Mad River Road (16 page)

“Everything okay?” Brad asked as they approached her car. A slight drizzle had started to fall.

Jamie nodded, although her legs felt wobbly and she was glad for Brad’s supportive arm.

“First the derelict in the bathroom, then three hoodlums in a diner. I can’t leave you alone for a minute.”

Jamie laughed, recalling how many times her mother had said the same thing. “Probably not a good idea.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Brad glanced at the wayward tire.

“What do you think? Can we risk a trip to the multiplex?”

Brad smiled his killer grin. “What’s life without risks?”

They were waiting by her car when Jamie and Brad exited the movie.

“So, what’d you think of my boy Tom Cruise?” Troy asked. Curtis stood to Troy’s left, a cigarette stuck to his bottom lip. Wayne was leaning against the passenger door. They were parked at the far end of the large lot, and there was nobody else in sight. The drizzle had stopped, although a damp wind was blowing, threatening more.

Jamie felt Brad’s hand grow tense on top of her own. “He was terrific,” Brad said, drawing her protectively behind him.

“Tom Terrific,” Curtis agreed with a laugh.

“What are you guys doing here?” Brad asked, keeping his voice light, even friendly.

“We were worried about your tire,” Troy said. “Thought we’d come by, make sure you were all right. In case you needed a lift or something.”

“Well, that’s very kind of you, but we’ll be fine.”

“Will you?” Wayne asked, pushing himself away from the car and ambling menacingly toward them. “Are you sure? Your girlfriend seems like a bit of a handful.” The
other two boys fell into step beside him. “Thought you could use a little help.”

Oh, God, Jamie thought, taking an automatic step back, her eyes cutting across the empty parking lot, wondering where the hell everybody was. Why had they parked so far away from the theaters? “Brad …”

“It’s okay, Jamie.”

“Yeah, Jamie,” Troy said, drawing nearer. “It’s okay. We’re gonna show you a real good time.”

“I think you’ve gone far enough,” Brad warned.

Something about the tone in Brad’s voice brought the young men to a temporary halt. “Oh, you do, do you? You gonna stop us?” Wayne asked after a moment’s pause.

“If I have to.”

“Brad, let’s just run,” Jamie whispered.

“Don’t worry, Jamie,” Brad said, loud enough for everyone to hear. “This is gonna be fun. Ain’t it, guys?” He reached into his pocket as once again, the boys advanced, Curtis the first to reach them.

Jamie heard an unfamiliar click, saw the blade of a knife as it flashed in the darkness and slashed through the air. She saw a flurry of motion as she was pushed to one side, and she fell, looking up just as Brad grabbed Curtis by his ponytail and spun him around, locking him in a stranglehold, and pressing the blade of the knife against his exposed throat.

“Now
this
is my idea of a good time,” Brad said, pressing the blade into the boy’s skin, drawing blood.

“Hey, mister,” Troy began, drawing back and tugging anxiously on his low-slung jeans. “Take it easy. We were just kidding around.”

“Didn’t sound like you were kidding to me.”

“Please,” Curtis whimpered.

“Way I figure it,” Brad was saying, clearly enjoying himself. “You got about three seconds to apologize to my girl here before I slit your friend’s throat.”

“Brad …,” Jamie said. “No …”

“It’s okay, Jamie. Well, boys? What’s it gonna be?”

“We’re sorry,” Wayne said quickly.

“We’re really sorry,” echoed Troy.

“How about you, big shot?” Brad took a tiny nick out of Curtis’s flesh. “You gonna apologize to the lady?”

“I’m sorry,” Curtis managed to croak out.

“Good boys. Now I’m gonna suggest you get the hell away from here as fast as possible.” He released his grip on Curtis’s neck, simultaneously twisting the boy’s ponytail around his fingers, then slicing it off with one quick flick of his wrist, as easily as if it were sliding through butter. Instantly the boys took off. Brad watched them until they disappeared, then helped Jamie to her feet. He tossed the severed clump of hair into the air, watched it fall to the ground and scatter in the breeze, like flecks of ash from a fire. “I think his mama’s gonna like that look a whole lot better, don’t you?”

“I still can’t believe what happened,” Jamie was saying later. She was curled up in Brad’s arms, their naked bodies glistening with the sweat of their recent lovemaking, in the middle of the motel room’s king-size bed while the
Late Show with David Letterman
played silently on the small TV attached to the dark, imitation-wood dresser on the opposite wall.

“It was fun, wasn’t it?”

She sat up. “No, it wasn’t fun. Are you crazy?”

“Crazy about you,” he said, dragging her back down.

Jamie couldn’t help but smile, although she was still trembling and hadn’t stopped trembling since they’d checked in. “What if they go to the police?”

“They won’t.”

“How do you know?”

“ ’Cause I do.”

Jamie pulled the dark floral bedspread up around her breasts. In the corner of the generically decorated room, an air-conditioning unit rumbled loudly at irregular intervals, switching on and off without notice. Beside her, a remote control unit lay glued to the end table, probably to prevent theft. In retaliation, some enterprising soul had absconded with its batteries, rendering it useless. Which meant they’d have to get out of bed to turn off the television. Which meant it would probably be on all night. “Can I ask you something?”

“You want to know where I got the knife,” he stated, as if he’d been expecting this question all night.

“I thought switchblades were against the law.”

Brad gently brushed some hairs away from her forehead. “Did I tell you that before I got into the computer business, I spent some time working with underprivileged kids?”

“What? No.”

“There was this one kid everybody said was … what’s that word your mother used in describing you?”

“Incorrigible?”

“That’s the one. I preferred ‘free spirit.’ Like you,” he said, kissing the tip of her nose.

Jamie felt herself melting. She wasn’t incorrigible. She was a free spirit.

“Anyway, kid claimed I turned his life around, that if it hadn’t been for me …” Brad stared absently at the television screen. “And as a parting gift, he gave me the knife. Said he wouldn’t be needing it anymore. That I should always carry it—for good luck.”

Jamie shook her head. The man was one surprise after another. “Well, it was certainly lucky we had it tonight.”

“Sometimes you have to protect yourself,” he said. “And the people you love.”

Jamie held her breath. Was he saying he loved her? “No man’s ever looked out for me the way you do,” she whispered, huddling in against his side, silently thanking God for bringing this man into her life. A kindred spirit who saw into her soul, who understood who she really was. A man who looked after her, protected her, took care of her. She could have been raped tonight, she realized. Or worse. She closed her eyes, choosing not to think about the awful things that could have happened had Brad not been there to rescue her. I’m so lucky, she thought, sighing deeply and giving in to sleep.

“H
i. Come on in,” Lily said, grabbing Emma’s hand and ushering her inside.

“I can’t stay very long,” Emma said, thinking, I shouldn’t have come, I must be out of my mind to leave Dylan alone, even for a few minutes.

“I was afraid you’d changed your mind.”

I only came to tell you I can’t stay. “I had to make sure Dylan was asleep,” she said instead, allowing Lily to lead her toward the living room. Her house is so cheery, Emma was thinking, marveling at the pale pink wallpaper with its endlessly repeating pattern of delicate little flowers, and wondering idly how much it had cost. I should do something like that with my hall, she was thinking.

The living room was painted a deeper shade of pink than the hall, and the furniture, while clearly not new, was warm and comfortable-looking. At least the four women occupying the two pink-floral love seats facing each other in the middle of the small room looked comfortable enough. As did the wild-haired, leopard-clad amazon she’d seen exiting the old Cadillac parked across
the street, and who was now twisted into a pretzel-like position on the beige carpet in front of the fireplace. Emma wondered how anyone achieved that kind of flexibility. She wondered if the fireplace actually worked. She wondered what she was doing with these women when she should be home with her son.

“Ladies, this is Emma Frost,” Lily began, leading Emma into the center of the room. “If she looks familiar, it’s because hers were the eyes on the Maybelline mascara packages a few years back.”

“You’re a model?” one of the women asked.

“Not so much anymore.”

“I use Maybelline mascara,” someone chirped. “It’s the best.”

“Well, well, you must have made a bundle from that. What are you doing on Mad River Road?” This from the leopard-clad diva on the floor.

“It’s a long story,” Emma told her.

“We’re a book club,” the woman said. “We love stories.”

The other women laughed.

“You
do
have lovely eyes,” someone offered.

“Let me introduce you to your neighbors,” Lily continued proudly. “Emma, this is Cecily Wahlberg. She lives in the lilac-colored house.”

“Number 123,” Cecily elaborated, as if there was more than one. She crossed one skinny leg over the other and weaved bony fingers through her fine, blond pageboy.

“…  Anne Steffoff …”

“Number 115,” Anne stated, her voice a deep baritone that went well with her short, geometrically cut hair. “I wanted to paint it purple.”

“I wouldn’t let her,” said the woman beside her. “Carole McGowan,” she said, offering Emma a strong handshake and a toothy grin. “Anne’s significant other.”

Emma recognized the three women, all of whom were casually dressed in jeans and pastel-colored T-shirts, and felt a pang of guilt for having so actively avoided them in the past. Of the three, Cecily was closest to her own age, and if memory served, she had a daughter slightly older than Dylan, while Anne and Carole were approximately a decade her senior. She pictured the women as they regularly walked their two overweight schnauzers up and down Mad River Road.

“And this is Pat Langer, who used to work at Scully’s, but left to have a baby.”

“Traitor,” the amazon sneered from her position on the floor.

“Hi.” Pat waved shyly before sinking back in her seat.

“How old’s your baby?” Emma asked her.

“Two months.” Pat smiled proudly. “His name’s Joseph.”

She’s not much more than a baby herself, Emma thought, wondering who was at home looking after Joseph right now.

“What am I—chopped liver?” Jan demanded, uncrossing her leopard leotards and extending her hand. “Jan Scully,” she announced. “Owner of Scully’s. Lily tells me you’re thinking about taking out a membership.”

“Well, I …”

“Now would be a good time to do it.”

“We’re offering a free T-shirt and a mug,” the other women chimed in unison. Once again, easy laughter filled the room.

Such a seductive sound, Emma thought, longing to
curl up inside it, then vanish with it into the air. Or maybe she could bottle it and take it home with her, open it whenever she was feeling sad and lost, which was most of the time these days. How long had it been since she’d been with people who laughed out loud? She should tell them that her sitter canceled, that she can’t stay. They’d understand. They’d also insist she leave, and she so desperately wanted to stay. If only for a few minutes more.

“Okay, so forgive me for trying to drum up a little business,” Jan was saying, a pout playing with her enormous lips. “I was at the bank today. Bastards turned down my loan application.”

“No!” Carole said.

“They didn’t,” Anne joined in.

“Did they say why?” Lily asked.

Jan shrugged. “Didn’t have to. I’m a woman, and this is a man’s world.”

“It sure is,” Cecily agreed.

“You want to know what really pisses me off?” Jan asked.

“What really pisses you off?” Anne and Carole asked together.

“If I don’t sign up some new members soon, I’ll have to close up shop, which is exactly what my ex-husband is counting on. I can just hear him saying, ‘I told you Scully’s was my baby. I told you you couldn’t make it without me. Should’ve let me buy you out when you had the chance.’ May he rot in hell. You married?” she asked Emma in the same breath.

“Divorced.”

“So you agree—men are jerks.” It was a statement, not a question.

“Absolutely,” Emma said.

“You said it,” chimed in Cecily.

“We’re probably not the best ones to ask about men,” Anne said with a sly nod at her partner. Carole smiled her toothy grin and patted Anne’s substantial thigh.

“I’m sorry, ladies, but I just can’t agree,” Lily demurred.

“That’s because you were married to the perfect man,” Cecily told her.

“I know a lot of wonderful men,” Lily protested. “My father was one, my brother …”

“Then you cornered the market,” Jan pronounced. “Why’d you get a divorce?” she asked Emma.

“Take it easy, Jan,” Cecily cautioned. “Emma just got here. You’ll scare her away.”

“Oh, she’s not scared away that easily, are you, sweetheart?” Jan asked.

This is my cue, Emma thought. My chance to hightail it out of here. Instead she heard herself say, “My ex-husband, or the pervert, as I like to refer to him, was a compulsive liar who slept with anything that had a pulse. Although frankly, I’m not even sure that was a requirement, since there was many a night when I just lay there like a dishrag, and he didn’t seem to notice or mind. I left him when I discovered a huge stash of child pornography hidden among a bunch of golf magazines at the back of his closet.” She stopped. She could elaborate, she thought, but judging from the slightly stunned looks on all their faces, that was probably enough for one night.

“What about Heathcliff?” Lily ventured.

“Who?” Pat asked.