Blind Side

by William Bayer

  "Nice Heidi! Good Heidi!" I patted the little monster on the head.

  "Good little girl! We're going to be friends. Aren't we? Aren't we, girl? Yes we are. Oh, yes we are!" I could hear Grace moving around upstairs, so I still had a little time to check around. I took off everything but my shorts and shoes, and then explored the cellar. There was just one other room, a cavernous space that contained the furnace and the washer-dryer. There was a window in this room, a typical cellar window, narrow but big enough to crawl through. I found a stepladder, set it in front of the window, mounted it and undid the latch. I tried the window. It opened easily. I undid the latches on the exterior screen, then closed the window, leaving it unlocked.

  I was back in the massage room in plenty of time. I could hear Grace beginning to descend the stairs. I quickly slipped out of my shoes, set them on the floor in front of Heidi, and then, while the dog began to sniff, hid my watch behind the barbells. When Grace walked in I was in my shorts playing with Heidi on my hands and knees.

  "What's going on?" she asked.

  I glanced up.

  "Getting friendly."

  Grace knelt to pat Heidi's head. She was barefoot, and had changed into a tank top and shorts. I could clearly see the tattoo on her ankle-entwined initials, K and G, identical with Kim's.

  I think it really hit me then. Of course I'd known that they'd been lovers from the moment I'd seen the photographs upstairs, so seeing the actual tattoo was merely confirmation. But there's something about a shared tattoo, an irreversible engraving upon the flesh, that far transcends a brief affair. to have been tattooed together, to decide to go through life bearing each other's initials, was not some kind of casual choice. It was serious commitment.

  Grace placed an Ella Fitzgerald record on the stereo, then motioned me onto the table. I mounted it, and when I was lying face down, she asked me how I liked to be massaged.

  "What are my choices?"

  "Light, medium or hard."

  "What's best?"

  "How about a taste of each?" she said. And then without nonsense she pulled down my shorts

  She was a talented masseuse; I doubt I've been in better hands. She began on my shoulders and neck, slowly worked her way down my back, kneading and chopping until she reached the soles of my feet, then turned me over and started up my legs.

  All this was done in time to Ella Fitzgerald singing scat, just about the sexiest vocal music I know. By the time she reached my thighs I was pretty excited. She flicked my hardening cock with her finger, then hoisted herself upon me and wiggled against me so the material of her shorts caressed my groin.

  "Hung, aren't we?" she asked, working me beneath her buttocks.

  "Well, I do like to think so," I said, gasping.

  "I like what you're doing … very much."

  "That's'the idea. For a massage like this, I usually charge forty bucks. Manual release is fifteen extra. If that's what you want I'll give it to you for free."

  That was not what I wanted. to get a hand job from Kim's old lover-the idea horrified me! But how to decline without hurting Grace's feelings? Quickly I thought of a way.

  "Tell you, Grace-I appreciate your offer, but that's really not what I want. The reason, if you're interested, is because I don't think it's what you want. So why don't we just keep it straight."

  She nodded.

  "Know something, Jim? You're a real nice guy." She lifted herself off me, then continued the massage. When she was finished, she motioned for me to pull on my shorts. Then, while I dressed, she lit a cigarette.

  "You're a lot more considerate than most of them, I can tell you. If more men were like you I might just change my preference." She laughed.

  "Well, I don't really mean that. I think I was born this way. I like girls far too much to ever want to switch to guys." Her eyes sparkled.

  "But then, who knows? I mean, sex is such a weird thing, isn't it? Yeah, I think it's just about the strangest weirdest thing there is.

  The air conditioning was finally working at the Devora; my room was now excessively chilled. I lay in bed, huddled under my grungy blanket, trying to come to grips with the day's experience.

  Following Grace, meeting her at the topless bar, seeing the picture of Kim-all that had been extraordinary. But the massage had been the strangest part of it, for a reason that was only clear to me in retrospect. Conscious that Grace's hands had also many times touched Kim, I felt that being massaged by her had somehow closed a circle. It was as if Kim and I were now linked through the medium of Grace, as if Kim herself had been with us in that cellar room.

  First thing the next morning, I went to a five-and-ten and purchased a cheap quartz watch. Then I drove to Grace's neighborhood and parked on a cross street a block from her house.

  I waited there until she drove by, let her go a block, then followed. I was particularly careful this time, since now she knew my car.

  When I saw her drive into the shopping mall, I turned and drove back to her house. I knew it would take her an hour to complete the Nautilus circuit, and it was likely she would drive on to work from there.

  But there was always the possibility she would return home first, so I gave myself forty-five minutes of safe time. If she came back unexpectedly or a suspicious neighbor called the police, I'd claim I was looking for my watch. A pretty thin story, but it would have to do. I was taking a chance, but it would be worth it if it led me to Kim.

  Deciding against a surreptitious approach, I drove aggressively into Grace's driveway, parked parallel to her door, went to it, tried it, shouted "Good morning" to the dog, then shrugged and walked aroun casually to the back.

  Here I removed the basement-window screen, pushed the window open, and, being careful of my Leica, crawled into the laundry room. I went to the workout room, retrieved my watch from behind the barbells, replaced it with the cheap dime-store watch I'd bought, then ascended to the ground floor.

  By this time Heidi was going bonkers. I greeted her and started to play.

  "Hi, Heidi! Remember me? I'm the nice man you met last night. Yes, Heidi! Yes, good girl! Yes! yes! yes!" I soon had her in bitch heaven, wasting five minutes of my forty-five. With Heidi at my heels, I bounded up the stairs and into Grace's bedroom, where I snatched the photograph off the dresser, removed it from its frame, took it to the window, then brought out my camera and took its picture. Then I sat down at the bedroom desk and began to make a search.

  it didn't take me long to find the two letters from Kim. they bore recent postmarks, and a Key West, Florida, post office box number as return address. I didn't stop to read them, just took them to the window, lay them down carefully in the light, and photographed them. Then I returned them to their envelopes, returned the envelopes to the proper drawer, returned the photograph to its frame on the dresser, and checked to make sure everything looked the way it had.

  I glanced at my watch. I was surprised: I'd used only fifteen minutes of my allotted time. So far so good. Now it was time to go. But downstairs in the laundry room I panicked.

  The window was too high. I couldn't climb out of it directly from the floor. Which meant I'd have to use the stepladder, which meant I'd have to leave it below the window, which meant that when Grace found the window,unlatched, she'd know someone had broken in.

  But why, I wondered, should I exit through the window, when I was now in a position to use the door? I'd noticed that Grace never bothered to double-lock-she just shut the door when she left.

  I pulled in the basement-window screen, latched it shut, shut the window and locked it too. I returned the stepladder to its rightful place, and then, followed closely by Heidi, went up to the main floor of the house. So easy. Just open the door and leave. Too easy, as it turned out, for when I opened the door, Heidi gave a shrill little bark, wagged her tail and scooted out.

  For a moment I stared after her, disbelieving this ridiculous turn of events ' Then, knowing I was now in very big trouble, I grabbed her leash off the coatrack,
and rushed outside myself.

  Heidi was squatting in the front yard taking an unexpected midmorning pee. When I came out, her eyes engaged with mine, and a cheerful expression lit up her hairy little face. I crept up on her, but she jumped away just before I could catch her. Then she squatted again, and eyed me cannily. She thought I wanted to play.

  "Come here, Heidi, damnit. Come here, goddamnit!"

  She peered at me strangely, confused by the displeasure in my voice.

  "Here, girl. Here, little girl . I urged and coaxed. She approached me warily, suspicious of my intentions. When she was close enough, I grabbed her by her collar and quickly attached her leash.

  Thank God! But when I looked back at the house, I was filled with new despair. The front door was shut. I was now locked out. When I looked down at Heidi, she cocked her head. Oh yes, she was,quite amused.

  I was worried. This was a lot worse than leaving the stepladder by the basement window. I'd been lucky with Grace, I'd found out where Kim was living, but now I'd bungled the job.

  "Locked out, are you, mister?" Dread ran through me as I turned. A woman, hands on her hips, was observing me from the porch next door. She wore a powder-blue terry-cloth robe, and her unruly hair was streaked with gray.

  "I sure am, ma'am," I said, smiling, trying to make light of the situation.

  "Grace is going to kill me for this."

  The woman made a kind of disgusted face, then pushed out her lips.

  "I know where she keeps the extra key."

  "You do?"

  "Seen her use it. It's in one of them potted plants by the door."

  "Oh, that's great," I said.

  "I was thinking I'd have to call a locksmith."

  "The big pot in the center. One with the ferns, I think."

  Heidi started yapping while I ran my hand through the topsoil around the ferns. Soon my fingers felt something smooth and metallic. I held the key up and turned back to the neighboring house.

  "Thank you, ma'am. Awfully grateful for your help." She stared at me, curious. Is this the point, I wondered, when she asks me who I am?

  "Poor little doggie," she said, shaking her head.

  "Cooped up all day long with the windows shut. Doesn't get nearly enough exercise. Not nearly enough." She stared at me for emphasis, then sniffed and withdrew into her house.

  I got Heidi safely stowed away, closed the door, returned the key to its hiding place, and got into my car. Then I hesitated. The neighbor woman would tell Grace about the incident, and as soon as she described me, Grace would know who the intruder was. Then Grace would look for me at the Devora, and then she'd find out my real name.

  That was something I couldn't risk, so I decided to take another chance. I mounted the neighboring porch and rang the bell. The woman appeared. We spoke through the screen door.

  "Sorry to bother you again, ma'am," I said.

  "I sure would appreciate it if you wouldn't tell Grace I locked myself out. "

  She shook her head.

  "Haven't spoken to the woman in six, seven years-not since she and my husband had the row. So don't worry, mister-I won't be talking to her, not just 'count of this. But I do feel sorry for that little tyke. It's a crime the way she leaves him all alone. Please come back again, if you can, and give the poor little thing a walk."

  "I sure will try," I promised.

  It was only while driving back to the Devora that I considered how one crime can lead to another, how a real criminal might have killed that woman just because she'd seen his face. But I wasn't a real criminal-I was just a guy searching for a girl. And now, thanks to some daring and ingenious housebreaking, I'd found out where that girl was.

  My plan was to check out of the Devora, then fly direct to Florida. But first I called my number in New York, and activated my answering machine.

  There was a message from the man with the threatening voice.

  "How you doing, pigshit?" he asked. Detective Scotto had also called; he wanted me to call him back. But the message that caused me to change my plans was the one from Aaron Greene: "Call me, boychik. Got your photographer." I immediately phoned him at his store.

  "Yeah, we found him, Geoffrey," Aaron said.

  "Sid Walzer, the Pentax repair man, recognized him from your composite. His name's Adam Rakoubian. 'Dirty Adam." Sleazeball, from what I hear."

  "Name sounds Armenian. What's sleazy about him?"

  "The way he operates. Approaches young women on the street, teenage, underage-he doesn't care. Claims he's this famous fashion photographer, then lays on the charm. 'Hey, gorgeous!" 'You're beautiful, sweetheart!" 'How 'bout you pose for me, darling?" That jerky line. But funny thing-about fifty percent of the time it actually works. He gets them up to his studio, and once up there they're dogmeat for his lens."

  "What does he do? Rape them?"

  "In a way, I guess, it is a kind of rape. He loosens them up, breaks them down, then talks them into taking off their clothes. Has them sign an airtight release, gives them fifteen, twenty bucks, then poses them cutie-pie style, split beaver, like that, claiming he'll get them a Playboy centerfold."

  "Lots of guys promise that."

  "Yeah, but at least they try. He doesn't. He sells the stuff direct to hard-core porn collectors."

  "Charming," I said.

  "Oh, he is, Geoffrey. Scum of your illustrious profession. Sid says he works out of a district studio, somewhere on West Seventeenth. So that's it. Hope it helps. Gotta go now. Come see us when you get back."

  After he hung up I called the airline and booked the next flight back to New York. Then, for a moment, I thought about phoning Scotto. But it was me, not the cops, who'd tracked Rakoubian down. And the matter of why he'd been surreptitiously photographing Kim and me was something I thought I'd do better settling with him myself.

  I had a couple of hours to spare before check-in time, so I drove downtown and went into the topless joint. The clients looked the same, the same two girls were dancing on the stage, and Grace, bare to the waist, greeted me with a smile from the bar.

  "Well, look who's here. Get you a beer?"

  I ordered one for each of us, then told her I was leaving in an hour.

  "Something wrong? Thought you were staying a couple days. "

  "Some nonsense at the home office," I said.

  "Have to go back and straighten it out."

  "So you thought you'd come by and have a final looksee at my tits?"

  "Sure, Grace. And yours are great. But I won't insult you by telling you to waste them on a man."

  "Don't worry, I won't."

  "I know you won't. You're your own woman. Look, I don't know you very well, but it feels like you're a friend. That's why I came-to tell you that, and also to say good-bye."

  She gazed hard at me then, as she had the day before. I wondered if she saw through my hypocrisy. But of course she had no inkling why I wanted to graciously terminate our relationship.

  "Well, thanks," she finally said, "that's pretty nice. I feel the same myself." She paused.

  "Guess this is it, huh? We probably won't see each other again. I shrugged.

  "Good luck, Jim."

  "Luck, Grace."

  Then I stepped back and took a picture of her, standing there topless behind the bar, looking butch and tough and in control, and also maybe a little lost and hurt.

  There was some kind of air inversion over New York. The city was covered by haze. It hung so heavy and low, I couldn't see anything while we circled for thirty minutes in a holding pattern, and the stewardesses strode the aisle pouting, and the pilot made lethargic comments that made me think we were never going to land.

  Finally we broke through and made our approach, and then we landed rough and after that everyone was irritable. We surged into the aisle, then stood restlessly like penned-up sheep, waiting for the door to open and grant us our release. The airport was like a madhouse. Many flights were delayed and thousands of people were milling about, sweating, conf
used, hauling baggage, asking dazed airline employees what was going on. I fought my way out to the ramp where a harassed dispatcher was calling up taxis and loading people in.

  The cab I got was a wreck, but I had no choice-it was either take it or go back to the end of the line. It was a bottom-of-the-barrel fleet job, dirty interior, split seats, no air conditioning and one of those plastic dividing screens that make you feel as if you're in a cell. When I asked the driver to turn the radio down, he pretended he couldn't hear. He took off like a rocket, but minutes out of La Guardia he ran into a massive traffic jam. Then, as I watched the meter tick, he inched his way through the fetid sulfurous air. Two hours and forty bucks later, he delivered me to the corner of Nassau and Ann, where the old wino, who made his summer residence there, waved to me as I paid the bastard off.

  No break-ins this time, no notes under my door, no further indications of lye attacks. The mutilated murals of Kim were just where I'd left them, there was another message from Scotto expressing annoyance that I hadn't returned his call, but nothing from the guy who'd threatened me. Perhaps he was waiting for my return.

  I pulled out my phone book and looked up the name Adam Rakoubian. Then I dialed his number and got his machine. Rakoubian's voice sounded slimy. He was out for the rest of the day, but he'd be back around ten, he said. I was invited to leave a message, but I declined. I had another idea.

  I ordered in some Chinese food, then went into my darkroom and quickly developed my Cleveland roll. By the time the food arrived I had made up prints of Kimberly's letters. And even though the prints were wet, I read them while I ate.

  The letters weren't long. In the first she thanked Grace for her support, and for wiring her money. It was off season in Key West, things were slow, but she'd found herself a waitressing job.

  "Should tide me over till things calm down up North," she wrote.

  The second letter was far more revealing:

  ". . . no remorse. Tried our best, but we were up against devils. Who could have predicted the way it turned out and that they'd do that to Shadow? God, I miss her! She took all the heat. As for the others-Adam's a skunk, with a yellow streak down his back. Knew that but didn't factor it in. And shouldn't have underestimated D. One day I'm going to stick it to him and Mrs. ZI You know me, Grace-you know I can hold a grudge. Have fantasies about that. Big bad fantasies. I'll get them both for what they did! I promise you. I will!