Night Show (16 page)

‘I didn’t have to. You already knew it.’

The door from the kitchen opened, and Anthony came in.

Dani forced herself to smile at him. ‘Well, I think we’re about ready to wrap it up for today.’

‘It’s not even noon,’ he said.

‘We have some errands to run this afternoon.’

‘I’ll go with you.’

‘No you won’t,’ Jack said.

Anthony stiffened and glared at him. He turned to Dani, his eyebrows lifting. ‘
You’ll
let me come, won’t you?’

‘I think we should call it quits for today.’

‘I won’t be in the way.’

‘Jack and I want to be alone.’

‘Oh. What about tomorrow?’

‘Tomorrow’s Sunday.’

‘That’s all right.’

‘We don’t work on the Sabbath,’ Jack said with a slight smirk.

‘We have plans,’ Dani said.

‘Okay,’ he muttered.

Jack picked up the duplicate of Anthony’s head, and handed it to him.

‘Come on by next Saturday,’ Dani said, ‘and we’ll go over some more techniques.’

His lips peeled back as if he were in pain. ‘
Next Saturday?
’

‘Same time, same station,’ Jack said.

‘That’s
years
!’

‘It’s a week,’ Jack said.

Dani opened the door, and they followed her into the kitchen. ‘It’ll be here sooner than you think.’

‘I was thinking, you know, you’d take me to the studio and stuff.’

‘I’d like to,’ Dani lied, ‘but it’s against the rules.’

‘You need a union card,’ Jack added.

Anthony shook his head.

Dani led the way to the front door and opened it. ‘I think it went really well today; you did a great job.’

‘Yeah,’ Jack said. ‘Now you know how to make a decent head.’ He tapped the nose of the head Anthony clutched under his arm. ‘That’s sure a far cry from the one you left on the diving board. Scarier, too.’

‘Very funny.’

‘If you have any spare time,’ Dani said, ‘drop by a
library
and pick up some books on cosmology, anatomy, that kind of thing. They’ll help. And we’ll see you next Saturday at nine.’

‘Okay. Well, thanks.’ He stared at Dani’s face as if to memorise it.

She smiled nervously. ‘Bye, Anthony.’

He nodded, and turned away. He walked slowly toward the driveway, his head low.

Dani shut the door. ‘Whew.’

‘Alone at last.’

‘I’m sweatin’ like a huncher. Let’s go for a swim.’

‘What about those errands?’

‘What errands?’ she asked, and pulled off her sweatshirt.

‘N
O, HE’S
not here just now,’ said the woman’s voice.

Linda eased the screen door open and peered into the house. A picture window filled the living room with sunlight. The woman wasn’t there. Maybe in the kitchen.

‘I don’t expect him back for quite a while, Helen. He’s off playing softball.’

Linda slipped inside. She inched the door shut.

‘Certainly. I’ll have him call you the minute he gets in. He’s already told us all he knows, though. He hasn’t seen Joel since Wednesday.’

Linda walked quietly to the staircase.

‘He’s as concerned as the rest of us . . . I know, I’d be a basket case, too. If I were you, I’d call the police.’

With a hand on the banister to steady herself, she climbed the stairs.

‘No, I’m not suggesting anything of the sort, Helen. You’re the one who’s so sure he didn’t just run away . . . I know he’s not that kind of boy. That’s why I think you should call the police. I wouldn’t have waited
this
long, if it was Arnold.’

The woman’s voice faded as Linda reached the top of the stairs. A door stood open to her left, another to her right. The corridor ran back alongside the stairwell with book shelves on the wall opposite the balustrade, and two doors near the end.

She glanced through the doorway on her right. A waist-high platform filled most of the room. An HO setup, complete with green hills, tunnels and bridges, a lake made of tinted glass, a little village with a train station. An assortment of miniature trains stood motionless on the tracks.

Across the hallway was a large bathroom.

Linda moved on. She heard footsteps below. With a glance over the railing, she assured herself that no one was on the stairs. She hurried toward the end of the corridor, and peeked into the room on her right.

A single bed. A cluttered desk and dresser. Plastic ship models on shelves. A poster of Reggie Jackson when he was still a Yankee.

It had to be Arnold’s room.

Stepping inside, she quietly pressed the door shut. She went directly to the desk. On top were half a dozen school textbooks, a blue binder, scattered pens and pencils, a ruler, a gooseneck lamp, a pocket calculator, a few loose paper clips, but no envelopes or stationery.

She lifted a straight-backed chair away from the desk and set it down gently. Then she slid open the top drawer. Near the front was a gum eraser, a compass, a sheath knife, a rubber mouse, a Kennedy half-dollar. To
the
rear, the drawer was heaped with papers, envelopes, and a few picture postcards.

With trembling fingers, she picked a glassy card off the pile. She stared at the grim, greenish face of the Frankenstein monster.

She flipped it over. The back was scrawled with pencil.

Howdy!

Spent today at Universal Studios. Saw the old Bates house from Psycho. Castle Dracula was pretty neat, tho it didn’t scare me any. You ought to get out hear.

So long.
C.M.

C.M.?

Linda would’ve bet the card came from Tony. Who the hell was C.M.?

Besides, it had no return address.

She dropped it, and picked up an envelope. In the corner was a return address written in shaky letters:

C.M.
8136 La Mar St #210
Hollywood, CA 90038

Spreading open the envelope, she pulled out a folded sheet of paper. Strips hung off one side, like fringe
where
it had been torn from a spiral notebook. She opened it and read:

Howdy,

How’re things in Dullsville? Just got me a place to live and a job all in the same day. Its part time at a Jack-in-the-Box. Where I work, not where I live. Ha ha!

Been seeing lots of movies. Theirs hundreds of theaters hear and some of them just show oldies all the time. Caught Chainsaw again last night. Its great hear.

Haven’t run into Dick Smith or Rick Baker or any of those guys as of yet, but I hope to before to long. I’m going to be big, pal, just you wait and see. You can say you knew me way back when, or even better, you ought to come out hear and I’ll get you in the movies.

So long from Hollywood.

Your pal,
The Chill Master

It
had
to be Tony.

C.M. Chill Master. What an asshole.

Linda folded the letter, slipped it back inside the envelope, and stuffed the envelope into the rear pocket of her shorts.

She heard voices. She heard footsteps. Arnold came into the room wearing sneakers, and sat on the bed to take
them
off. He dropped his soiled white socks. Standing, he lowered his jeans and shorts. He hopped out of them. He left them on the floor and walked to his closet. Then he went away.

Linda squirmed out from under the bed, pushing aside his shoes and socks. He’d left the door open. Keeping her eyes on it, she hurried to the closet. She slipped a plaid sports coat off its hanger and put it on backwards so it covered her T-shirt and shorts like a smock. Then she squeezed in behind the sliding doors.

She waited. Her heart pounded so hard it made her feel sick. Her tongue felt huge and rough in the dryness of her mouth. Sweat trickled down her face. She switched Arnold’s knife to her other hand and wiped her slippery palm on the jacket.

Finally, he came back. The bedroom door latched shut.

Linda peered out at him.

His hair was wet and tangled. He took off a pale blue bathrobe and tossed it on his bed. He looked very muscular. His skin was tanned dark, his buttocks as white as loaves of unbaked bread. Squatting, he picked up his jeans. He dug into a pocket, came out with a comb, and dropped the jeans.

Linda eased her head out farther and watched him cross to the dresser. He stopped in front of it. Both hands went up, one combing while the other patted his hair in place. This would be a good time to go for him – except for the mirror. She drew her head in.

The comb made a quiet clatter. A few seconds passed. His quiet voice said, ‘One . . . two . . . three . . .’

She looked again. Arnold was on the floor, hands clasped behind his head, sitting up. His back curled. He touched his elbows to his knees. ‘Four,’ he said, and lowered his back to the carpet. His penis, the size of a thumb, was pointed at the ceiling. His rising back blocked Linda’s view. ‘Five.’ Down again.

She took a careful sidestep. Another. Now she was clear of the sliding door. She knelt.

‘Eight,’ Arnold said, and started down. His back pressed the carpet. He took a breath and gritted his teeth as if to hold it in. His stomach muscles flexed. His penis wobbled. He sat up, hands pulling at his head. Linda scuttled forward. Arnold’s elbows brushed his slightly upraised knees. ‘Nine.’ He dropped back. His damp hair rubbed Linda’s thighs, and she smiled down at him. His eyes opened wide. His mouth sprang open.

Linda thrust her open left hand against his mouth and leaned in, putting her weight on it, trapping his folded hands under his head and muffling his outcry as she swung her right arm down. The five-inch blade punched into him just above the navel. His knees flew up. His hands escaped and reached for Linda’s wrist but she jerked the knife out and raised it high. He tried to catch the blade. It stabbed his right palm, ripped open his forearm and plunged into his belly. The impact splashed blood high. It sprayed Linda’s face. Arnold clutched her wrist. His hand was slippery and trembling, but his grip was strong enough to stop her from
pulling
out the knife. So she twisted it hard. He screamed into her left hand and his fingers fluttered open. She tugged the knife out.

His body was twisting and bucking, his arms flopping aimlessly, unable to stop her. She pounded the knife in. She found herself counting each time the hilt stopped her thrust. Eight, nine, ten, eleven. At twenty, she plunged the knife into his throat. She left it there, and rubbed off her fingerprints with the jacket.

She was exhausted. She got to her feet and pulled off the blood-soaked jacket. It had done its job well; there was not a drop on her own clothes. Using Arnold’s bathrobe, she wiped blood from her thighs and knees, from her hands. It left them with a rusty stain. She turned to the mirror. Her face was speckled and dripping. Her wig, too. She cleaned them as well as she could.

Listening at the door, she heard nothing. She eased it open and checked the corridor. It was deserted. The sounds of a man and woman talking came from below.

She hurried to the bathroom. The air felt warm and moist. The top of the mirror was still fogged from Arnold’s shower. She shut the door. Standing at the sink, she used soap and water to wash off the remaining bloodstains. She dried herself with a soft white towel.

Then she crept downstairs. The voices seemed to come from the kitchen. The living room was deserted. She eased open the screen door and stepped outside.

She crossed the lawn with her head down, rubbing her forehead to hide her face from any neighbor or passerby
who
might chance to see her. Once she reached the sidewalk, she let her hand down.

She noticed a kid across the street. He was hunched over the handlebars of his tricycle, pedaling furiously up his driveway. He didn’t look back.

A car approached from the rear. She turned her head away until it passed, then scratched an eyebrow to shield her face from the rearview mirror.

At the end of the block, she walked around the corner to her parent’s car. She climbed in. It felt like an oven. She winced as the vinyl upholstery scorched the backs of her legs, but smiled in spite of the pain when she heard the crumble of paper in her rear pocket.

Tony’s letter.

With Tony’s new address.

S
WEAT AND
suntan oil streamed down Dani’s skin as she sat up. She stretched, enjoying the feel of the late afternoon breeze.

Jack, on the lounger a few feet away, seemed to be asleep. His hands were folded behind his head. His chest rose and fell slowly, skin glistening under his curly layer of hair. A puddle had formed in the depression of his navel. Its gleaming surface shimmered from the motion of his breathing.