Cuts (9 page)
Authors: Richard Laymon
THE MORNING AFTER
The alarm clock blared. Albert rolled across the bed and grabbed it, his fingers searching its back until they found the plastic
lever and pushed it.
Silence.
He looked at the face of the clock.
7:25.
Throwing back the blankets, he felt the chilly air wash over him. He hurried to the closet and found an old flannel robe.
It was the father’s, probably the one he’d worn for years before getting the new robe he’d been wearing last night. Its sleeves
hung past Albert’s fingertips. He rolled them up as he went to Charlene’s bedroom.
The mother was just as he’d left her, face down and spread-eagled, each arm and leg fastened tightly with clothesline to a
leg of the single bed.
“Pleasant night?” he asked.
She groaned.
“I’ll take the tape off now, but if you scream I’ll kill you and Charlene. Got it?”
She nodded.
Albert lifted her head off the pillow, reached under the side of her face and ripped the adhesive tape off her mouth. She
gasped for air, but said nothing.
“Say ‘good morning.’ ”
She said nothing.
“Say it.” He rapped his knuckles against the matted, bloody hair on the side of her head. Her body lurched, straining at the
ropes.
“Good morning,” she muttered.
“Sound cheerful.”
“Good morning.”
“That’s better.” He put his hands on her back. The skin felt like ice. “Again.”
“Good morning.”
“Your husband Mike isn’t feeling well this morning.” He knelt and looked at her face. He could only see one eye. It blinked
and a tear slid across the bridge of her nose. “Mike has the flu.”
“You killed him.”
“No, he’s got the flu. A bad case of it, too. He’ll probably be laid up for the rest of the week.”
“You killed him.”
Albert opened the wallet he’d left beside the telephone extension and pulled out the business card. It read, MIKE ABERCROMBE,
MANAGER, APPAREL PLUS, gave the address on 3rd Street and a phone number.
“Is this the number you call when he’s gonna be absent?”
“He calls. I never call.”
“Well, he’s much too sick today, don’t you think? What time does he call?”
“Eight-thirty.”
“You’d better not be lying.”
“I’m not.”
“Does he drive to work?”
“Yes.”
“Alone?”
“Yes.”
“No car pool, nothing like that?”
“No.”
“You’d better not be lying. Which car does he drive?”
“The Buick.”
“Okay. Now, what about Charlene’s school? When does it start?”
“Eight-thirty.”
“How does she get there?”
“Walks.”
“With friends?”
“Yes.”
“Do they come here?”
“No.”
“You sure?”
“They’re along the way. She meets them along the way.”
“Okay. What about you? Do you work?”
“No.”
“Got any appointments today?”
“No.”
“Expecting any visitors?”
“No.”
“Okay. I’ll be back in an hour and we’ll make a couple of calls.”
He picked up the spool of adhesive tape he’d left beside the phone, tore off several short strips, and taped the woman’s mouth
shut.
In the bathroom, he opened his robe and urinated. As his pee splashed into the toilet, he stared at Charlene in the tub.
“And how are you this fine morning?” he asked.
She didn’t answer.
Albert flushed the toilet, then returned to the master bedroom. He found a drawer full of socks and put on a pair. Then he
went downstairs.
His bloody clothes were heaped on the living room floor. He picked up his jeans, reached into a front pocket and brought out
the keys to Milton’s car.
On the kitchen table, he found Charlene’s purse. The Mustang keys were inside it.
He used the kitchen door to go outside. The morning was chilly. He shivered as he walked around the house, inspecting the
area. A tall stockade fence enclosed the backyard. The front yard was open at the front and along one side. The other side,
by the driveway, was sheltered from the neighbor’s house by trees heavy with yellow and orange leaves.
The neighborhood seemed pretty quiet.
He saw no one.
He went into the garage and climbed inside Charlene’s Mustang. When he sat down, the robe fell open exposing his legs to the
cold. He adjusted it. His hands shook violently, but he managed to push the key into the ignition.
The engine’s roar echoed through the garage.
Albert backed the Mustang out of the garage, stopped it on the driveway in front of Milton’s car, then pulled forward, veering
to the right. He parked the Mustang just outside the garage, directly behind the Buick.
After that, he drove Milton’s car into the garage and shut the door.
So much for the hot car, he thought. Nobody’ll think much of seeing Charlene’s car out on the driveway.
Back in the house, he entered the storage room off the kitchen and raised the lid of the freezer chest.
At the far end, separated by a carton of Rocky Road ice cream, were the soiled bottoms of a pair of white socks. Albert thumped
a fingertip against one of the heels. The foot inside felt solid like a frozen steak.
“And how are
you
this morning, Mike? I’m fine, thank you. Enjoying your hospitality. Yell if you need anything.”
Chuckling, Albert lowered the freezer top and latched it.
A TROUBLED YOUTH
Ian, alone in his classroom, heard the door open and shut. Instead of looking up, he continued to read the theme.
“Mr. Collins?”
At the bottom of the last page, he wrote, “Good ideas, but watch your word choice.
Was
isn’t the only verb in the English language.” He drew a B at the top, set the paper aside and looked up. “Oh, hello, Charles.
How’s our favorite poet?”
“Okay, I guess. Would it be all right to talk to you?”
“Sure. Come on in.”
The boy walked slowly, bent at the waist as if his bowels were cramped.
“Do you feel okay?” Ian asked.
Charles shook his head.
“Have you seen the nurse?”
“No. She wouldn’t be…they told me at the office that this is your conference period.”
“They told you the truth. Have a seat.”
Charles sat at a desk in the front row of the classroom. His face had a moist, doughy look. There were gray smudges under
his eyes. He rubbed his face with both hands.
Ian had noticed it often—how a boy can look so much like a tired old man.
“What seems to be the trouble, Charles?”
“It’s a personal thing. I mean, it hasn’t got to do with grades or anything. It’s just some trouble I’m having.”
“Must be serious, the way you look.” Ian got up from his chair, circled to the front of his desk and sat on its edge. “Is
there some way I can help?” he asked.
“I don’t know, Mr. Collins. My head’s all messed up. I mean, everything was going great until…a couple of days ago.
Now I’m all messed up. I don’t know what’s happening. All of a sudden, everything’s upside-down. I can’t even study any more.
I thought maybe if I talked to somebody about it…”
“Have you spoken to your parents?”
“Are you kidding me? They’d crap if they knew what was going on. But you’re different. I mean, you understand stuff. You listen
to people.”
“What is it I’m supposed to understand?”
“Well.” Charles hesitated. He glanced at the door as if considering whether to leave. Then he met Ian’s eyes. “I’m having
this thing,” he said. “I guess you’d say it’s an affair.”
“Is the girl pregnant?”
“God, I hope not. I guess she
could
be. I mean, I didn’t use anything. I figured she was taking care of it.”
“That kind of assumption often leads to fatherhood.”
“She
must’ve
taken care of it. Why wouldn’t she? I mean, she’s married. She’s gotta know about that sort of stuff.”
“She’s married? No wonder you’re afraid to tell your parents.”
“You won’t say anything to them, will you?”
“No, not a chance. How long have you been seeing this woman?”
“Not long.” He fidgeted and looked down at his hands. “I’ve known her for a month or so, but we didn’t…Monday night
was the first time we actually
made
it. And then last night. Only twice, so far.”
“What about her husband?”
Charles looked up quickly, startled. “What about him?”
“Does he know?”
“Oh, God, I hope not! I mean, he hasn’t caught us at it or anything. She tells him she’s going to meetings…classes and
stuff. And we never do it at her
house
.”
“I should hope not.”
“I’ve got this camper van. It has beds. That’s where we did it. You know, parked like on side streets.”
“I guess that’s safer than doing it in her house.”
“It was her idea. The whole thing’s been her idea. I don’t even know why she’d want to make it with me. I mean, I’m just a
kid.”
“That might be reason enough. How old is she?”
“I don ’t know. Twenty-five or thirty, I guess.”
“Do you want out of it?”
“I don’t know. Hell, I like it. She’s really
hot,
you know? But the whole thing has me scared shitless. Excuse me, that just slipped out.”
“I’ve heard worse.”
“She scares me. And I’m
really
scared her husband might find out.”
“You should be.”
“And hell, Mr. Collins…I even scare myself, I get so involved. I don’t know what I’m doing. I mean, I
know
.And I know it’s wrong. But it’s like somebody else is doing it and I’m just watching like some dumb-ass jerk. It’s as if
I don’t have any say in things. I just go
along
with whatever’s happening. It’s making me nuts.”
“What you’d better do is put a stop to it all.”
“How do I do that?”
“Quit seeing the woman.”
“That wouldn’t be easy.” He looked down at his folded hands and shook his head as if thinking about impossible odds.
“Where women are involved,” Ian said, “nothing is easy.” He smiled grimly as he pictured Laura throwing a playful punch at
his shoulder for speaking such blasphemy. “Nothing is easy,” he muttered.
“What should I do?”
“It’s up to you. If
I
wanted out, I’d tell her so. I’d try to be nice about it. You know, tell her how much the relationship has meant to you and
how you’ll always cherish the memories of it.”
He saw a smile creep across Charles’s face. “That wouldn’t be a lie,” the boy said. “I’m sure never gonna forget
her
.”
“But don’t leave any doubt in her mind that you’re finished with the affair.”
“I guess I could try that. Maybe…God, sometimes things sure get messed up.”
“That’s why the good Lord gave us mops.”
Charles let out a quiet, bitter laugh. “Yeah,” he said. “I guess. Anyway, thanks for listening. And for the advice.”
“Hope it helps. Let me know how things go, will you?”
“Sure. Will you give me a pass back to study hall?”
Ian wrote out a hall pass.
CAREER OPPORTUNITIES
When Janet woke up on Thursday morning, she didn’t reach sideways for Dave.
A breeze billowed the curtains overhead and chilled the upturned side of her face. She pulled the covers as high as her ear
and curled under their warmth.
It had been nice, yesterday, lying in bed for a long time because there was no big reason to get up. One of life’s great luxuries.
But today was different. She had to get over to the placement office at U. S.C. You didn’t find a job by staying in bed.
Well, some people do.
She laughed softly under the covers.
Prostitutes. And what about housewives? Sure. That’s what the libbers wanted you to think anyway. You get married, you’re
a whore on a one-life stand.
I wouldn’t mind that.
She rolled onto her belly. The warm pocket of the pillow felt good against her face.
And how do I find a man who wants the one-life stand? she wondered.
Luck onto him?
Carry a rabbit’s foot?
Better get a move on.
She sat on the edge of the bed and shivered. Her sheer nightgown had been fine for summer nights with Dave. It wasn’t much
good, though, for October mornings alone.
She hurried to the bathroom, pulled off the nightgown and turned on the shower. While she waited for the water to get hot,
she looked at herself in the mirror.
Was she gaining weight?
A little, maybe. Not so anyone would notice.
She pushed a few strands of brown hair away from her eyes.
Not bad eyes, she had to admit. But not “dreamy” like the eyes of the guy at the football game.
I’m still thinking about him?
The handsome, mysterious stranger.
Imagining herself with him, Janice grew warm and squirmy inside. The mirror showed a blush spread over her naked body. Her
nipples stiffened.
Calm down, she thought. For all I know, he might be a total jerk.
I’d sure like to find out.
“I wonder who he is,” she whispered, watching her lips move in the mirror’s reflection.
Meg hadn’t recognized him, and Meg seemed to know everyone who worked at City College.
He might be a parent.
He hadn’t looked old enough, however, to have a kid at City College.
Maybe he’s just a football fan.
I should keep going to the games, Janice thought. Maybe I’ll see him again.
Wondering about him, she stepped under the shower.
Janet didn’t start to get nervous until she was putting on her lipstick.
What’s there to be nervous about? she thought. They’ve either got job openings or they haven’t. If they haven’t, I’ll manage.
There’s always something.
She picked up her car keys and purse. As she left Meg’s house, she looked at her wristwatch. The drive to U. S.C. should take
about half an hour—assuming some idiot on the freeway didn’t kill her in the meantime.
Always a real possibility. She didn’t care much for L. A. freeways.
But what’s life if you don’t take chances?
Longer, that’s what.
“So,” Meg said as she poured Burgundy from a gallon bottle, “how’d it go at the placement office? Any hot prospects?”
“For men or jobs?” Janet asked.
“Whichever.” With the heel of her hand, Meg slammed the cork home. Then she handed one of the glasses to Janet.
“Well, in the job department, lots of hot prospects if I don’t care what I do.”
They went into the living room. Janet tossed a stack of newspapers to the floor and sat down on an end of the couch. She took
a sip of wine. It was cool and tart and good. “The world would be mine,” she said, “if I could only take shorthand.”
“Twas ever thus.”
“Also, since my driving record is nothing short of extraordinary, I’d be perfectly suited to make deliveries for an Encino
pharmaceutical firm. Or Pizza Man.”
Meg laughed and made a piggish snort.
“Funny to you,” Janet said, “but I hate driving. That still leaves me with a few choice opportunities. For instance, L. A.X.
is desperate for x-ray scanners. You know, security? Watching the little screen to make sure nobody tries to board an airliner
with a pistol or hand grenade tucked away in his carry-on? That sounded appealing for about two seconds. Then I got to thinking
about all that radiation.”
“Nix on that.”
“Damn right. Junior or no Junior, I’m not eager to get my chromosomes juggled. So I said the hell with that. Especially since
I’ve got this ace in the hole.”
“Referring to Junior again?”
Janet stuggled not to laugh with her mouthful of wine. By the time she’d swallowed it, the urge had passed. She said, “No,
I don’t mean Junior. Just a figure of speech. Ace in the hole. Means…”
“You’ve got the Red Baron up your ass?”
Janet chuckled and shook her head. “You’re getting crude. How much have you had to drink?”
“Not enough. Never enough. Anyway, so what
is
this ace you’ve got up your hole?”
“It’s not up
my
hole.”
“I see.”
“You’re trying to confuse the issue.”
“I’ll be good.”
“Thank you.” Janet finished her glass of wine and sighed with pleasure. “More?”
“Why not?”
She uncorked the huge bottle and refilled both glasses. “My great asset—my ace in the hole, so to speak—no puns intended so
please don’t interrupt again—is that I’m an absolute
whizz
on the typewriter.”
“You
whizz
on typewriters? That’s a filthy habit.”
“I’m a very fast and accurate typist.”
“Oh! Is
that
what you mean?”
“That’s what I mean,” Janet assured her. “Did you realize I’m an expert typist?”
“I never even suspected.”
“One gets that way after six years of college. All those term papers, the master’s thesis…I must say, I really became
facile at—as we pros call it—tickling the ivories.”
“A regular Liberace, huh?”
“Exactly.”
“So you won’t starve,” Meg said, and scratched one of her bushy eyebrows.
“Neither will I teach. Not this year, anyway.”
“No openings?”
“Not on their lists. Well,
some
openings. Specialist stuff. Speech therapy, emotionally handicapped, that sort of thing. Nothing for a secondary teacher with
an M. A. in English literature.”
“And a kid in the oven.”
“Oh, that’s a well-kept secret.”
“So what’s the verdict?” Meg asked, grinning strangely as if amused by a private joke.
“The jury’s still out,” Janet told her, ignoring the grin. “I guess, if nothing else turns up, I’ll have to settle for one
of the typing jobs. On the brighter side, though, I’ve got a date for tomorrow night.”
“Yeah? Fantastic! Anyone I know?”
“
I
don’t even know him. His name’s Moses.”
“You’re pulling my leg.”
“Moses Goldstein, but everyone calls him Mosby for some reason I couldn’t make out. Something about the Civil War. He’s very
weird, but he’s funny.”
“Sounds like it’ll be a heavy date.”
“You never know.”
“So how’d you meet him?”
“He works in the placement office. He said, ‘Since you’re out of work, you could probably use a good meal. How about tomorrow
night?’ ”
“A mover. What does he look like?”
“A salamander.”
When Meg stopped laughing, she asked, “Then why are you going out with him?”
“More to life than good looks.”
“Easy for you to say.”
“He seems very nice. Besides, I figured it’d be a way to take my mind off Dave and all that.”
“Besides,” Meg added, “you couldn’t think of a pleasant way to turn him down.”
Janet shook her head. “That’s not it. No problem there. I turn guys down all the time. The self-satisfied asshole types…who seem, by the way, to be very much in evidence these days.”
“Here here! Which reminds me, I would like to propose a toast.”
“A toast? To whom or what?”
“Patience,” Meg said. She reached for the bottle.
“I realize patience is supposed to be a virtue, but that’s no reason to toast it.”
“We’re not toasting patience, hon. We’re exercising it while I fill the glasses.”
“Sit-ups? Push-ups? Jumping jacks?”
“You’re getting looped.”
“Who, me?” Janet asked.
Meg put the bottle down and said, “Now, this calls for a brief explanation. John Lawrence came into the bookstore today looking
for an anniversary card.”
“I hope you congratulated him.”
“Do you know who John Lawrence is?” Meg asked.
“Can’t say I do.”
“He’s the assistant superintendent of the school district. The headquarters is just across the street from the college, so
he comes into the bookstore fairly often. We’ve gotten to know each other pretty well over the past couple of years.
Anyway
, John’s in charge of personnel for the entire district. Well, we had a little chat today. I explained about my dear friend—meaning
you—who is as smart as a whip…”
“A
bull
whip?”
“
Now
who’s interrupting?”
“Sorry.”
“Here I am, extolling you, and you’re cracking wise.”
“Cracking like a
whip!
”
“
Any
way, I told him all about you…”
“Not
all
, I hope.”
“Only the good stuff.”
“How long did
that
take?”
“Quite a few seconds, actually.”
“Did you mention I’m smart as a whip?”
Meg took another drink of wine, then said, “Any-waaaaay, the upshot is this: if you drop by John’s office at the school district
headquarters on Monday morning, he’ll put you on the district’s substitute list.”
“You’re kidding!”
Janet blurted.
Beaming, Meg shook her head. “Forty-eight bucks a shot.”
“Wow!”
“Yup.” She raised her glass of wine. “Here’s to your future as a substitute teacher.”
“Here’s to
you!
”