Night in the Lonesome October

by Richard Laymon

  ‘Glad to hear it. No trouble with the ruffians Wednesday night?’

  For a moment, he seemed at a loss. Could he possibly have forgotten the incident? Before I had a chance to kick myself for mentioning it, he tipped back his head and said, ‘Ah! None at all. No, indeed, I glimpsed neither hide nor hair of the hooligans. I’d rather hoped to retrieve Eileen’s blouse, but they must’ve gone off with their prize.’ He looked pleased, no doubt with his choice of gone off. ‘And how fares the fair Eileen?’ he asked.

  ‘Fairly well.’

  He rolled his eyes upward to disparage my word play.

  ‘She’s improving,’ I added.

  ‘Looked as if she’d had a bit of a rough go.’

  ‘She’s pretty embarrassed about the whole thing.’

  ‘Eileen embarrassed? I say, you were the chap without the shirt.’

  ‘Right. By the time you saw us.’

  ‘Ah, yes. You’d lent your garment to the damsel. Quite the chivalrous gesture, what?’

  ‘I couldn’t let her walk around half naked,’ I said. Discussing the matter with Kirkus made me feel squirmy, but I had a plan growing in my mind. ‘After those creeps tore off her blouse, she was ... she had nothing on up there.’

  ‘Braless in Gaza, was she?’

  Nodding, I said, ‘Must’ve been six or seven guys got to see her ... you know.’

  ‘Her precious boobies.’

  ‘I shouldn’t be telling you this.’

  ‘Oh, please do.’

  ‘They touched her, too. Some of them ... you know ... felt her up.’

  ‘Oh, dear. Before or after they whizzed on her hair?’

  I’d forgotten that part of Eileen’s story. ‘Before,’ I said. Shaking my head, I went on. ‘She’s really embarrassed by the whole episode. She doesn’t want anyone to know about it. If people hear about that sort of thing, they picture it in their minds. And they talk. Pretty soon, everybody’s thinking about Eileen without a top on and guys groping her and pissing on her and all that.’

  ‘Quite so.’ He smiled. ‘I’m thinking about it even as we speak.’ Maybe he’s not so gay, after all.

  I said, ‘Eileen sure doesn’t want everyone on campus picturing her like that.’

  ‘Certainly not.’

  ‘So maybe you could just forget you saw us.’

  ‘Hardly possible, dear fellow, to forget such a rare and wondrous sight.’

  Wondrous sight? I was the shirtless one.

  ‘Okay,’ I said, ‘you don’t have to forget it. How about just keeping it to yourself? Eileen and I would both be very grateful.’

  The corners of Kirkus’s mouth turned upward and his eyes sparkled. ‘Mum’s the word, old sport.’ With that, he pressed his lips together and locked them with an invisible key. He tossed the key over his shoulder and brushed off his hands.

  ‘Thanks,’ I said.

  ‘You’re quite welcome, really.’

  ‘And don’t let Eileen know we had this talk, okay? She’d be really upset if she found out I’d blabbed to you.’

  ‘Righto.’ He clapped me on the back.

  Side by side, we climbed the concrete stairs toward the side entrance of the English building. Suddenly I noticed, a few steps above us, the backside of Horrible Hillary Hatchens. Her head with its pixie haircut looked very small up there. She wore a white pullover sweater, a tight gray skirt, and cowgirl boots. For a woman with such a slight build, she had a remarkably broad rear end.

  Luckily, I wouldn’t be sitting in her class again until the following Tuesday, which seemed like years away.

  As Hatchens entered the door at the top of the stairs, Kirkus asked, ‘When shall I join you for dinner?’

  ‘Dinner?’

  ‘How about tonight?’

  ‘I’m seeing Eileen tonight.’

  ‘Splendid! We’ll make it a threesome!’

  The top stair had a dip worn into its concrete by the tread of countless feet. It was generally considered special. I considered it mostly a safety hazard, and carefully stepped around it.

  Inside, the building smelled like floor wax and old wood. It was also quite dark. Daylight had a way of refusing to enter the old windows.

  I spotted Hatchens strutting down the first-floor hallway. She seemed to be predominantly butt.

  Kirkus and I started climbing the stairs toward the second floor. The stairwell above us appeared to be deserted. The way sounds traveled and reverberated, however, voices and tromping feet and the creaking sounds of stairs and banisters seemed to be coming from all around us. Kirkus’s voice joined them. ‘Dinner?’ he asked.

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘You, me and Eileen. Tonight.’

  I shook my head. ‘I don’t know if she’ll like that idea.’

  ‘Oy, vaht’s not to like?’ he asked, switching from his phony British voice to his phony Jewish-mother voice. Kirkus was a man of numerous, if feeble, talents. ‘A nosh, a nosh, my kingdom for a nosh!’

  ‘Jeez.’

  ‘Your shiksa, she von’t even know I’m there.’

  ‘Yeah, right.’

  ‘So, vee haff a date?’

  ‘Now you’re starting to sound like a Nazi.’

  ‘Yah? Vee haff vays to make you talk, yankee dog!’

  At the top of the stairs, we turned to the right and headed down a wide hallway toward our classroom. The hall was nearly deserted. I glanced at my wristwatch. Five till eight. Though class rarely began on time, most of the other students were probably already seated and ready.

  ‘Zo,’ said Kirkus. ‘Dinner tonight?’

  ‘I guess so, but only if you swear you’ll never tell anyone about Eileen...’

  ‘Unt her vunderbar boobies unt zee pee in her hair.’

  ‘Right.’

  Smiling, Kirkus patted me on the back. ‘I’m quite looking forward to our engagement, Eduardo.’

  ‘My place at five.’

  ‘And your place is where?’

  I told him the address. ‘Do you know where that is?’

  ‘I’ll find it.’

  ‘I’m sure you will.’

  I hardly dared hope otherwise.

  Stepping aside, I let Kirkus enter the classroom first. I followed him through the doorway. Just as I’d thought, nearly everyone had already arrived. There must’ve been fifteen of them. They were gathered rather loosely at the seminar table, some talking to friends, a few using the time to catch up on Wordsworth, some drooping in their seats as if barely conscious.

  ‘What ho!’ Kirkus greeted the whole gang.

  He was ignored by many, groaned at by several. A few other students rolled their eyes upward in despair.

  ‘“Awake!”’ Kirkus proclaimed. “‘Arise! Or be forever fallen!”’

  ‘You and the horse you rode in on,’ muttered Connor Blayton, a gruff and whiskered aspiring playwright.

  I went to my usual place on the left side of the table. My chair was between Stanley Jones and Marcia Palmer. Stanley smiled at me as I pulled my chair away from the table. ‘How goes it, man?’ I asked.

  ‘SOS.’

  ‘You said it.’ I sat down. ‘Good morning, Marcia.’

  Not looking away from her open book, Marcia nodded.

  ‘Is that the one where he wanders lonely as a cloud?’ I asked.

  ‘Grow up,’ Marcia said. She wasn’t among my fans.

  ‘I’m working on it,’ I said.

  ‘Work harder.’

  ‘Pithy.’

  She turned her head and scowled at me. She was a senior, probably the smartest of all the current English majors, beautiful and blonde and a grade-A bitch. At the moment, she looked ready to seethe. ‘What did you say?’ she asked.

  ‘Pithy.’

  ‘That’d better be what you said.’

  ‘It thertainly ith what I thaid.’

  ‘Know what?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Get fucked.’

  I gave her my warmest smile.

  ‘
Cretin,’ she muttered, and turned away.

  ‘That hurt,’ I said.

  She ignored me.

  Into the room bounded Dr Trueman, silver-haired, ruddy of cheek, dressed in a trim tweed suit and red bowtie. He carried a weathered brown briefcase with wide leather straps and large buckles. Stopping at the head of the table, he regarded us with his sparkling eyes. ‘Fresh faces, newly scrubbed! Youth! Passion ! Love!’ He fixed his merry eyes on me. ‘King Edward of Wiilmington!’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘For godsake, what befell your face?’

  ‘Mayhem, sir.’

  ‘I hope you saw to it that your enemy paid dearly for his insolence.’

  ‘I destroyed him entirely, sir.’

  ‘Bravo!’ Dr Trueman plonked his briefcase on the table and applauded me. So did about half the students in the room, while others shook their heads and rolled their eyes. Marcia hung her head and shook it slowly. Kirkus was among those who joined the applause.

  Only I knew I’d told the honest truth.

  Chapter Forty-five

  About halfway through Dr Trueman’s class, I realized that I’d invited Kirkus over to my apartment for a supper that was being provided by Eileen.

  I’ll bring everything over, she’d said. Drinks, food

  She would bring them for two, not three. And she wasn’t likely to be delighted by the presence of Kirkus.

  She needed to be told of the additional guest.

  Warned.

  Around noon, I saw her at a distance. I didn’t call out or go after her, though. For this sort of news, I preferred the telephone.

  Back in my apartment shortly after three o’clock that afternoon, I made a call to Eileen’s room. I hoped to get her answering machine, but she picked up the phone herself.

  ‘It’s me,’ I said.

  ‘Hi, me.’

  ‘About dinner tonight...’

  ‘Uh-oh.’

  ‘I’m afraid Kirkus has invited himself over.’

  ‘Kirkus? Are you kidding?’

  ‘It’s sort of an extortion thing. I had a little talk with him about Wednesday night and he agreed to keep his mouth shut. Thing is, dinner seems to be part of the deal.’

  ‘Wow. Maybe he does have the hots for you.’

  ‘Maybe he just wants a free dinner.’

  ‘Well, you caught me just in time. I was about to head for the store. I’ll pick up a little more of a few things.’

  ‘I’m really sorry about this.’

  ‘Oh, don’t be. It’s not your fault he finds you irresistible.’

  ‘Very funny.’

  ‘I guess he and I will be vying for your attention.’

  ‘Won’t be any contest,’ I said.

  ‘Just the same, I’ll dress for the occasion.’

  The words sank in. My imagination took over and my body reacted.

  ‘What do you have in mind?’ I asked.

  ‘You’ll just have to wait and see. I’d better get going. See you around five.’

  ‘See you.’

  Suddenly, Kirkus or no Kirkus, I was eager for five o’clock to arrive.

  By about four, I’d finished showering and dressing. I sat at the kitchen table to study Chaucer, and had just about worked my way to the end of ‘The Prologe of the Wyves Tale of Bathe’ when my buzzer went off.

  I marked my place and glanced at my wristwatch. Four-thirty.

  At the speaker, I said, ‘Who’s there?’

  ‘Your intellectual and moral superior.’

  ‘Impossible,’ I said.

  ‘Open up, old boy.’

  Leave it to Kirkus to arrive half an hour early.

  I buzzed him in. Then I just stood there, annoyed. I soon heard footfalls coming up the hallway, but waited for his knock before I opened the door.

  He’d changed clothes for the occasion. His blue jeans looked brand new. He also wore a white shirt instead of the usual blue chambray. Instead of his corduroy jacket, he wore a jacket of light brown suede. He now sported a royal blue ascot, not the tangerine one he’d worn to Romantic Lit.

  Head tilted back, he smiled in at me and bobbed up and down on the balls of his feet. ‘I’m early,’ he announced.

  ‘No problem.’

  ‘And I come bearing gifts.’ He held out a bottle of white wine.

  ‘Thanks.’ I accepted it, stepped out of the way and said, ‘Come on in and take a load off.’

  He entered my apartment and looked around. ‘The beckoning fair one isn’t here yet?’

  ‘Not yet. Would you like some of this wine?’

  ‘We might prefer to save it for dinner.’

  ‘Eileen’s bringing something to drink. I could open this now if you want.’

  ‘If you like.’ He went to a window and looked out. ‘How inspiring to dwell in such proximity to a church.’

  ‘It has a nice little graveyard,’ I said, taking the bottle into the kitchen. ‘You can’t see it from here.’ I almost told him that my bedroom had a view of the graveyard, but the less said to Kirkus about my bedroom, the better.

  While he continued to stare out the window, I opened the bottle. I located a couple of water glasses. As I poured wine into them, I asked, ‘So how’d you lay your mits on the wine? Not twenty-one yet, are you?’

  ‘Certainly not. Are you?’

  ‘Not till next year.’

  ‘Then why would I be twenty-one while you’re not? We’re both juniors.’

  ‘Maybe you had to repeat the fourth grade.’ I suggested, carrying the glasses into the living room.

  He turned away from the window and faced me. ‘In fact, I skipped a grade.’

  ‘Wow! Really? So you’re only nineteen?’

  ‘A mature nineteen.’

  ‘If you say so.’

  He smirked at me. ‘Considerably more mature than you, I dare say.’

  ‘Well, shit yeah. I don’t even own an ascot.’ I put a glass into his hand, then said, ‘Thanks for bringing the wine,’ and took a drink from my glass. It didn’t taste bad.

  ‘No toast?’ he asked.

  ‘No toast, no bacon, no eggs.’

  ‘And little or no wit,’ he added.

  I almost laughed, but didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

  ‘Good wine,’ I told him.

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Who picked it out for you?’

  ‘Ah, Logan.’

  ‘Ah, Kirkus. Why don’t you have a seat?’

  ‘Merci,’ he said, and wandered over to the armchair. Stopping in front of it, he turned around and faced me. He took a sip of wine. Then he said, ‘I’m really quite overwhelmed by your generosity in inviting me to dinner.’

  ‘I’m pretty sure you invited yourself.’

  ‘Did I?’ Smiling, he sat down.

  ‘That’s how I recall it,’ I said, and sat on the sofa a safe distance from him.

  ‘As I recall, you requested a service from me and kindly invited me over to show your gratitude.’

  ‘Something like that.’

  ‘You are grateful for my pledge of silence, I take it?’

  ‘The pledge doesn’t interest me much, but the silence does.’

  Smiling unpleasantly, he took a sip of wine. ‘If you hope for my cooperation, it might behoove you to treat me with a certain amount of consideration.’

  ‘Behoove?’

  ‘There you go again.’

  ‘A thousand pardons.’

  Raising both eyebrows, he asked, ‘Would you prefer that I leave? I could, you know. I could quite easily remove myself from the premises ...’

  ‘“And take thy beak from out my heart...”’

  He stood up.

  Staying seated, I patted the air and said, ‘Down, boy. Down. Just kidding. Stay. I promised you dinner. Eileen’s expecting you. She’s even picking up extra groceries. We’d both be très disappointed if you force us to eat without the glory of your presence.’

  Kirkus sat. He smiled. He said, ‘You are such a wa
d.’

  ‘Want to call a truce?’ I asked.

  ‘Calling a truce would presume we’re at war. Are we at war, Eduardo?’

  I shrugged. ‘Not really. A war of wits, maybe.’

  ‘For which you are sadly lacking in weaponry.’

  I tried to think of a comeback, but nothing worthwhile popped into my mind - tending perhaps to prove his point.

  He sipped his wine and looked smug.

  I said, ‘Actually, I used to be marvelously intelligent, witty and urbane - but then they stole my ascot.’

  ‘Oh, how droll.’

  ‘Noël Coward and Somerset Maugham chased me three blocks for it.’

  Looking singularly unamused, Kirkus set his glass on the lamp table, reached to his neck with both hands, untied his ascot and held it out to me. ‘Perhaps you would like to borrow mine,’ he said.

  Three big, blue letters were tattooed across his throat.

  FAG

  Chapter Forty-six

  ‘Is it real?’ I asked. ‘A real tattoo?’

  ‘Of course it’s real.’

  Maybe real, but amateurish. The sort of tattoo that a person might do to himself with a sharp instrument and ink, shaky hands and no artistic talent at all. ‘Oh, man,’ I said. ‘What were you thinking?’

  ‘I hardly did this to myself, dear fellow.’

  ‘Somebody else did it to you?’

  ‘Oh, yes.’

  I must’ve been gaping at Kirkus like a stunned fish.

  ‘Perhaps you would enjoy hearing about it,’ he said. ‘You seem to have a special fondness for the morbid and outré. Perhaps you’ll enjoy putting me in one of your stories.’

  I shook my head. ‘No. that’s all right. Really. Why don’t you go ahead and put your ascot back on?’

  ‘Let it replace the one stolen by Coward and Maugham,’ he said, and tossed it to me. Halfway between us, the silken cloth fluttered open and drifted to the floor.

  I went over to it, crouched and picked it up. Taking it to Kirkus, I said, ‘I had no idea you’ve been wearing these things to hide your tattoo.’

  ‘Is that why?’

  ‘Isn’t it?’

  ‘For that and for the style.’

  Laughing softly, I reached out with it. He plucked it from my fingers.

  On my way back to the sofa, he said, ‘I won’t tell you the whole sad tale; I’ll make it brief.’