Cuts (17 page)

THIRTY-FIVE

HELEN DROPS IN

“You don’t look very surprised.”

“I was forewarned,” Ian said. “Would you like to come in?”

Helen stepped into the foyer. Her eyes darted.

“Don’t worry, we’re alone.”

“Did Charles call?” she asked.

“He said you might be dropping by. May I take your jacket?”

“I’ll keep it, thank you. I don’t plan to stay long. I just thought we’d better…talk.” She hurried to a rocker and sat
down, her back rigid. The chair tipped backward. Gasping, she grabbed its arms. She shifted her weight forward to stop it.

Ian sat on his couch. He crossed his legs. “I’ve been planning to speak with you about this, Helen.”

“How long have you known?”

“Since Friday night.”

She stared down at her folded hands. “Who have you told?”

“So far, no one.”

“But you plan to tell Harrison?”

Ian nodded. “Unless we can work something out.”

She smiled. A cold, vain smile. “I can get you a thousand dollars in cash tomorrow afternoon.”

“That’s not…”

“Five thousand, then. And if that isn’t enough, I can make monthly installments of…say, a hundred. No more than a hundred
at a time, or Lester might catch on. He never looks at my accounts, but more than a hundred would…”

“Helen, I’m not interested in your money.”

At first, she seemed frightened. Then confused. Then amazed. She smiled and licked a corner of her mouth. “Well
well
,Mr. Collins.”

“Not that, either. I want you to leave the school, leave teaching. When your contract comes up for renewal in the spring, don’t
sign it.”

“Just quietly fade away, is that it?”

“Tell Harrison that you’re tired of the merry-go-round, or something. Nobody will ever have to know about you and Charles.”

“What if I tell you to shove it?”

“I’ll take Charles into Harrison’s office and you’ll be lucky to last out the week.”

“You wouldn’t do that,” she muttered. “You’re too fucking
gallant
.”

“If it’s gallantry you’re counting on, you’re out of luck. I love to see the bad guys fall, and you’re a bad guy.”

“Get fucked, Collins.”

“All in good time. Right now, I’ve got other things to do. So good night, and let me know your decision within the next few
days.”

“Suppose I dig up some dirt on you?”

“I’ve never seduced a student, Helen.”

“You make it sound so dirty.”

“It is dirty.”

“Suppose I find someone who says you did?”

“It’d be a lie.”

“Suppose it’s a good lie?”

“In that case, I’d be forced to make this recording public.” He reached under the couch and pulled out a cassette recorder.
It was purring quietly.

“This is blackmail, you know.”

“Good night, Helen.”

THIRTY-SIX

LUST IN THE AFTERNOON

Just before 3:30 on Wednesday afternoon, Lester parked a block away from Emily Jean’s house and headed down the shaded sidewalk.
He loosened his necktie. He opened the top button of his shirt. The warm breeze felt good against his neck. He felt great,
free. He headed up the walkway to her front door and rang the bell.

The door opened. “Good afternoon, Mr. Bryant.”

He gaped at her, his heart suddenly pounding fast. He took a deep, trembling breath.

“Such a pleasant surprise, you dropping by like this. Won’t you please come in?”

He stepped inside and shut the door.

“You look…” He shook his head. Smiling, he reached for her. He put a hand on her pale, freckled shoulder and fingered
the strap of her bright yellow tank top.

“Outasight, huh?” She hooked her thumbs into the belt loops of her cutoff jeans and threw her hips sideways.

“Amazing.”

She put her long, thin arms around him.

“Would you care for a drink?” she asked.

“No, thanks. I just want you.”

As they kissed, he put a hand up the back of her shirt. Her skin was smooth and bare all the way up. He moved his other hand
to her breast. She moaned and her teeth gripped his upper lip. Her hand pressed the front of his slacks. “Outasight,” she
said again.

“Not for long.”

She smiled, took hold of his belt buckle, and led him upstairs to a bedroom. The late afternoon sunlight slanted onto the
bed. A single bed, neatly made.

A lean, sweaty rock star gazed down at it from a poster on the opposite wall.

Emily Jean stepped against Lester. As she kissed him, she pulled out his shirttail and pushed her hand down the front of his
trousers. Her hand was cool inside his underwear. And then it was gone.

She crossed the room and turned on a stereo. John Denver began singing of his home in the Rockies. “Do you like John Denver?”
she asked.

Lester nodded.

Emily Jean crossed her arms, reached down to her waist, then pulled the tank top over her head. She tossed it onto a chair.
She walked to the bed, naked except for the cutoffs slung low on her hips. Slowly, she helped Lester undress.

He embraced her, enjoying the smooth warmth of her skin and the rough touch of her jeans.

When the jeans were off, she was all smoothness.

They moved to the bed.

“May Beth,” she said, “always insists on sleeping in the raw.”

“It feels better that way,” Lester said.

“I think she pretends to be with a man. The one on the poster there, perhaps. Or perhaps you. That you’re on top of her, and
your weight is crushing her. Perhaps you’re gently biting the side of her neck.”

Emily Jean squirmed as Lester’s teeth nibbled her flesh. “It gives her goose bumps,” she said.

Her fingernails scraped down Lester’s back, chilling him.

“May Beth groans as you take her breast in your mouth, as you ever so gently lick it. And…as you suck it.” Emily Jean
groaned as Lester continued to follow her directions. “And then she feels you go into her. Yes. You push in deep and deeper
and…ahhh…All the way. There. Yes. All the way in.”

They lay exhausted beside each other, Emily Jean’s head resting on Lester’s chest. He shut his eyes.

So nice. A woman who appreciates me. So nice.

When he opened his eyes again, the room was dusky. He ran a hand through Emily Jean’s hair.

“You make a very handsome pillow, Mr. Bryant,” she said, her voice low and languid. He felt her head turn. She kissed his
chest.

“What time is it?” he asked.

“Six-ish, I should imagine. Will Helen be missing you?”

“Hardly. She may wonder why I’m late, but she certainly won’t
miss
me.”

“I am so sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“It’s always sad, what life does to people.”

“Not always. It’s not sad, being with you. I find it uplifting.” She laughed softly. “With me or with May Beth?”

“With you,” Lester said. “It bothers you, doesn’t it?”

“What’s that?”

“That…well…doing this May Beth thing? Pretending.” Emily Jean rolled onto her back, stretched her arms up, cupped
her hands behind her head and frowned thoughtfully at the ceiling. “I’m sure it must trouble me. After all, a woman prefers
to think she has the power to arouse a gentleman without relying on…the power of association?” Her voice lifted as if
the statement were a question and she looked sideways at Lester.

He rolled onto his side, propped himself up on an elbow, and looked at her. The sheet was down at her waist. She had nice
breasts for a woman her age.

A woman her age?

How the hell do
I
know what the breasts of a fifty-year- old woman should be like?

Fifty-two, he corrected himself.

He moved a hand up one of the soft, shadowy slopes.

“It’s only an ego thing, I’m sure,” she said. “But of course, what isn’t? A woman does, after all, like to think she’s…sexy.”

“You’re sexy.”

“I am, at any rate, a fair actress. I’m able to create a reasonable illusion of May Beth.”

“A damn fine illusion.”

The dark skin of her nipple seemed to crawl under Lester’s fingertip, rumpling and thickening.

“Fine enough for our purposes,” she said.

“Uh-huh.” A column of flesh was there in the center now, firm and high and blunt. It grew even more as Lester’s fingertip
encircled it. “Does it make you jealous?” he asked.

“Of May Beth? Heaven’s no.”

He rolled the column between his thumb and forefinger. She moaned.

“After all, Mr. Bryant,
I’m
the one you’ve been sleeping with.”

“That’s right. It
is
you, not May Beth. It’s my own darling Emily Jean.”

He climbed onto her.

“Again?” She grinned, but her eyes glistened with tears.

“Again.”

“Heavens, Mr. Bryant!”

THIRTY-SEVEN

MOSBY COMES TO DINNER

“What
happened
to you?” Meg’s voice sounded strained and urgent.

Shaking out the match she was using to light candles on the table, Janet hurried into the living room.

“Would you believe I walked into a door?” Mosby asked.

“No.”

“A door walked into me?”

From the look of it, the damage to his face was several days old. The scrapes on his chin and cheekbone were scabbed over,
the bruises gray. A bandage covered one eyebrow. The eyelid beneath it was dark and pufffy.

“What happened really?” Janet asked.

“Really?” He shook his head. “Hell, it was nothing.”

“Looks like you were in a fight,” Meg said.

“You might call it that. On the other hand, you might call it a massacre.” He laughed. “Did I hear someone mention booze?
On the phone, I think it was.”

“Sure,” Janet said. “You two sit down and I’ll get you something. What would you like?”

“Beer would be great if you have it.”

“Plenty of beer,” she said. Listening to the conversation, she went into the kitchen, removed three cans of Budweiser from
the refrigerator and poured them into three mugs.

“So,” Meg said, “did you emerge victorious?”

“Well, I’d have knocked the guy from here to January but he had me at a disadvantage.”

“What was that?”

“He was quicker and stronger.”

Janet heard laughter and snorts.

“I still could’ve beaten him, but my gun was in the other room.”

More laughter from Mosby, more snorts from Meg.

Janet wasn’t smiling as she carried the mugs into the living room. “Where did it happen?” she asked.

“In my face.”

“At home, or…?”

Nodding, he said, “In my apartment.”

“Was it somebody you knew?”

He nodded. As he took one of the beers, his eyes met Janet’s and quickly turned away.

“Oh no,” she muttered.

Meg frowned. “What?”

“It was Dave,” Janet said. To Mosby, she said, “It was, wasn’t it? The truth.
Dave
beat you up, didn’t he.”

Looking guilty, Mosby nodded. “I knew I shouldn’t have come over here.”

Meg moved closer to Mosby on the couch and put her hand on hi s knee. “Tell us about it,” she said.

“Well, he started with his right hand and worked his way to his left.”

“Knock off the jokes, okay?” Janet asked.

“Yeah, okay. Well…I answered my door on Sunday night and there he was. He pushed me and started punching.” Mosby’s voice
cracked. He stopped. He drank more beer. He sniffed. Then he waited a few more seconds. “I didn’t fight back,” he finally
said. “There wasn’t any point in that. I mean, why should I want to hurt him?” He glanced from Janet to Meg. “You know what
I mean? I didn’t have any reason to hurt him.” Mosby laughed once. A nervous, embarrassed laugh. “Besides, if I’d fought
back, it might’ve made him mad.”

“Why did he
do
it?” Meg asked.

“To pay me ba ck.”

Janet groaned. “For taking me out.”

“And to warn me not to do it again.”

“That does it,” Janet said. She jumped to her feet, breathing heavily. “That really does it. See you guys later.”

“Janet?”

“I’m gonna pay a visit to that…” She searched her mind for a term foul enough, but gave up and rushed to the bedroom
for her coat and purse. When she came out, Meg was blocking the hallway. Mosby stood behind her, looking confused.

“Hey, hon, you can’t…”

“Excuse me.”

Meg offered no resistance, stepping aside when Janet reached her. Mosby also let her by.

“I knew I shouldn’t have come here tonight,” he mumbled.

Janet hurried outside, pulling her coat on as the foggy night air seeped like water through her blouse. The handle of the
car door was cold and wet. When she had trouble climbing into her Maverick, she wished she’d changed out of her ankle-length
skirt. She wiped her hands dry on her coat, then started the engine.

As she began pulling away from the curb, dim headlights appeared in her side mirror. She hit her brakes. A municipal transit
bus lunged by.

“Holy…?”

She rolled down her window, put out her head and looked down the street. The intersection was only a few car lengths behind
her, but she couldn’t make out a trace of the traffic lights. The nearest street lamp was a high, eerie ball of pale fog.

“Worth a gal’s life,” she muttered. “And
yours
,” she added, glancing down toward her belly.

She stepped on the gas. Her car swung away from the curb and climbed to forty. No headlights in the mirror.

The driving kept her nervous all the way and she thought very little about Dave. When she parked in front of his apartment
house, the tension of driving went away and she realized with a sudden cramping chill that she was probably about to face
him. She leaned forward against the steering wheel.

Calm down, she told herself. There’s no need for this. He’s a rotten fucking bastard, and I was an idiot to ever love him.

Which I don’t anymore.

The Dave I loved is dead.

Maybe the Dave she’d loved had never really existed at all.

Maybe he’d been an illusion.

Created in my own image, she thought. My own image of how a man
should
be. A figment of my imagination because I couldn’t find the real thing.

“A cheap imitation,” she muttered.

The sickening cramp had subsided. She got out of the car and headed for the fog-bound entrance of the apartment house. The
foyer was warm. She opened her coat and climbed the stairs.

The upstairs floor gave slightly under each footstep like thin ice on a lake and she wondered, as she had so often wondered
when living here, whether one of her feet would break through.

The door to 230 stood open. From inside came the windy whine of a vacuum cleaner. She walked in.

The living room was bare.

Tim Harris, the landlord, smiled at her and turned off the vacuum.

“How you doin’, Janet?” He wiped his hands on the front of his T-shirt as if to spruce himself up for her.

“I’m okay. Where’s Dave?”

“Moved out. Three, four days back. Left a note for you, though. I got it right…” He grimaced as he shoved a hand into
a tight rear pocket of his jeans. “Here y’go.” He pulled out a folded, wrinkled envelope and handed it to her.

She ripped open the envelope. The note inside was scribbled in red ink.

Dear Janet,

I knew you would have a change of heart and come back
to me. My new place makes this look primitive. It does,
however, require a woman’s touch. So do I. Phone 520
9862.With eager anticipation, I am

Yours,

Dave

“Does the phone work?” Janet asked.

“Disconnected.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

She hurried down to her car and drove four blocks to the Safeway market. There were pay phones beside the entrance. She parked,
jumped out of her car and hurried to the nearest phone. She snatched up its handset. The plastic was cold in her hand. She
dropped coins down the slot. Careful not to let the earpiece touch her, she listened for a dial tone. It came. She dialed
the number from Dave’s note and heard the phone ring twice.

“Hello?” Dave asked.

“It’s me.”

“Ah! You got the message I left with Harris.”

“Yeah. I also got the message you left with Mosby, you miserable bastard.”

“Such language!”

“What do you
mean
, hurting Mosby that way?”

“Doing what?”

“You heard me. I don’t know why the hell he didn’t have you arrested, but if you ever touch him again, I’ll go to the police
so fast your head’ll spin.”

“You
are
out of sorts tonight. Here I thought you’d phoned to patch things up.”

“Things are beyond patching.”

“They could get worse, you know.”

“Could they really?”

“Let’s get together,” he said. “How about Friday night?”

“How about never?”

“If you don’t see me Friday, maybe Meg will. Think she might? We had such a good ol’ time together
last
Friday. She’s not quite my type, being ugly as shit, but she does have all the right equipment.”

“You filthy pig.”

“Got a pencil? Here’s my new address. Ready?”

“I’m not coming over.”

“Up to you, sweety. But I’d better give you the address just in case. You never know when you might get the urge for some
sweet lovin’.”

In her purse, she found a ballpoint pen and a business card from Val’s Beauty Salon. “Okay, give it to me.” She copied the
address on the back of the card. Then the phone number.

“If you’re not here by seven o’clock Friday night,” Dave said, “I’ll have to pay a visit to Meg.”

She hung up and stared down at the walkway. The concrete was wet from the fog. A passing shopper stepped on a white wrapper
from a Three Musketeers bar, flattening it. When the foot went away, the wrapper opened again nearly to the same shape as
before, but wet and dirty. Janet picked it up. She dropped it into a trash can near the door. And wanted to kick the metal
can.

No, that’s Dave’s way. Kicking things.

To win, she thought, I’ve gotta be better than him.