Come Out Tonight

by Richard Laymon

  The window of the Mercedes slid down and the driver smiled out at Brenda. He looked embarrassed. “Hi,” he said. “I guess I’d like to get the car washed.”

  “You came to the right place.”

  Blushing, he fumbled with his wallet. “Five dollars?” he mumbled.

  “That’s right. We’re trying to buy a new computer for journalism.”

  He held a five-dollar bill out the window and Brenda saw that his hand was trembling. “You okay?” she asked.

  “Sure. Fine.”

  “Afraid we’ll scratch your car?” she asked, though she knew that wasn’t it.

  She knew exactly what it was.

  This guy was a male version of Fran. All his life, he’d been ignored or belittled by every good-looking gal he saw. He blushed and trembled because he was afraid of Brenda.

  “It’s my dad’s car,” he said. Blushing again, he said, “You can scratch it if you want.”

  The others were still working on one of those enormous Suburbans, so there was no hurry.

  “You don’t go to Fairview, do you?” Brenda asked.

  “Nah.”

  “I didn’t think so. I was pretty sure I hadn’t seen you around.”

  “That’s why.”

  “Are you still in school?” she asked.

  “Yeah. I’m a senior at Foster.”

  “Really? My sister teaches at Foster a lot. She’s a substitute.”

  “Foster High School?” he asked.

  “Right. She mostly teaches English.”

  “Gosh, maybe I’ve had her.”

  “Maybe so.”

  “That’d be a kick, huh? What’s her name?”

  “Gates. Sherry Gates.”

  “Hmmm.” Frowning, he shook his head. “What does she look like?”

  “Like me, sort of. But taller and prettier. She’s twenty-five.”

  The frown lifted into a smile. “Know what? I think I have had her. She subs for Mr. Chambers?”

  “Oh, I don’t know who she’s subbed for. I just know she talks about working a lot at Foster.”

  “It’s gotta be her. She did look a lot like you.”

  “Probably was her.”

  “It’s a small world, isn’t it?”

  “Sure is,” Brenda said. “I’ll have to tell her I ran into one of her students. She’ll get a kick out it.”

  “Yeah. Tell her I said ‘hi.’”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Jack. Jack Bundy.”

  “Nice to meet you, Jack,” she said, then heard the Suburban rumble to life. “I’m Brenda.” Turning her head, she watched the gleaming blue vehicle roll slowly forward and stop. The drying crew—four girls in bikinis—swarmed around it with rags in their hands. “Looks like we’re ready for you now,” Brenda said. “Why don’t you pull on forward?”

  He nodded. “Then should I get out or stay in the car?”

  “Either way. Doesn’t matter. But you’d better roll your window up or you’ll get a snootful of water.”

  He chuckled. “Thanks for the warning.”

  Stepping backward, she waved him ahead. Then she walked alongside the Mercedes. The moment it stopped, Ralph began to blast it with the hose. Water exploded off the windshield, spraying those who stood too close. Nobody tried to get out of the way.

  Jack remained inside.

  Brenda wondered if he wanted out.

  Doesn’t matter, she thought. He’s got air conditioning in there.

  “Know him?” Fran asked.

  “Not really.”

  “You sure talked to him a long time.”

  “Not that long.”

  “Pretty long.”

  “He knows my sister.”

  “Really?”

  “He goes to Foster High…”

  “A rich kid.”

  “Guess so. Anyway, he’s had Sherry for a substitute.”

  “He’s kinda cute,” Fran said.

  Jack did have a big, puffy face that made him look like an overgrown infant, but Brenda would hardly call him cute.

  It’s all in the eye of the beholder, she told herself.

  To Fran, she said, “He seemed pretty nice.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Jack. Want to meet him?”

  Fran’s eyes widened. “Uh-huh. No way.” She shook her head. Brenda supposed she was probably blushing. Her face was certainly red, but it had been flushed and shiny all day from the sun and heat.

  Ralph stopped hosing the car.

  Brenda crouched and picked up her bucket. “You oughta do his windshield,” she suggested.

  Fran laughed. “No way!”

  “Come on, do it. Worst case scenerio, he ignores you. On the other hand, maybe he’ll be smitten.”

  “Smitten my ass.”

  Side by side, they walked toward the Mercedes.

  “If you’re gonna do it,” Brenda said, “lose the sweatshirt.”

  “I am awfully hot.”

  “Doggone right you are. Don’t hide it under a—”

  “That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

  Brenda laughed. Then she said, “Do it,” and turned away. She carried her bucket toward the rear of the car. Baxter was already swabbing the lid of the trunk, so Brenda crouched and began to sponge the rear quarter panel.

  Fran, standing near the hood, started to pull up her sweatshirt. Brenda saw the white skin of her midriff.

  What’s she wearing, a bikini?

  Maybe this isn’t such a terrific idea.

  Why not? Jack’s tubby, too. Maybe they’re made for each other.

  Instead of pulling the sweatshirt off, Fran lifted its front just high enough to wipe her face with it…and high enough to expose the bare white undersides of her breasts for a second or two.

  Brenda felt her stomach go funny.

  Holy cow!

  Had Fran done that on purpose? Right in front of the whole world?

  What is she, nuts?

  Either that, or desperate. Or she really likes the looks of this Jack guy. Or she didn’t realize she was lifting her sweatshirt that high. Or maybe she forgot she wasn’t wearing anything underneath it.

  How do you forget that?

  Brenda wondered if anyone else had gotten a look at Fran’s breasts.

  Had Jack seen them?

  Funny if he of all people happened to be looking the other way.

  Fran crouched, reached into her bucket and lifted out a dripping sponge. Then she bent over the side of the car, leaned against the windshield and stretched out an arm…pushing her right breast against the glass directly in front of Jack’s face.

  What’s gotten into her?

  Brenda felt a little scared.

  Maybe she’s just finally had it with being ignored.

  Done with the windshield, Fran started to use her sponge on the hood. Brenda stood up to see her better. Fran didn’t expose herself or writhe on the hood. Nor did she glance in Jack’s direction.

  Probably really embarrassed.

  Jack seemed to be watching her. Brenda couldn’t tell where he was looking, but his head was straight forward.

  Of course he’s watching her. She showed him her boobs. He’s hoping for a repeat performance.

  But Fran didn’t give him one. She scrubbed her side of the hood while Quentin worked on the other side. Then she crouched to work on the front quarter panel.

  Soon, they all stepped back and Ralph brought his hose into action. Sudsy water streamed down the car. When the water stopped being white and frothy, Ralph turned the hose away. He waved Jack forward.

  The Mercedes drove ahead. When it stopped, the drying crew rushed in with their rags. They scampered around Jack’s car, talking and laughing among themselves, hanging over his hood and trunk, leaning against his windows.

  “Look at them,” Fran muttered. “That’s me being erased from Jack’s mind.”

  “I don’t know,” Brenda said.

  “Not a lard-ass in the bunch.
”

  “Take it easy.” Brenda patted her on the back. “He won’t be erasing you any time soon.”

  “Think not?”

  “Guys don’t forget that sort of thing.”

  Fran frowned at her. “What sort of thing?”

  “You know.”

  “I do?”

  “This?” Brenda reached down, lifted the front of her T-shirt and wiped her face with it. “Minus the bikini top?”

  “What?”

  “You showed him your boobies.”

  “I did not.”

  “Maybe not on purpose, but…” Brenda shrugged.

  Fran gaped at her. “You’re kidding.”

  Brenda shook her head.

  “Oh, my God.”

  An accident?

  Brenda laughed.

  “It’s not funny.”

  “Sorry.”

  “It happened when I wiped my face?”

  “Right after I said you should take your sweatshirt off.”

  “I couldn’t take it off. I’ve got nothing on under it.”

  “We know that now.”

  “Oh, God.” Lowering her head, Fran muttered, “I think I’m gonna be sick.”

  “Hey, it’s okay. I don’t even think anyone was looking except me. I’m probably the only one who noticed.”

  “What about Jack?”

  “Even if he did see them, he’ll be gone in a couple of minutes.” Brenda looked over at the Mercedes. All the girls except Traci had already wandered away from it. Traci was wiping its rear window. “Look. They’re almost done.”

  Fran didn’t bother to look. “How much showed?” she asked.

  “Not that much. You shouldn’t worry about it, okay? Even if Jack saw everything, it’s no big deal. He doesn’t know who you are. You’ll probably never even see him again.”

  Fran turned toward the Mercedes.

  Traci, done with it, twirled her rag as she ambled over to join her friends.

  The driver’s window slid down.

  “All done,” Stephanie called out. “So long, handsome.”

  “Bitch,” Fran muttered.

  “Yep,” Brenda said.

  As they both watched, the gleaming black Mercedes drove forward to the nearest exit. It stopped and waited for a while, then turned right onto Fairview.

  When it passed, Brenda saw Jack through the open passenger window.

  “Oh, my God,” Fran said. “He’s looking at us.”

  “At you.”

  Then he slowed down, turned right, and entered the parking lot.

  “He’s coming back,” Brenda said.

  “Oh, my God.”

  “Maybe he wants another look.”

  Fran elbowed her.

  Ralph, Quentin and Baxter looked at them, glanced at the approaching car, then eyed each other.

  Baxter was frowning.

  Quentin was chuckling.

  Ralph, hose by his side, grinned at Brenda and sang out, “Somebody’s got a boyyyyfriend.”

  Smiling, Brenda pointed her thumb at Fran.

  Fran grimaced. “Not me,” she said.

  The guys turned away and tried to look uninterested as the car eased to a stop in front of Brenda and Fran.

  Chapter Fifty-three

  Jack smiled out the driver’s window. First at Brenda, then at Fran. Eyes shifting back to Brenda, he said, “Hi, I’m back.”

  “Hi. This is my friend, Fran. Fran, this is Jack.”

  “Hi, Jack.”

  “Hi, Fran.” He nodded and blushed. “The thing is, you did such a good job…What I’m wondering—you don’t make house calls, do you?”

  “What do you mean?” Brenda asked.

  “We’ve got three other cars back at home.”

  “Three?”

  Smiling, he shook his head. “My folks…we’ve got cars up the ying-yang.”

  Fran laughed.

  “They could all use a wash,” Jack explained. “I mean, if you’re interested in raising some extra money. It’d take me all afternoon if I tried to bring ’em over here, but it occurred to me, maybe if a couple of you came out to my house…”

  “I don’t think so,” Brenda said.

  “Oh, okay. Just thought I’d ask.”

  “We really have to stay here. We can’t go running off to people’s houses.”

  Especially not strangers’, she thought.

  He’s probably harmless, but you never know.

  “I’d pay extra,” Jack said. “How about fifty dollars?”

  “For three cars?” Fran looked at Brenda. “That’s a lot. And things are sort of slow right now.”

  “Hang on, Jack.” Brenda took hold of Fran’s sleeve and led her away from the car. When she figured they were well beyond Jack’s hearing range, she stopped. “Forget it,” she said. “We’re not going over to his house. We don’t know anything about him.”

  “I think he kind of likes me.”

  “Maybe he does.”

  He oughta, Brenda thought.

  “I know I like him.”

  “Guess so.”

  “The thing is, if we say no and he goes driving off, I might never see him again.”

  “There’s an easy remedy. Give him your name and number.”

  Fran grimaced. “I can’t do that.”

  “You’ll lift up your sweatshirt but you won’t give him your…”

  “I didn’t do that.”

  “Maybe you didn’t mean to, but you did.”

  “It was an accident.”

  “Well, accidentally give him your phone number.”

  “I can’t. I mean, it’d be too obvious.”

  “Unlike lifting your…”

  Fran elbowed her. Again.

  “Hey, hey. Easy on the merchandise.”

  Fran leaned close to her and whispered, “The thing is, if we go and do his cars, it’ll like give me a chance to talk to him and stuff. You know? We can get to know each other. Maybe he’ll even ask for my number.”

  “Let me introduce you to a concept: Shallow grave by the side of the road.”

  “Let me introduce you to one, Miss Know-it-all: Nothing ventured, nothing gained.”

  “It’s not worth the risk,” Brenda said.

  “Not for you.”

  “Not for you, either. I know he looks like a nice guy, but you can’t tell by looking. For all we know, he might be a nutcase.”

  “He isn’t any nutcase. He’s perfectly normal. Except for the fact that he might actually be interested in me. Come on, Brenda. This could be my big chance.”

  “Let’s try something,” Brenda said.

  “What?”

  Not answering, she turned around. Jack smiled out of his car window as they walked toward him. “What’s the verdict?” he asked.

  “I don’t know yet,” Brenda said. “Where do you live?”

  “You know where Foster High is?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Our house is just a few blocks from there. But I’ll drive, so you don’t have to worry about finding it.”

  “And you’ll drive us back here when we’re done?”

  “Sure.”

  “Three cars for fifty dollars?”

  “Yep.”

  “Sounds pretty tempting.”

  “So it’s a deal?” he asked.

  “Only thing is, three cars will take a long time if just Fran and I try to do them. Suppose we have a couple of the guys come with us?”

  Jack seemed pleased by the idea. “Sure, why not? It’ll make it easier for everyone.”

  “Guys!” Brenda called. “Come here a minute.”

  Ralph, Baxter and Quentin hurried over to them.

  “What’s up?” Ralph asked.

  “Anybody wanta make a house call? Jack has three other cars at home. He’ll give us fifty bucks if we wash ’em.”

  “You mean like all of us go?” Baxter asked.

  “Somebody’d better stay and hold down the fort,” Ralph said.

  “You’r
e the hose man,” Brenda told him. “You wanta stay?”

  “Sure.”

  “How about you guys?” she asked, glancing from Baxter to Quentin.

  “Count me in,” Baxter said.

  “Me, too,” said Quentin.

  “So the four of us?”

  “What about them?” Baxter asked with a nod toward the drying crew.

  “They’re not coming,” Fran said. “No way.”

  To Ralph, Brenda said, “Maybe you can get a couple of them to help with the washing.”

  “If any more customers show up,” Ralph said.

  “There’ll be more,” Brenda assured him.

  “Sure hope so. We haven’t exactly made a killing so far.”

  “Well, we’ll get fifty bucks out of this.”

  And maybe Fran’ll get a boyfriend.

  She stepped closer to Jack’s window. “I guess it’s all set. Can you fit four of us in there?”

  “Sure.”

  “Wanta open the trunk? We’ll throw in some buckets and sponges.”

  “You don’t have to bring any of that stuff. I’ve got everything at home.”

  “You sure?”

  “Sure. Just hop in and we’ll be off.”

  Fran hurried around to the other side and opened the passenger door. “Okay if I sit up here?” she asked.

  “It’s right where I want you,” Jack told her.

  “Okay. Great. Thanks.” She sank into the seat.

  Brenda opened the back door, climbed in, and scooted to the middle of the seat. While Quentin followed her in, Baxter hurried around the car. He came in from the other side.

  Jack smiled over his shoulder. “Everybody ready?”

  “All set,” Brenda said.

  Quentin and Baxter nodded.

  “You’d better put your seat belts on. I don’t want anybody getting hurt.”

  He watched as they strapped themselves in. Then he turned his eyes to Fran in the passenger seat. “How are you doing?” he asked.

  She beamed. “Oh, fine.”

  “You must be awfully hot in that sweatshirt.”

  She laughed softly and the flush of her face seemed to deepen. “It’s okay.”

  “I’ll crank up the air for you.”

  The car already felt plenty cool enough for Brenda, but she wasn’t wearing a sweatshirt. Neither were Baxter or Quentin. The boys, sitting rigid on both sides of her, wore nothing but swimming trunks and sneakers.

  Jack leaned forward to adjust the air conditioning. As a sound like blowing wind filled the car, he settled back in his seat and started to drive.