Cuts (22 page)

FORTY-NINE

IAN THE MISANTHROPE

Too early to leave. If Ian left now, he would probably be the first to arrive at the party. He used to have a reputation for
arriving first and being among the last to leave, but that was several years ago when he still enjoyed the faculty parties.

He leaned back on the chair and folded his hands behind his head.

Either the parties had changed, or he had. Somehow, he’d stopped looking forward to them, stopped enjoying the company of
the other faculty members.

That’s it right there. He’d stopped enjoying the teachers. Some of them, he disliked. Some, he pitied. Others meant nothing
to him at all. He tried to think of a teacher he really liked.

Emily Jean Bonner. But she was really no more than a casual acquaintance. She wasn’t really a friend.

He remembered quoting Thoreau to Laura once, saying, “I’ve found few companions so companionable as solitude.”

“That’s because you’re a misanthrope,” she’d explained.

“Nope. Because I’m particular.”

“I’m honored that you count me worthy,” she’d said, grinning.

He looked at his wristwatch. He could probably leave now, and not be first to arrive at Dale and Ronald’s house.

Why go at all? he wondered.

Because you don’t want to turn into a complete recluse.

And because sometimes you get good material.

He smiled, remembering how he’d turned Harrison’s geek performance into a short story that he’d sold to
Playboy
for a tidy $2,700.

Apparently, none of the teachers ever did read the story; his cover remained intact.

He picked up his mask and headed for the garage.

FIFTY

PARTY TIME

Cars lined both sides of the street.

“Somebody must be having a party,” Janet muttered. “Hope we can find a place to park.”

If I
can’t
, she thought, maybe I’d better go on to Dave’s place.

Oh, sure. Like this?

Forget it, she told herself.

She slowed down, darted her eyes to a lighted porch and read the big numbers of the address. This was the house.

At the end of the block, she turned right and soon found a parking place. She killed the engine, the lights.

“Here goes nothing,” she said.

Gripping the top of the sack that held her wine bottle, she pushed open her door. She dragged the sack across the front seat,
stood up and swung the sack out of the car and into her arms.

As she walked, her ankles were cold.

Good thing I wore the jeans, she thought, or I’d be freezing my butt.

And maybe some guys at the party would end up grabbing it.

She felt crawly with fear.

Calm down, she told herself. This might be a rowdy bunch, but there’s nothing to be afraid of. Nobody’s going to
attack
me, for Pete’s sake. It’s a party full of
teachers
.

And Dale did say there’ll be some available men.

Maybe some assholes, but maybe some decent guys.

Anyway, she thought, I can always leave if things get too hairy.

And go to Dave’s?

Thanks, but no thanks.

She headed up the walkway to the front porch. Ahead of her, an older couple stood waiting to be let in. The man was dressed
in white coveralls and a cap like a house painter. The woman was encased in a cardboard box covered with contact paper. Paper
made to look like red bricks. Maybe she was supposed to be a fireplace chimney.

Janet was wondering about their costumes when Dale opened the door and began to greet the couple.

Her Ophelia costume consisted of a purple velvet gown with puffy shoulders and a plunging neckline. She must’ve spent an hour
attaching foliage to the gown so she would appear to be tangled in water lillies. Her mussed hair was littered with stems
and leaves.

Who would want to put that in their hair? Janet wondered.
Maybe the stuff’s fake.

Spotting Janet, Dale called, “You made it!” and beckoned her forward. “Janet, I’d like you to meet Phil and Susan Parsons.
Susan is our media specialist.” To the Parsonses, she said, “Janet subbed for Emily Jean today and I thought she might enjoy
seeing teachers at play.”

“Well,” Phil said, “this is a good place for it. I’m sure you’ll enjoy yourself.”

Chuckling, Susan added, “Sometimes we enjoy ourselves
too
much.”

“Hardly possible,” Dale said. “One can’t enjoy oneself
too
much.”

“Don’t know if
that’s
true,” Phil said.

“There are pipers to pay,” added Susan, smiling pleasantly at Janet.

“People are bound to be ralphing before the night is out,” Phil said. The chubby, bespectacled man demonstrated by hunching
over slightly, throwing open his mouth and yelling “
Rallllph, ralllllph!
” at the porch floor.

Susan gave his arm a playful slap. “Stop that, dear. You’re embarrassing.”

Janet laughed.

This isn’t gonna be so bad, she thought.

“Why don’t we all come in out of the cold,” Dale suggested.

Janet followed them into the house. “I was curious about your costumes,” she told Susan.

“Phil! Janet is curious about our costumes.”

Phil, beaming with delight, pulled a trowel out of his coveralls pocket.

“I’m bricks,” Susan explained.

“And I’m…?” Phil raised his thick gray eyebrows, grinning and waving his trowel.

“Oh, no!” Janet started laughing. “You’re the
bricklayer!
” “At your service.” Phil bowed.

Susan punched him softly on the arm. “Not at
her
service, at
mine
. Never forget that, old man.”

“You never
let
me forget it.”

Susan took hold of his sleeve and started pulling him away. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Janet. I’m sure we’ll be seeing
more of you around.”

“See you later.”

As they worked their way into the crowd, Dale stepped close to Janet.

“They seem really nice,” Janet said.

“Oh, they’re dears, they truly are. If you’d like to shed your purse, you can put it in the bedroom.” She pointed in the general
direction.

“Thanks. Maybe I’ll drop it off later.”

“The bar is out on the patio. And so are a fair number of men.” She winked, said, “Enjoy,” then hurried away to answer the
ringing doorbell.

Janet walked through the crowded living room, smiling briefly at unfamiliar faces that turned her way. Most of the people
seemed to be in costume. She spotted a vampire, a clown, a pirate…

“Janet!”

She turned her head and met the lively, mischievous eyes of the principal.

“Hi, Mr. Harrison.”

“Welcome to the party.”

“Thanks.”

He looked her over.

She looked him over.

He held a drink in one hand and wore an old leather flying cap with the ear flaps up, goggles across his forehead. He also
wore a long white scarf around his neck. That seemed to be the extent of his costume. Below the neck, he was dressed in a
long-sleeved shirt, slacks and loafers.

“Snoopy?” Janet asked him.

He let out a joyous laugh. “Bite your tongue, squaw girl! I’m Charles Lindbergh!”

“Ah.”

He brought his other hand out from behind his back. A plastic doll, naked and smeared with blood, dangled by one tiny foot.
“And here’s the baby.”

“That’s
horrible!
”

Harrison beamed. “I know, I know. Halloween, you know.
Gotta
be horrible on Halloween. Anyway, I’m glad you could make it to the party. Dale told me that she’d in

vited you. Janet, I want you to meet Steve and Cathie Lindstrom.”

They’d come as a matching set of hobos, in bowler hats, old checkered shirts with patches, and ragged jeans.

“I love your outfit,” Cathie said.

“Thanks. How’re things on the freights?”

“Windy,” Steve said, grinning.

“Steve,” Harrison said, “is one of our ace science teachers and Cathie is his ace wife.” To the Lindstroms, he said, “Janet
was Emily Jean Bonner today. I hear she did a fine job. In fact, she’ll be with us all next week. Maybe longer.”

“Welcome aboard,” Steve told her.

“Thank you.”

Cathie looked concerned. “I hope it’s nothing terribly serious about Emily Jean.”

Frowning, Harrison shook his head. “She’s fine. Her
daughter
was seriously injured yesterday, so Emily Jean went to be with her.”

“A car accident?” Cathie asked.

“She was assaulted. Out in Denver.”

“How
awful!
” Cathie said.

“Apparently, she barely escaped with her life.”

“Good God,” Cathie said.

Harrison nodded, happened to glance down at the bloody infant doll in his hand, then grimaced and put it behind his back.

“Is she going to be all right?” Cathie asked.

Harrison nodded. “I talked to Emily Jean on the phone today. The girl should be fine.”

“Thank God for that,” Cathie said.

“We’re all grateful,” Harrison said. “Emily Jean thinks the world of her.” He suddenly seemed to cheer up. “
But
every cloud has its silver lining, and we get the pleasure of having Janet in our midst for the next week or so.” He raised
his glass as if toasting her, and took a drink.

“Thanks,” Janet said. “Well, I’d better put some of this stuff down. Nice to meet you both.”

“Our pleasure,” Steve said.

“See you later,” said Cathie.

She smiled at Harrison, then turned away.

She made it into the cool, fresh air of the patio before meeting anyone else.

“I don’t believe we’ve met.” The young man’s smile was too friendly, the front of his shirt too open, his chest adorned with
too many heavy gold chains. “I’m Brian Baker, and you are?”

“Janet.”

“Hello, Janet.” He warmly shook her hand. “It’s such a pleasure to meet you.” Keeping her hand, he eyed the open neck of her
doeskin shirt. “Or should I call you Pocahontas?”

“Janet’s fine.”

“I chose not to come in costume,” he said, still holding her hand. “I don’t believe in such silliness.”

Silliness? Thanks a bunch, fella.

“Open shirt, gold chains,” Janet said, “I thought you were dressed up as a sleazy movie producer.”

He let out a harsh laugh.

Janet pulled her hand away from him and took her wine bottle out of the sack. “Are you a teacher?” she asked.

“I’ve often thought I might have a fling at teaching someday. It might be amusing to shape those young minds. May I help you
with that?”

“Thanks, but I opened it at home.”

“You look stunning.”

“Thank you.”

“May I call you Stunning Fox?”

A real charmer.

She pulled a plastic glass out of a stack. “How about Janet?” she suggested. As she poured her Burgundy, she asked, “Are you
here
with
a teacher?”

“I came with a dear friend, Eve Tunis. She’s off galli- vanting. There’s nothing between us, of course. She only asked me
to escort her because we’re such dear friends and she abhors being seen alone.”

“
Are
you in show business?” Janet asked.

“I plead guilty. I’m an
actor
.”

Surprise, surprise.

He put his arm across Janet’s shoulders. “Tell me…” His mouth was too close. She could feel his breath on her lips. It
smelled of onions. “Did you come alone?”

Hearing a commotion behind her, Janet turned. A man dressed in chain mail and armor like a medieval knight was moving across
the living room. The visor of his helmet was down. Dale walked beside him, holding his arm, flora dangling from her hair and
gown.

“Make way!” the knight called in a deep, powerful voice. “Make way for the ghost of good King Hamlet, untimely slain. Make
way, make way!” He pushed through the crowd, leaving laughter and wisecracks in his wake. “Step aside, fair lady. Good King
Hamlet has a rendezvous. Make way, make way!”

In the patio, he raised his visor. He had a remarkably handsome face.

Rock Hudson as King Hamlet.

“Janet,” said Dale, “I’d like you to meet my husband Ronald.”

“Hello,” Janet said. “Nice to meet you.”

“Janet and I were just discussing theater. My name is Brian. Brian Baker, and you are…?”

“Ronald Harvey. This is my wife, Dale.”

“It’s such a pleasure to meet you both,” Baker said.

“Didn’t I see you in a commercial last week?” asked Dale.

His eyes filled with astonishment. “Why, perhaps.”

“For an underarm deodorant, wasn’t it?”

“Why, yes! You
did
see my commercial!”

“And your marvelous physique. But it’s chilly out here. Why don’t we step inside and you can tell me all about it?”

“Wonderful.” He looked at Janet. “Coming?”

“I think I’ll stay out here in the fresh air.”

“We’d be so much more comfortable inside.”

“No, you go on ahead.”

“I’ll be with you later.”

When he was gone, Ronald said, “Dale’s very good at rescues.”

“Sure is. What a relief.” Janet shook her head, then drank some wine.

“You’ve got quite a costume there,” Ronald said. “Did Pocahontas really wear jeans?”

Pocahontas again. Terrific.

“Oh, yes. It’s a historical fact verified in the journals of John Smith.”

“Do you suppose she was prompted by the weather or by modesty?”

“Probably a little of both.”

“More than likely,” Ronald agreed. “How do you suppose she’d have gotten along with Hamlet?”

“The king or the prince?”

“Why, the king. The prince was nothing but a whelp, wet behind the ears.”

“The king was married, though.”

“To
Gertrude
. Awful. Can you imagine what it’d be like to live with
Gertrude?
”

“Not very easily.”

“Neither can I. Must’ve been tough on the guy. What he really needed, perhaps, was a Pocahontas.”

Beautiful.

“Is that so?” Janet asked. She couldn’t keep a bit of sharpness out of her voice.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Just joshing. I didn’t mean to put you on the defensive. You’ll think I’m as bad as that Baker character.
Forgive me?”

“Nothing to forgive. We were talking about Pocahontas and Hamlet, not us. Right?”

“Of course we were.”

She looked him in the eye. “Pocahontas doesn’t mess around with married men.”

“I understand completely.”