Once Is Not Enough (45 page)

She shut her eyes and tried not to scream as his rough hand touched her breasts. Then he unzipped his pants and exposed himself. “Pretty good for a little guy like me. But like I always say, you got to have your weight somewhere. Now my friend up there”—he nodded toward the steps—“he’s all business. But me, I like to combine business with pleasure. So you and me is gonna have ourselves a little fuck.” He wrenched the robe off her. “Turn around!”

“Please . . .” she begged.

“Oh. Maybe you’d like it all romantic. On the nice soft couch over there with me on top of you. Sure, and give you a chance
to grab for the knife. Oh, no, sister. You’re gonna take it doggie style. That way I got you in no position to fight. Now turn around and bend over!” he snarled.

“Please . . . I won’t take your knife. Please . . .”

“You bet your ass you won’t. And because you gave me some lip—I’m gonna make you use it. Your lips. Hey, that’s a joke. Get it? Now before I give it to you, you do a little ground work.” He pushed her to her knees and shoved his penis in her face. Her revulsion made her forget fear, and she suddenly jumped away and raced across the room. In an instant he had her by the arm and slapped her across the face. Then he pushed her on the floor. “Get on your knees, you cunt. No more games. I’m gonna ram my joint so far up your ass it’ll come out through your throat!”

As he leaned close to her, she screamed. His reflexes caused him to jump away. Then she felt the cold blade of the knife at the black of her neck. “Trying to wake the neighbors? Well, nobody’s home . . . on both sides of you. We hit them for some transistor radios. Nothing worthwhile. But don’t try any more screaming. It would take the enjoyment out of it all for me and might make me cut you up before I fuck you.”

But she continued to struggle as he pushed her into a kneeling position on the floor. Then she saw Tom’s shadow in the doorway. He had heard her scream! With one last burst of strength, she twisted and managed to pull away. But the little man grabbed her. He was breathing hard, and she felt him against her as he made a futile attempt to penetrate her. She knew Tom was creeping around the room. She made one final effort and wrenched herself from his grasp. He clawed at her breast in anger as he tried to pull her toward him. Tom was behind the man now. And then she heard the thump as the bottle hit his head. The man gasped, released her, and slipped to the floor. Tom pulled her into his arms. She was sobbing hysterically. “Oh, Tom! He was trying to . . . Oh, God! If you hadn’t come in time . . .”

He picked up her robe and helped her into it. Her teeth were chattering, but she pointed upstairs. “There’s another one. A giant. And he’s with Hugh . . .”

Tom looked at the unconscious man on the floor. He handed
her the bottle. “Now, look, if the bastard even stirs, hit him with this. Don’t spare him. Just remember what he wanted to do to you.”

Then he started for the stairs. There were sounds of a scuffle. Obviously the giant was beginning to rough up Hugh. Tom crept up the stairs, one at a time. A board creaked. She held her breath. The little man on the floor stirred slightly. January wavered as she held the bottle. But the man merely moaned and slipped back into unconsciousness. She was relieved. Somehow she felt she couldn’t have hit him. Not with him lying there like that. If he was attacking her it would have been different. She stared at him. He was an ugly little man with two days’ growth of beard. There was a smell of decay about him. Yet with his eyes shut and his mouth open there was something oddly pathetic and innocent about him.

She turned and watched Tom inch his way up the stairs. There was another sound of scuffling in the room. Furniture scraped, and it seemed as if the ceiling would come down. Tom took two steps at a time. He had just reached the top when the door opened and the giant appeared. He stood there for a split second, taken off guard at seeing another man. His eyes went from Tom to his unconscious accomplice on the floor. With a guttural curse he leaped at Tom and they both rolled down the steps. Tom was the first to scramble to his feet, but the huge man lumbered after him. “I left your friend half dead in the bedroom,” he snarled. “But with you, I’m gonna finish the job.” His fist crashed into Tom’s stomach. Tom doubled over but staggered to his feet. This time the man lunged for his jaw. Tom ducked. He was stalling for time to get his breath back. But the huge man gave him no chance. He came at him with another smashing blow to the stomach, and Tom went down. January stood riveted in one spot as he approached her. Then she saw the knife lying on the floor. She grabbed it and raced across the room. The giant laughed. “Oh, want to play games? Want Big Henry to try and get the knifey away from the little girl?”

He started toward her. She leaped behind the couch. He came after her and she ran to the other side. “TOM . . . HUGH . . . HELP!” she screamed.

The man laughed. “No one awake but just us chickens.”
Then he laughed heartily at his joke. He was coming closer. She hesitated. If she stabbed at him and missed, it would be all over for everyone. She had to stall for time. She ran around to the other side of the couch. The giant was laughing. “Come on. You’re a cute piece. Wish I had the time to give it to you.” He came closer. She backed away and almost tripped over the man on the floor. She heard Tom begin to stir. The giant heard it too. His smile disappeared. “Okay, you bitch. No more fun and games.” He jumped across the couch and grabbed her. She tried to slash at him with the knife, but he twisted her arm. She cried out in pain as the knife fell to the floor. He picked it up, shoved her across the room, and started toward Tom, who was standing now.

“Okay, Mister. This is one time you’re gonna wish you never woke up.” He lunged at Tom to slash at his throat, but Tom ducked. Then Tom connected with a punch on his jaw. But the man seemed to barely feel it. He came at Tom, grinning, stalking. Tom kept backing away. Then he crouched like a cat, waiting. The man approached, brandishing the knife. Tom didn’t move. The man came closer. And suddenly Tom leaped up like a panther, smashing the side of his hand against the man’s windpipe, following with his fist to the man’s jaw. It all happened so quickly that January couldn’t believe her eyes as the huge man crumpled to the floor like a paper bag. Then Tom raced up the stairs for Hugh. January followed. Hugh was on the floor, just beginning to regain consciousness. His jaw was beginning to swell. One eye was shut, but he forced a slight smile. “I’m gonna live . . . guess I wasn’t much help . . . I’m not in very good fighting shape these days.”

They went downstairs. The little man was beginning to come around. Hugh went to the phone. Tom stopped him. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Calling the police. They’re junkies. Look at that one’s arm—loaded with needle marks.”

“Put that phone down,” Tom commanded. “We’ll get some rope and tie them together and I’ll drive them a mile off and dump them. If we have the police, then January gets involved. You know how the papers will play that up.”

Hugh went to get the rope while Tom tried to slap some life into the face of the bigger man. When Hugh came back
Tom was still working feverishly on the man, massaging the back of his neck. But he lay like a rag doll. “We can’t dump them,” Tom said. “They’d never make it. They’d freeze to death.”

“They’ll make it,” Hugh said as he bound them together. “They’re junkies . . . junkies don’t feel weather.”

“Hugh, I think this man is dead.” Tom stood up and stared at the limp figure of the huge man.

Hugh leaned over him, felt his wrists, his neck. “I feel a slight pulse.”

“Then we’ve got to get him to the hospital. Hugh, you’re going to drive January back to New York. January, get dressed immediately.” It was a command and January ran up the stairs.

“But what will you do?” Hugh asked.

“As soon as you both get out, I’ll call the police and tell them to send an ambulance. I’ll say I wanted to do some writing and you loaned me the place. Then I’ll tell it like it was—that I was out in the kitchen . . . I surprised them. . . .”

“Why don’t you drive January back to New York? I’ll call the ambulance and give the same story. I think January would prefer it that way.”

“I would, too,” Tom said. “But look, man. You’re five foot ten. There’s no way you could have hit that guy in the windpipe or on the jaw unless he bent down to let you.” He looked at his raw fist. “And I’ve got the skinned knuckles to prove I did it.”

January came down with her bag. Her face was white and she clung to Tom while Hugh went out to start the car. “I heard your plans. But what if the men talk? What if they say there were three people here?”

“They’re junkies, so they saw double, or triple—it’s my word against theirs. Don’t worry.” They heard Hugh’s horn. He led her to the door. “Oh, Tom.” She clung to him. “I thought we’d have the whole weekend together. Not just one night.”

He looked at her and managed a wry smile. “I know. But you have to admit . . . it’s been one hell of a night.”

Twenty

J
ANUARY AND
H
UGH
had been silent on the drive back, both immersed in their own thoughts. The night had faded into a slate-colored dawn when they reached New York. The heater in the car was uncomfortably warm, but January suddenly shivered. Everything about New York seemed so dismal and gray. Westhampton and the violence that had occurred suddenly seemed unreal. Hugh pulled up in front of her apartment building. The streets were empty. A chill wind sent small bits of paper skimming across the sidewalk. Her mood was as heavy as the soot-stained canopies of the unattended apartment buildings along the street. “Buildings look dead without doormen,” she said.

Hugh smiled and patted her hand. “Go grab yourself some rest, January.” He helped her out of the car and they stood in front of her building. Her teeth chattered from the early morning cold. “You must be tired and stiff from driving,” she said. “I make lousy instant coffee . . . but if you want some—”

“No. The police at Westhampton are very polite but also very thorough. Tom can handle just about anything, but I think he’d feel better if I was there.” He leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Look, I want to take back a lot of the warnings I handed out so freely in the beginning. There’s something that’s clicked between you and Tom that’s never happened with any other girl before. I’m not just saying this because you’re a woman in love. I’m saying it from watching Tom, the way he looked at you tonight, his attitude—it’s a
whole different thing. Now you get some rest and we’ll call you as soon as everything is settled.”

When she entered her apartment it was as if time had stood still. Remnants of her packing lay strewn about. Slacks across the chair, shirt on the bed—inert signs of a distant past. A lifetime had happened in twenty-four hours.

She went to the refrigerator and poured herself a Coke. It suddenly occurred to her that she hadn’t eaten anything. Hugh had teased her about not liking his cooking. Perhaps she should scramble some eggs. But for some reason the thought of food repelled her. She felt crystal clear . . . wide awake . . . charged with energy. She longed to go out into the lonely morning and walk. She leaned out the window. A heavy mist coated the air. She felt that if she walked . . . she could dispel it . . . like a magic genie . . . wave her arms and scatter sunshine everywhere. She was stronger than the mist . . . stronger than any element . . . Because as Hugh had put it, she was a woman in love. But she couldn’t leave, she had to wait for Tom’s call.

She chain-smoked, drank another Coke . . . It was still too early to call Linda, and besides she didn’t want to keep her phone busy in case Tom called. She turned on the television set. There was a sermon on one channel. She switched to another channel—a children’s cartoon. Then there was an early movie, an old Van Johnson picture with the sound so bad on the print that she couldn’t listen—she couldn’t listen to anything. She turned off the set. Suddenly she thought of her answering service. She had forgotten to check. Not that anyone important would call.

The woman on the service was disgruntled. “Miss Wayne, you must remember to check in with us. Or at least leave a number if you’re going away for a long stretch of time. Your father was very angry. He acted as if it was our fault that we couldn’t find you. After all, we’re just an answering service, not a—”

“When did he call?” January asked.

“Friday night at ten. He had checked into the Plaza and wanted you to call.”
(Friday night at ten
. . .
she was
at
the Plaza
. . .
and of course she had forgotten to check in with
her service
.) “And then again Saturday morning at nine-thirty,” the woman continued. “He wanted you to have lunch with him.”
(She had been at Dr. Alpert’s.)
“Then again at noon.”
(She was at Saks on her shopping spree.)
“And then at five . . . at seven . . . and finally at ten o’clock last night. He left for Palm Beach and wants you to call him there.”

She looked at the clock. Eight-ten. She waited until nine, then called Palm Beach.

“Where in hell have you been?” Mike demanded.

She managed to laugh. “Mike, you won’t believe it, but I keep forgetting about checking with the answering service. I was out in the morning . . . shopping. I forgot to check. I went out again in the afternoon, and must have just missed your call, and then I was out for dinner. It’s awful . . . I’m so sorry. But how was Gstaad?”

“Great. Dee came in second in the tournament. She flew right back to Palm Beach, but I stopped off in New York to see you. And instead of going to our place at the Pierre, I checked into the Plaza because I thought you’d get a kick out of it. I couldn’t get my old suite . . . Hey, guess who has it . . . Tom Colt. But I got an identical one on a lower floor. And there I sat—like a groom left at the altar—waiting for my girl.”

“Oh, Mike. . . .”

He laughed. “It was okay. Listen, I didn’t tell Dee. I said we saw each other. I didn’t want to look like a damn fool.”