Come Out Tonight
Page 1
Come Out Tonight
Richard Laymon
LEISURE BOOKS NEW YORK CITY
Table of Contents
Cover Page
Title Page
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Chapter Thirty-three
Chapter Thirty-four
Chapter Thirty-five
Chapter Thirty-six
Chapter Thirty-seven
Chapter Thirty-eight
Chapter Thirty-nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-one
Chapter Forty-two
Chapter Forty-three
Chapter Forty-four
Chapter Forty-five
Chapter Forty-six
Chapter Forty-seven
Chapter Forty-eight
Chapter Forty-nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-one
Chapter Fifty-two
Chapter Fifty-three
Chapter Fifty-four
Chapter Fifty-five
Chapter Fifty-six
Chapter Fifty-seven
Chapter Fifty-eight
Chapter Fifty-nine
Chapter Sixty
Chapter Sixty-one
Chapter Sixty-two
Chapter Sixty-three
Chapter Sixty-four
Chapter Sixty-five
Chapter Sixty-six
Praise
Other Books By
Copyright
Chapter One
On his knees, Duane braced himself up with one arm. With the other, he reached out past Sherry’s face. She heard his clock radio scoot on the shelf of the headboard.
“Putting on some music?” she asked.
“Getting this,” he said.
She looked up at the plastic packet and said, “Ah. Good thinking.”
As he ripped it open, Sherry gently glided her hands up and down his wet thighs. Only a few minutes earlier, she had toweled him dry after their shower. But now he was sweaty—and so was she. Her hands made soft wet sounds as they slid against his skin.
We must be nuts, she thought, doing this on the hottest night of the year. And at his place. But she supposed the heat was probably what had brought them to this. On all those other nights, she’d managed to control herself and call a halt before it went this far.
Tonight, she had no intention of stopping.
She wanted him. Wanted him all over her, hot and wet and slippery, wanted him inside her.
Maybe the heat had something to do with that.
Maybe a lot.
The unusually hot night. And Duane’s apartment building without air conditioning.
His windows were wide open. The hot Santa Ana winds blew in, caressing her, filling the room with the acrid aromas of brush fires somewhere in the distance.
It was the sort of night that made you feel restless and vulnerable and maybe a little frightened…the sort of night that stirred desires.
“Here we go.” He slipped the rubber disk out of its wrapper, then waved it at Sherry with a crooked smile. His face was red and sweaty. “Now if I can just figure out what to do with the damn thing…”
“Allow me,” Sherry said.
“Really?”
“Sure.”
“Okay.” He handed it to her. “I never…used the things with…you know, with Bev. She was on the pill and…”
His voice stopped as Sherry took hold of him with one hand.
“I’m not so good at this sort of thing myself,” she said. “All I know is, you don’t unroll them first.”
“You’re probably right.”
Still holding Duane’s penis with her left hand, she used her right to push the disk against its head. Fingers encircling the rubbery ring, she started to roll it down. The latex felt sticky. It crackled.
“Is it supposed to be like this?” Duane asked.
“I don’t think so.”
“It feels…awfully tight.”
“You’re too big for it.”
He laughed softly.
With little more than an inch of him covered, it suddenly stopped unrolling. “Looks like we’ve got a problem,” Sherry said.
“Oh, great.”
“How old is this thing?”
“Twenty-eight.”
Sherry laughed. “Not this thing,” she said. “This thing. This rubber.”
“Oh. I don’t know. A few years, I guess.”
“A few years?”
“I never had much use for them, so…”
Sherry used force. Instead of coming unstuck, it split. The rubbery ring slid all the way down, leaving him capped with a flimsy, pale toque.
She laughed, shook her head and said, “Shit.”
Duane laughed, too. Then he sighed. “Maybe it’s a sign.”
“A sign, all right.” Still laughing, she plucked off the latex cap.
The laughing stopped as she rolled the ring up his thick erection.
“I guess it’s not that funny,” she whispered.
Leaning forward, he took hold of her shoulders. He stared down into her eyes. “I want you so badly,” he said.
“I want you, too.” Trying to smile, she said, “The sooner, the better.” She tossed the remains of the condom aside. “Maybe we’ll have better luck with the next one.”
He grimaced. “I don’t have any more.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Afraid not.”
“That was it?”
“I’m sorry.”
“Ah, that’s all right,” she said. She resumed caressing his thighs.
“Do you have any?” he asked.
“I wish.”
“Can we…you know, do it anyway?”
Sherry shook her head. “I don’t think that would be such a good idea.”
“I’m perfectly healthy. I won’t give you anything. I mean, I haven’t…Nobody since Bev. That was two years ago, and I’ve had regular checkups, so…I won’t give you AIDS or anything.”
“I know,” she said.
But she didn’t know. Not for sure.
I’m not going to risk my life, she thought.
She said, “You wouldn’t want me to get pregnant, would you?”
“That’s not very likely, is it?”
“Likely enough, tonight.”
He shook his head slowly from side to side.
“There’s always tomorrow night,” Sherry said.
“But I don’t want to wait.”
“The anticipation will make it all the better.”
“I’ve already been anticipating it for weeks.”
“I know, I know. Me, too.”
If we’d just done a little advance planning along with all that anticipation…
“Just go to the store tomorrow,” Sherry said, “and pi
ck up a good supply of the things. Then come over to my place tomorrow night. I’ll make us a nice dinner and we’ll try again. How does that sound?”
From the look on his face, she knew that it didn’t sound great.
“Just one more night,” she said. “It won’t kill us to wait.”
“I know, I know, but…Whoa!”
“What?”
He suddenly laughed. “I’m so stupid.”
“What?”
“I’ll go to the store now! The Speed-D-Mart must carry condoms, don’t you think so?”
“It probably does.”
“And it’s open all night.”
“You don’t want to go over there at this hour,” Sherry said.
He glanced at his clock radio. “Only five after ten.”
“Eight’s too late to be going to that place.”
“I’ll just run in, run out. Be back in ten minutes.” He ducked down and kissed her on the mouth. Then he crawled backward, pausing along the way to kiss her naked body half a dozen times before climbing off the bed. “You just wait right here,” he told her.
He hurried into the living room.
“Don’t forget your clothes,” Sherry called after him.
“Thanks for the reminder.”
She crawled out of bed. Standing in the doorway, she watched Duane hop as he pulled a sock onto one foot.
“Don’t fall and hurt yourself,” she said.
“Time is of the essence.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” she told him. “Unless you
want me to go with you.”
He snatched his shirt off the floor. Darting an arm into one sleeve, he said, “You aren’t dressed.”
“I could get dressed.”
“Wouldn’t want you to do that.” Into a sleeve shot his other arm. The shirt flapping behind him, he ran to the end of the couch and plucked his underwear off the cushion.
“I could just throw something on real fast,” Sherry said.
He ducked and stepped into the briefs. “No, no, don’t. Whatever you do, don’t throw something on. Stay just like you are.”
Leaning sideways against the door frame, Sherry put her weight on one leg and let her hip shift out. She smiled and shook her head as Duane sprang into his shorts.
So cute, she thought. Just like an overgrown kid.
Though the air was hot, her skin suddenly grew crawly with goosebumps.
What if something happens to him?
“You really don’t have to do this,” she said. “It’s not a good idea. Things happen at night.”
Done buttoning his shorts, he jerked the zipper up. “I’ll be fine.” He fastened his belt.
“Why don’t you just take everything off and we’ll both get back into bed?”
“Nope.” He looked around, frowning, then gasped “Ah!” as he spotted his other sock. It was on the floor near a leg of the coffee table, half hidden under Sherry’s skirt. He rushed over to it. As he pulled it on, he said, “I’ll be back before you even know I’m gone.”
“Right. Unless you get creamed by a drunk driver or shot in a stick-up or mugged by one of those bums that’s always hanging out in that parking lot.”
“Not gonna happen.” He dropped onto the couch and started to put his shoes on. “Want me to pick up anything else while I’m there?”
“No, thanks.”
“Potato chips? Jerky?”
“Why don’t you just stay here? Forget about the condoms, okay? Let’s just go ahead without them.”
He made a face at her. “Now you tell me.”
She shrugged.
Shaking his head, he stood up. “I’m already dressed.”
“That’s easily corrected.”
She eased away from the door frame and walked toward him.
He watched her breasts, then met her eyes. “I’d better go ahead and pick ’em up,” he said.
“You don’t have to.”
“We might regret it if I don’t.”
“I’ll take my chances.” She reached out and began to unbutton his shirt.
He took hold of her wrists. “It’ll be better this way,” he said, then pulled her forward, raising and spreading her arms until her body pressed against him. He kissed her on the mouth. “Back in ten minutes,” he whispered. “If I’m late, just start without me.”
As Sherry grinned and shook her head, he let go of her and turned around and hurried to the door.
Chapter Two
It’s silly to worry, Sherry told herself. He will be back in ten minutes.
Maybe fifteen.
Hordes of people go to convenience stores day and night. Most of them never run into anything worse than an annoying beggar.
He was right to go.
Thank God I didn’t talk him out of it, she thought. My luck, I probably would’ve ended up pregnant.
Probably?
She let out a humorless huff.
Thirsty, she stepped over to the coffee table. She picked up the glass that she’d used for her Pepsi. The ice cubes had melted, leaving half an inch of amberhued water at the bottom of the glass. She drank it. Though the mixture looked somewhat repulsive, it tasted cool and sweet.
Keeping the glass, she bent down and picked up the popcorn bowl. It was empty now except for two or three dozen unpopped kernels and a scattering of puffy white crumbs—all that had remained by the time they finished watching the video of GI Jane.
In the kitchen, Sherry set the bowl on the counter. She ran a fingertip across its slick, grainy bottom. Her finger came out coated with congealed butter and salt. She licked it clean, licked her lips, then stepped to the sink and filled her glass at the faucet.
The tap water was neither sweet nor cold.
She stepped over to the refrigerator, opened its freezer compartment and took out a handful of ice cubes. She dumped them into her glass and shut the freezer.
Stirring the cubes around with her forefinger, she stepped out of the kitchen.
How long has he been gone? she wondered.
Probably two minutes.
Just about time enough to get downstairs to the building’s parking lot.
This is going to be a long wait.
She took her finger out of the water and slipped it into her mouth. It felt very cold. After a few seconds of sucking, however, it was warm again.
She took a long drink.
Lowering the glass, she sighed.
Now what? she wondered.
She stepped around to the front of the couch, sat down, took another drink, then leaned forward and eased her glass down on the coffee table. She picked up the clicker and turned the TV on.
Flipping from channel to channel, she found that most of the local stations had dropped their regular programming to cover the brush fires.
They oughta cover them, she thought; they started them.
She doubted that any of the local newscasters had actually applied matches or lighters to the dry hillsides, but she was certain they’d put the idea into the heads of the firebugs. Every year, they never failed to announce when conditions were ripe for blazing disasters. And the fires would start immediately, as if every pyromaniac in southern California had been biding his time in front of the TV, patiently awaiting the official word to begin.
Ready. Set. Gentlemen, start your fires!
Now the local news shows had what they wanted—what they’d begged for.
Every station seemed to have a helicopter circling over bright rows of flame. And crews on the ground standing dangerously close to assorted infernos, interviewing fire-fighters or people who’d just lost their homes or anyone else who might have a story to tell. And anchor teams safe in the studio, eagerly expounding on every aspect of the “worst firestorm ever to hit the southland.”
She doubted that.
She had learned, long ago, that LA newscasters were masters of hyperbole.
The fires were certainly bad this year. It was inevitable, after all the rain from last se
ason’s El Niño storms. Listening to these people, though, you’d think the Apocalypse had arrived.
“Get some perspective,” she muttered to the television.
A map filled the screen. She checked the locations of the fires, found them in Malibu, Pasadena, up near Newhall, and several in Orange County. None within ten miles of Duane’s building or her own. Nor were there fires anywhere near her parents’ home.
The clock on the VCR showed 10:18.
Sherry was glad to see that so much time had passed.
He’s probably in the store by now.
Should be back in five minutes or so.
Though watching television would help the time pass quickly, she didn’t want Duane to walk in and find her sitting naked on the couch, gaping at the boob tube.
How about a little atmosphere? she thought.
She turned off the television, then wandered through the rooms, switching off every light. Duane kept a candle in the bathroom. She lit it, then carried it into the bedroom and placed it on the nightstand.
In the living room again, she picked up her glass and took a drink of the ice-cold water.
10:22
Any minute now.
She returned to the bedroom. It looked wonderfully romantic in the glow of the candle—golden light fluttering, shadows dancing, the curtains bellowing like wispy windblown nightgowns.
As she sipped more water, she noticed her reflection in the mirror above Duane’s dresser.
She turned and looked at it.
A corner of her mouth tilted upward.
Not bad for an old broad.
The “old broad,” approaching her twenty-fifth birthday, knew that she appeared more like nineteen.
Nineteen, and a guy.
With her slender build and very short hair, she was often mistaken for a boy—especially when seen from a distance.
Watching herself in the mirror, Sherry figured nobody would likely mistake her for a boy at the moment. The gold hoop earrings wouldn’t count for much—LA was full of guys wearing earrings. But she clearly had breasts. The mounds were small, but nicely round. Her nipples were dark and smooth.
“What a babe,” she whispered. Smiling, she added, “A babe in heat.”
Her sweaty body glistened golden in the candlelight as if she’d been rubbed with melted butter.
She took another drink of water, then slid the dripping glass against her left breast. Its icy touch made her gasp and arch her back. As her nipple grew hard, she glided the glass over her other breast.