Bert’ll crap when she finds out.
Tough. Not going into the wilderness without my peace-makers.
Rick turned off the water and climbed out of the tub. He quickly dried himself. He took a long drink of his Bloody Mary, then rolled deodorant under his arms. The shower hadn’t lasted long enough to steam up the mirror. He lathered his face and shaved. Though his hand trembled, he managed not to cut himself.
Back in the bedroom, he tossed his robe aside and stood in front of the full-length mirror on his closet door to comb his hair. At least you’re in good shape, he consoled himself. You were a wimpy teenager last time around. - .
Last time around ...
His scrotum shriveled tight. In the mirror, he saw his hanging penis shrink.
Turning away from his reflection, he stepped into his underpants and pulled them up. The hugging fabric took away some of the vulnerable feeling. He took another drink, then finished dressing.
Bert had selected the outfit: a camouflage shirt with epaulets and pocket flaps, and baggy olive green trousers with pockets that reached down almost to his knees. He fastened the web belt, put on his socks and boots, and stepped in front of the mirror again.
All you need is an ascot and a red beret, he thought, and you’ll look like a paratrooper.
Appropriate. You sure as hell feel like one—like a paratrooper about to take the big step without benefit of a ’chute.
Rick made his bed. He checked the bedroom windows to be sure they were shut and locked.
He finished his Bloody Mary on the way into the kitchen. There, he rinsed out the glass and put it into the dishwasher.
Then he went into the living room.
His backpack was propped upright against the front of the sofa. On the nearby table were his sunglasses, handkerchief, wallet and keys, Swiss Army knife, matches and a pack of thin cigars. He loaded them into his pockets. Then he mashed a battered old cowboy hat onto his head. He stepped over to his pack.
Forgetting anything? he wondered.
He had double-checked Bert’s instructions while packing last night. He knew he was missing nothing on her list.
What else?
Curtains all shut. Lights off. The timer set for the living room lamp so that it would come on at eight each night and go off at eleven. Doors and windows locked. Newspaper delivery stopped. Mail put on vacation hold.
That seemed to be everything.
Rick hoisted the backpack and slipped his arms through its straps. It felt heavy, but had a comfortable fit.
He turned around once.
What are you forgetting?
Rick entered the courtyard of Bert’s apartment building. On his way up the outside stairs, he paused and stepped aside while a man in a sport coat and necktie came down.
Lucky guy, Rick thought. He’s on his way to work. Wish I was.
But that feeling changed when Bert opened her door. Rick stepped inside and into her arms, felt the moist warmth of her mouth, her tight hug, her breasts and pelvis pressing against him. He slipped his hands beneath her loose shirt-tails and caressed her back. It was smooth and bare. He moved his hands all the way up to the sides of her neck and slid them out along her shoulders. He was always amazed by her shoulders; they were slender but wide, giving her body a tapered look and feel. As he stroked them, Bert squirmed against him and moaned.
“How about one for the road?” she whispered.
“You’re kidding,” Rick said.
“Well, if you’re in a big hurry to get going ...”
“I think we can spare a few minutes. Or a few hours. Or a few days.”
“However long it takes.”
Straddling Rick on her hands and knees, Bert stared down into his eyes. Her mouth was open. She was still breathing heavily. “Well,” she said.
“Well.”
“Guess we’d better get a move on.”
“Yeah.”
She lowered herself and kissed his mouth. He felt her nipples brush against his chest. Then she pushed herself up. “I guess that’ll hold us till tonight,” she said.
“Isn’t it customary to sleep after all this exertion?”
“If you want me to drive, you can sleep in the car.”
“How about a shower first?”
“Already had one this morning.”
“So did I. But this was a messy job, and—”
“I’ll keep my mess, thank you. Something to remember you by,” she added, smiling down at him. “You may feel free to take a shower, however, if you make it quick.”
“Without you?”
Nodding, Bert climbed off him.
“I’ll pass,” Rick said.
He got out of bed and followed her. The air stirred against his damp body, cooling him. He watched Bert. Her short blond hair looked brown in the dim light, her skin dusky. She walked with easy strides. Rick’s gaze slid down her wide shoulders, her back, her slim waist, and lingered on the smooth moving mounds of her buttocks.
When we’re on the trails, he thought, I’ll let her take the lead.
He tightened inside. He wished he hadn’t thought about being on trails.
We’re not there yet, he told himself.
He stopped in the entryway to the living room and leaned against the cool wood.
Bert continued into the room. Her head lowered as she looked at the discarded clothing. She was in profile when she bent at the waist, and Rick stared at the side of her breast. She picked up her panties. Her breast swayed slightly as she shifted from one foot to the other and stepped into them. The panties were little more than a white elastic waistband. When they were on, she turned toward Rick.
“Am I the only one getting dressed around here?” she asked.
“Yep.”
“Anything to stall.”
“Magnificent view. Mount Bertha.”
“That’s twice.” She raised an eyebrow. “Once more and you’ve had it.”
“Bert’s a boy’s name. You quite obviously are no—”
“Bertha’s a cow’s name. My parents were mad.” After a glance at the floor, she ducked down and picked up a white sock. She bent over, raised a foot, and started to put the sock on.
“What name would you have liked?” Rick asked.
“Maybe Kim, Tracy, Ann. But they didn’t ask. How about you?” She stretched the sock almost to her knee and picked up its mate.
“Ernie,” Rick said.
“Ernie’s a trucker’s name.”
“We’d be Bert and Ernie. We could move to Sesame Street.”
Bert shook her head. She lost her balance and hopped on one foot to steady herself. Rick watched her breasts shake. She finished with the second sock and straightened up. She looked at Rick’s penis, then at his face.
“You missed your calling,” she said. “You should’ve been a peeping Tom.”
“Doesn’t pay as well as ophthalmology.”
“Taking care of other people’s peepers.”
“So they won’t miss out on the glories of observing the human form.”
“You’re a humanitarian.” She picked up her tan shorts and stepped into them. They were loose-fitting, with deep pockets and button-down flaps like the trousers she had picked for Rick. After belting them, she sat on the floor and began to put on her boots.
She was deliberately leaving her shirt for last.
“What I like about you,” Rick said, “you’re so considerate.”
“Maybe I enjoy being looked at as much as you enjoy the looking.”
“Impossible.”
“Then just consider it a perk. I know you’re not thrilled about spending your vacation in the boonies. Anything I can do to make it more bearable ...”
“So far, it’s just great.”
When Bert finished tying her boots, she reached around, picked up Rick’s socks, and tossed them to him.
“I usually start with my shorts,” he said.
She grinned. “Not this time.” She leaned back, braced up o
n straight arms, and watched. Rick couldn’t take his eyes off her. After his socks were on, she threw the shirt to him. Then his shorts, and finally his trousers. While he fastened the belt, Bert slipped into her faded, blue chambray shirt. Leaving it open, she rolled the sleeves up her forearms. Then she buttoned the front.
Show’s over, Rick thought.
A sudden rush of panic squeezed him.
Bert frowned. “What’s wrong?”
He shook his head.
“What is it?”
“Just butterflies.”
“You look like you got kicked in the nuts.”
Feel that way, he thought. “I’m fine,” he said.
Bert got up. She put her arms around him. “What kind of butterflies?”
“Mallards.”
“Mallards are ducks.”
“I’ll be all right.”
“It’s about camping?”
Rick nodded.
“I thought you just didn’t want to go without the comforts. It’s more than that.”
“I had some trouble the last time.”
Bert stroked the hair on the back of his head.
“I was fourteen. I was packing with my father out of Mineral Springs. We were in deep. Nobody else was around. I stumbled going across some rocks and stepped into a crevice. It was so dumb. I should’ve looked where I was going. Anyway, I sustained fractures of my left tibia and fibula. Dad left me alone to go for help. It was three days before I got air-lifted out. Not such a big deal, I guess, but I was fourteen and it was a pretty desolate area like some kind of Dah nightmare landscape, and I felt ... vulnerable. There were coyotes around. I’d see them slinking over the rocks near the camp and I figured I was probably on the menu. Hell, I was scared shitless the whole time. The end.”
Bert held him tightly.
“No major deal in the scheme of things,” Rick said. “But enough to dampen my enthusiasm for roughing it.”
“You must’ve been terrified,” Bert said.
“It was a long time ago.”
“I shouldn’t have pushed you into this. I mean, I knew you weren’t eager to go, but I never suspected ...”
He patted her rump. “We’d better get a move on.”
“Maybe we should change our plans.”
“Call it off?” Rick asked.
“Sure. It’s okay with me.”
Go for it, Rick thought. This is just what you’ve been waiting to hear.
“What about the call of the wild?” he asked.
“I’ll answer it some other time.”
“Without me?”
He felt her shrug.
“I’ll go. You know what they say about falling off a horse. And about lightning striking the same place twice.”
“Are you sure?” Bert asked.
“Absolutely.”
She squeezed him. “I’ll make you a promise. If you break a leg this time out, I’ll stay with you. We’ll stick it out together until somebody comes along, and send them for help. I’ll stay and take care of you. If we run out of food, I’ll fish and set traps. And I’ll shoo the coyotes away.”
It was the last thing Rick wanted to hear. “A deal,” he said.
Chapter Three
Gillian O’Neill stared at the ringing telephone. She didn’t want to pick it up.
This time, she thought, I won’t.
If I don’t pick it up, they’ll be all right.
But as she watched, the handset rose into the air.
No!
She had a pair of scissors in her hand. She rushed forward, ready to cut the cord, but she wasn’t in time. A voice boomed out of the phone as if from a loudspeaker: “Guess what happened to your parents!”
The mouthpiece sprayed blood. The red shower splashed Gillian’s face, blinding her. She shrieked, lurched backward, tripped and began a long fall, and jerked awake.
Gasping, she rolled onto her back.
The bell rang again.
Not the telephone; the front door.
Trembling, Gillian used the top sheet like a towel to wipe her sweaty face. Then she scurried off her bed. At the closet, she grabbed her robe. She put it on as she rushed from the room. It clung to her skin. She got the belt tied on her way down the hall.
“I’m coming,” she called when she reached the living room.
“Okey-doke.” It was the voice of Odie Taylor.
She slowed down. Just Odie. Good.
She opened the door.
Odie smiled nervously. His head bobbed and swayed, as usual, like the heads of the toy dogs Gillian sometimes saw in the rear windows of cars. As usual, he didn’t look her in the eyes. His gaze stayed level with her neck.
“Wake you?” he asked her neck.
“I’m glad of it. I was having a bad dream.”
“Gee, I’m sorry.” He hitched up his sagging jeans. “You been gone.”
“I took a little vacation. Want a Pepsi?”
“Thank you.”
He stayed on the balcony outside the door while Gillian hurried into the kitchen and took a can of soda from the refrigerator. She knew better than to ask Odie in. The only time she had invited him into the apartment, he had gone wild-eyed and started stuttering, scared as a trapped animal until he was outside again.
She handed the can to him.
“Thank you very much,” he said. He held it and stared at her neck. His head weaved and nodded.
“Is there a problem? My rent late?”
“Heyuh.” It was Odie’s way of laughing. “You’re trying to joke me, Miss O’Neill.” Odie seemed as nervous about calling her Gillian as he was about entering her apartment. “You don’t pay no rent, you own the place.”
“Oh, that’s right. I forgot.”
“You didn’t forget, you’re trying to joke me.”
“Is there a problem, or ...”
“Gee.” He bit down on his lower lip.
“What is it?”
“I’m gonna have to go on back home. Pa took a spill off the barn roof.”
“God, I’m sorry.”
“Well, he ain’t dead or nothing but he got busted up some. Me and Grace, we’re gonna have to go on back home. I’m sure sorry.”
“Will you be coming back?”
“I jist don’t know. I jist might stay. I been thinking maybe with the baby coming we oughta stay at the farm. City’s not a good place for a kid.”
“Or for anyone else,” Gillian said. “I’m really sorry to have you and Grace leave, you’ve done a great job managing the place.”
“I’m sure sorry. You’ve sure been nice to us. I don’t know what we’d of done ...”
“You’re good people, Odie. I’ll miss you and Grace. But I bet you’ll be glad to get back home.”
“Well ...”
“When will you be leaving?”
“Friday, I guess. The rents’re all paid up for last month and everything’s tip-top around here. Want me to bring the stuff over?”
“No, that’s fine. Just leave it all in your apartment so it’ll be there for the new people.”
“Okey-doke.”
“I might not be around for the next few days, so hang on a second and I’ll get you your pay.”
Odie stayed in the doorway while Gillian returned to her bedroom. Her handbag was on top of the dresser. She took out the checkbook and wrote a check.
Odie was drinking his Pepsi when she reached the door. She handed the check to him.
“Thank you very much,” he said. Then he glanced at it. He raised it close to his face and peered at it. His head stopped moving. He looked at Gillian, looked into her eyes. “You made a mistake here, Miss O’Neill. You got a zero too many.”
“It’s no mistake, Odie.”
“This says five thousand dollars. We get five hundred, nor five thousand.”
“It’s a bonus for you and Grace being such good managers.”
“Holy cow.”
“If I don’t get a chance to see you again before you
leave, have a good trip.” She held out her hand. Odie gripped the check in his teeth and pumped her hand. “Drop me a line sometimes, let me know how things are going.”
His head started bobbing again. He took the check out of his teeth. “Sure will, Miss O’Neill. Gillian.” His voice was high-pitched. He grimaced as if he were in pain. He fluttered the check under his face. “Grace, she’s gonna lay a brick when she sees this.” He shrugged.
“Take it easy, Odie.”
“Yeah. Holy cow.” Rubbing the back of his hand under his nose, he turned away and started along the balcony toward the stairs.
Gillian shut her door. She went into the kitchen to make a pot of coffee.
She would miss Odie and Grace. She had managed the twenty-unit apartment complex herself for almost a year before they showed up in their lopsided pickup truck. Odie was unemployed, but Grace had already lined up a book-keeping job that would bring in enough money to cover the rent and little else.
Gillian not only liked the two at once, she trusted them. She gave them an apartment rent-free and hired Odie, overjoyed to be released from the burden of running the place.
Now they were leaving.
I’ll have to get someone else, she thought as she poured a mug of coffee. No way am I going to start managing again.
Sliding open the kitchen door, she stepped onto the sundeck and sat down on a padded chair. She stretched her legs out, propping her feet on a plastic table. She took a drink of coffee.
Damn.
Her stomach hurt. It wasn’t just losing her managers, it was liking them and knowing she would never see them again after they left.
They weren’t exactly friends. But she had cared about them, and now they’d be out of her life forever.
That’s life, she told herself. That’s why you shouldn’t start caring.
She drank some more coffee. She rested the mug on the arm of the chair, dosed her eyes and tilted her head back to feel the sun on her face.
How’s about bugging out? she thought.
I don’t know.
She’d only come back yesterday. The need wouldn’t start getting strong for a week or two.
Right.
But with Odie and Grace taking off, she might be stuck here after Friday—at least until she could find someone to replace them.
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