Cuts (14 page)

TWENTY-FIVE

CLEANLINESS

Albert tossed the bloody shower curtain into the bathtub, then stepped into the tub himself, being careful not to tread on
Tess. Squatting over her chest, he turned on the faucets. The water rushed out of the tap, straight down onto Tess’s face.
It pounded her nose, ran over her open eyes and flooded her open mouth.

When the water felt hot enough, he raised the metal knob to start the shower. The spray came out cold. But the cold only lasted
a moment.

Albert stood up, lifted the shower curtain and shook it open. The water smacked it with hollow, popping sounds. Holding the
curtain overhead, he stared through its frosted plastic and watched the bloodymess slide down its other side.

When it looked clean enough, he stepped over Tess—and on her—and struggled to hang the curtain on the shower rod.

He was nearly done when one of his feet slipped. He sat down hard on her belly.

“Sorry about that, sweetie,” he said.

Still sitting on her, he reached for the shampoo. Then he stood up and washed his hair.

“A person can’t be
too
clean,” he told her. “You know what they say about cleanliness.”

When he was done with his hair, he soaped himself all over, then rinsed and climbed from the tub.

He stood dripping on the wet tile floor and stared at Tess through the steam. Her skin looked pale and slippery.

He gazed at the stab wounds.

With hot water still pelting down from the shower nozzle, he climbed again into the tub.

TWENTY-SIX

RECONCILIATION

Janet sat up, aching from the night on Mosby’s couch. Her neck hurt most. She rolled her head to stretch her neck muscles,
but it didn’t help. In the bathroom, she found a bottle of aspirin. She cupped water from the faucet with her hand and swallowed
three tablets.

Then she looked at herself in the mirror. Her hair was tangled. One side of her face was red and creased from the pillow’s
corduroy fabric. Though she’d buttoned her blouse after Mosby left, she hadn’t fastened her bra; its cups hung beneath her
armpits like small, wadded handkerchiefs.

“A vision of delight,” she muttered.

She opened her blouse, pulled her bra together and fastened it. Buttoning up, she returned to the living room. She stared
at the telephone.

Get it over with, she told herself.

Her stomach hurt. Her hand trembled as she picked up the phone and dialed. As she listened to the quiet ringing, she wanted
to hang up.

It’ll never get any easier, she told herself.

Anyway, maybe there’s a logical explanation.

Sure
.

Her heart gave a lurch as she heard someone pick up the phone.

“Hello?” Meg’s voice.

“Hi. It’s me.”

“Oh.”

“You sound disappointed.”

“That isn’t disappointment, hon, that’s guilt. I feel like shit warmed over. Will you ever forgive me?”

“Hey, it’s all right. Not much to forgive.”

“Are you kidding? Where are you, at Mosby’s?”

“Yeah.”

“Come on back here, okay?”

“Dave isn’t still there, is he?”

“You’ve gotta be kidding.”

“He isn’t, is he?”

“No. Definitely not. It’s safe to come back.”

“Well, I’m not too sure how to get there, though. I haven’t seen my host this morning. For all I know, he might be gone.”

“You mean you didn’t wake up in his manly arms?”

“Not exactly. I slept on his couch.”

“Then check the bathroom. He probably slit his throat.”

“Thanks.”

“You want me to pick you up?”

“If you don’t mind.”

“No problem. Where are you?”

Janet glanced at several magazines on the coffee table until she found one with an address sticker. She read the address to
Meg. “Do you know where that is?”

“Pretty much. Shouldn’t be more than ten minutes from here.”

“I’ll be waiting out front.”

After hanging up, she went to Mosby’s bedroom door and knocked. “Mose? Are you awake?”

“I’m awake,” he said as if he hated to admit it.

“I’ll be leaving in a couple of minutes. Meg’s coming over to pick me up.”

There was a long silence.

“Aren’t you coming out to say good-bye?” Janet asked.

“Good-bye.”

“Aw, Mosby, don’t…Are you decent?”

“You know better than that.”

“I’m coming in.”

“Why?”

“I want to. Here I come.” She opened the door.

Mosby was sitting up in bed. His hair was mussed. His pajama shirt was white with red stripes. Its sleeves were too short.

His clothes from last night were piled on a straight chair. Janet went to the chair, picked them up and tossed them onto the
foot of his bed. Then she dragged the chair over to the bed and sat down on it. “I’m sorry about what happened,” she said.
“Or what
didn’t
happen.”

“Like what?”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t…go along with you. And don’t say ‘better late than never.’ It has to be never, Mose. The next time
I sleep with a guy, it’s going to be for keeps. If that’s possible. I shouldn’t have let things go as far as they did last
night. It wasn’t fair to you.”

“It was my fault,” he said.

“No. No, you just did what most guys would do.”

“Guys with the sensitivity of an ape.”

“Maybe you’re
too
sensitive. After all, you seemed to know I was feeling awfully horny last night. I sure came close to sleeping with you.”

“Not close enough.”

She smiled. “Anyway, I’m sorry.”

“Not half as sorry as I am.”

“Don’t bet on it.”

“Will I ever see you again?” He suddenly looked like a boy fighting off tears.

“Give me a call in a couple of days. We’ll have you over for dinner.”

“Well,” Meg said, and pulled away from the curb. With her index finger, she scratched the side of her nose. “I certainly made
a spectacle of myself, didn’t I? Like the lens grinder who fell into his machine.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Janet said.

“Do you know what he did? Dave? Do you know what…?” She sniffed and turned toward Janet. Her pouchy lips hung open.
Her nostrils were red, her skin blotchy in the sunlight. Janet was thankful for the sunglasses hiding Meg’s eyes. “He…I knew he was only using me, using me to get at you, but I didn’t care. I really didn’t care. Do you want to know something?”

“I don’t know,” Janet said, and looked out the window. “Probably not.”

“He…this is really something. He took me from behind. Rear entry? That’s what they call it in the sex manuals, rear
entry. The way dogs do it.” She made a strange squeak that was neither a laugh nor quite a whimper. “The way you do it when
the
girl’s
a dog.”

“For God’s sake, Meg.”

“He did it that way so he wouldn’t have to look at my ugly puss. Isn’t that a laugh?”

“No, it’s not.” Janet’s throat felt tight. She swallowed, but it didn’t help much.

“You want to hear another laugh?”

“Not really.”

Meg’s thick lips were trembling. Her cheeks were streaked with tears. “This’ll really get you.”

“No.” Janet found herself starting to cry.

“I loved every second of it. Yeah, I really did. Every damn second. I knew he was only doing it to get at
you
, and I knew he found me repulsive, but I loved it. I really did. Have you got any idea how long it’s been since…? Do
you know what I do sometimes…sometimes when I get tired of lying in bed alone and…?”

“Meg, come on. Don’t.”

“I go find a scuzzy bar over in Hollywood. There’s always some guy so hard-up he doesn’t give a rat’s ass what a woman looks
like, just so she’s got a hole in the right place…”

“Jeez, Meg, cut it out.”

“You have to know. You have to know why I
let
him.”

“I get the picture.”

“And you have to know I’d let him do it again. Who am I kidding? I’d
beg
him. I really would, hon, I’d beg him on bended knees.” She laughed once again. It was more of a snort. “Not that it’ll ever
happen. He’s done with that ploy. A guy like him won’t try the same trick twice. More’s the pity.”

It was a fine afternoon. First, a long sleep in bed, the sheets soft and fresh next to her skin. Then a long, hot bath. Afterward,
while she blew her hair dry, she started reading the new William Goldman novel,
Marathon Man
. Wrapped up in the story, she stayed in the bathroom and continued to read it long after she’d shut off the hair drier.

By the time she stopped, it was late afternoon.

She hurried into the guest room, got dressed, then went looking for Meg. She found her on the living room couch, legs tucked
under her rump, reading
Cosmopolitan
.

“Hey,” Janet said.

Meg looked up at her and smiled. “There you are at last, restored to your natural beauty and shine.”

“Like a kitchen floor,” Janet said.

“Speaking of kitchens, guess we’d better start thinking about supper.”

“How about spaghetti? I’ll make it myself.”

“Sauce included?”

“You bet. My special tomato sauce with spicy Italian sausage.”

“My mouth runneth over,” Meg said. “You’ll excuse me while I drool?”

“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.”

In the kitchen, Janet browned the Italian sausage. She sauteed mushrooms, crushed garlic cloves and took several spices from
the cupboard. Finally, she stirred it all into a pot of tomato sauce and left it simmering on the stove.

“I can smell it all the way out here,” Meg said, looking up from her magazine.

“Want some wine?”

“Does a moose poop in the woods?”

Janet returned to the kitchen. The bottle of Burgundy stood on top of the refrigerator. It looked as if nobody had touched
it since Thursday when Meg gave her the news about the substituting job. Red wine sloshed its sides as she lifted it down.
She found a pair of clean glasses and carried them into the living room.

“Ah, sweet libation,” Meg said.

Janet pulled the cork and poured. Then she handed a glass to Meg and sat down with a glass of her own. She lifted it toward
her friend. “Cheers,” she toasted.

“Cheers. We both need ’em.”

They drank.

Meg stared into her glass for a moment, then asked, “Have you got anything cooking tonight?”

“Aside from the spaghetti, not a thing.”

“Why don’t we take in a movie? There’s a good one playing on the mall. The new Clint Eastwood.”

“Great. Let’s go. What are the show times?”

“Seven-thirty and ten, I think. Just a second, I’ll make sure.” Meg finished her wine, refilled both glasses, then reached
down to the floor and picked up the morning newspaper. “Whew, how about that guy in Kansas City?”

“What guy in Kansas City?”

“Nightmare time. He killed…”

“I don’t think I want to hear about it.”

“Makes you wonder…ah, here we go. I was right. Seven-thirty and ten.”

Janet glanced at her wristwatch. “Looks like we’ve got plenty of time to make the seven-thirty.”

“Sounds great.”

Janet sipped her wine. “You know, I’m feeling pretty good right now, all things considered.”

“Me, too. Too bad we’re not queer, huh? We could just drink wine and go to the movies and sleep together and have ourselves
a fine old time.”

“Only a couple of problems, there. Number one, we’re not.”

“True. Sad, but true.”

“Number two, we’d just be trading man-trouble for woman-trouble.”

“Your profundity’s overwhelming.”

“In which case,” she continued, “instead of having run-ins with crappy or otherwise unsatisfactory male companions, we’d be
beset…”

“By shitty females,” Meg finished.

“True.”

“Sad, but true. And women can be just as shitty as men.”

“Shittier, even,” said Janet.

“And how many gals do we know with peckers?”

“Very few,” Janet admitted. “In fact, I could count them on the fingers of one hand, easily.”

“Indeed, an amputee…”

The telephone rang.

“I’ll get it,” Janet said. She hurried into the kitchen. Glancing at the spaghetti sauce, she saw that it was simmering nicely.
She picked up the phone. “Hello?”

“Hi there, Janet. Doing anything tonight?”

She hung up.

She walked to the stove and stood over the pot, breathing deeply to get rid of the heavy pounding in her chest. Seconds passed.
Then the phone started ringing again.

After the fourth ring, Meg called out, “You going to get it?”

“I’ve got it.” Janet wiped sweat off her upper lip and picked up the phone. “Hello?”

“Hi. Guess we must’ve been disconnected.”

“We were. I hung up.”

“You hung up on me?”

“Mother warned me about talking to strangers.”

“Oh, that’s rich. I see I’ve found you in rare humor.”

“My humor gets very rare when I talk to creeps like you. What do you want, Dave?”

“Guess.”

“What do you want?” she repeated.

“I thought we might get together tonight, have dinner at Henri’s, take in a flick, share a bottle of Cabernet and see what develops.”

“Sounds wonderful,” Janet said. “Try your sister.”

She hung up.

TWENTY-SEVEN

LESTER’S NIGHT OUT

“I feel like going to a movie,” Lester said.

“Don’t let me stop you.”

Carrying his supper plate, he followed Helen into the kitchen. “Why don’t you come along?”

“Not a chance.” She turned on the faucet and started wiping the supper dishes with a soapy sponge.

“I don’t
want
to stay home,” Lester said. “I mean, it’s Saturday night. People are supposed to go out and have
fun
on Saturday nights.”

“Go out, then.
Go
to a movie. Whatever you want. It’s fine with me. I’ve got tests to grade and homework for my night class.”

“Maybe I
will
go to a movie.”

“Go. Have fun.”

“Okay. See you later.”

Before leaving the house, he picked up Helen’s copy of the
Grand Beach Unified School District Personnel Directory
.

At the theater’s ticket window, Lester saw that the next show wouldn’t begin for nearly half an hour. He bought a ticket and
put it into his wallet.

Two doors down from the theater was Harry’s Bar. Lester had often seen it, often glanced through its open door at the dark
tables, the bar, the television, the men playing pool in smoky light. He had never gone inside. Until now.

“I’d like a margarita,” he told the bartender.

The man brought his drink. Not waiting to be asked about a tab, he placed a ten-dollar bill in front of him. Then he drank
half of his margarita without setting down the glass and ordered another. When he finished the first drink, he started the
second. He took his time with this one.

As he finished it, he looked at his wristwatch. Almost time to head for the movie.

To hell with the movie.

He ordered another drink. When it came, he sipped it slowly. Then he left the bar. At his car, he opened the school district
directory.

Bonner, Emily Jean. 4231 37th Street.

Emily Jean Bonner’s two-story house was set far back from the road. Lights shone in several of its windows. A Volkswagen bug
was parked in the driveway.

Lester tried to make a U-turn, but the road was too narrow.

Instead of backing up to complete his turn, he let his tire ride up over the curb and bounce down.

She must have company, Lester decided as he headed up the walkway.

Maybe not. Maybe that’s her VW.

No, she isn’t the VW type.

And she wouldn’t park in the driveway, would she? Wouldn’t she use her garage? She
must
have company.

He muttered, “Shit.”

But his disappointment seemed to be mixed with relief.

Just as well, he thought. I’ll just drop in, real casual, say I was passing by…just a friendly visit.

He climbed the porch steps and pushed the lighted doorbell button. Moments later, he heard footsteps. Then the door opened.

“Why, Mr. Bryant! What a delightful surprise! Won’t you please come in?”

She’s glad to see me!

Smiling, he said, “Hi, Emily Jean.”

She looked wonderful in green slacks and a white turtleneck sweater—better than Lester had ever seen her.

“I just thought I’d drop by and say hello,” he said.

“I’m so glad you did.” She shut the door and led him into a brightly lighted living room. “Mr. Bryant, I’d like you to meet
my daughter, May Beth.”

He nodded and smiled at the red-haired young woman sitting on the sofa. “Nice to meet you,” he said.

“Very nice to meet you, Mr. Bryant.”

“Mr. Bryant is a college librarian, honey.”

“Really?” Her smile widened.

My God, she’s beautiful!

“I worked in the library at Cal,” she said, “when I was an undergraduate.”

Blushing, Lester said, “Bet you hated it.”

“Not really.”

“Student helpers always get stuck with the routine stuff. Bores them stiff.”

“I loved it,” she said. “I didn’t think it was boring at all.”

“May I fix you a drink, Mr. Bryant?”

May Beth was holding a long-stemmed glass. Lester saw a similar glass on a lamp table. “That’d be nice,” he said. “Whatever
you’re having would be fine.”

“Martinis, of course,” said May Beth. “Mother never touches anything but martinis.”

“However,” said Emily Jean, “I would be delighted to fix you whatever suits your fancy.”

I just downed three margaritas, he thought. I’d better be careful.

Careful, smareful.

“A martini would be just fine,” he said.

“I’ll be back in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.” On her way out of the room, she said over her shoulder, “Do tell Mr. Bryant
about your film, honey.”

“Oh. Well…” May Beth crossed her legs. They were thin like her mother’s legs, but gave no suggestion of frailty as they
tapered upward into her tight, faded cutoff jeans. “I’m off for Denver tomorrow,” she said. “I have a small part in a film
being shot on location there.” The jeans were low on her hips. Above them, she wore a tank top with a color illustration of
a tabby cat. “It’ll be my first film,” she explained. “I’ve been on stage until now.” The thin fabric clinged to her breasts.
Small, round breasts.

“What sort of movie is it?” Lester asked.

“A thriller of sorts. You know, a classy shoot-’em-up. I play the friend of a teenaged girl who gets raped, tortured, the
whole nine yards.”

Her erect nipples were pushing out the fabric like two fingertips. Lester crossed his legs. “Who’s directing it?” he asked.

“Sam Porter.”

“Oh? He’s not bad, not bad at all. What about the producer?” “Hal Fisher.”

“No kidding? Hey, you’re in there with the big boys.”

Emily Jean came striding into the room, a glass in her hand. “Here you are, Mr. Bryant.” She handed him the martini.

“Thank you.”

“Well,” May Beth said, “the screenplay is from this really hot best seller, you see.
Some Call it Sleep
by Evan Collier? So it’ll probably be a really big picture. I can’t believe I’ve got such a good part in a film like that.
Apparently, the producer saw me in
The Glass Menagerie
. He thought I’d be absolutely perfect, so…”

The ringing telephone interrupted her.

“I bet that’s Jimmy,” she said. “Excuse me.”

When she left the room, Lester said, “You have a very beautiful daughter, Emily Jean.”

“Why, thank you. I most certainly do.”

“A spitting image of her mother.”

“Well!” She laughed a little nervously. “I shouldn’t go so far as that!”

“I should. In fact, I did.” He laughed and sipped the martini. It was awful. He never could stand gin. He took another sip.
“You must be awfully proud of her, doing so well in her career at such a young age.”

“I can’t
tell
you how very proud I am, Mr. Bryant. And somewhat envious, I must say. I was an actress myself, you know.”

“That doesn’t surprise me.”

“I played Linda Loman one season. At the Wilshire Theater? I’ve played many lesser parts in my…” She stopped and looked
up at her returning daughter.

“That was Jimmy,” May Beth said. “He’s waiting for me over at his place, so I’d better be on my way. It was very nice to meet
you, Mr. Bryant.”

“Nice meeting you, May Beth. Good luck on the film. Or should I say, ‘Break a leg’?”

“Thanks. Hope to see you again sometime.”

“Excuse me, Mr. Bryant. I’ll see her to the door.”

“Certainly.”

Emily Jean walked her daughter out of the room. She returned a few minutes later and sat down on the couch exactly where May
Beth had been sitting. She crossed her legs the same way. Her hair was red, but a brighter shade than her daughter’s—probably
thanks to a beauty parlor.

“You look just like May Beth, sitting there.”

“A far older, tireder and uglier version, I’m afraid.” She let out a nervous giggle. “Do you suppose ‘tireder’ is a word?
I rather doubt it, don’t you?”

“I doubt it,” Lester said, smiling.

“I do, too.” She picked up a pack of cigarettes. “
More
tired, I’m sure, is the appropriate usage.”

“I imagine so.” Lester stood up. Taking a book of matches from his shirt pocket, he crossed to the couch. “Let me get that
for you,” he said and struck a match.

Emily Jean leaned forward with the cigarette in her mouth, held his hand steady and touched the tip of her cigarette to the
flame.

Though her cigarette was lighted, she held his hand for a few more moments. Then she let it go and said, “Why, thank you.”

“You’re quite welcome.”

He sat down beside her and wiped his sweaty palms on his trousers. The aroma of her perfume came to him through the smoke’s
odor.

The same perfume Nikki used to wear.

“That’s nice perfume,” he said. “My favorite, in fact.”

She blew out smoke and watched it rise. “Your visit is certainly an unexpected pleasure, Mr. Bryant.”

“Lester, okay?”

“If you prefer,” she said. She smiled at him. “I should have thought you would avoid me after my display at the Willow Inn.”

“I enjoyed being there with you.”

“Why, so did I, Lester.”

“I told you some things I’ve never told anyone before.” He took a sip of his martini and grimaced. Then he leaned forward
and set it on the table. Looking into Emily Jean’s eyes, he said, “I mean, I was in kind of a strange mood. I don’t usually
go around talking about…that kind of thing. Helen and stuff. You know?”

“I believe I understand.” She patted his hand. Turning away, she reached out to the lamp table and poked out her cigarette
in an ashtray. Then she turned toward Lester and put her arms around him.

Oh my God, here we go!

Trembling, she pressed her mouth against his. Her lips felt cool from her drink, but her mouth was warm inside. She sucked
on his tongue.

As they kissed and embraced, they twisted awkwardly until they were lying side by side on the couch.

Lester pulled her sweater up and unhooked her bra while her hands unfastened his trousers. Her breasts were full and soft and smooth as velvet. He felt his pants go down.
Then cool fingers were stroking his penis.

“My, oh my,” she said. “What a large and stout…”

“MOTHER!”

Emily Jean flinched. Her hand gripped him.

“My God!”

“It’s all right, dear.”

Lester turned his head and saw May Beth behind the couch, looking down at them. From that vantage point, she could see everything.
Her gaze seemed to be fixed on Lester’s penis. She blinked a few times, licked her lips, then blurted out, “My car wouldn’t
start and…”

He ejaculated.

“Oh, my GOD!”
May Beth cried out and rushed away.

“Oh, dear,” Emily Jean murmured. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Bryant. That was certainly unfortunate. I think you’d better be going
now.”