Night in the Lonesome October

by Richard Laymon

  Which is not to say she never ate them. She did. But rarely. And I knew that tonight her real intent was to give me a task ... to divert at least a fraction of my attention away from Holly.

  ‘Sure,’ I said. ‘What kind do you want?’

  ‘Glazed old-fashioneds.’

  ‘The specialty of the house.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Eileen smiled a little sadly and licked her lips. ‘I can taste them now.’

  ‘Only thing is, I’m not sure what time I’ll be back.’

  ‘Before I have to go to my ten o’clock, I hope.’

  ‘I’ll try.’

  ‘I’ll be in the student union, drooling with anticipation.’

  ‘I’ll make sure you don’t go hungry.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Keeping the books clamped against her chest with her left arm, she reached out with her right hand and gave my shoulder a gentle squeeze. I expected her to say something more, but she didn’t. After squeezing my shoulder, she let go and turned away and went trotting across the street toward the front of the sorority house, her dark hair blowing behind her head, her pleated skirt dancing around her thighs.

  If she’d been Holly, I would’ve been enthralled by how she looked.

  But she wasn’t.

  Watching Eileen, I felt nothing.

  That’s not quite true. What I actually felt was a vague wish that she would somehow turn into Holly.

  Not Holly the faithless slut who’d dumped me for her summer-camp flame, but the Holly I’d known last spring, the one I’d loved. That Holly.

  God, how I wanted her to be with me again!

  On the veranda, Eileen looked back at me and waved. Then she pulled open the door. As she entered the sorority house, I caught a glimpse of the reception area.

  I used to wait in there for Holly to come down from her room. Last spring, I spent so many hours in that reception area that it seemed like a second home. There were easy chairs, a couple of sofas, several lamps and tables. There was reading material, too, to help visitors while away the time as they waited for their girlfriends ... or daughters.

  Old magazines, crossword puzzle books, a few well-worn paper-backs. And an old, hardbound copy of Look Homeward, Angel. I used to pick up the Wolfe book and read it and look at the wonderful Douglas W. Gorsline illustrations while I waited for Holly. The waiting always seemed to last forever. But finally she would come walking through the entryway, smiling and so beautiful that it hurt me to look at her.

  O lost, and by the wind grieved, ghost, come back again!

  Chapter Two

  Setting out from my apartment Monday night, I’d had no intention of hiking seven miles to Dandi Donuts and seven miles back. I’d just wanted out, just wanted away.

  Now, thanks to Eileen, I had a reason to go there.

  A purpose for my walk.

  If anybody asks, I thought, I can explain I’m on my way to Dandi Donuts to pick up a couple of glazed old-fashioneds for a friend.

  Better than saying, ‘Just out for a stroll.’

  Not that anyone was likely to ask.

  Away from the campus, few people were wandering about. Only rarely did a car pass by. Most students were in their rooms, studying or messing around on their computers or indulging in deep, philosophical bullshit sessions with friends or having sex or sleeping. Non-students were mostly in their rooms, too, I supposed. Reading, watching television, having sex, or sleeping.

  As I walked along Division Street, some of the houses had one or two lighted windows. Others had no lights on, but a window glowed with the trembling light from a television. Most of the houses, however, were dark except for porch lights. Some didn’t even have porch lights on.

  Sometimes, I heard voices, thuds, laughter and other quiet sounds coming from the houses I passed. Many of them, though, were silent. A few birds were awake in the trees or air. I heard them twitter and warble. Mostly, though, I heard my footsteps on the concrete of the sidewalk. Each step came regularly. They all sounded just the same except when I stood on something: a leaf, a stone, a twig.

  I noticed how quickly one step followed another, so I slowed down. What was the hurry? My only destination was a donut shop that never closed.

  And it was only a random destination, anyway. I had no real need to get there at all.

  What about the donuts I’d promised Eileen?

  Not exactly a promise.

  But I’d told her I would get them and I intended to keep my word.

  More than likely, I would’ve headed for Dandi Donuts even if she hadn’t entered the picture. So it was no big deal. Not really. Except that now I had an obligation to go there.

  And to get back with the donuts before her ten o’clock class.

  I don’t have to, I told myself. I don’t have to go back to campus at all, or back to my apartment, or anywhere. If I want, I can just keep walking.

  It struck me then that I was walking north. If I kept on going north, I would eventually end up in Seattle ... the land of Holly and Jay.

  Desire, rage and sorrow slammed into me.

  But I kept on walking.

  I’m not going to walk to Seattle, I told myself.

  Actually, I’d thought seriously about flying there after I got Holly’s letter on Friday. Decided against it, though. If she wanted to dump me for some asshole she met at summer camp, far be it from me to interfere ... or to go pleading for her love like some sort of total loser. She could keep her Jay and I could keep my dignity. I got drunk.

  There would be no visits to Seattle by me.

  With any luck, I would never again set eyes on Holly Johnson.

  I only wished I could take my mind off her. And that happened a few minutes later when a man and his dog came down the sidewalk toward me. The man, stout, swarthy and bearded, wore a dark turban. The dog on his leash looked like a Rottweiler.

  A Rottweiler on one of those endless leashes that would allow him several minutes of mauling time while his owner tried to reel him in.

  I almost crossed the street, but it would’ve been so obvious. The man might be offended or take me for a coward ... or even assume I’m some sort of anti-turban bigot. So I stayed on my side of the street.

  As they approached, I smiled and nodded and politely stepped off the sidewalk to let them by.

  The dog, well ahead of the man, came trotting over to me and began to sniff the crotch of my jeans.

  One good chomp ...

  The man at the other end of the leash seemed uninterested in his dog’s activities.

  ‘Nice doggie,’ I said in a soft voice.

  Its muzzle nudged me. I took a step backward, and it growled.

  The man finally came along. Keeping his head straight forward, he walked past us without even giving us a glance. After he’d gone by, his dog licked the fly of my jeans.

  ‘Get outa here,’ I muttered.

  Though at least fifteen feet away, the man turned his head and glowered at me. ‘Speaking to my dog is not permitted.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  He continued on his way, reeling in. The dog gave me one last prod with his muzzle, then wheeled around and went trotting after its master.

  I scowled in their direction, but neither noticed.

  I guess the fellow figured he owned the sidewalk and his dog owned my crotch.

  ‘Assholes,’ I muttered.

  Neither of them noticed that, either. Which was maybe a good thing; the bastard might’ve sicced his dog on me ... or chased me with a scimitar. (If he had one on him, I couldn’t see it ... but no telling what he might’ve had hidden inside his flowing robe.)

  Anyway, I resumed walking and kept a sharp eye out for dogs. Though none seemed to be coming, several times my passing triggered fits of wild barking from hounds behind fences or gates. They couldn’t get to me, but their mindless uproar announced my presence to everyone in the neighborhood. All I wanted to do was go by, silent and invisible, nobody even knowing I was there.

  Soon, the barking grew less freq
uent. Maybe I was walking more quietly, or maybe I’d simply entered a neighborhood with fewer dogs. Whatever the reason, I began to feel more calm.

  The night was very peaceful.

  I saw a white cat scurry across the street and take shelter underneath a parked car. I heard a hooting owl. Sometimes, things were so quiet that I could hear the soft buzz of the streetlights.

  As I stepped off a curb, a loud bring-bring-bringgg! made my throat catch. I leaped back just as a bike whished by.

  I blurted, ‘Shit!’

  ‘Wheeee!’ squealed the bike’s rider - a skinny old woman in black spandex, wearing her ballcap backward.

  A happenin’ crone.

  Looking back over her shoulder, she smiled at me. I couldn’t see her face very well, but it was pale and thin and I got the impression she was missing most of her front teeth. For some reason, I got goosebumps. They stayed with me as she faced forward and pedaled off.

  At the end of the block, she turned a corner. I was glad to have her out of sight, but I started to worry that she might be circling around for another pass at me.

  Maybe I’d offended her. Maybe she wanted retribution. Maybe she planned to reach out on her next pass and touch me with a gnarled finger and whisper, ‘thinner,’ or ‘toad,’ or ‘rectum,’ or something.

  I didn’t really think it would happen, but it sure did cross my mind.

  So I did cross Division Street.

  For a while, I walked slowly and kept looking back. I had a funny tickle in my chest that felt like a giggle or a scream might be crouched inside me, just waiting for the hag to come wheeling around the comer.

  Finally, to play it safe and give myself a chance to calm down, I headed down a sidestreet. I walked two short blocks, then came to Franklin Street and resumed my journey northward.

  She won’t find me over here, I thought.

  For more than half an hour, not much happened. I just kept walking up Franklin. The houses seemed a little older here than those I’d passed on Division Street. Now and then, dogs barked. Fewer of the houses had lights on. Only one or two cars went by. I saw nobody out walking ... or riding bikes.

  But then from the east a girl came walking.

  She moved in from the right, some thirty feet ahead of me, following the sidewalk along the end of the block. She happened to be facing forward. I happened to be standing in the shadow of a tree.

  I stopped and held my breath.

  At the comer, she turned her back to me, stepped off the curb and started crossing the street.

  Standing motionless, I watched her.

  I didn’t begin to walk until she was about halfway up the next block. Then I moved out of the tree’s shadows, went to the corner and stepped off the curb.

  Chapter Three

  I wasn’t following her. I was simply continuing on my course toward Dandi Donuts.

  Not following her.

  If she’d gone a different way at the corner and I’d abandoned my previous route to pursue her, then I would have been following her. But that wasn’t the case. She had simply positioned herself ahead of me on the sidewalk I was already using.

  She had every right to do so, and I had every right to proceed without changing my route.

  That’s what I told myself when I started to follow her.

  I walked at my normal pace for a while, closing the gap that separated us. Then I slowed down. I didn’t want to overtake her.

  Overtaking a woman on a sidewalk, especially at night and when no one else is nearby, always makes me uncomfortable. As I come up behind one, she obviously worries she’s about to be robbed, raped or killed. Such women almost always cast a nervous glance back at me while I’m closing in. And then they stiffen as I hurry past them.

  It’s not that I’m a monster, either. I look pleasant, cheerful and harmless. But I’m a guy. That’s apparently enough to make some women fear my approach.

  To avoid tormenting them, I’ve learned not to overtake them on sidewalks. I cross the street or turn a corner to get off their tails, or I drastically slow my pace.

  What usually happens, I cut my speed to a dawdle and sometimes stop entirely for short periods of time, hoping the woman will turn a comer, reach her destination, or otherwise get out of my way. When it becomes obvious that she’ll be continuing in front of me, I resign myself to passing her or I change my own course.

  Being in no hurry to reach Dandi Donuts ... or anywhere else ... I saw no reason to cross the street or turn a comer.

  Just don’t spook her, I told myself. Keep a nice, slow pace and a good distance between us.

  She’ll never even know I’m here.

  So far, the young woman in front of me seemed completely unaware of my presence. She just kept walking along with a bouncy, carefree stride, swinging her arms, turning her head to look this way and that (but never behind her). Her pale hair was in a ponytail that bobbed and swayed as she walked. She wore a dark sweatshirt, dark trousers and sneakers. She carried nothing at all, not even a purse. I thought this strange. Women almost never go anywhere without a purse.

  Where is this one going? I wondered.

  Maybe to Dandi Donuts?

  That was too much to hope for. More than likely, she was on her way home from somewhere. I wondered if her parents knew she was out on the streets at such an hour.

  Who says she lives with her parents?

  For all I knew, she might’ve been in her mid-twenties, living on her own, even married.

  But I doubted it.

  Though I’d only seen her at a distance and never in very good light, I’d formed an impression that she was somewhat younger than me - perhaps sixteen to eighteen years old. If that was the case, she most likely lived at home with her parents.

  I’d also formed an impression that she was extremely attractive.

  In the glow of the streetlights, her face had looked as if it might be beautiful. Distance and poor lights can be misleading, though. Seen clearly, she might have flaws. Or she might be twice the age I suspected.

  There was, however, more than enough light to reveal the fine shape of her body underneath her sweatshirt and trousers.

  Not that I felt any desire for her. Thanks to Holly, women had lost their appeal for me.

  I did, however, feel a certain connection to her. We were two strangers sharing the same route. We had that in common. She was walking past the same parked cars, same trees, same lawns, same houses as me ... seconds sooner, that’s all. She and I were seeing similar sights, hearing very much the same sounds, smelling and breathing nearly the same air, feeling the same concrete under our shoes. In all eternity and infinity, we were existing together in the same time and place ... almost.

  I couldn’t help feeling connected to her.

  Connected and protective.

  She seemed much too young to be roaming the streets alone at such an hour of the night, so I intended to make sure she got home safely.

  I now had two missions: pick up donuts for Eileen and guard my new companion.

  I was her companion, though she didn’t know it.

  I won’t let anything happen to you, I told her in my mind.

  Suddenly, she stopped walking. As I halted, her head began turning to the left.

  She’s going to look back!

  Though standing in the brightness of a streetlight, I made no attempt to find cover; movement might catch her eye. Total stillness was my best defense.

  Watching her, I didn’t dare breathe.

  After a few moments, I realized her eyes were on a lean white cat sauntering in her direction from the other side of Franklin Street.

  She turned toward the cat and I saw her in profile for the second time that night. Her outline ... her high ponytail, the tilt of her head, the shape of her face, her slender neck, her high breasts in front and her rear end pushing out at the seat of her trousers ... I don’t want to say she looked athletic because that suggests power. That would give the wrong impression. More than anything els
e, she seemed confident, springy and pert.

  She squatted down. With her rear end a few inches above the sidewalk, she lowered her head and spoke to the cat. ‘Come here, kitty,’ I heard. A hand reached out past her right knee and beckoned to it.

  The cat opened its mouth wide and let out a loud ‘Reeoww’ as if to say, ‘I see you. Hold your horses. I’m on my way.’ Full of disdain and coyness until it finally got to her hands.

  Moments later, it seemed to slump and melt with pleasure. She spoke softly as she caressed it, but I couldn’t hear what she was saying. She must’ve spent three or four minutes petting it. When she stood up to leave, the cat rubbed itself against her shins and calves, slithered between her legs, acted as if it wanted to wrap itself around her and stop her from going away.

  Almost tripping on it, she let out a quiet laugh and leaped clear. The moment she began walking away, I ducked behind a nearby tree. I peered around its trunk and saw the cat prancing after her, tail high.

  ‘Rowww!’

  She looked back at it and said, ‘Okay, but just for a minute.’

  Then she turned all the way around, facing the cat and me.

  I pulled back my head. Staring at the bark of the tree an inch in front of my nose, I waited.

  ‘Yes,’ I heard her say. ‘You’re a needy little fellow, aren’t you? Yes, you are.’

  I couldn’t look at her. I could only listen. She had a wonderful, strange voice. There was nothing girlish about it. I would almost say it sounded masculine, but it was too smooth and lilting for that. It even had a hint of a purr in it as she talked to the cat.

  ‘Oh, yes, you like that, don’t you? Mmm, yes. That feels real good.’

  When I risked a peek around the trunk, I found that she was squatting over the cat, reaching down between her spread knees to caress it with both hands. The cat was stretched out on its side.

  ‘Think you’ve had enough?’ she asked it. ‘No such thing as enough, is there?’ After giving it a final pat, she started to rise so I had to quit watching.

  A few seconds passed. Then the girl said, ‘Bye-bye, kitty,’ in that rich, low voice of hers.