by John Tigges
Nicole found herself crying when she recalled the dream. Crying—for no reason at all. No reason? There certainly was a reason. Myles! Myles had walked out last night—away from her and out of her life. He said he didn’t want to be committed to anything permanent at the present time. She now wondered why he hadn’t said “at this point in time,” like he would have on one of his television newscasts. She hated that expression—useless words that said practically nothing.
What time had she fallen asleep? She remembered looking at the alarm in the dark when it was three fifty-one. Now it was four fifty-six. Had she slept less than an hour? Less than one hour? If she averaged that much, she could devote over twenty-three hours a day to reclaiming Myles’ love and affection.
She lay back on the bed. Why had he left? He had started to say something about how great she was—what a nice person or some such drivel. Way down, deep inside, she felt there was someone else. There simply had to be. The two of them had gotten along too well together for him to simply break up without an adequate reason, hurting her and just walking away.
Hurting? Was she hurting? She felt numb. Her emotions, once under control, had sufficiently anesthetized her, enabling her to look at the problem from a detached viewpoint.
Then the tears came again—almost violently. She felt as if she might cleanse her soul if she cried long enough. Sobs, deeper than any she had ever experienced, unmercifully racked her, bringing loud gasps of air bursting from her throat. Struggling to get off the bed, she continued sobbing, crying as if there would be no sunrise today. Doomsday had just arrived. The judgment would begin promptly at nine and she would have to make an accounting of her life. No time to make amends or changes or smooth things out between her and anyone she might have offended at one time or another in her life. All her sins, all her wrongdoings, all her transgressions would be laid out for the whole world to see.
She stumbled into the bathroom and turned on the faucet. The splashing in the basin sounded too loud, too exaggerated. Cupping her hands, she caught some of the cold water and splashed her face.
What was wrong with her? She was thinking like a mad woman. The end of the world? Doomsday? Just how devastated was she that Myles had elected to call it quits? She must have deeper feelings for him than she had ever imagined. Her instinctive reflex to sob eased, and she looked up in the mirror at the wet face, puffy eyes and flushed cheeks.
“What a disaster,” she mumbled. For the first time since she had awakened, she felt almost normal. The effect of Myles’ announcement was still fresh, but the initial shock of its impact on her had waned somewhat—enough for her to look at the situation a bit more objectively. She would win him back no matter what the price might be.
Turning out the bathroom light, she returned to her bedroom. It seemed empty without him. He should be lying on his back, the gentle snore she had grown used to rippling through the quiet. But the quiet itself now was the only sound she heard.
Moving toward the living room door, she stopped for a second. She needed her rest. What about her work at Overstreet’s art supply store? Would her boss, Phil Overstreet, be angry if she called in sick? If she did go into work, she’d collapse from lack of sleep by nine thirty—ten, tops. She’d fib to Phil and tell him she had a bug of some sort and wouldn’t be any good in the store today. He’d have to buy it. It was all she could think of at the moment. She turned on the table lamp next to the couch and went to the stereo. Spinning the dial, she found a station and turned the volume as low as she could without completely losing the signal. No need to tell her neighbors that she couldn’t sleep. Bruce Springsteen belted out “Pink Cadillac” in a total whisper that seemed foreign and unfamiliar to his style of singing. A cynical smile crossed Nicole’s lips.
What would her first step be in winning back Myles? What would someone else do in a case like this? Go talk to her mother? Nicole had no mother. Nancy Kilton had died with her husband in a plane crash in Canada when Nicole was eighteen years old, halfway through her senior year in high school. She really had no one to whom she could turn. Before, she might have confided in Myles, but now he was the cause of her unrest.
She lay her head back on the couch, closing her eyes. What should her first move be? She yawned. It would have to be right, absolutely correct, if she were to win Myles back.
She stifled another yawn. Somehow Bruce Springsteen had changed into Pat Benatar and she wondered when he had added voice impressions to his repertoire as sleep again overtook her and she settled into its comforting arms.
2
Thursday, September 4, 1986 5:55 A.M.
The grayness, peculiar to that half-light, half-dark of predawn, filled the bedroom and Myles shifted from one spot to another, searching for a cool place on the sheets. Stretching his muscular frame, he yawned. His wiggling brought a sigh from Eunice Brooks, in whose bed he lay. He froze to keep from awakening her. Right now, he didn’t want to talk with anyone—especially Eunice.
After leaving Nicole’s apartment, he had come to Eunice. Eunice. She was the chief reason he had sought to call an end—at least a temporary end—to his involvement with Nicole. Now, after pondering the question over and over in his mind during the night, he still wasn’t certain he had done the right thing. It had been difficult for him to simply walk out on Nicole that way. He knew that she had probably spent the night crying, but she’d get over it. People usually got over their anxieties—no matter what they might say at the time. Still, he was concerned. Could she take the emotional beating? Would she be all right?
Nicole and he had not had any fixed arrangement and for that he had been thankful. It had made it easier—easier on him, easier on his conscience. But what about Nicole? How would she fare? She was probably devastated. The only reason he felt any guilt at all was the fact that he truly liked her. Or was it love? No, he didn’t love her. Of that, he felt almost one hundred percent sure. He could not or would not allow himself to love her. Not now. Maybe one day. There had been many times when he found himself daydreaming about the two of them being married—with a mortgage, with children, with all the problems that go hand in hand with marriage.
When Eunice Brooks had come on to him, he quickly had evaluated his own circumstances. If he had turned his back on Eunice, he might have gone through life wondering if he had made a mistake. Then, too, how many more women like Eunice would he encounter in the future? Without satisfying his animal instincts at least once before settling down, he would have no way to guarantee that he would be able to control them the rest of the time. Did that make sense? At the time, he thought it to be absolutely perfect and logical reasoning.
Now, in the quiet and grayness of dawn, he wondered. He had hurt Nicole. Of that he was positive. But, he had to think of himself, too. If he didn’t, he might wind up hurting Nicole or someone like her in the future even more.
When Eunice snorted softly in her sleep, Myles turned to face her. Eunice was a beautiful woman. A perfect body. Lovely features. Long flowing, strawberry blond hair —just a shade or two lighter than Nicole’s. Physically, the two women were similar but Eunice’s tastes in bed games varied much more than did Nicole’s. If for no other reason, Myles convinced himself that he should be thankful to Eunice for the sexual experience he found in her. Perhaps he might draw on what she had shown him, sometime in the future.
Beyond her sensual abilities, Eunice would have lost in any honest comparison between the two women. Where Nicole could carry on an intelligent conversation about a variety of subjects, Eunice felt pressed for a topic once the weather, television soap operas and the current Stephen King best seller had been exhausted. Eunice worked as a secretary for a department store manager and seemed content with her lot in life. On the other hand, Nicole was career oriented and not merely in a selfish way. She truly believed she could help people and wanted to obtain her Masters in psychology before feeling ready to really face the work-a-day world. Her job in the art store was only in passing, and Myles knew one day she would attain e
very goal she had set for herself. A serious thought struck him. Would she also gain her goal of winning him back as she had promised?
Myles pictured Nicole in his mind, then looked at Eunice lying next to him. She was beautiful but it was a surface beauty. Standing next to Nicole, Eunice might very easily win a beauty comparison, but it would be Nicole who would be the winner when personality was allowed to shine through.
Had he done the right thing? Time would tell. But how much time should he allow? He wondered if Nicole would wait until he had his fill of Eunice.
Myles shook his head in a disparaging way. He knew he had made a mistake but it was a mistake that he would soon rectify and then … He’d have to wait to find what the future would hold for Nicole and him.
“Are you awake, lover-boy?” Eunice said, her throaty whisper full of desire.
“Uh-huh!” He rolled on his side to face her.
“I’m glad,” she said, snaking one finger along his chest, down his belly to toy at the root of his manhood. His penis jumped as if it had a mind and life of its own.
Thursday, September 4, 1986 9:07 A.M.
When she opened her eyes, Nicole jerked awake with a start. Where was she? What time was it? Bright sunlight flooded her living room. How and when had she come into this part of her apartment? Why wasn’t she in bed?
The time question banged at her mind again. What was the time? It seemed too bright to be seven o’clock, her usual rising time. Off in the sleep-filled distance of her mind, she could hear a man’s voice giving a monologue. What the hell was that? Then she saw the red light on her stereo tuner. She had turned on the radio last night. She remembered thinking about Bruce Springsteen imitating someone and smiled at the silliness of her thoughts. She stood, stretching away the aches of having slept in an upright position on the couch, and turned up the volume.
“And that’s the nine o’clock news. Now, at eight minutes past the hour here’s a golden oldie. Elvis Presley singing ‘Love Me Tender.’ “
She turned off the set. Nine oh eight? She was late for work. Why hadn’t she …
Myles! The whole night came back to her in a crashing swirl. Why had he done what he’d done?
She sat down heavily on the couch. Myles had denied it, but it had to have been another woman. But hadn’t she vowed she’d get him back? The words of her oath-like statements replayed in her head like a tape recording. “One day, we’ll be together. It’s no threat. I won’t give up.” But what could she do? There had to be a way. But right now, she had no idea as to what that way might be.
She had to get her priorities in line. The first thing she had to do was call Phil. Phil Over-street was not the type to gripe if an employee was ill, but what bothered her was calling in late. The art store opened at nine. Usually, the first customers were students who would be on the way to their art class, stopping by to get just enough supplies to last them through whatever they might be studying.
Fumbling for the telephone, she dialed the number and, with the long cord trailed out behind her, walked into the bedroom. Phil’s voice seemed normal when he answered.
“Overstreet’s Art Store.”
“Phil? This is Nicole. I’m sorry for calling in late but I had an awful night.”
“Awful?”
“Horrible. I didn’t get to sleep until around four. I vomited. And I …”
“Say no more, Nicole. I understand. You wouldn’t be worth anything to me as an employee and I sure as hell don’t want to catch whatever it is that you’ve got. Take care of yourself and come in when you’re able. All right?”
“Thanks, Phil. I really appreciate it.”
She hung up, a forlorn smile trying to curve her lips. If Phil knew the real reason, he’d probably be angry for a few minutes and then be over it. She hadn’t lied. That part was important to her. She placed a high priority on her personal integrity and she would have felt guilty if she had lied to Phil.
After putting on a pot of coffee, she went to the bathroom. Once she was in the shower, she felt more secure in her thinking. It felt as if she were in a wet, little world all her own. She was the boss, the queen, the ruler of it. What she said was law. The one thing she found impossible to leave outside, though, was her sense of confusion about Myles.
The water beat upon her body, smashing into her large breasts, cascading over her erect nipples, down her flat stomach to the triangle of hair, where it wended its way through until rivulets snaked down both legs to the floor of the shower stall. It felt good, cleansing, purifying. She reflected on the times Myles had kissed her breasts and mouthed her nipples. The water made her remember the exquisite thrill his lips had brought her. She found herself wishing that somehow, the water could wipe away the shock of the previous night. If that could happen, Myles would be in her bed when she stepped out to towel off her body.
In time, as the water continued battering at her, she found it difficult to recall Myles’ face. How tall was he? What did he look like? How could she love him if she couldn’t even remember what he looked like? Still, she remembered having read someplace that the word “love,” as it applied to man/woman relationships, was the most difficult thing to define. And maybe that was the reason she was becoming confused. She was trying to define the indefinable.
She turned off the shower, and stepping out, grabbed the huge towel, wrapping it about herself. Maybe all of it had been a bad dream and Myles would really be in bed. Fearfully peeking around the corner of the door, she peered into the bedroom. No one was there.
Later that day.
For what seemed the thousandth time, she muttered to herself, “It’s not fair. He shouldn’t treat me like this. Not after all I’ve done for him!” But now, she was used to it. Words of reasoning placated her for a millisecond before reality fell back into place. Of course, the way he had gone about it had not been fair. He should NOT have treated her this way. And, yes, she had done a lot for him. Granted, he had done just as much for her but that wasn’t the issue.
She knew she had tried to be all things to Myles. It was one thing she had learned from her mother before her death. “Be compatible. Be flexible in your thinking. Listen to everyone else’s opinion—most especially that of the man in your life. You’ll find that people will be more willing to listen to you, if you listen to them.’”
The one thing she had to acknowledge was the fact that her mother and father had enjoyed a rich, rewarding and fulfilling life together. Her father, as a Sergeant Major in the United States Army, had brought a great degree of discipline into his home, and she had experienced that strict behavior peculiar to one of his rank. But he had tempered it with love, kindness and understanding.
What would her father have done if he hadn’t died on a mountainside in Canada? He had been protective of her as a child, but what would his reaction have been to a man who had rejected his adult daughter? She doubted if he would have resorted to any kind of violence, not that he was incapable of punching another man out. Instead, he would have talked with her, reasoning out that something positive was hidden within all the hurt pouring down on her head.
Suddenly, Nicole grew aware of her surroundings. She was sitting on a bench in a small park downtown with the September sun, bright and warm, flooding over her. She recalled having left her apartment about eleven o’clock and going for a walk. Where had she gone? Had she been contemplating her problems so intensely that she had walked into a park and sat down on a bench without being aware of it? Maybe she needed help.
She leaned against the green backrest. The one thing she had going for her was the fact she knew her strengths and weaknesses, though her worst fault was indecisiveness. Her greatest strength was her tenacity to hang in when the going got tough—once she had reached a decision. Now, she had to make that strength pay off. She would get Myles back even if it meant …
She winced, tears streaming down her face. What was she about to think? Even if it meant—murder?—selling her soul?—stopping at nothing? What di
d nothing entail? How about selling her soul? Did she even have one? She had been in and out of so many schools, public, private and parochial, that she found herself hardly accepting those tenets taught by the different religious institutions. While she was growing up, the sermons and homilies she had heard in different churches had not made much sense to her. What the hell was a soul?
Murder? No, that was one act she knew she certainly was incapable of performing.
Right now, she did not have any idea as to how to go about winning Myles back. But she would have him back or know the reason why.
A couple, college students, stopped in her line of vision, and she looked away when they kissed. They were together. They had each other. Who did she have? No one! Just unremitting loneliness. The mere idea of loneliness overwhelmed her. That was the one thing she felt she could not bear. Loneliness. She remembered when her parents had died and the awful sense of isolation that had engulfed her then. It had been the school psychologist who had brought Nicole to face reality and the eventual conclusion that she might be able to help people who had problems that were too much for any one person to handle by themselves. But that awful sense of loneliness had taught her never to be caught alone in any situation. The people at the double funeral had tried to be helpful, but she had managed to read a double meaning into everything that had been said to her. They were only trying to be nice to her and comfort her in her hour of need, but she had sensed only the awful alone-ness. Her parents—her world—had died when she was only eighteen.
To ensure her own popularity at school once she had returned to classes, she had been easily available for dates with anyone who asked. Because she wasn’t trying to prove something, she had not fallen into every bed that had been offered to her. The thing she needed more than anything else had been companionship. She had needed it then. She needed it now.
Where had the buildings come from? Shaking her head, Nicole looked about. She was downtown. In the mall—downtown. Across from the building where Myles worked.
