The Demon

by The Demon

  Harry batted fifth in the lineup and as he waited along the sidelines he kept glancing, from the corner of his eye, at the woman behind the fence. She wasnt bad. Not bad at all. Nice pair of boobs and a nice round ass. And not a kid either. Probably a few years older than Harry, maybe around thirty. He wished they would hurry up and get their three outs so he could go back and see what was happening. Harry remained oblivious to the action of the game until he heard a loud roar and some cursing around him and he realized that the third man had struck out and it was time for them to go back in the field. He joyfully trotted out along the right-field line.

  Hi there, leaning against the fence and smiling at her.

  You werent gone very long, standing close to the fence, smiling.

  Yeah, well . - . actually, shrugging, his mouth opening in a broad smile, it was all planned so that I could get out here faster.

  Why would you want to do that?

  To see you. After—

  Hey, Harry, move over, eh? Comeon for kris sake.

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  Yeah, yeah, O.K. Dont go away now, and he sprinted over to right center, looking back in her direction, and continuing to look there from time to time during the inning.

  Steve was really inspired now and he put the Swensons down in a matter of minutes with three pop flies to the infield. The Caseys trotted noisily from the field and Harry trotted back to the fence.

  Why dont you come on in? You can sit on the bench over there.

  O, I dont think so. There are some things I have to do and—

  On a beautiful day like this? Come on, smiling gently, you can be our good-luck charm.

  Her smile opened into a happy chuckle. No one has ever called me that before.

  There, you see, it will—

  Hey, Harry, youre on deck. Comeon, eh? Get your ass over here.

  Yeah, yeah, Im coming. The gates right down there, trotting toward home plate and looking back in her direction and smiling as he noticed her walking toward the entrance. Steve poked Harry on the arm. Screw the broad, eh?

  If you insist.

  Comeon, knock it off, eh? Lets beat these bastards. I got twenty-five bucks riding on the game.

  Dont worry about it, slapping Steve on the back, we cant lose. I feel good.

  The first guy up struck out and as Harry walked toward the batters box he looked around and noticed a blonde head just barely visible over the top of the hedges along the path to the ball field. Harry felt nice and loose as he swung his bat and looked at the pitcher. He always did hit this guy pretty good and just stepped back as the first pitch sailed in high. He looked around before stepping back into the batters box and saw the woman as she turned the corner and entered the ball field. Both teams were yelling, and Harry stepped back in and ripped the next pitch to left center and only a great play by the center fielder held Harry to a double. Harry stood on

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  second base listening to the yelling from his teammates and friends and watched the woman as she pushed the stroller to the last bench on the right-field side, and sat. The next batter struck out, but the next man up got a hit to right center, not too deep, and Harry thrust his way around third and flew toward home as the ball reached the catcher and Harry slid around him, scraping his ankle on the concrete. The Caseys yelled and screamed and Harry hopped around, sucking air between his teeth and swinging the burning ankle back and forth, as his friends slapped him on the back. Harry sat on the bench as the next batter struck out, then trotted back onto the field, favoring his right foot. He waved at the blonde, and she smiled, as he took his position in right field.

  That inning Steve mowed them down again and when the Caseys left the field, Harry sat with the blonde. By the way, my name is Harry, smiling and leaning close to her.

  She smiled and told him her name was Louise, and this is my daughter, Sally, bending over and adjusting her hat to protect her from the sun.

  Harry showed her his scraped ankle and joked about it and they continued to chat until it was time for Harry to go back to the field, and as he raised himself from the bench he put his open hand on the inside of her thigh, just at the edge of her shorts, and exerted just the slightest of pressure with the palm of his hand and finger tips, and looked into her eyes for a brief second, then trotted off.

  Harry sat with her between innings, and when he got to the bench during the fifth inning, she told him she had to leave. He immediately got a hurt and forlorn look on his face. You cant leave now, youre our good-luck charm. You wouldnt want us to lose the game, would you?

  She smiled and looked him full in the face, her eyes closing slightly. My husband will be home in a few hours and there are some things I have to do.

  Harry returned her look and was about to speak when Steve yelled at him. Comeon, Harry, you lead off. Harry waved at Steve, O.K., O.K., then pressed his hand against her thigh

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  again, wait just a minute. Harry trotted over to the plate and stepped in the box and didn't move as three strikes went flying by. He dropped the bat and went back to the bench. Then you really have to go?

  Yes, I do. We/re going out tonight and there are some things I have to get done.

  Harry looked at her for a moment. Maybe I should walk you home.

  But what about your game?

  O, they dont need me. And anyway, the way Steves pitching that run we got will be enough.

  She shrugged slightly and smiled. Well, if you want to.

  Sure I do. Harry stood. You start and I/ll meet you by the gate. Louise started to leave, pushing the stroller, and Harry went over to Steve and told him he had to go.

  What do you mean you have to go? You cant leave now.

  Im sorry Steve, but I have to go. Theres something I got to do—and anyway, my leg is killing me.

  O, bullshit, you son of a bitch. There aint nothin wrong with your leg.

  Comeon Steve, get off my back, eh? Im tellin you I got to go.

  Yeah, you got to go. You know somethin Harry, youre a big prick. A first-class prick with ears.

  Lighten up Steve, its not—

  You know fuckin well right how much money we got on the game and you dont give a shit about blowin our dough just so you can sniff some broads crotch. Up yours, man!

  Im tellin you I have to go and thats all. It aint got nothing to do with no broad and I can hardly stand on this ankle. Im not—

  Aaaahhhh bullshit, waving at Harry with disgust and walking away. Your ass sucks wind. Hey Vinnie! VINNIE!

  Yeah?

  Comere.

  Harry started to limp away as the teams started to change places and Steve told Vinnie to play right field.

  Whats with Harry?

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  That son of a bitch? He/d take a fuckin murder rap for a piece of ass.

  Harry heard Steves remark, distantly but clearly, and twisted his glove violently as he limped as fast as possible from the field, pushing Steves words from his head by concentrating on Louise and the distance between himself, the teams and the hedge, trying to decrease the distance to the hedge by concentrating on it and bringing to the foremost part of his consciousness the fact that as soon as he got to the hedge there was a corner to turn and he would be out of sight of the teams, the game and Steve, and the noise from the game would soon be a dull din and everything about the game would be out of sight and behind him.

  Harry rushed around the hedge, bumping into it, a small branch brushing his face, and his limp subsided and his pace quickened as his ears filled with the sound of children playing and the traffic on the streets, and he saw Louise slowly walking along the path in front of him. He started trotting and quickly caught up with her.

  Your friend sounded angry.

  Who, Steve? Naw. He just likes to yell, is all. But I/ll tell you one thing, though.

  Whats that?

  I sure could go for a cup of coffee.

  She looked at him for a moment, then smiled. That shouldnt be any problem. I always keep a p
ot on the stove.

  Good, smiling and gently rubbing the back of her hand with the tips of his fingers. Where do you live?

  Seventh Avenue. Not too far.

  When they got to the corner, she stopped and told him the address and the apartment number. It might be best if we didnt go there together, if you waited a few minutes.

  He returned her smile and nodded. Sure. I understand.

  As Louise continued walking up the street, Harry walked to the left, up and around the block, to be sure he got there at least five minutes after her. Harry could not remember how many times he had done this, enjoying it more and more each

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  time: the anticipation, the expectation, the grinding excitement in his gut and that vague feeling of fear and apprehension that came from the unknown element that existed in each and every one of these situations, the fact that she might not live where she said she did, or the fact that the situation might be different than anticipated, and also the fact that perhaps her husband might be there waiting, or suddenly come home, and it might be all part of some weird joke. There were endless possibilities, but they had never happened, but the fact that they could and might added to the excitement. There was a buoyancy in his step as he walked along Seventh Avenue.

  Harry was going to a neighborhood movie that night with a couple of friends. After dinner he stretched out on his bed, waiting for it to be time to leave. He had a vague uneasiness in him that he could not understand or explain. It wasnt the food he had just eaten—he did not have an upset stomach or indigestion. Actually he did not know what he had. He just felt uneasy. And it could not have anything to do with whats-her-name—Lois—uh . . . Louise. That was as routine as the meal he just ate. She put the kid down for a nap and they went to bed, Harry declining the coffee, wanting to be sure to take care of business properly and to leave before there were any embarrassing encounters with her husband. And she was as good as any other broad—kind of frisky and hungry. As a matter of fact it was fairly long, and frantic enough, for an afternoon.

  No, it wasnt that. As a matter of fact there werent even any of those embarrassing scenes where the kid wakes up and comes stumbling into the room asking Mommy for a hug. Everything went smooth and simple. And he did not think it had anything to do with the game. There was no big deal about that. It was just another game, though he did wish he knew how it had turned out. He had thought, briefly, of calling someone and finding out, but he felt conspicuous somehow and he just could not get around to it. He could always

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  find out later . . . and anyway, he did not want to make a thing out of it. It really was not a big deal. And even if they did lose, it was not his fault. He had gotten his hit. You cant expect to get more than that off that guy. And anyway, it was more than most guys got. There really wasnt any reason for him to hang around and finish the game. O well, screw it. Whatevers wrong will go away. Go to the flicks and forget all about it.

  After the show they stopped in at Caseys to see what was happening. Harry had already learned that they had won the game, and because the second movie was an incredibly funny one, he was in a good mood. They joined the others and Harry slapped Steve on the back. I hear you clobbered the bums.

  One nothin aint exactly slaughterin them.

  Whats the difference, you beat them, didn't you?

  Yeah. No thanks to you.

  Come on Steve, dont start that again.

  If I wasnt the best softball pitcher in Brooklyn, we might not have won the game.

  Then what you bitchin about?

  Steve smiled at Harry and patted him on the back. I aint bitchin. I understand, Harry. A stiff dick aint got no conscience, right?—laughing—any port in a storm. But you know your trouble? Taking his hand off Harrys shoulder. Your trouble is you aint got no loyalty.

  What do you mean I aint got any loyalty?

  Just what I said. We/re all friends. Grown up together in the same neighborhood and all that shit, but you aint got no feelings about it.

  Get off it. I have as much loyalty as you or anyone else— Harry knew that was true. He thought about it many times, and he knew his feelings about his friends—and maybe more.

  Yeah, that may be, smiling, but you sure dont show it. You may be a brain, an all that, but youre a son of a bitch— Anyway, you going to buy one or be one?

  Harry smiled, tossed a bill on the bar and bought Steve a drink.

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  Harry liked his job and enjoyed his work. The corporation he worked for was just the right size for his needs and ambitions: large but not mammoth; large enough to offer unlimited opportunity for growth and advancement, yet not so huge as to swallow him up and leave just a number on an IBM card. And, too, because the corporation had such diversified interests, his job was never boring, but, rather, it was exciting and challenging, each new problem being different than the last.

  Harry joined the Lancet Corporation immediately upon graduating from Brooklyn College. He finished college on the GI bill, majoring in business administration, with a background in accounting, and when he was interviewed in his senior year by a representative of the Lancet Corporation, it was realized almost at once that they fulfilled a mutual need and so Harry reported for their Orientation Program the day after commencement.

  Harry was amiable and fit in very well with his work and his fellow employees on all levels, and was liked by those who worked with him. He advanced rapidly in the couple of years he had been with the firm and was definitely one of the more promising junior executives. One of the first things Harry did upon completion of the Lancet Corporation's Orientation Program was to enroll in a night school and study economics. He thought that it would not only help him in his work, but would make a good impression on those he had to impress, and he was correct in both instances.

  The future looked bright, and the path smooth, and Harry White would reflect on these things occasionally, and briefly, not with a sense of gratitude or humility, but with a sense of impatience, wanting the promotions and the money, property and prestige now.

  By the time Harry graduated from Brooklyn College he was just barely getting enough sleep to get by, not because he had to spend an extraordinarily long time studying, but be-

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  cause of his love life, which was extremely active. When he first started working at Lancet Corporation, he went on the wagon, so to speak, as he did when he first started college, but as time passed and he became more comfortable and more secure, and the novelty wore off, he gradually drifted back to being Harry the Lover. But other than coming in occasionally on Monday with eyes a little red and hazy, his "outside interests" did not create any problems for him. And he always kept a bottle of eye drops in his desk drawer and would occasionally, and offhandedly, tell his fellow employees about a congenital eye condition he had that was responsible for his eyes' redness at times. He did not really wonder if anyone believed him, but it made him feel good to tell the story anyway.

  Harry had been on his good behavior for a year or so, confining his amorous activities to the weekends, when he started finding himself being distracted at work. Not by the women in the office, but by a disquieting feeling within, and he found himself looking up at the clock earlier and earlier in the day, waiting for five o'clock, a tension building up in his body. Then his weekends gradually extended themselves into Monday, then started on Friday, and inevitably it was no longer possible to confine his activities to particular evenings, but he was forced to follow his inner urge.

  Eventually this urge led Harry to eating his lunch as rapidly as possible and then walking around the streets. He never associated this new habit with the antsy feelings he would get occasionally, or even considered that it had become a habit. It was simply something he liked to do, especially during the nice weather, and he was unaware that he inevitably would stroll behind this broad or that one until it was time to go back to the office.

  Soon Harry stopped eating in the coffee shop in the b
uilding and called down ahead of time and ordered a sandwich to go, and then picked it up and walked over to Central Park and sat by the lake and ate his lunch. It certainly was far more relaxing than standing on line in the crowded restaurant and then

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  gulping down a sandwich with all the noise and smoke, and so he strolled the few blocks to the park and watched the ducks ripple the reflections of the skyscrapers.

  Harry dearly loved the first warm days of spring when the heavy coats could be left at home and only a sweater or light jacket need be worn. And the colors! O, yes, Harry loved the colors of spring. Not so much the trees and flowers, though Harry did like to look at them, and the birds too, but Harry never was exactly what is referred to as a "nature lover," though he was quick to emphasize that he did love natural things . . . au naturel. The springtime colors that Harry loved were the colors of the womens dresses as they bounced along the street unemcumbered or hidden by the heavy winter garments, their legs curved down to their ankles, their filmy dresses clinging to the roundness of their flesh, their eyes shining and faces flushed with a smile as the breeze fluffed their hair and pressed their dress against the soft, gentle slope of their tummy and the inside of their thighs as they met at the mound of Venus. Aaaaahhhhh, springtime, springtime, when the earth and all thereon are reborn and a young mans fancy lightly turns.

  And today was as fine a spring day as ever any man could wish to see. There was a blue sky, a cloud or two, birds winging and swooping their way across the lake and through the trees, and a lovely young lady sitting on a bench just a few feet from the lake. Harry finished his lunch, dropped the paper, etc., into a litter can and walked to the edge of the lake directly in front of the young lady. He twirled the water with his fingers for a moment, then slowly turned and looked at her crossed legs, concentrating on the area where the leg flows into the roundness of the ass. He was as open about his staring, and the direction, as possible, and after a few moments she uncrossed her legs, not looking at him directly, and smoothed down her skirt, which reached almost halfway to her knees. Harry continued to stare until she fidgeted, and then he arose and walked over to the bench, smiling widely and warmly, and staring into her eves. He had read somewhere that Wyatt