Rage flared inside me against this bizarre assailant, and I forgot my plan of jumping on Genie. I lunged for the lightbulb, got hold of her wrist, and hung on, trying to twist it. We both crashed to the ground. I saw liquid sloshing in the bulb—its screw end was covered with duct tape—and realized then what kind of damage she intended to do. She grabbed my throat with her free hand and squeezed hard.
Coco Nash, using all her strength and skill, slammed the forged blade of her two-iron squarely into Garbo's hand holding the lightbulb. She missed my arm by a millimeter.
I heard the crunch of bone, and Garbo let out a roar, a full-chested baritone bellow right in my face, and I saw that this was no lady—it was Dom Dengel in a disguise that was as pathetic as it had been effective. I was close enough now to see his stubble; his sunglasses and hat had fallen off, and the wig was slipping to one side. Along with the bones in his hand, the lightbulb shattered, too, and the shards flew as the liquid within splashed on the two of us.
Dengel screamed then, as he felt the searing pain of the acid on his face. Whatever kind it was, it was strong. I could smell it and see it: The sour, harsh liquid was turning his face red in blotches already. He let go of my neck, and I rolled off him to the grass. The cops had seen the acid flying, realized what it was, and were reluctant to grab hold of him with their bare hands. They stood uncertainly over him as, his hands to his face, he screamed. One cop fumbled for some latex gloves from his equipment belt.
I got to my feet, not feeling anything, and saw Genie flanked protectively by a pair of tough-looking women with mullet haircuts who had followed our group. They were Coco Nash's muscle, I realized. They'd hustled Genie about fifty yards back up the fairway, and were watching to see what would happen next. A third mullet had materialized next to Coco and had her in a bodyguard hold, her arm linked through Coco's, her hands gripping for good measure.
Dengel screamed through his pain, "Yeah, arrest me!"
He struggled to his knees as the cops fumbled with their equipment saying, "Shit! Shit!"
The wig fell off and there he was, wearing some kind of waitress dress, looking like Sluggo in drag.
The cops got one cuff on him as he squinted and struggled and sobbed. The red marks covered most of his face and one eye. Something was happening to his flesh: Was it starting to melt?
Everyone was staring, rooted, dumbfounded, as Dengel pointed up the fairway to Genie with his yet-free hand and yelled, "She's the killer! Genie fucking Maychild is the killer! Right there, right there! Now you have to deal with me, Genie!"
He reached into the pocket of his dress and pulled out a little white card. "Here's his fingerprints! See? See?" He kept struggling, and I saw more cops coming running. "His name was Nick!" Dengel screamed. They finally got both cuffs on him. The white card fluttered to the ground. The cops were now holding him gingerly, one on each arm, right next to Genie's bag, when the bag lurched and Todd came shooting out like a champagne cork. He leaped straight into the air, right in the cops' and Dengel's faces, and hit the ground running as fast as his bunny legs would go. I perceived that, fed up with all this nonsense, he'd gnawed his way out.
The cops were so startled they lost hold of Dengel, who seized the advantage and bolted toward Genie. I knew Coco's thugs wouldn't let him reach her. The cops, now half a dozen strong, thundered after him, and I began to think everything would be all right, after a fashion, when Coach Marian Handistock emerged from a spot directly behind Genie and did what I should have known she would do.
Beating the police to Dengel, she set herself and, with both hands, rammed the blade of a commando-style knife straight into his chest. She sawed it back and forth for good measure, his blood surging onto her arms.
Yes, I should have known that if Dengel tried anything with Genie, Handy would kill him, and somehow I even should have known she'd find the right knife to do it with.
A collective scream rose from every throat, and the shadow of the blimp passed over.
Dengel was dead before the end of the first commercial ABC hastily cut to.
Coach Handy turned and gave Genie one long clear look, then stepped bloody and empty-handed into the arms of the police.
Todd had disappeared up the fairway, seeking a safe place, which, he'd concluded, wasn't anywhere near me.
I picked up the white card Dengel had dropped. On it were two rows of five tiny black smudges. That was all. A cop plucked the card from my hand.
Truby appeared at my side shouting, "Water! Pour water on her! Water, everybody, come on!"
I reached up to my face, suddenly feeling a hot spot on my jaw and another on my forearm.
"Don't touch it! Lillian, sit down on the ground. Here, here, gimme!"
Surrounded now by a small crowd, I felt my head and arm being showered with cooling water. I coughed for air. The water ran off pink, and Truby said, "You've been cut, too. Son of a bitch! More water!"
"I'm a medic," said a voice at my arm. "She'll be all right."
.
If this was just a made-up story, you would surely not believe that the tournament eventually resumed that very day, and that the sporting finale everybody wanted to see was, in fact, given them. But maybe you watched on television, so you know, or maybe you saw it with your own eyes from any of the thousands of vantage points overlooking the eighteenth hole that afternoon.
Chapter 31
A cool hand patted my shoulder and a cheerful voice said, "Honey, you're in the best place in the world to get your face fixed. After all, this is Palm Springs. People come from all over the world."
It was true.
I could see only white, and smell only cleanliness, beneath the drape the emergency room nurse had placed over my eyes, in preparation for the plastic surgeon.
"Oh, he's the best," said the nurse. "Believe me, this is nothing. Now let's see that arm again. There."
An hour later I had five stitches in one cheek, five more near my ear, and a small patch of raw skin on my jaw. My whole face felt numb.
"Don't get up yet," the doctor said. "The acid didn't go through all your skin layers. Your friend here acted fast and did the right thing. How did you know to flush the area with water?"
"I had a boyfriend who had a car battery explode one time," said Truby, who was sitting next to me on a straight chair.
"Blot your stitches with a little hydrogen peroxide once a day," said the doctor. "See a doctor when you get home. Once the cuts heal, the scars shouldn't be noticeable at all. I'm putting some gauze on your arm to protect it, but you can take it off tomorrow. I think I got all the glass out, but don't be surprised if a sliver works its way out in a month or two. Better stay lying down for a few more minutes. I'll be back."
"I have to go find Todd," I said to Truby.
"I'll find Todd, Starmate. Relax."
"No! He might not come to you. I have to go and call him. He can't be far from that spot. He knows my voice, I'm sure he's waiting for me." I sat up. "I'm really fine. See?"
"Oh, Lillian."
"We're going. Let's go. Think they take credit cards here?"
"I've paid for it."
.
When we walked onto the course at Mission Hills, the shadows were long and deep, and tournament week was over.
The grandstands were deserted, the trash baskets were full, the flagsticks had been gathered, and the course was going to rest overnight before the food stands and toilets and souvenir tents were taken away.
It was striking how still the place was, how fatigued the course appeared. The very air felt spent, burned up. I could almost smell the brimstone. The blistering heat of the day was dissipating into the evening sky.
It was peaceful.
One of the tournament directors sat perched on the railing of the footbridge to the eighteenth green, drinking a glass of red wine. She looked at me with a dazed expression.
"I'm here to find my rabbit," I said.
"Whatever," she said.
"Who won?"<
br />
She told me, and I thanked her.
There was no trace of the disaster on the fairway. The acid had soaked right down; Dengel's blood had soaked right down.
Truby followed me quietly as I searched for Todd.
I went in the direction he'd gone, softly calling his name. I skirted clumps of greenery and little rocky places. He was hiding, resting, maybe eating. I was worried that he'd eat something bad for him. I was disgusted with myself to the bone for having put him through such trauma—and such risk.
I knew I'd find him, though. I saw tracks going straight through one of the bunkers on seventeen, and I followed their trajectory to some shrubs near a house off the fairway.
"Todd."
He bumped out to meet me, and I sat down on the ground and petted him and held him. He looked fine.
"Man, I'm an idiot," I murmured.
"You're always an idiot when you're in love," Truby reminded me. "I've told you and told you. Wait here."
It was the most beautiful evening the desert could possibly offer. Oh, it was a soft, relaxed evening. The air was like a warm bath, and the breeze was shifting and dying as night came on.
Truby returned, walking over the cropped championship grass, carrying two glasses of wine, a bag of peanuts, and a carrot stick.
"I don't know if it's any good, but it's red," she said, hunkering in the soft grass. We were in a little hollow, the three of us, comfortable together, looking out at the blackening palm trees and the grass.
We drank our wine and ate the peanuts. Todd gobbled up the carrot stick, then rubbed his chin on Truby's shoes.
"Well," I said.
"That was rather a day," she said.
We laughed, God help us, and we began to talk. We talked as the stars appeared and the night covered us with its velvet. It was good to sit and talk with my friend in the dark, as we used to do whenever the power company cut us off back in our apartment on Prentis Street.
We talked for a long time.
Finally she said, "What are you going to do?"
"I'm going to go and talk to her."
"Then what?"
"Then we'll see."
We watched the stars.
Truby asked, "Do you know any constellations besides the Big Dipper?"
"No."
"Me neither."
"You saved me from becoming the Phantom of the Opera's little sister. Is there a Phantom of the Opera constellation?"
"I don't think so."
I reached out for her arm. "Anyway, thank you."
"Mention it again and I'll throw Diet Pepsi on you."
"Anything but that."
I said, "So, my dear," after we'd sat quiet for another while, "you had a breakthrough last night."
"I sure did."
"Tell me," I prompted.
"She was a babe, Lillian."
"Yeah?"
Truby rocked on her haunches. "And she was experienced."
"Oh, boy."
"We really meshed, you know?"
"Awright!"
"And she couldn't make me come."
I inclined my head for more.
"Well?" said Truby.
"Well what?" I said. "Sometimes that happens. First time and all. First date. Jeepers, Trube."
"What the hell do you mean?"
"What do you mean, what do I mean? Did you get her to come?"
"No."
"Well, don't feel bad."
"It wasn't easy, Lillian!"
I laughed. "Nothing worth learning ever is."
"I thought it'd be like, you know..."
"You thought it'd be automatic? Like, just start messing with each others' vulvas and watch the fireworks?"
"Well...yeah! I thought it was supposed to be beautiful and smashing, and satisfying and wonderful!"
"Oh, Truby."
"Her body was gorgeous, and it was exciting, but somehow the experience fell short. It was a lot harder to come than I expected." She shook her head in the dark. "I guess I had a preconception about it."
"I can't believe it. I could have disabused you of that in a second. My God. Didn't you ever listen to me when I talked about my affairs?"
"Yes, but..."
We sighed together. Beneath my hand, Todd sat between us quietly.
Truby said, "Why didn't you tell me about technique?"
"You didn't ask! I thought you wanted discover the joys of lesbian sex all by yourself."
"Shit."
"Truby. Look. I sense your experiment has come to an end. You're not really into women, are you?"
"Don't hate me."
"Shut up. Come on, hon, if you were a lesbian at heart, the orgasm-on-the-first-night thing wouldn't matter."
"Yeah, I know."
"You wanted to find something out, and you did. It's irrelevant to me who you sleep with."
"I might not sleep with anybody for a long, long time."
"Get a rabbit. They're warm and—"
"Lillian."
I shut up.
Truby said, "Now I have a sense of what Theo went through. You know, what it was like for him."
"Well, it's not that hard. Never mind. Think you'll try to get him back?"
"Oh, God, no."
"I always thought he was a little prissy."
"You never met him!"
"He sounded prissy."
She paused. "Well, he was."
We looked at the stars a while longer. The moon was coming up, what was left of it.
I was able to make out the face of my watch. "It's getting late," I said.
"You going over there?"
"Yeah, I'll walk over."
"What if she's not there?"
"She'll be there."
Chapter 32
It was past eleven when I clambered over the patio bushes, Todd under my arm, and walked into the house on the sixteenth fairway. The lights were on and Genie was alone, sitting in the largest leather chair in the living room, her feet up on a hassock, a mug of coffee in her hand. She was wearing her blue kimono and a comfortable smile.
"Meredith and everybody just left," she said.
To be accurate, she wasn't alone, not really alone at all; the championship trophy was there with her. A tall, classic loving cup, it gleamed from its place at the center of the coffee table. No, no, it didn't merely gleam; there in the fine lamplight in that fine room it shone; it took light and did something splendid with it, amplified it, as expertly wrought silver does. Genie's name was now engraved on it a second time. The trophy was keeping her excellent company.
With tenderness and joy in her voice, she said, "Come here. Are you all right now?"
"I'm going to fix Todd up first," I said, walking through the room.
"There's fresh coffee," she said, still smiling. "Hello, Todd!"
After I'd seen to his food and water and newspapers, I poured myself some coffee. Used glasses and hors d'oeuvre dishes had been stacked around the sink. I returned to the living room.
"Would you be a dear," Genie asked, extending her mug to me, "and fill me up?"
I took a seat on the couch and stretched out my legs.
"Lillian?" her smile faltered. "Do you see that over there?"
"Yes. Congratulations."
"You know, Meredith was worried about you, but I wasn't. Not in the slightest. I knew you'd be just fine—and Todd, too. I knew everything would be fine."
She rose, and stepping carefully around the coffee table, came to the couch. "Let me see you." She eased down into the cushions. "Oh, you've got stitches! But you're as lovely as ever to me." She tried to nestle in for a kiss, but I nudged her away.
"Not yet," I said. "Genie—"
"You're tired, aren't you? But did you hear—oh, did you hear about it?"
I didn't reply.
She took my arm and kissed the bandage, and stroked it gently. She turned her face up to mine. "I nearly holed out on my second shot. Oh, Lillian, you should have seen it. Coco and Lona and I insisted that w
e be allowed to finish, and Meredith leaned hard on the tournament people, she really did, and we played in, oh, maybe just half an hour after...after everything calmed down. Oh, my dear. You should have seen me. Well, I'll get the tape from ABC."
Her eyes were hot glittering ingots. "Coco folded, she absolutely crumpled. Seeing my shot, she had to go for the green in two, and she put it in the water, and that was the end of her. Guess that'll shut her up. Oh, you should've seen her face. She could barely bring herself to shake my hand." She pumped her fist as I watched her, sipping my coffee.
"I tapped in for my eagle, which I didn't even need anymore because she bogeyed. I tapped in from eight inches. Now! How about a kiss?"
She leaned in and I let her.
"Hm. You are tired. I love your lips. I love-love-love your lips. Lillian, thank you for today. Thank you, thank you, thank you. I want to sweep you away somewhere for a—for everything! I'm taking next week off. Let's go to—where would you like to go? Let's go to New York and buy you a new wardrobe! How would you like that? I want to buy you some jewelry. Look at that poor little watch you've got. You can have anything you want! A car! Do you like that Jaguar? Let's look for a house together. Let's get a house in Florida—we'll get a big one!—and one in Italy. Wouldn't you like Italy? In the off season?"
She breathed deeply, luxuriously. "I'm free. I feel so free; I feel so fresh. Like I could beat them all again! I can beat anybody, and I will beat anybody. With you in my life—maybe this sounds crazy, Lillian, but it's not, it's not!—with you in my life, I am invincible."
"Genie."
"Oh, if you could've been there. They cleared off—they cleared everything away, and we hit our shots, and I carried my own bag to the green. Look what I got!"
She held out a crumpled, stained rag.
"What's that?"
"Look, look, it's yours!"
Then it looked familiar. "Is that one of my handkerchiefs?"
Damn Straight Page 19
