I started to answer, but he pulled his stringbean body upright on the couch. “I don’t need a conscience; I still remember which side of the fence I’m on,” he said scornfully.
“Blackhead, the only side of the fence you’re on is your own. You begged me to help you with what sounded like bullshit, then warned me off. Next thing I know, a group of punks add meat to the warning.” I waited to see his reaction.
He hunched his skinny shoulders, scratched at his beard, and said in an insulting tone, “I heard about the other night. You’re trying to pin that shit on me?”
“Just coincidence?”
“Not coincidence, asshole. Just nothing to do with me. You’re a stranger and people here don’t like strangers.” He smiled meanly, showing his ugly teeth. “You stop to think that maybe I warned you off for your own good? I was doing you a favor.”
I checked my irritation with a humorless grin. I started to rise and he shrank back in his seat. “Hey, there’s no reason to hurt me. I didn’t have nothin’ to do with the other night.”
I took a deep breath. Except for the instant when I would feel the crunch of his body against my fist, hitting him would not relieve my mounting tension. Coming here had been a mistake. It was only adding to the blind, jailed feeling pounding inside me. For the first time in hours I felt the gash in my arm ache. “You sure found out about it quick.”
“It’s a small world, isn’t it?”
“Maybe small enough to have something to do with your dealing.” “Man, what do drugs have to do with anything?”
“I think you pulled me into The End as some sort of bait. Then you cut a deal and needed to get rid of me. Was someone supposed to see us together at the Wagon Wheel?”
He shook his head. “Jesus, man, you are crazy.” “Smarter people than you have said the same thing.”
“Well, you ought to fucking listen. Drugs, drugs, drugs. How’d they let a paranoid get a license?”
I wasn’t about to tell him my homeboy Simon had bought it for me.
“Jesus,” Blackhead shook his head. “I suggested we meet at your house, asshole. I’ll tell you again—I wanted you to help me with that letter, then I changed my mind. That’s all. Christ, why don’t you go the fuck away!”
I could. And I should. But I didn’t. “Show me the letter.”
“I don’t have the goddamn letter. I threw it away.” He saw my look and added, “I didn’t start out to hire anyone.” His voice trailed off into a whine. “Why the fuck would I keep it? I don’t need stuff like that around my house. I worry enough about what I got to keep here.”
I bit the inside of my cheek in frustration. My head was banging and his nasal lamentations squeezed the breath out of me. Short of pummeling him half to death, I wasn’t going to learn the truth. The afternoon’s darkness had crept into the apartment and I had to get out. I really needed to breathe.
My alley’s gravel was still on my shoes when the telephone rang. I draped it with a dark blue towel, hoping the damn thing would fall asleep. I wandered to the couch and looked for something on TV. One quick scan and I knew I’d have better luck high.
Sort of. Donahue jerked his body around the audience in response to a panel extolling the virtues of open marriage. The show raised memories of my marriage to Megan, but hers had been the open half. Maybe that’s why I couldn’t really relate to its virtues.
The discussion didn’t help my mood. I turned off the tube, and flicked the radio on to the local call-in show. Here people complained bitterly about welfare recipients: there was no escaping The End.
Before I could sift through the day’s events and information, the phone blanket defected. “Boychick, is that you?”
I pitched the towel onto the chair. “Lou, how are you?”
“I’m fine, but what’s the matter with you? You sound like you’re just waking up.” There was a mixture of concern and disapproval in his voice.
“I’m not depressed, if that’s what you’re asking. I’ve been up all day working,” I said, unable to control my defensiveness.
Lou chuckled. “Doesn’t sound like malls.” “You’re right, it’s been mall-less in Gaza. A case.” “You want to talk about it?”
It was my turn to laugh. “Nah, it’s not going to amount to much.” “That’s what you said the last time, and you were dead wrong.”
“Not dead, wounded.”
“Sorry, Boychick, bad choice of words. How is the leg, anyway?” “Lets me know when it’s going to rain.”
“But you haven’t been going to the malls?”
“What’s with malls? You looking to buy at cost? Are you okay?” “You’ll see for yourself. I get in on Saturday.”
It didn’t take an accountant to figure he’d be here for at least a week. I mustered an enthusiastic, “Terrific. You want me to get you at the airport?”
“Don’t bother. I’ll cab over.” His voice dropped an octave. “You don’t sound like you’re expecting a good time?”
“Don’t be silly,” I lied through my guilt. “I’m looking forward to it.”
There was a strained silence on the other end; I could hear his familiar wheeze. “Okay, Matt. We’ll talk when I get there. Have you spoken to Mrs. Sullivan about a holiday meal?”
“She likes the idea.”
“Great. You take care and I’ll see you Saturday.”
I put the phone down and lit another joint. I hated this. I was used to feeling alienated, but being on the outs with both Lou and Boots was a new riff on an old song.
And now Jonathan Barrie had me walking on mental eggshells about Melanie. My jaunt into the past had given me nothing but bad dreams and a sore right arm. And my future had me staring at shopping malls and an overcrowded apartment.
Morning brought me a day closer to Lou’s arrival, but that didn’t explain the cement mixer disguised as my head. A glance at the steamer beside the bed did. I was in the grip of a next-day hash hurt. And barely enough hash left for another high.
I lit a cigarette and morning-coughed to the kitchen for coffee and a medicinal roach. I ducked into the alley for the newspaper, then sat at the table staring blankly at the sports pages. Lou was coming, Boots was going, and I was in a bad mood. Best to ignore it all with chemicals. But any more drugs would tear my head off.
I was dragged from my neurotic gridlock by the ringing of the telephone. I hesitated, worried it might be Lou, but answered it anyway.
“Is this Matthew Jacob?”
I felt my body warm at her husky voice. “This is Melanie, isn’t it?”
“You have a better memory than you led me to believe. Am I disturbing you?” Disturb? Try resuscitate. “Of course not. What can I do you for?”
“It’s been a shock to see you and we haven’t had much chance to visit.” Melanie paused, then her voice grew shy. “I wondered if we might get together.” She stopped again, then the words began to stream, “This is a little hard for me to do and…”
“Whoa, slow down.” I felt untied from my earlier immobilization. “I think it’s a fine idea. Where and when?”
“You don’t waste words, do you?” “I’m not a telephone freak.”
“Are you free this evening?” “Sure. Supper?”
“Why don’t you come to my place after dinner and we’ll have drinks?”
From the outhouse to the penthouse, and all I needed was to survive the day. “Sounds good. Where do you live?”
She told me and we rang off. As soon as I put the phone down I killed a rush of guilt. I hadn’t given Boots any trouble about her vacation with Hal, I sure wasn’t going to give myself trouble about going to The End to be with Melanie.
There was a difference in Boots’ feelings toward Hal and mine toward Mel; but I spent the rest of the day convincing myself I didn’t know what it was.
I did know it was a hell of a long rest of the day.
Anticipation rapidly faded to second thoughts when I pointed my body into the harsh and increasingly damp wi
nd. I reached the car, twisted into the front seat, and looked at the plastic stick-on dashboard clock. I had plenty of time before I was due at Melanie’s.
Time enough to change my mind. I conjured up Melanie’s teenage image, but it wasn’t enough to send me back into the wind. She’d been a kid twenty years ago; now she was a woman.
I considered calling with an excuse: I didn’t need more complication in my life. But I talked myself out of it with a mental promise to keep things light. To catch up on old times.
As I walked through her door Melanie’s eyes followed, but she didn’t speak until we were in her living room. “A drink?” she asked.
“Bourbon, straight, no ice.”
She made a face, but walked to an old-fashioned Hoosier and lifted the louvered door. I moved to a pale blue plastic recliner, circa ’63, surprised to notice three bulging moving cartons pushed haphazardly against an unadorned wall. Melanie poured two neat, left the bottle on the slate pull-out, and handed me mine on her way to the couch. “Going somewhere?” I asked.
She looked puzzled until I pointed toward the wall. “Oh no,” she said shaking her head. “I haven’t finished unpacking.”
I nodded, suddenly feeling like I’d dropped another ashtray. Mercifully, Mel came to the rescue, asking about the beating. By the time I got to the brown boot, a hot anger coursed through my body.
She commented, “At least it was something you’re familiar with.”
I felt my face stretch. “To tell the truth, you never get used to eating strange shoe polish.” “I didn’t mean that. I meant why,” she said.
“Sorry, I don’t follow.”
“You’re an outsider. You know what people in The End think of that.” She sounded almost bored. Maybe she was. Just a routine incident in a day seething with ugly. I didn’t have the same clinical distance.
It was nicotine time, but my cigarettes were in my jacket pocket. Melanie read my mind, flipped me her pack of Camels.
I worked the plastic lighter from the coffee table, lit two, handed her one. “I didn’t expect a Welcome Wagon when I came to The End, if that’s what you mean. But I didn’t expect a trashing either.”
“Jake.”
Given the reproach in her voice, it might be easier to keep it to old times than I’d thought. “Matt,” I corrected.
“Matt.” Melanie stood up, and went for refills. She brought the bottle to me, leaned forward, and poured. She wore a pale gray skirt and an open-necked white blouse. I was surprised by the emerald camisole under the blouse. My undershirt stuck to my chest as my breath quickened with her nearness. I was kidding myself about the trip down Memory Lane.
Melanie returned the bottle to the Hoosier and went back to the couch. “It’s no different now. You know what people in The End think of strangers. Especially the teenagers,” she said flatly.
I felt my anger dislodge the tension. “These weren’t hostile fourteen-year-olds!” I wanted Melanie to curse, not defend them. She shrugged slightly. “You’re lucky they didn’t know you were a private detective.”
“They were lucky this damn detective wasn’t carrying his .38.”
Her full lips opened slightly. I anticipated a shocked retort, but grew confused as the atmosphere went electric. It was almost a relief when she finally admonished, “What has happened to you? You’re talking about shooting children. I don’t remember you this way.”
“What way? These goons don’t qualify as children.” I caught my breath, the heat between us melting my anger. “I wouldn’t shoot them; that’s just my temper talking.”
I thought she looked disappointed but she quickly slam-dunked that fantasy. “You have to remember the context of these people’s lives. Violence occupies every inch of their world. It is their world. When you add violence to ‘us against them’ it makes for difficult situations.”
“Difficult? Spare me, Melanie, please. I recently donated blood to the cause and it still hurts.” Mel leaned deeper into the couch and crossed her bare legs. She removed her glasses, took a long sip of her drink. When she finally looked up, her eyes were friendly. “I sound like a lifelong social worker.” She shrugged, then smiled to take away the sting. “I am a lifelong social worker. If I’m not careful I’ll end up a Jonathan clone.”
I welcomed the change of topic. “I doubt it. He’s a nice guy, though. He asked around about the beating for me.” I wondered whether he’d mentioned my curiosity about Peter, but didn’t ask. The heat in the apartment was turned up high and I wanted to unbutton my shirt, but I didn’t do that either.
“I know.” She motioned for the cigarettes and I caught another flash of green as I passed them to her. She lit one and returned the pack.
“He’s very important to me.” Her eyes scanned the room. “Almost everything I have is due to him.” She took a long drag, and exhaled. “He saved my life.”
“I’ll bet you had something to do with it.”
She brought her eyes down to my face. “After my brother’s death I was lost and alone. I was headed for an institution, maybe even jail. I was gaining ten pounds at a clip and just didn’t give a damn. Jonathan taught me to care. To believe in myself and my abilities.”
Despite her words of appreciation, I thought there was an incongruous undertone of resentment. It made me uncomfortable. I pushed to my feet, and walked to the liquor cabinet. Melanie joined me, leaning her body into mine as she held out her glass.
“There haven’t been too many people important to me.” All the hardness was gone from her voice.
I felt a wave of excitement as I refilled her glass. I poured myself a double. My platonic intentions were heading south, or in this case north, as the distance closed between us. I placed my glass on the slate and lifted her chin until her lips were in reach. I kissed them gently. “You underestimate. Five minutes ago you were defending punks. Lots of people matter.”
She walked back to the couch. I didn’t know whether I was relieved or disappointed. I picked up my glass, settled back into the chair, chagrined to see her staring stony-faced.
“You kissed me like I was your sister.” “I never had a sister.”
“Don’t be flip.”
“Melanie, I’m not trying to wise-guy you, I’m confused. It’s been a really long time since I knew you and back then you were a kid.” I felt my face grow hot, reached for my glass, and took a long swallow.
She kicked off her flats, leaned forward, and challenged, “What exactly are you doing here?” “You invited me,” I said stupidly.
She shifted her body. “I mean with me. There’s something special between us that you pretend not to notice. You keep trying to place us, me, back in the past…”
I shrugged helplessly and stayed quiet. I didn’t want to drag us backward. Maybe Jonathan had spoken to her about my interest in Peter. I suddenly regretted not having any grass.
“Why did it take you twenty years to return?” she asked carefully.
I answered honestly. “I don’t know, Mel. The End was a complicated place for me. The parts of my life that included Megan became shit. It was easier to stay away”
“You never remarried?”
Her voice had grown quieter, her eyes curious. I was too far along to stop. “Yeah, I did,” I said tensely. “We had a kid, but they both died in an accident.”
She murmured something I didn’t hear, but I nodded anyway. I didn’t trust my voice and kept my eyes on the bulging cartons. Melanie got up, walked over to the wall, and turned down the rheostat. When she faced me again, the subdued light tinted her skin ivory. A rush of desire lashed itself to my anguish. I unbuttoned my shirt. She had refilled my glass, but now she took it from my hand and placed it on the table. She settled herself on my lap.
A picture of what she looked like twenty years earlier floated into my already crowded head; I blocked it and everything else from my mind, relaxing into the crook of her neck. She draped an arm around my shoulders, careful not to touch the bandage.
&nbs
p; “Was I complicated for you too?” Her voice was a whisper in my ear. I felt her shift slightly on my legs. My pelvis rose to meet her body.
“You’re complicated for me now.” My voice sounded like gravel.
Her mouth was on mine, lips soft but insistent. I felt her move off my lap, and opened my eyes. She was unbuttoning her blouse. Her lush body smoothed out any possible wrinkle in the camisole. I could see the emerald matching underpants before I closed my eyes. Her tongue licked both our lips and I heard a moan deep in her throat. She was tugging at my undershirt, so I leaned forward and pulled both shirts off my body. Before I could take a close look at her she pitched forward and pressed her upper body into mine. I felt the softness of her breasts and the tips of her nipples under the green satin.
As her hips twisted in my lap, I thought my shorts were going to strangle my cock. I broke our kiss; despite the dull ache in my arm I lifted her off. I stood, wrestled myself out of my clothes, and sat back down. She was standing directly before me and I stared as she slowly stripped the satin off her skin. An interior voice stabbed at my desire and my decision, but it was much too late to listen.
Her dark, almost purple, aureoles virtually covered the front of each full breast, their color contrasting dramatically with her golden complexion. Insanely, Megan’s face danced in my mind. Then the instant was gone, any transgressions ignored, and I pulled Melanie toward me. When her breasts were close I leaned forward and took one in my mouth. I could feel the nipple expand and, still seated, I put my hands on the smooth cheeks of her ass and pulled her closer.
I opened my eyes to her hand squeezing her other breast, massaging its nipple between thumb and forefinger. I moved to rise, her breast still in my mouth. But she pressed me back, signaling me to stay where I was. She pulled her breast out of my mouth and lifted herself up and onto my straining cock.
I looked at where our bodies met and saw her thin blonde hair glisten in the dim light. My erection, harder, was rubbing against tight, wet walls. I reached out, cupped her breast, and was rewarded with a contraction and a moan. Slowly, she slid up and down. I watched her thigh muscles tighten with her movements, caught glimpses of her wet lower lips as the base of my dick appeared, then slipped back up inside.
The Complete Matt Jacob Series Page 39