s in the stars for you. We’re going to get you all spiffed up, put on some clean drawers, and sit you up. Your missus had to go out. Did she tell you that?”

  Salvetti’s dark eyes followed Logan as he got ready to take him into the bathroom. Talking made things easier, Logan had found. At first the whole job had freaked him out, dealing with these guys. It was so personal, touching their bodies and all, seeing to their needs. Then he got to know them better and he loosened up a little. Now he pretty much just let his mouth go on automatic pilot, and the time went fast. The pay was shit and he wouldn’t want to spend the rest of his life doing it, but right now it was better than nothing.

  “Okay, you know what? Today I’m just going to carry you in there. We’ll skip the wheelchair thing. I ate my Wheaties this morning and it’ll save a little time. That okay? You all right with that?”

  He pulled back the blankets and took off Salvetti’s pajamas, careful with his arms and legs, which had pulled up around his body like a baby’s. Salvetti kept his eyes on Logan’s face as he lifted him, as his body slumped limply against Logan’s chest. Logan wondered if Salvetti had his suspicions, if he thought Logan was already giving it to his wife. Or maybe the other guy was doing it, the guy who came at night and put Salvetti to bed. It was funny, but Logan felt jealous of him, even though he’d never met him. It occurred to Logan that Salvetti might not care if he was doing his wife, that he might even pay him to keep her happy. Wouldn’t that be a sweet gig?

  First the toilet routine, then the shower. “You’re the best, you know it?” Logan said as he wiped Salvetti’s ass. “This other guy I work for, he’s in a chair, too, you know. Can’t do much for himself. He’s always trying to get me to do other stuff. Mop his damn floor, go get groceries. I keep telling him that isn’t my job, but he keeps trying. He thinks I’m fucking around if I’m not working my ass off the whole time I’m there. Dude doesn’t even pay me himself, government does. Those are always the guys, you know? The ones who act like you’re the one leeching off the system. Know what I mean?”

  If he did, Salvetti couldn’t show it, since Logan had his head under his arm. He lifted him off the toilet and put him in the contraption they had in the shower. “Whereas you, you’re a real class act,” he said as he adjusted the temperature of the water. “This place, man. It’s really something. I come here and I feel like I’m in a museum. It’s so peaceful, and everything is really tasteful. I love the garden. That fountain is a killer. I told some of the guys where I’m staying about that and they just tripped. When I get some money, I’m going to remember that. I’m going to have a big fountain like yours because the sound of that water, you just can’t beat it. When I wake up at night, I want to hear it, spattering away out there. Man, I bet you have the best dreams in the world listening to that.”

  The last thing he washed was Salvetti’s face. It was funny, but of all the things Logan did, this was the hardest. It reminded him of when he was a kid, the smell of the Ivory soap and the warmth of the washcloth while his mother ran it tenderly over his nose and eyes, behind his ears, on the back of his neck. He felt her love. He’d never done it for his own kids, God knew why. Salvetti closed his eyes while Logan soaped up the rag, then gently bathed his face. It was the look in Salvetti’s eyes when he opened them. Trusting, like a kid.

  “That’s it, buddy,” Logan said. “You’re all set.”

  It had to be tough for a guy who was used to telling everyone what to do to be like this now, Logan thought as he dressed Salvetti in the clothes his wife had laid out for him. Or maybe not, maybe it was a relief. Logan set him in his chair, adjusted the straps, opened the curtains, put on his socks. He wondered about the cleaning woman, if she was still downstairs. Too bad Salvetti wasn’t holding the purse strings anymore, because it would have been pretty easy to hit him up for a little cash advance.

  “You take it easy now,” Logan said. Salvetti mumbled a thank-you. Logan closed the door and stood out on the landing, listening. There was no one else upstairs, he was sure of it. He leaned over the railing and saw that Christina had finished in the entryway.

  He didn’t need much. Just a few bucks. Just enough to fill his tank, to get him to his gigs until Friday, when he’d be home free. What good would it do him to lose his jobs, shitty as they were? If he took a few bucks now he could keep his jobs, so in a way it was preventing him from resorting to more drastic means later. There was bound to be something lying around somewhere.

  Sylvia’s r
oom was at the end of the hall. If he got caught, he could say that it seemed like Salvetti was trying to tell him to go in there and get something from her room. Logan walked quietly, swiftly, and knocked softly on the door. It was open a crack. He pushed it farther and peered inside. He’d never seen such a big bedroom. Huge windows, a sofa, even a round table in the middle of the room. The bed was a king, but the room was so big it didn’t seem to take up much space. Clothes tossed everywhere. A big TV on a cabinet, videos thrown around on the unmade bed. Little Sylvia wasn’t too tidy. Her smell wafted out, flowers in a rainstorm.

  On the bedside table an arsenal of little brown vials.

  Logan forgot about the cash. The drugs would bring a fair amount of money and be a little fun to boot. She was bound to have something good. He could take a few pills from each bottle, she’d never know. Which reminded him to check the bathroom. He could see it through a half-open door on the far side of the room. Marble walls, glass bricks, gleaming chrome. A mighty whirlpool, just like he’d thought.

  He wished he knew where Christina was. Walk away, he told himself. Just turn around and leave. But it was so easy, the pills sitting there. Just a few. The old excitement was back, irresistible. In and out, he told himself. With a quick detour to the bathroom.

  The plush carpet muffled his steps. Jesus! He couldn’t believe he was doing this! Still, only a few more steps. But if someone came in! Quick, just grab them and run. Eureka! He could see the labels: Vicodin, Nembutol, Percocet.

  He reached for them, and his phone rang. Logan almost jumped out of his skin. He panicked, fumbled in his pocket. Shit! He had to get out of there. He left the bottles, rushed to the door.

  Once he was on the landing, he came to his senses. Ludwig von! He laughed. What had he been thinking? He pulled Sylvia’s door closed and walked quickly back past Salvetti’s room. By the time he answered the phone, he was halfway down the stairs.

  “Hey, it works,” said his brother’s voice.

  Only then did Logan realize his heart was racing. He’d been so close, so close. “What works?” he said.

  “Star-69. You punch it and get the last person who called you.”

  “Oh yeah? I’ll have to remember that.”

  Logan reached the door. He hadn’t done it. Eyes still on the prize. Now he was overjoyed, thrilled. What a lucky, lucky break.

  “Listen, Logan. Sorry I couldn’t talk before. Things quieted down a little, so I have a minute. I wanted to tell you, they need a greeter tonight if you want the job. Just meet these bigwigs at their gate and drive them to their hotel. You up for it?”

  “You bet your ass, man. Can they pay me right away?”

  “Cash, baby. On the spot. I can tell you where to pick up the car.”

  “Wow,” Logan said with a laugh. “What do you know?”

  The wind had picked up when Logan stepped outside. The trees made a rushing sound. He folded the phone and put it in his pocket.

  Like the movies, he thought. Just like the fucking movies.

  5

  Inez Cullen stepped out onto her front porch, looked down the street for maybe the twentieth time that morning, and saw nothing. Just the wide black asphalt, the cars parked along the curb, the faded stucco of the crackerbox houses.

  The rep said she’d drop the shipment off before noon. Inez was all set up: she’d cleared off the dinner table, taken out the bags, organized the orders she had collected over the past two weeks, readied her stapler and pens. Minutes dragged by. The street was quiet. The only people home at this hour were old Mrs. Thompson, two houses down, who put bleach bottles on her lawn to keep the dogs away, and the loudmouth white girl on the corner who’d just had another baby. The later the rep came, the less time Inez would have to get out there and deliver before Vanessa got home from school.

  She shut the door and walked into the kitchen. She’d have to hurry with dinner once she got back, since Rudy liked it on the table as soon as he got home. She pressed her finger into the pound of ground chuck that was thawing on the counter. Still frozen. Delivery days always made her nervous. There was no way Rudy would find out, but she always worried. What if he got sick, came home unexpectedly, and found her like that, with everything spread out all over the place? Or while she was out, dropping off orders? Maybe she should put everything back until the shipment came. She gathered up the bags and orders and put them back in the cedar chest in Vanessa’s room.

  No use wasting time. Even though she’d cleaned the bathroom the day before, she went back and sprinkled cleanser in the sink and toilet. God helps those who help themselves, she thought as she scrubbed around the faucet and drain. Was that from the Bible, or just some saying? Ask and you will receive. The hot water handle leaked, weeping an orange stain down the side of the sink. Knock and the door will open. One of Vanessa’s long, shiny hairs caught in the sponge Inez was using. She pulled it loose and examined it closely: the little bead of root at one end, the miracle of its molecules strung together. She wondered about her daughter, what she was doing at this exact moment. She pictured her sitting in class, her hands folded on her desk, her legs crossed at the ankle, her thick hair pushed back with a headband, hanging in a curve across her back.

  She started on the toilet, scrubbing under the rim with the brush, plunging it in the water. God will not give you a heavier burden than you can bear. God has a plan for you. Turn your life over to God. Human will was a strong and devious thing. You always had to be on guard. She knew from experience, because her whole life she’d fought to have faith, to trust God, not to question His ways. But a part of her was always worrying, thinking, planning. Trying to figure things out. To decide what was best. What she should do. Show me your will, she prayed as she wiped the toilet seat with the sponge. Rudy never put it down when he was finished. Please light my path.

  She straightened the towels. The day she got married, as she was walking down the aisle, she’d had a vision. A voice had spoken to her, as plain as day. You’re making a mistake. But by then it was too late. She had thought she was doing God’s will, that it was His plan that she and Rudy should marry. She kept it to herself as long as she could, hoping things would change, but not long after their first anniversary, it had exploded out of her one night as she watched Rudy step into his pajamas, his pink foot pointed as it slipped through the cuff.

  “Rudy, something’s wrong. I’m not happy.”

  He had pulled his pajamas over his underwear, had snapped the elastic around his wide waist. She had looked at the ring of long hairs around his bellybutton, at his tender-looking nipples. She had thought she would get used to him, but instead he got stranger as time went on: the way he slept on the very edge of the bed, his back to her; the way he always wanted the same thing, a hamburger and French fries, for dinner; the formal way he talked to her, even now—as if they’d just met.

  “Happiness is overrated,” he had said. “That’s not what we’re here for.”

  Something got the better of her then. His lies, the way he had misled her. How he had promised her countless things, but instead it was just this: a falling-down house that wasn’t even theirs. The two tiny bedrooms. The kitchen with its scratched metal cupboards. The chewed-up linoleum and chipped counters, the dirt and mess left by all the people who’d come and gone, not caring. She wanted her own, something different. Better.

  “I made a mistake,” she said. “I want to leave.”

  She didn’t know what he would do. She sat still on the edge of the bed while he walked over to her, put his hands around her throat. His thumbs pressed on either side of her windpipe. She froze, keeping her eyes fastened on the hairs inside his nose. They moved as he panted, quivered like leaves in a breeze.

  “Don’t you ever, ever leave me,” he whispered close to her ear. “Don’t even think about it. And don’t you dare mention it, ever again.”

  Things got worse after that. Much worse. She felt Rudy’s hatred growing day by day and with it her fear, but also her determinat
ion. She prayed, asking for direction. That’s when her plan began to take shape. For every one who asks receives. And sure enough, God showed her. Because it was at the church that she met Clara Rice, who told her about Avon, who said she could get her own route and make her own money. Which she’d been saving for almost two years now in an envelope tucked beneath blankets at the bottom of the cedar chest. The one thing in the house that locked. God’s plan, not hers. All she had to do was wait, watch, listen. In the meantime, on the surface, everything went on as it had before. Like Rudy said, she never mentioned leaving him again.

  Where was that woman? Inez drifted back to the living room and lifted the curtain one more time. No one on the porch. No one on the street. The television gave her a milky stare, like an eye clouded with cataract. When she was little, she thought the people on the screen lived inside the television and watched her go about her business just as she watched them go about theirs. She crossed the room, turned the set on, and flipped through the channels. There was the courtroom show, where you could tell people were lying through their teeth. The talk show where people hit each other over the head with chairs. Inez paused. A woman with bangs plastered to her forehead in little curlicues was complaining that her mother-in-law barged into her house whenever she felt like it, without even knocking. Who Wants to Be a Millionaire?, The Young and the Restless. Then commercials, lots of commercials. Which meant that it must be almost noon. Clara Rice was late. The news came on; Beth Fong announced that a storm would hit late that night, details to follow. But just as she was ready to move to the next story, the screen went blank.

  Inez gave a puzzled frown. Static buzzed and a white bar rolled up the screen from the bottom to the top. A purple background flashed on. Inez’s scalp prickled. A line of type inched its way across the bottom of the screen. What was happening? Inez fiddled with the remote, trying to increase the volume, but there were no words, only a menacing electronic tone.