It came again, a little tug like a distant voice calling for her to come and play. If she took the pill, it would go away. It wouldn’t trouble her, she wouldn’t be sad anymore. Nor happy, either.
The feeling came again, bubbling up through sense and caution, something lighter than air that could not be suppressed. This time she thought of it as the first tentative pant of laughter of a schoolgirl trying not to giggle behind her hand. She wanted to laugh inside. She was just exploring the possibility, seeing if there was any interest in merriment in the rest of her. Dee knew that if she let it, the laughter would come full force. She would ring and peal and roar with laughter. And they wanted her to stifle it. Ash wanted her to, the doctors all wanted her to. But what did they know about it? They were gray, drab, dull people who had never known this kind of laughter. And they all wanted her to feel it, deep in their hypocritical hearts they did, because they loved it when she entertained them. They, too, were drawn up a bit by her levitation; she made the world better for all. And it was always her they expected to do it. Always Dee they waited on to infuse them with her energy and her enthusiasm. They never complained when she leaped to her feet to lead the dance. She was the dance, the music, the twirling lights, all the elements in herself. She always had been. Even when she was on their medicine she knew she was the life, not only of the party, but the world.
She continued to pause, pill suspended. The tickle inside her wanted so badly to expand.
And then she heard the boys. They were laughing out loud just as she was inside and the sound rang through the mall like bird song in the spring.
Dee turned and saw them, angel boys, cherubs taken straight from Italian frescoes and put in baseball caps and jeans.
Perfect boys. Young and funny and sweet. As jolted with energy as young cubs frisking outside the den, as innocent as seraphim.
Perhaps one of these wonderful boys was hers.
Dee put the pill back in her purse.
Ash knew there was trouble as soon as he saw the box of plastic gloves on her bedside table. He held them up and looked at her in wordless reproach.
“I have to handle wastes at work,” she said.
“You promised.”
“You don’t want me catching AIDS or hepatitis or something, do you?... Well, do you?”
“No.”
“All right then.” Dee took the box from his hand and shoved it into the night table drawer.
“You promised,” he repeated.
“I put them away. See? All gone.”
Ash continued to look at her reproachfully.
“Case closed,” she said. She dusted her hands and tried to look serious, but the merriment inside her could not be contained.
“You are such a worry wart,” she said, laughing now. “Haven’t I been good lately? Haven’t I?”
Ash watched her narrowly. She had been good for several days. But several days was not long enough.
“Haven’t I gone to work every day? Haven’t I? Yoo-hoo, Ash, I’m talking to you?... Haven’t I gone to work every day?”
“Yes,” said Ash.
“Haven’t I been sitting home with you when I wasn’t at work? Haven’t I?”
“Yes.”
She was moving ceaselessly around the room now. Ash stood in the middle and slowly pivoted to keep her in his view. She was not pacing, there was nothing frantic about her movements. Indeed, she seemed to have a purpose at all times, straightening the bed, adjusting the curtains, picking his socks from the floor and putting them into the laundry bag. But she never stopped moving.
“Well, then?” she demanded. She put her face close to his, grinning, shaking it in front of him. “We-ell?”
Ash looked down the front of her blouse. She caught him at it, of course. Dee waggled a finger at him, clasping a hand to her chest.
“Peeking? I am shocked. I am stunned. What kind of a man are you?”
Dee pulled the coverlet from the bed and held it in front of her. “What sort of a man am I locked in this room with?” she declaimed in mock horror. “A peeping Tom?... Or, gasp, worse?”
She tugged his arm, urging him to respond. Ash never understood what she wanted. He did not know the games.
“What sort of a man are you?” she cried.
“I don’t know,” Ash said.
She threw her forearm across her brow like a heroine in a melodrama.
“What shall become of me now? Who will save me? Who? Oh, will no one take care of me? Will no one protect me from this monster of lust?”
“I’ll protect you,” Ash said.
“No, Ash, you’re the villain. You can’t protect me.”
“Yes, I can. I always take good care of you.”
“Alas, trapped with a sex fiend who will have his way with me! I am at your mercy, sir, I must submit.”
“I’ll protect you, I will,” said Ash.
With a sigh. Dee dropped the coverlet and the game at the same time.
“Never mind. Ash,” she said. She sounded weary, but not angry.
“I’ll play,” said Ash. “I’m playing, I am playing.”
“Never mind.” She pulled the bedclothes taut with brisk efficiency, squaring the hospital corners the maid could not match.
There was something Ash was going to ask her that he had forgotten now. The confusion of her role-playing had driven it from his mind.
“Never mind,” Dee said, touching his arm. “It will come to you.”
Ash looked at her in wonder. How had she known he was trying to remember? As always, it gave him a creepy yet exciting feeling to know that she could see right inside his head.
Dee was at the door. “Come on, stud. It’s time for dinner before I go to work.”
“Can we have Chinese?” Ash asked.
“I don’t know if there’s a Chinese place there,” she said. “I didn’t notice.”
“There’s a Chinese,” Ash said.
“Are you sure?”
“I think,” Ash said. He wrinkled his brow in concentration. It was hard to tell one place from another since they moved so often.
“That’s close enough,” Dee said. “Bring the laundry. You’ll have time to do it before I have to leave for work.” Laundry was Ash’s chore. He enjoyed putting the quarters in the slots, he liked measuring out the soap. Dee said she couldn’t stand the sitting around and waiting, but Ash didn’t mind the waiting at all. It gave him a feeling of pride to bring home the laundry, still warm from the dryer, carefully folded as she had taught him, smelling fresh from the fabric softener sheet. Because of the special handling they required. Dee took her dresses to be cleaned and starched at the cleaners, but Ash took care of the clothes they wore every day.
With the laundry bag cradled on his lap. Ash settled in for the ride. Dee drove the same route every time so he could be sure to learn the way in case he should have to come home alone. She hadn’t made him walk home yet, which was good. But the appearance of the plastic gloves was bad. Ash remembered what he had forgotten. He was going to ask Dee if she had been taking her pills. She would probably get mad at him if he asked; she didn’t like being treated like a child. He didn’t want to ask her now, because she was singing. She sang better than the car radio, he thought. Such a high, sweet voice. She always sang softly, almost as if to herself, but the sound was so pure Ash could hear it no matter how far away she was. It made her face so peaceful. Sometimes she cried when she sang; tears would appear on her face, but her voice never quavered. Ash was never certain why she cried. The songs were so lovely. Lullabies, she called them. Songs you sing to babies, she said. Babies always made Dee weep; Ash never understood why.
Dee sang all the way to the mall. When they pulled to a stop in the parking garage, she continued to sing until she had finished the refrain, staring straight ahead as if she were still driving. She held the last note for a long time, not wanting to let it go because the melody and its comfort would be gone.
When she was finished, she turned
to Ash and smiled sweetly. Her cheeks were wet, but she looked gently happy.
She patted his face.
“Because you’re not a woman,” she said. “That’s why you don’t understand. Nobody loves like a mother.”
Still carrying the laundry bag because he had forgotten to put it down. Ash followed her into the mall.
Chapter 7
AS SOON AS BECKER PULLED off the Merritt Parkway and onto the road network leading into his home town of Clamden, he was aware of the police car behind him. Driving up the long, steep hill that led into the Clamden city limits, Becker accelerated slowly but steadily to see if the cruiser would keep pace. Convinced that he was being followed, Becker turned left at the crest of the mile-long hill, picking up speed as he crossed the intersection. Just before his view of the police car was blocked by the intervening buildings, Becker saw the flashing lights come on atop the cruiser.
Becker turned right at the first intersection, then left at the next. The police car loomed ever larger in his rearview mirror, closing the gap between them. The lights continued to flash, but there was as yet no siren. Becker turned right and then immediately into a driveway. When the police car raced past, Becker pulled out of the driveway and went back the way he had come, turning the corner and just glimpsing the taillights of the cruiser come on as the driver slammed on his brakes.
Around the corner and temporarily out of sight of the police car, Becker parked and got out. He was leaning on the hood of his car as the cruiser came rapidly around the corner and sped past him. Forty yards away the police car came to a stop and began to back up, very slowly, toward Becker.
When the police car came abreast of Becker, the cop leaned out his window.
“Cute,” he said.
“Thank you,” said Becker.
“Make me run back and forth, spinning my wheels like something in a cartoon. I’m a role model, you know.”
“I hadn’t heard,” said Becker.
“Lots of kids look up to me for clues on how to live their lives.”
“I wasn’t aware.”
“It doesn’t do for them to see me looking like a jerk. I’m the Chief of Police.”
The policeman got out of the car. He was a large man, tall and strongly built, but with muscles now sagging and fat beginning to fill out his face and abdomen.
“How many kids look to you as a role model?” Becker asked. “Just offhand. If you know.”
“Hundreds, maybe dozens. How about you?”
The policeman shifted his gun belt in a movement with which Becker was long familiar. The chief rode in the car with his bolstered automatic nestled between his legs for comfort. Once standing, he twitched it into place again, a motion that looked at times as if he were preparing for a fast draw.
“Kids run screaming when they see me,” said Becker.
“Funny reaction,” said the policeman. “Personally, I find you rather attractive.”
“I’ll try to work on that,” said Becker. “Nice driving, by the way.”
“I took a course in that,” the policeman said. “Taught by some sissy yob in the FBI.” He leaned against the hood next to Becker. “I can go around a corner on two wheels and do a three-sixty just like the guys in the movies. I have all the skills.”
“Which is why they made you chief, I imagine.”
“That and my detective talents.”
“Is that right? Good at sleuthing, too, are you?”
“Fucking A.” The cop placed his hand on the center of Becker’s hood. “This car has been driven recently, just for instance.”
“How can you tell?”
“He’s still sweating. I know something else.”
“Tell me everything you know. Tee. I’ve got five minutes.”
Thomas Terence Terhune, known to everyone as Tee, hitched at his belt again, pulling it up so that it fit tightly across his stomach. It would stay there until he inhaled again and then slip down to accommodate his paunch once more.
“I know that a young woman was in town looking for you a couple days ago. She was a seriously good-looking woman. Had a whole lot of body stuffed under her clothes.”
“Probably trying to hide it from your eagle eye.”
“She forgot my powers of detection. She had breasts and hips and other stuff.”
“Face?”
“Also a face, yes. What a softer guy would call a lovely face. But she was trying real hard not to let on that she was such a looker. Flashed a very heavy badge at me. But I wasn’t fooled.”
“Because you have a badge of your own.”
“I have a badge and a gun. I’ve got a car with lights on the roof. I have a radio on my belt.”
“You are the chief, after all.”
“Fucking A. So I wasn’t fooled by this girl’s badge. I still knew she was a very seriously attractive woman. Now why in hell would a good-looking woman be asking about the whereabouts of a guy like you? I wondered. Especially when she was looking square in the face of a guy like me.”
“Bad eyesight?”
“Or too good. I think she spotted the wedding ring right away.”
“You ought to remove it from your nose at times like that.”
“I’ll tell my wife you said that. Does Cindi know about this handsome babe who’s asking about you?”
“Cindi and I are divorced,” said Becker. “Just to remind you. You were my best man at the ceremony.”
Tee shrugged. “Nothing unusual there. I’m the best man wherever I go.”
“Because you’re the chief.”
“Fucking A ... She still asks about you,” Tee said, his tone now more serious.
“Who?”
“Cindi. She asks how you’re doing, like that.”
“You see her?”
“In the course of my appointed rounds ... She still cares about you, John.”
“I still care about her ... Is she—uh—okay?”
“No, she’s not seeing anybody,” Tee said. “Although I can’t imagine why. I don’t know if you ever noticed it during your marriage, John, but Cindi is one very fine female.”
“I was aware ... I was lucky to be with her. I didn’t deserve her.”
“This is true.”
“Unfortunately she finally realized it.”
“That’s not quite the way she tells it.”
“Even eyewitness accounts vary,” Becker said.
“You know why no one’s asking her out, don’t you?”
“They’ve all turned fashionably gay?” ,
“I’m serious, John.”
“Why?”
“They don’t ask her out because they’re afraid of you.”
“Bullshit.”
“It’s true.”
“Nobody in Clamden has any reason to be afraid of me. I’ve never hurt a soul here.”
“They hear the stories.”
“How do they hear the stories? I don’t tell them. Cindi doesn’t tell them.”
Tee held up his hands in innocence.
“Don’t look at me. Your past is private history as far as I’m concerned.”
“So how do they hear ‘the stories’?”
“I don’t know. Word gets around. Rumors are hard to stop.”
“Does Cindi think I’m trying to scare people off?”
Tee shrugged. “Not intentionally.”
Becker studied his feet. “Jesus Christ, Tee, are people really scared of me?”
“Not those who know you, John.”
“But others. Those who just hear about me? They think I’m—what—dangerous enough? Demented enough? Bloodthirsty enough to hurt them for trying to date my ex-wife? I’ve never hurt a soul except as part of my job.”
“I know that, John. Most people know that.”
“I live here, god damn it! I can’t have people being afraid of me!”
“I’m probably exaggerating it. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
“Start another rumor ...”
�
�I didn’t start this one.”
“Tell them I’m harmless. Tell them I’m a pussycat. Tell them I quit the FBI because I was afraid of the work ... That’s the truth, anyway.”
“You weren’t afraid of the work in the sense of being afraid of it, John. Give people a little credit; they’re not going to believe that.”
“I don’t want to be a monster in my own home town. Tee. Jesus.”
They were quiet for a moment, both men studying a teenaged boy who was mowing a lawn as if he held real interest for them. The boy glanced at them curiously.
“Do you suppose that youth with the mower is viewing me right this minute as a model and guide to his future?” Tee asked after a time.
“I don’t want anybody to be afraid of me, Tee. Honest to God, that’s terrible.”
“I’ll do what I can, all right?... It’ll pass.”
Becker shook his head sadly. It always surprised Tee that his friend, whose career was a thing of courageous awe to every law enforcement officer who knew about it, was so vulnerable to the opinions of others. Particularly the opinions of people he did not know. The man would flail through a case, stepping on the toes of everyone who got in his way in the pursuit of his prey, but in civilian life he would worry about offending the sensibilities of the local grocer. Tee didn’t pretend to understand him—he just liked him.
“I told the FBI woman you were proving your virility by jerking off on the side of a mountain,” Tee said finally. “Did I do right?”
“You are a police officer, sworn to tell the truth.”
“You didn’t tell me not to tell anyone. You just said you wanted to be alone to jerk off for a while.”
“It’s okay, Tee.”
“I noticed in the course of my sleuthing that this FBI woman did not wear a wedding ring, by the way. Unlike myself. But very much like your good self.”
“A second ago you were pushing Cindi on me. Now you want me to mate with an agent?”
“Somebody ought to. And masturbation is an ugly thing to see in a man your age.”
“You might stop watching.”
“Hey, I’m the chief.”
“And rank has its privileges,” Becker said.
“I know something else you don’t know,” Tee offered. “I suspect I’m about to. What?”
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