by John Lutz
Deirdre stood watching as Molly, clutching Michael to her, stepped inside.
“Bye, Michael,” she said with a smile, as the door glided shut.
As the elevator descended, Molly swallowed as if to relieve pressure. The entire building was full of pressure since Deirdre had moved in. Molly was holding her breath as if she were dropping toward the ocean floor in a diving bell. She released it and set Michael on the floor, trying to calm herself. But her anger continued coursing through her blood like a disease.
When she’d stepped forward to fling the toy rifle and Deirdre had moved out of the way, Molly had been aware of a scent she’d noticed without realizing it, as soon as Deirdre had opened her apartment door.
Back in her own apartment, Molly got Michael settled in the living room with television and some toys then went into the bedroom. Cartoons were on TV, featuring cavemen and dinosaurs, and probably, Molly admitted with an infuriating thrust of doubt, more violence than Michael had perpetrated on the cat.
There was an argument to be made that violent childhood entertainment-including toy guns-was as much of a catharsis as a cause or predictor of violent behavior. It was a valid argument, Molly knew, but she didn’t believe it enough to take a chance with her own child.
She stood at her dresser and examined the neat and glittering row of cosmetics bottles. Then she lifted a slender glass bottle shaped like a candle with a plastic cap made to resemble a flame. Elaborate red vertical lettering on the bottle spelled out Flaming Fixation. She removed the cap and sniffed at the bottle’s contents.
She knew now without a doubt. It was the perfume Deirdre was wearing.
Molly thought it should have been named Apropos.
29
Deirdre threw the dust rag at a lamp hard enough to knock it over. She didn’t bother to pick it up from the floor. She paced and fumed, occasionally pausing to kick or punch a piece of furniture.
“You bitch, Molly!” she hissed. “Bitch, bitch, bitch!..You don’t deserve them!”
Finally she walked over and picked up the lamp, then paused and hurled it back to the floor, bending the shade and causing the brass footing to break loose from the base and lie looped around the cord. She walked to the wall and began slamming her head against the plaster, over and over until she saw bloodstains on the paint and stopped. She staggered to the sofa and fell back on it.
For almost an hour she lay without moving, staring hard and unblinkingly at the ceiling, as if willing it to open like a box lid and free her rage and frustration to the heavens.
Then she remembered Chumley had said he’d be working at the office today. For a moment her hostility hovered around her thoughts of Chumley. She considered calling and having him take her somewhere interesting, cheer her up.
That bitch!
Yes, she needed cheering.
But Chumley wouldn’t be capable of giving her what she needed. He hadn’t managed it yet. She really didn’t want to see him today.
She sat up, reached for the phone, then lay back down with it resting on her stomach. She punched out Chumley’s home number.
A woman answered on the third ring.
“Is Craig Chumley there?” Deirdre asked, making her voice a shade husky.
“No. May I take a message?”
Deirdre smiled at the hint of alarm in the woman’s voice. Shirley. Mrs. Chumley. Another bitch!
“I, uh…Is this Mrs. Chumley?” she stammered, as if caught off guard.
“Yes, it is. Who is this?”
“Never mind, there’s no message. I called the wrong number. I’m really very sorry I bothered you.”
Deirdre lowered the receiver to within an inch of its cradle and held it there. As soon as she heard the inquiring natter of a voice, she gently hung up.
There! Let that bitch think about the phone call. Let her wonder who’d called. Maybe it was all an innocent mistake. Or maybe it was precisely what she feared, a threat to her family and home and security, to everything she thought was hers forever. Everything she simply took for granted that she deserved. Let her wonder for a long time. Let her ask Chumley about it. If he ever asked Deirdre if it was she who’d phoned, she’d deny it and he’d believe her.
That was the beautiful part. He would believe her instead of his wife.
Mrs. Fucking Chumley! Another paranormal bitch!
Chumley sat at his desk, working on his notebook computer. Since it was Saturday, he was wearing his Yankee T-shirt, khaki shorts, and thick-soled walking shoes. When he was finished here, he’d take a long walk and work off some of the rich food he’d been consuming lately. It was hard to resist dessert at some of the restaurants where Deirdre wanted to dine. At Tavern on the Green his willpower had crumbled and he’d ordered-
The phone rang, interrupting his caloric ruminations.
“Shirley?” he asked, after he’d said hello and identified himself. “Shirl?”
“That’s right, Craig.” Her voice was odd, which was why when she’d said his name he hadn’t recognized that it was her. Then she hadn’t spoken again for several seconds. “I just wondered if you were still at the office.”
“Why didn’t you speak up? Of course I’m still here. Working on the books like I told you this morning. I’ll be here awhile longer. Why did you call?”
“Do I need a particular reason?”
“No, of course not.” He sat for a while, a puzzled expression on his long face. “No,” he said again. “You don’t need a reason to call. Not ever. You know that.”
“Are you going to finish there soon?”
“Relatively soon. Depends on how things add up. But I shouldn’t be much longer. I’m gonna go for a walk when I’m done here, get rid of some of this spare tire.” There was a long pause while he waited for her to reply, this woman he lived and slept with on the other end of the line.
“I still love you, Craig,” she said in a flat voice.
He was startled. She hadn’t told him that in a long time. “Me too,” he said at last. “Love you, I mean.”
“Honestly?”
“Of course I do. Always have, always will.” He wondered about the monotonal quality in her voice. She’d been taking tranquilizers for a long time, different kinds. He didn’t know what she was taking these days. What seemed like dozens of prescription bottles were jammed into the medicine cabinet shelves. “Have you taken one of your pills?” he asked.
“Not today.” She was silent for a moment. “You’ll be home after your walk?”
“Yes, more or less. This evening, probably after supper. See you then.”
More silence.
He hung up and stared thoughtfully at the phone for a few minutes. Something in Shirley’s voice had scared him. Not just her flat tone, something else. There was no way she could know about his affair with Deirdre, yet she’d sounded suspicious. He’d told himself he didn’t care if she found out, but now he wasn’t so sure. He felt sick.
He assured himself he was probably imagining that she suspected. Guilt could do that to a man. He despised guilt; all his life it had prevented him from having so much that he’d wanted. He’d heeded it and done what was expected of him, gotten what other people wanted him to have. He wasn’t going to let guilt spoil what he had now.
Trying to put his marital concerns aside, he got back to work. Work to forget, at least for a while.
Suddenly he squinted through his glasses, then leaned forward to study more closely the figures on the glowing computer screen.
He stood up and went to the file cabinets, then stooped and opened a bottom drawer. After leafing through the contents of a file folder without removing it, he slid the drawer closed and opened the bottom drawer of the cabinet next to it.
Again he thumbed quickly through the contents of a folder. When he started to close the drawer, something stopped him, and he reopened it. He removed the folder and looked at its contents more carefully, then carried it to the desk and sat down. From a bottom desk drawer, he dug out
a computer disk, fed it into the disk drive, and keyed into it on the computer.
He worked the keyboard until he’d called up the information he wanted. Then he sat almost motionless, staring at the screen occasionally moving only his middle finger to press the Pgdn key to scroll what he was reading.
After a few minutes of study, he said, “Uh-oh! Oh, shit!”
The office suddenly seemed fiercely hot. He made a move to roll up his sleeves, then realized that he had none and wasn’t wearing his usual office attire. The building management controlled the thermostat, so there was no way to adjust the air-conditioning. The office was as cool as it was going to be today.
With intermittent worried glances at the computer screen, he began examining and rearranging the papers from the file folder, trying to ignore the perspiration from his hands and arms that was making the desk slick.
Now and then, sweat from his nose or forehead dropped directly on some of the papers.
“Trouble…” he kept repeating under his breath. “Always trouble…”
David arrived home from the gym, closed the door behind him, and tossed his duffe bag in the chair that usually caught his attache case.
It wasn’t until he’d turned around that he noticed Molly standing in the middle of the living room. She was facing him squarely, her arms crossed and her shoulders raised slightly with tension so that she was slightly hunched.
“You okay, Mol?”
But he knew she wasn’t okay. She was obviously angry as hell.
“David, we’re going to move!”
He stared at her, perplexed. “We’ve discussed that one to death.”
“Let’s discuss it some more.”
“Okay, we’ll talk to the management company,” he said.
“If they won’t cooperate, we’ll figure out something else. In the meantime, I want to look for another apartment.”
He was sure something traumatic had occurred, and probably concerning Deirdre. He hesitated asking about it, but curiosity prodded him the way it prompted people to touch tongue to sore tooth.
“Something happen, Mol?” As soon as he’d asked, he regretted it. Some doors you were a fool to open.
She told him about the incident with Michael and Muffin, then her encounter with Deirdre.
He tried not to show his relief. It might have been so much worse!
“I can understand why you’re upset,” he told her, “but-”
“We’re going to move,” she interrupted in her calm voice with steel in it.
He shook his head then grinned at her. “You’re kind of determined, aren’t you?”
“‘Determined’ isn’t the word.”
“‘Sexy’ is the word. You’re sexy when you’re determined.”
“Sexy and transient,” she said with finality.
30
David was still asleep in bed, lying on his stomach with his upper body above the sheet and an arm draped down so that the backs of his knuckles rested on the floor. He was snoring lightly.
Molly bent over near the bed and slipped her feet into her jogging shoes. She was already dressed in shorts and a T-shirt, ready for her Sunday morning run. When she sat on the edge of the mattress to tie her shoes, the springs squealed loudly, waking David.
He raised his head like a newborn, turned it, and saw her seated on the foot of the bed.
“Going running?” he asked in a sleep-thickened voice.
“Sure am. Michael’s still in bed. He’ll probably sleep till I get back.”
David yawned and let his head plop back down so his face was mushed sideways into his pillow. “I won’t wake him, that’s for sure. Wanna pick up a Sunday Times on your way home?”
“Sure.” She gave the lace on her left shoe an extra tug to be positive it was tight, then stood up. “Coffee’s made, if you’re interested.”
“Definitely am for later.”
She walked around to his side of the bed and kissed his forehead. “Bye.”
He smiled into his pillow. “Don’t wear yourself out. I might have some interesting plans for you when you come back.” He rolled onto his back and she saw that beneath the sheet he had an erection.
She had other things on her mind. He reached for her but she sidled out of range of his sweeping, grasping arm and hand, his movements still slowed by sleep.
“Remember,” she said, “we have an appointment with a real estate agent this morning.”
“Time for everything…” he muttered drowsily, then rolled over onto his stomach again and closed his eyes.
She moved to the other side of the room so he wouldn’t see her if he did open his eyes; no point in encouraging him. She did a few quick squats and touched her toes several times to loosen her hamstrings, then left him asleep again and beginning to snore.
David had dozed off and wasn’t sure how long Molly had been gone when a sudden burst of sound-loud voices from the living room-caused him to wake suddenly.
What the hell?
He lay staring at the wall, trying to figure out what was happening. Then he realized the voices were coming from the televlsion.
Silence then. A loud moan.
He propped himself up on his elbows, then sat on the edge of the mattress. Maybe Michael was up, playing with the remote control. They’d warned him about that, but it hadn’t done much good.
David stood up and caught sight of himself in the dresser mirror, a disheveled man in white jockey shorts and under-shirt. He looked and felt vulnerable.
With equal parts of curiosity and trepidation, he crept toward the now silent living room.
The TV was on, all right. He stopped, leaning with a hand against the wall, and focused his bleary eyes on the screen. A man and woman were having sex on a bed. The man, who was on top, was thrusting madly into the woman. He planted his palms on the mattress and raised his upper body, pushing his pelvis harder into the soft saddle of the woman’s crotch and spread thighs. The woman clutched him with her arms, and her upper body rose with his as she clawed at his back.
David felt his insides go numb as he stared in shock. He was looking at himself and Deirdre.
“You’ve improved with age, David. Like fine whiskey.”
Her voice hadn’t come from the TV. He turned and saw her seated in a corner of the sofa with her legs curled beneath her, holding the remote control aimed casually and inaccurately at the TV. She was wearing a T-shirt, shorts, and obviously new red and white jogging shoes. The shoes were exactly like Molly’s.
David thought of Michael and an edge of fear knifed through him. “For God’s sake, turn that off! Michael’s in the-”
But Michael wasn’t in the next room. He was toddling into the living room, rubbing sleep from his eyes.
David rushed to him and scooped him up, barely managing to cover his eyes before he could see the TV screen. His breath hissing with anger, he carried Michael back to his bedroom, laid him in his bed, and kissed him and soothingly urged him back to sleep.
When he left the bedroom a few minutes later, he carefully closed the door behind him, wishing there were some way to lock it.
How had this happened? he wondered as he returned furious to the living room. Why was she doing this?
He stopped in the middle of the room as he heard Michael begin to cry.
Deirdre stared at him, used the remote to switch off the TV, then nonchalantly stood up and walked over and ejected a cassette from the VCR.
Michael’s muted cries were still coming from the bedroom. Sleepy, urgent wails.
Deirdre seemed not to hear them. “The darndest thing’s happened, David. You know that apartment where we made love? The one that belongs to the man who sells electronics? Well, he must be some kind of a pervert. One of us somehow must have accidentally touched something, and everything we did was recorded on videotape.”
David wasn’t ready yet to try grasping the significance of what she’d said. He glanced nervously toward Michael’s bedroom. “You expect me to bel
ieve that?”
She put on a surprised expression. “Of course. It’s not unheard of. He probably tapes himself and the women he brings there. Or maybe even men.”
Michael’s cries became softer and less frequent, then ceased.
Relieved, David said, “Give me the tape, Deirdre.”
“Sure. That’s why I brought it here. I saw Molly leave to go jogging and figured it was a good time.”
She came to him and handed him the cassette. When he accepted it, she kissed him on the lips, clinging to him. He broke her hold and pushed her away, but she seemed to have expected that and stayed close.
“Watching it kind of got me in the mood again,” she said. “You should see it before you destroy it. We’re absolutely terrific together.”
David, not only wide awake now but hyperalert, knew why she’d unhesitatingly given him the tape. He stared at the cassette in his hand, then stared at Deirdre. “My God, there are copies, aren’t there?”
She kissed him again, quickly, while he was still in shock and assimilating what was happening. He didn’t respond. He was too stricken by events even to resist.
She cocked her head to the side and flipped her hair as if she were in a shampoo commercial. “Copies? Well, I don’t know for sure.”
“I do,” he said in a voice that betrayed his resignation.
She moved in and kissed him a third time, smiling up at him. “Michael’s gone back to sleep,” she said, “or he’d be in here again by now.”
His mind was still trying to gain equilibrium, to reassess the future. “Molly told me about the incident with Michael and the cat.”
She gave him another of her nimble, unexpected kisses, this time on the point of his chin. “She certainly made more of it than there was, David.”
“She said you’d been in our bedroom. That you were wearing some of her perfume when she went up to your apartment.”
“Anyone can buy any kind of perfume. She’s imagining things again, David. She’s awfully insecure and she imagines things. I noticed that about her from the beginning, and like I told you, it’s getting worse.”
