by Jack Ketchum
He’d considered what those breasts would be like without whatever she was wearing more than once. But he was a lawyer after all and she a paralegal and they both knew all about harassment suits and the workplace. He was pretty sure Betty had a crush on him. But still.
Maybe someday he’d find reason to fire her. But gently. It would have to be something that would sit well with her. Maybe some big client would bitterly complain. And then what could a guy do? My god, sorry Betty, but you know these big-money boys. They always get their way.
She was pretty good at her job, though. Be a shame to lose her. But you never could tell.
~ * ~
Peg watched her class do stretches on the field. The bleachers were hard on your butt but it was better than being out there.
Mrs. Jennings’ whistle shrilled. So loud that Dee Dee Hardcoff covered her ears. Peg hated that damn whistle — all of them did. The girls filed in across the track. Her teacher wore the high school colors. Green shorts, white blouse. She had no breasts at all to speak of and short stocky legs and walked like a man. Peggy wondered if she was gay. She was married but that didn’t mean a lot these days.
“Okay, eight laps, ladies.”
There went the whistle again. The girls seemed to heave a collective sigh and started in to trot. Mrs. Jennings saw her sitting there and walked over.
“Peg? Not feeling well again today?”
Well obviously, she wanted to say. She didn’t like the woman’s tone of voice at all. It was just this bit shy of sarcastic, just this bit shy of accusatory. But teachers didn’t have to give a shit about their tone of voice, did they.
“No. Not too well.”
“See your pass?”
She dug into her backpack for the note from the nurse’s office. Handed it over.
The woman seemed to study it forever — as though looking for flaws. Could the bitch even read? Did gym teachers have to pass basic English? She handed back the note and nodded and walked back to the field without a word.
Well that was nice, she thought, and fuck you very much.
~ * ~
Back behind the ticket booth Genevieve Raton was sharing Marlboros with Bill Fulmer. Fulmer taught shop. He was in his forties, married, with two kids, short and plump and balding. He knew his way around a lathe or circular saw and was without the slightest hint of the teacherly arrogance she saw in a lot of in the tenured staff here and Genevieve liked him a lot.
“So this is your spot, huh?” she said.
In the teachers’ lounge she’d said she was dying for a smoke. But smoking had been banned from the lounge twenty years ago as with everywhere else in or around the school. Usually she just left her pack in the glove compartment and suffered in silence until the bell rang and the day was over. But today Bill had said, come with me.
The ticket booth was perfect. The back door was the entrance directly to the gym. Nobody used it but the gym classes. Once they were out on the field you could only be seen from the parking lot. And during the school day nobody used that either.
“Been sneaking back here on my breaks for years now,” Fulmer said. “Smoke-free campus, my ass. All you have to do is police your butts.”
“You’re a genius, Bill. I think we’ll be running into one another more often from now on.”
He smiled and nodded. “Always glad of the company, Miss Raton.”
She glanced around the corner at the field. Saw Peggy Cleek sitting alone in the bleachers, her arms crossed over her lap, using her backpack for a pillow.
“You know Peggy Cleek, Bill? That girl over there?”
“Can’t say I do. Why?”
“There’s something going on with her. The last month or so she’s changed. A lot.”
“They do at that age, Genevieve. And fast.”
“I know. But this is…you know how they’re all dressing these days. The shorter the skirt the better, the skimpier and tighter the blouses and tees. Well, that’s how she was too. Now it’s all sweats and hoodies that are way too big for her. And don’t think the other kids aren’t noticing. They’re giving her funny looks. She’s a very pretty girl. She ought to be…”
“Flaunting it?”
“Yeah. Dammit. Flaunting it.”
They laughed.
“Did you, at her age, Genevieve? Flaunt it?”
He wasn’t coming on to her — he knew her better than that. He was teasing. She figured she could tease right back.
“I’d have made you pop your fucking zipper, William.”
~ * ~
Belle knew the IGA like the back of her hand and so did Darlin’ by now. She also knew that her daughter was bored to death with marketing and she had a window of about fifteen minutes before the whining started. She was too old to ride in the cart anymore and too young to leave on her own at home after Kindervale school — and Chris wouldn’t hear of hiring a sitter. So she paused only briefly over the cuts of pork loin and bottom round and otherwise moved them along through the aisles as quickly as possible.
Between the Arm & Hammer laundry detergent and the Lava soap she saw Vickie Silverman headed her way, smiling, her two year old Bennie’s legs jiggling out of the cart basket. She put on her own smile and reached for the Lava.
“Hi, Belle. Hi, Darlin’. And how are you two today?”
Vicki was a cheek-pincher. Darlin’ was well aware of that and kept her distance.
“We’re fine, Vic. And you?”
“All’s well here. We measured Bennie this morning and he’s grown another half inch! How about that. What do you think? Barbeque again soon?”
“I don’t see why not. Weather’s been perfect for it, hasn’t it?”
“Your place this time, maybe?”
Her voice said finally? Good God, she thought. That’s all I need. And aren’t you being a little forward volunteering me, Vicki? Even if we haven’t had guests over for barbecue in god knows how many years?
“Oh, I don’t know, the place is just such a darn mess.”
“With little ones around, how can it ever not be?”
“You’re right about that. But the big ones don’t help much either. I‘ve got to run, Vic. See you soon, okay?”
“Of course. See you soon.”
They moved their separate ways up and down the aisle.
Guests, she thought. Children. Running all over the place. The barn. The fruit cellar. That’ll be the day.
~ * ~
He handed Betty his notes out of the briefcase. He used his good hand.
“Okay,” he said. “Here are the basics of our agreement. All the figures and dates of payment spelled out for you. Standard purchase agreement form. When you’re finished, send ‘em over to Dean for signature along with the initial check. And send him a case of Dewar’s while you’re at it.”
Betty nodded but then just stood there a moment in front of his desk.
“Mr. Cleek? May I say something?”
“Of course, Betty. What is it?”
He wondered if she knew how cute she looked when her brow got all furrowed like that.
“It’s none of my business, really. But in this economy, are you sure you aren’t…”
“Overextending?”
He’d considered it. If some downturn in his stocks hit him big time or if somebody in his family got seriously ill he could be in a bit of trouble here. It was possible. Betty probably knew his finances better than Belle did, so he could understand her concern. But Dean’s asking price was ridiculously low.
Well, it had gotten ridiculously low after their little chat over lunch today.
“I’m sure, Betty. Don’t you worry. That’s a nice perfume by the way. New, is it?”
She was cute when she blushed too.
“You like it?”
“It’s very nice.”
“Thanks!”
It was then that she finally noticed the bandage. Hell it was a big bandage. She reached out for his hand.
“What in the lord’s name
did you do to yourself, Mr. Cleek?”
Her hands were very soft and smooth. Then she seemed to realize she’d committed a tiny little indiscretion here. She released him.
He held up his finger as though inspecting it.
“Got too close to a pretty-smelling lady and she just…”
He snapped his teeth together. Chomp.
Betty laughed, shook her head at him as if to say, you big kidder, you and turned to walk away.
Hide in plain sight, his father used to say.
Well, some things, anyway.
FOURTEEN
There were times Belle thought her daughter acted like a little puppy and this was one of them, Darlin’ standing right beside her hip, impatient as a puppy at feeding time while she whipped the cookie batter. She turned off the mixer and tilted back the beaters and then decided to tease her.
She unlocked the one of the beaters and tapped it on the bowl. Then ran a finger along one side. Tasted it. Mmmmmm, she said.
“Hey!”
“What?”
“Gimme some!”
“Now is that a nice way to ask?”
“Please, momma? I love you!”
“That’s much better.”
She leaned over and gave her a kiss on the cheek and handed her the beater. Darlin’ sat down and went to work.
“Can we make the little men?”
She pulled a cookie cutter out of the drawer. An elephant.
“This one?”
“No.”
A dinosaur next. “This one?”
“No.”
Then a bird. “How about this one?”
“Noooooooo!”
And finally the one she wanted all along. The gingerbread man. Even if they were vanilla cookies.
“Yes!”
Darlin’ fished the last of the cookie batter off the beater with the tip of her pinky.
“Do you think that animal lady will eat a little man?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know if she’s ever had a cookie before.”
“Why’s the lady here?”
“Papa’s helping her. You heard him.”
“Can I have the other one now?”
“Sure, honey.”
She tapped the second beater free of loose batter and handed it to her daughter. Conversation closed. She thought, well, that was easy.
~ * ~
In the morning the man has removed the broken bowl and what little the mice have left behind and hauled her upright again. There is very little slack but some. She works her wrists back and forth trying to loosen the bolts but they have remained solid and unyielding and she has been at this all day, so that her wrists are raw. She has tried steady pressure. She has tried sudden jerks. All she has attained are bleeding wrists. She accepts the pain and tries again.
She senses something and stops, listens. There is someone at the door. The sliver of afternoon sunlight at the bottom of the door flickers with movement. She scents the air.
It is not the man. The man wears a scent of flowers and musk. She stands silent and a moment passes. No one enters. Then she hears voices, the woman’s voice far away and angry — and then the boy’s voice, defensive, just outside the door.
She thinks she knows why he has been here.
~ * ~
“Brian! Young man? What do you think you’re doing!”
He turned to face his mom all hot and bothered standing on the porch with his sister.
“I was just trying to see if she was okay.”
“That what you want me to tell your father? Get over here. Right now.”
Hell, it was a disappointment anyhow. He’d gotten off the bus and made record time up the driveway to the fruit cellar but once he got there he found that the door was hung too true against its frame to provide a spot to see through. What he needed was a knothole or something. There wasn‘t one.
He stood up and snagged his shoulder-bag and trudged to the house.
His sister bit an arm off a headless cookie.
“Want a little man?”
She offered him one. His mother was still glowering at him with her arms folded across her chest like some guy in the military but his sister seemed pretty much oblivious to that. He took the cookie, placed it flat in the palm of his hand and gave it a karate chop with the other.
“Hey,” said Darlin’, “you’re supposed to eat the head first!”
“Not me. I chop ‘em. Thanks, sis.”
He walked past them through the screen door his mom held open for him and headed upstairs to his room.
Not a bad cookie. He bit off a leg and chewed.
~ * ~
They were headed home in the Escalade and as usual her father was on the cell phone.
“Hell, Dean, I hated to have to write a check that cost me a good neighbor but if someone had to, glad to be of service. Sure. Sure. Think nothing of it. I’d be happy to help you through one of those bottles but I’ve got a family thing at home tonight. ‘Nother time, right? Good man. Okay, I’ll be talking to you. See ya, Dean.”
He snapped the phone shut.
Her father looked very pleased with himself, she thought. She didn’t need to know why.
He reached into his coat pocket and took out a pack of Winstons and his lighter. Shook one free and lit up. Smoke drifted her way.
“Dad? Could you not? I mean, I don’t think it’s good…”
He shot her a look. But then hit the console button and rolled down the window and flicked the damn thing out. She’d won that one at least.
“Better?” he said.
“Better.”
~ * ~
When Brian saw them pull in he was off the porch before they got the car doors open, wearing his most ingratiating smile. Peg would see through it. Dad wouldn’t. And it was Dad he needed to please just in case his mother mentioned that fruit cellar shit.
As ever the past few years since he turned thirteen, Dad offered his hand. He looked to be in a real good mood. Excellent. They shook hands.
“Don’t forget the dogs,” he said to Peg. They were already barking.
“It’s Brian’s turn.”
She moved past them toward the porch. She didn’t look to be in a real good mood. Tough shit.
“Brian?”
“On it!” he said.
What he thought was, fucking dogs.
He walked to the barn and slid open the door and the dogs set to barking like he was some fucking ax murderer come to chop the shit out of them. The dogs didn’t like Brian any more than he liked them — they weren’t so nuts about his father either as a matter of fact. Particularly Agnes, the mother, who would get so worked up she’d take a nip out of George and Lily, born of her own litter. The other two dogs gave her plenty of personal space. Just like they were doing now. They just stood off together to one side of the cage, her on the other, in front of the doghouse, making one hell of a racket, barking and growling.
“Oh shut up, assholes!”
But they weren’t about to.
He was supposed to hose down the food bowls and the water bowls outside the cage but nobody was going to notice if he didn’t. So instead what he did was he grabbed the hose off its hook. They were afraid of that. They backed off a little when he opened the cage door. He pointed the nozzle at them like he was going to use it on them and they backed off further. He squirted some water into each of the water dishes and then picked up the food dishes and shut the cage door and filled them with kibble and brought them back inside.
He set down the dish in front of the doghouse and Agnes growled and then had the balls to actually snap at him. Once. He pointed the hose at her. For a moment they were eye to eye.
“You better cut that out, bitch,” he said. “You want the hose? You want the fuckin’ hose?”
She didn’t. The dog blinked and the fight went out of her eyes. The moment passed. He’d won again, he thought. He always won. Agnes went back to her own dish and started slobbering away. Brian bent down
low and peered inside the doghouse. This one he hardly ever saw. Probably scared of Agnes too.
“Where’s the baby?” he said. “Where’s the baby? She sleepin’?”
It was dark in there but he could just see the outline of her and saw the old checkered blanket move a bit. He could hear her panting.
He figured she’d either come out when he left to get her food or else she wouldn’t. Didn’t matter to him either way. He’d give it one last try though. He liked watching her eat.
“C’mon, girl. You gonna have some food, baby?”
He thought later that the low growl should have warned him off but it didn’t. So that when the lunge came and the teeth snapped just inches from his goddamn face he fell back onto his ass and scraped his hands against rough concrete and something else — something hard at first and then crumbling soft against his left palm.
Dogshit. Jeezus.
“You little son of a bitch!” he said.
He’d like to have beat the shit out of her. But he was pretty damn quick to get out of there instead.
~ * ~
Belle watched him get out of his dress shirt and slacks and handed him some cutoffs and a work shirt.
“Signed and sealed,” he said. “Not another resident within three miles now.”
“Well, you finally have your own little country, don’t you?”
She was remembering that slap last night. Still the sarcasm wasn’t like her. Not with him. But he didn’t seem to notice.
“My question is, can we really afford it, Chris?”
“Of course we can. Everything quiet around here today?
“I haven’t heard a thing.”
“You look in on her?”
“No. Why would I?”
He ignored that too. Slipped into his work shirt.
“Go down and boil some water for those buckets, Belle, okay? Let’s get to it.”
~ * ~
By the time Cleek got his shoes on and came downstairs she was already at the gas stove firing up two big chili-pots full of water. Darlin’ was at the kitchen table, a plate of cookies shaped like little men in front of her. She was messing with two of them — walking them around, making them jump, flip, zoom across the table. He considered telling her not to play with her food but decided to hell with it, let it go. Peg sat across from her reading a magazine. He could hear something tinny from her iPod. Which meant it was turned up loud.