A Soft Barren Aftershock
Page 79
Jake wished to hell he knew where Jameson had trapped them. He’d be willing to pay almost anything for a regular supply of those pelts. What he could sell those coats for!
But he had only one coat now, and he wasn’t going to sell it. No way. This baby was going to be an exhibition piece. It was going to put Fell Furs on the map. He’d bring it to the next international show and blow the crowd away. The whole industry would be buzzing about That Coat. And Fell Furs would be known as the company with That Coat.
And God knew the company needed a boost. Business was down all over the industry. Jake couldn’t remember furs ever being discounted as deeply as they were now. The animal lovers were having a definite impact. Well, hell, he was an animal lover too. Didn’t he have a black lab at home?
But animal love stopped at the bottom line, bubby.
If he played it right, That Coat would turn things around for Fell Furs. But he needed the right model to strut it.
And he knew just who to call.
He sat in his office and dialed Shanna’s home number. Even though shed just moved, he didn’t have to look it up. He knew it by heart already. He should have. He’d dialed it enough times.
Shanna . . . a middle-level model he’d seen at a fur show two years ago. The shoulder-length black hair with the long bangs, the white skin and knockout cheekbones, onyx eyes that promised everything. And her body—Shanna had a figure that set her far apart from the other beanpoles in the field. Jake hadn’t been able to get her out of his mind since. He wanted her but it seemed like a lost cause. He always felt like some sort of warty frog next to her, and that was just how she treated him. He’d approached her countless times and each of those times he’d been rebuffed. He didn’t want to own her, he just wanted to be near her, to touch her once in a while. And who knew? Maybe he’d grow on her.
At least not he had a chance. That Coat would open the door. This time would be different. He could feel it.
Her voice, soft and inviting, came on the line after the third ring.
“Yes?”
“Shanna, it’s me. Jake Feldman.”
“Oh.” The drop in temperature within that single syllable spoke volumes. “What do you want, Jake?”
“I have a business proposition for you, Shanna.”
Her voice grew even cooler. “I’ve heard your propositions before. I’m not the least—”
“This is straight down the line business,” he said quickly. “I’ve got a coat for you. I want you to wear it at the international show next week.”
“I don’t know.” She seemed the tiniest bit hesitant now. “It’s been a while since I’ve done a fur show.”
“You’ll want to do them again when you see this coat. Believe me.”
Maybe some of his enthusiasm for the coat was coming over the phone. Jake sensed a barely detectable thaw in her voice.
“Well . . . call the agency.”
“I will. But I want you to see this coat first. You’ve got to see it.”
“Really, Jake—”
“You’ve got to see it. I’ll bring it right down.”
He hung up before she could tell him no and hurried out to the workroom. As soon as the last knot was tied in the last stitch he boxed That Coat and headed for the door.
“What kind of coat you buy, Mister?” someone said as soon as he stepped out onto the sidewalk.
Oh, shit. Animal lovers. A bunch of them holding signs, milling around outside his showroom.
Somebody shoved a placard in his face:
The only one who can wear a fur
coat gracefully and beautifully
is the animal to whom it belongs.
“How many harmless animals were trapped and beaten to death to make it?” said a guy with a beard. “How many electrocuted up the ass?”
“Fuck off!” Jake said. “You’re wearing leather shoes, aren’t you?”
The guy smiled, “Actually, I’m wearing sneakers, but even if they were leather it wouldn’t be for pure vanity. Cows are in the human food chain. Beavers, minks, and baby seals are not.”
“So what?”
“It’s one thing for animals to die to provide food—that’s the law of nature. It’s something entirely different to kill animals so you can steal their beauty by draping yourself with their skins. Animals shouldn’t suffer and die to feed human vanity.”
A chant began.
“Vanity! Vanity! Vanity . . .”
Jake flipped them all the bird and grabbed a cab downtown.
Such a beautiful girl living in a place like this, Jake thought as he entered the lobby of the converted TriBeCa warehouse where Shanna had just bought a condo. Probably paid a small fortune for it too. Just because it was considered a chic area of town.
At the “Elevator” sign he found himself facing a steel panel studded with rivets. Not sure of what to do, he tried a pull on the lever under the sign. With a clank the steel panel split horizontally, dividing into a pair of huge metal doors that opened vertically, the top one sliding upward, the bottom sinking. An old freight elevator. Inside he figured out how to get the contraption to work and rode the noisy open car up to the third level.
Stepping out on the third floor he found a door marked 3B straight ahead of him. That was Shanna’s. He knocked, heard footsteps approaching.
“Who’s there?” said a muffled voice from the other side. Shanna’s voice.
“It’s me, Jake. I brought the coat.”
“I told you to call the agency.”
Even through the door he could sense her annoyance. This wasn’t going well. He spotted the glass lens in the door and that gave him an idea.
“Look through your peephole, Shanna.”
He pulled That Coat from the box. The fur seemed to ripple against his hands as he lifted it. A few unused letting-out strips fell from the sleeve, landing in the box. They looked like furry caterpillars; a couple of them even seemed to move on their own. Strange. They shouldn’t have been in the coat. He shrugged it off. It didn’t matter. That Coat was all that mattered. And getting past Shanna’s door.
“Just take a gander at this coat. Try one peek at this beauty and then tell me you don’t want to take a closer look.”
He heard the peephole cover move on the other side. Ten seconds later, the door opened. Shanna stood there staring. He caught his breath at the sight of her. Even without makeup, wearing an old terry cloth robe, she was beautiful. But her wide eyes were oblivious to him. They were fixed on That Coat. She seemed to be in a trance.
“Jake, it’s . . . it’s beautiful. Can I . . .?”
As she reached for it, Jake dropped the fur back into its box and slid by her into the apartment.
“Try it on in here. The light’s better.”
She followed him into the huge, open, loftlike space that made up the great room of her condo. Too open for Jake’s tastes. Ceilings too high, not enough walls. And still not finished yet. The paperhangers were halfway through a bizarre mural on one wall; their ladders and tools were stacked by the door.
He turned and held That Coat open for her.
“Here, Shanna. I had it made in your size.”
She turned and slipped her arms into the sleeves. As Jake settled it over her shoulders he noticed a few of those leftover fur strips clinging to the coat. He plucked them off and bunched them into his palm to discard later. Then he stepped back to look at her. The fur had been breathtaking before, but Shanna enhanced its beauty. And vice versa. The two of them seemed made for each other. The effect brought tears to Jake’s eyes.
She glided over to a mirrored wall and did slow turns, again and again. Rapture glowed in her face. Finally she turned to him, eyes bright.
“You don’t have to call the agency,” she said. “I’ll call. I want to show this coat.”
Jake suddenly realized that he was in a much better bargaining position than he had ever imagined. Shanna no longer had the upper hand. He did. He decided to raise the stakes.
Her face showed concern for the first time since she’d laid eyes on the coat.
“A good chance’?” What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Well, there are other models who’re very interested. We have to give them a chance to audition.”
She wrapped the fur more tightly around her.
“I don’t want anyone else wearing this coat!”
“Well . . .”
Slowly Shanna pulled open the coat, untied the terry cloth robe beneath it, and pulled that open too. She wore nothing under the robe. Jake barely noticed her smile.
“Believe me,” she said in that honey voice, “this is the only audition you’ll need.”
Jake’s mouth was suddenly too dry to speak. He could not take his eyes off her breasts. He reached for the buttons on his own coat and found the fur strips in his right hand. As he went to throw them away, he felt them move, wiggling like furry worms. When he looked, they had wrapped themselves around his fingers.
Tranquillity seeped through him like fine red wine. It didn’t seem odd that the strips should move. Perfectly natural. Funny even.
Look. I’ve got fur rings.
He pulled at his coat and shirts until he was bare from the waist up. Then he realized he needed to be alone for a minute.
“Where’s your bathroom?”
“That door behind you.”
He needed something sharp. Why?
“Do you have a knife? A sharp one?” The words seemed to form on their own.
Her expression was quizzical, “I think so. The paperhangers were using razor blades—”
“That’ll be fine.” He went to the workbench and found the utility knife, then headed for the bathroom. “I’ll only be a minute. Wait for me in the bedroom.”
What am I doing?
In the bathroom he stood before the mirror with the utility knife gripped in the fur-wrapped fingers of his right hand. A sudden wave of cold shuddered through him. He felt half-frozen, trapped, afraid. Then he saw old Jameson’s whiskered face, huge in the mirror, saw his monstrous foot ram toward him. Jake gagged with the crushing pain in his throat, he was suffocating, God, he couldn’t breathe—!
And then just as suddenly he was fine again. Everything was all right. He pushed the upper corner of the utility blade through the skin at the top of his breastbone, just deep enough the pierce its full thickness through to the fatty layer beneath. Then he drew the blade straight down the length of his sternum. When he reached the top of his abdomen he angled the cut to the right, following the line of the bottom rib across his flank. He heard the tendons and ligaments in his shoulder joint creak and pop in protest as his hand extended the cut all the way around his waist to his back, but he felt no pain, not from the shoulder, not even from the gash that had begun to bleed so freely. Something within him was screaming in horror but it was far away. Everything was all right here. Everything was fine.
When he had extended the first cut all the way back to his spine he switched the blade to his left hand and made a similar cut from the front toward the left, meeting the first cut at the rear near the base of his spine. Then he made a circular cut around each shoulder—over the top and through the armpit. Then another all the way around his neck. When that was done, he gripped the edges on each side of the incision he had made over the breastbone and yanked. Amid sprays of red, the skin began to pull free of the underlying tissue.
Everything was all right . . . all right . . .
Jake kept tugging.
III
Where the hell is he?
Wrapped in the coat, Shanna stood before her bedroom mirror and waited for Jake.
She wasn’t looking forward to this. No way. The thought of that flabby white body flopping around on top of her made her a little ill, but she was going through with it. Nothing was going to keep her from wearing this fur.
She snuggled the coat closer about her but it kept falling away, almost as if it didn’t want to touch her. Silly thought.
She did a slow turn before the mirror.
Looking good, Shanna!
This was it. This was one of those moments you hear about when your whole future hinges on a single decision. Shanna knew what that decision had to be. Her career was stalled short of the top. She was making good money but she wanted more—she wanted her face recognized everywhere. And this coat was going to get her that recognition. A couple of international shows and she’d be known the world over as the girl in the fabulous fur. From then on she could write her own ticket.
In spite of her queasy stomach, Shanna allowed herself a sour smile. This wouldn’t be the first time she’d spread to get something she wanted. Jake Feldman had been leching after her for years; if letting him get his jollies on her a couple of times assured her of exclusive rights to model his coat, tonight might be the last time she ever had to spread for anyone like Jake Feldman.
What was he doing in the bathroom—papering it? She wished he’d get out of there and get this over with. Then she could—
She heard the bathroom door open, heard his footsteps in the great room. He was shuffling.
“In here, Jake!” she called.
Quickly she pulled free of the coat long enough to shed the robe, then slipped back into it and stretched out on the bed. She rolled onto her side and propped herself up on one elbow but the fur kept falling away from her. Well, that was okay too. She left it open, arranging the coat so that her best stuff was displayed to the max. She knew all the provocative poses. She’d done her share of nudie sessions to pay her bills between those early fashion assignments.
Outside the door the shuffling steps were drawing closer. What was he doing—walking around with his pants around his ankles?
“Hurry up, honey! I’m waiting for you!’
Let’s get this show on the road, you fat slob!
Suddenly she was cold, her leg hurt, she saw a boyish-faced giant looming over her with a raised club, saw it come crashing down on her head. As she began to scream she suddenly found herself back in her condo, sprawled on her bed with the fur.
Jake was shuffling through the door.
Shanna’s mind dimly registered that he was holding something, but her attention was immediately captured by the red. Jake was all red—dripping red—his pants, the skin of his arm, his bare—
Oh God it was blood! He was covered with blood! And his chest and upper abdomen—they were the bloodiest. Christ! The skin was gone! Gone! Like someone had ripped the hide off his upper torso.
“I. . .” His voice was hoarse. A croak. His eyes were wide and glazed as he shuffled toward her. “I made this vest for you.”
And then Shanna looked at what he held out to her, what drooped from his bloody fingers—fingers that seemed to be covered with fur.
It was indeed a vest. A white, blood-streaked, sleeveless vest. Between the streaks of blood she could see the wiry chest hairs straggling across the front . . . whorling around the nipples.
Shanna screamed and rolled off the bed, hugging the coat around her. She wished she could have pulled it over her head to hide the sight of him.
“It’s for you,” he said, continuing his shuffled toward her. “You can wear it under the coat . . .”
Whimpering in fear and revulsion, Shanna ran around the bed and dashed for the door. She ran across the great room and out into the hall. The elevator! She had to get away from that man, that thing who’d cut his skin into a—
The shuffling. He was coming!
She pressed the down button, pounded on it. Behind the steel door she heard the winches whir to life. The elevator was on its way. She turned and gagged as she saw Jake come though her apartment door and approach her, leaving a trail of red behind him, holding the bloody skin out as if expecting her to slip her arms through the openings.
A clank behind her. She turned, pulled the lever that
opened the heavy steel doors, and leaped inside. An upward push on the inner lever brought the outer doors down with a deafening clang, shutting out the sight of Jake and his hideous offering.
Clutching the coat around her bare body Shanna sank to her knees and began to sob.
God, what was happening here? Why had Jake cut his skin off like that? How had he done it?
“Shanna, please,” said the croaking voice from the other side of the doors. “I made it for you.”
And then the doors started to open! Before her eyes a horizontal slit was opening between the outer doors, and two bloody arms with fur-wrapped fingers were thrusting the loathsome vest toward her through the gap.
Shanna’s scream echoed up and down the open elevator shaft as she hit the Down button. The car lurched and started to sink.
Thank you, God!
But the third floor doors continued to open. As she passed the second floor and continued her descent, Shanna’s eyes were irresistibly drawn upward. Through the open ceiling of the car she watched the ever-widening gap, watched as the two protruding arms and the vest were joined by Jake’s head and upper torso.
“Shanna! It’s for you!”
The car stopped with a jolt. First floor. Shanna yanked up the safety grate and pulled the lever. Five seconds . . . five seconds and she’d be running for the street, for the cops. As the outer doors slowly parted, that voice echoed again through the elevator shaft.
“Shanna!”
She chanced one last look upward.
The third-floor doors had retracted to the floor and ceiling lines. Most of Jake’s torso seemed to be hanging over the edge.