Fine. Be that way.
He didn’t say it.
What did you expect, anyways?
He wasn’t trying to impress her. He was damned angry, right about then. And yet…he supposed he didn’t want it to end, either. She smelled so good, and what in the hell was she doing here?
“All right, let’s get you into the bath then.”
That was all she said, curiously deflating it was, for which he was grateful in some ways. His boner subsided, only slightly. The edge of the tub was up against the side of the calf of his right leg and he stepped into nearly-scalding water with her hand on his lower back and his lower bicep hard in her other hand.
He found the usual places to put his hands and cautiously lowered himself down into the water.
“There. See.”
“Ah.” The water stung in a ring around him as it rose up on his flesh.
The air was steamy and the room nice and warm. The sound of light jazz came from the radio on the hall table. He hardly ever turned it on anymore.
He heard her moving beside him.
The colour of the water, barely visible to Scott, and the feel of it, told Scott that she had found some kind of bath foam under the sink. There was some stuff there from a previous tenant, which he had ignored until today. He couldn’t actually read the labels and yet there was stuff in it—he’d opened one and had a good sniff at it, a few weeks after moving in.
There was a curiously feminine scent coming up off the water.
“What the hell is that?”
“Pardon me?”
“Sorry. What’s that smell?”
“Oh.” She went over to the wastebasket and pulled something out. “It’s called Ginseng.”
He snorted. A freakin’ aphrodisiac. Who needs it?
“Yeah, right.”
So she said she needed somebody. Or no. She said she didn’t know why. The lady didn’t know why.
He wondered just exactly what the lady meant by that.
She seemed awfully intense, and painfully naive or something. She must be insane.
It was just his luck.
***
Scott bent his knees and eased himself a little deeper into the water. He was a terribly shy man, and what in the hell were you supposed to do about it?
Normally he would take a shower, and this was an unaccustomed luxury.
He was just trying to think of what to say when she turned abruptly, opened the door and left.
Betty went out into the kitchen. He heard glass clink out there.
She came right back.
“Here.”
“What is it?”
Rather than answer, she lifted his wrist and then something hard and cold brushed his fingertips.
His hand closed on a glass. Bringing it up to his face he recognized it. It was the last of the London Dry Gin. Of all things. He was sort of keeping it in reserve, as he didn’t usually drink gin.
Gin had to have the proper mixers and he usually just bought a six-pack and drank two or three at a time.
“Thank you. Betty—”
He didn’t get to finish as the sound of her zipper going downwards along the lithe curve of her spine caused his brain to completely lock up on him for ten or fifteen seconds or so.
His ears weren’t fooling him.
He took a quick slug of the gin. It definitely helped.
A bare leg came over the side and her foot probed the foamy blue waters to find where his legs were under the surface.
He sat up and pulled in his feet as best he could. Scott wished he could see what the hell was going on. Betty settled into the water, he thought facing him from the sound of her voice.
“It’s okay, Scott. I just needed somebody.”
Her wet hands clasped his knees.
His jaw went back and forth in deliberation and his penis went up like a periscope.
“Oh, my God.”
What she did next seemed almost inevitable, judging by the last ten minutes or so, but even then it still came as something of a shock.
There was still that hint of terror, deep down inside, but some other part of his mind retained enough objectivity to realize that what he really ought to do was to try and relax and enjoy himself.
While it was true the building superintendent, Mrs. Jarvis, who lived down below, was a bit hard of hearing, the one thing he must promise himself was not to scream or moan or thrash about too much if he could possibly help it.
It had been so long since he had touched another person, or felt their warmth up close.
***
The first morning was the best, the worst, and in every way terrifying. It was also elevating, exalting even. She had transformed his life, if only it turned out to be real. Hell, if only for a moment.
This new love in his life—Scott wasn’t sure if he was entirely justified in calling it that, but he was sure as hell enamored of Betty. He could learn to love her if he wasn’t so damned scared of what was happening.
If he could only relax a little. There were too many fears to overcome.
Who was she?
It couldn’t last. There had to be some kind of a catch. It was all a big mystery.
But to wake up, have your eyes pop open, with a bit of a woodie in your pants, and to discover that it was real. To realize that last night had not been a dream or a hallucination. There was someone in the bed beside him. Someone soft, and warm, and beautiful.
Kill me now while I’m still happy.
Come on, God, you’ve never let me down before—you bastard.
Scott had been afraid to let on that he was awake for fear of ruining the illusion. There came a time when you had to pee and there was no more delaying.
He didn’t know what to make of it.
***
Betty had the place all cleaned up, not that Scott really cared one way or another, but she seemed to think it was important.
Scott had been alone for far too long. At some point one had to ask some serious questions.
She was in the bedroom airing his clothes, folding laundry and putting his winter clothes away. They’d been heaped up there for a while. It was a tedious job, one requiring pure feel.
He had the TV on, listening to the on-air personalities talking on the Weather Channel. It was his routine, and routine was the one thing that had saved him from going mad. One of the things, anyway. So what if she was crazy—she was nice, and he knew how close he had been a time or two.
Going mad was just one of those things.
It could happen to anybody.
There was a rap of knuckles at the door.
“It’s okay, I’ll get it.” His heart thudded in guilt for some reason.
It was probably Mrs. Jarvis, and yet here he was a grown man—he paid rent. She had always been somewhat solicitous, although royally ineffective at it. It’s just that he had so few visitors.
She was governmentally ineffectual.
He pulled the chain free. Turning the little knob on the deadbolt, he opened the door. He couldn’t quite see who it was, but there appeared to be two of them.
“Yes?”
“I’m Officer Bruce Nyall and this is my partner, Officer Diana Wilson. We’ve been canvassing the neighbourhood.”
“Oh?”
Scott wondered if it was for a subscription to something, raising money for some local charity.
The cops were known to do that from time to time. Then again they could be creeps trying to fake out a blind man, gain his cooperation and then get him in trouble. He’d seen one or two bogus ploys over the years, as often as not someone who had befriended you right out of the blue.
“So, what can I do you for?” Scott played it cool.
All he saw were two vertical blobs, elongated but nothing more. They could be real cops.
“Ah, yes, sir. You are Scott Nettles, and do you reside here?”
“Ah, yes.”
“Okay, sir. We’re trying to locate a missing robot. She was last
seen a few blocks from here. The robot is described as a blue-skinned female, about five-foot ten, with thick blonde hair and big dark eyes.”
“Ah. Well.”
“Anyway, sir, have you seen anyone or anything like that in the neighbourhood?”
“Ah. No, but—”
Officer Wilson nudged Officer Nyall with her elbow. She pointed, and following her glance, he noted the long white cane standing just inside the door. It was leaning up against a corner of the small front hall. It helped to explain the man’s odd demeanor, blankly looking off over to one side above their heads and with his left ear lowered to catch the nuances, eyes wide and unfocused.
“That’s okay sir, we’re just checking around. Is there anyone else in the apartment with you?”
“Ah, no—just me and my, ah, girlfriend.”
Officer Wilson’s eyes lit up a little in empathy. It was sort of romantic for the poor guy to have someone. She’d never really thought about it. It made her shock at his blindness fade somewhat. It wasn’t that bad for the man. Hopefully, maybe. Her heart went out to the more unfortunate of the city’s residents; the bottom ninety percent. For her, this in her third full year of being a cop, the duty really meant to serve and protect. It’s why she signed up. She hoped she would never become cynical. Some of her brother and sister officers sounded fairly cynical at times, but she often wondered if that was just some kind of emotional shield.
“All right, sir, we won’t take up too much of your time. Do you have a phone?”
Scott’s mouth was open in a half-witted grin.
“So you guys are looking for a robot?” His belly muscles, shirtless as he was, convulsed at the notion. “Heh-heh-heh.”
“Ah, yes, sir.” Diana spoke up now, with a smile evident in her voice. “Yes, sir. Please call us if you notice anything. Someone might mention something, you know?”
She pressed a business card into his hand, mentally cursing herself as she did so, but he took it readily enough. Maybe he’d be able to read it with his fingertips, she thought, the names and numbers were heavily embossed.
“Officers Nyall and Wilson. Okay, sir?”
He could always get a neighbour or the landlady to read it for him.
“Ah. Yes. Of course.” Scott still had the ludicrous grin on his face.
Realizing a nod, or a tug at the cap brim wouldn’t be of much use, Officer Nyall spoke up.
“Okay. Good night sir. We’re leaving now, and we’ll let you get back at it.”
“Oh. Okay. Thank you, officers. Good night.”
Scott closed the door and locked and latched it all up again. Dimly he heard them move on to the next unit, number six, and rap on the door. It was just down to the left and across the hall.
“Hmn. Don’t that beat all.”
Scott turned and headed back to the couch, still shaking his head.
“Betty!”
“Yes, dear?”
“You are not going to believe what just happened.”
She came out of his dingy little bedroom with a white sock in one hand and a black one in the other, and an inquiring look on her face.
“What?”
Chapter Three
“I have to get out of here for a while. I try to get out as often as possible.” It was an essential part of routine.
Single for all these years, Scott never bought more than the twelve items allowed in the express checkout. One or two small bags of groceries were all that he could reasonably handle, what with the stick and all.
“Are you okay on your own, Scott?”
It was kind of a dumb question, but it gave him an opening. It was an assertion of self, an act of assertion. It was an important thing to do sometimes.
“No problem.”
Scott needed air and Betty thought it best if he went alone. She was planning to scrub the kitchen floor. Scott admitted it hadn’t been done in a while, something she could see for herself.
“That way we won’t be tripping on each other.”
“Yeah. I’m a little too used to my independence.” He smiled, getting the same feeling he’d had more than once in the last couple of days.
He had laughed, of course—over the years. He had a few friends, a few acquaintances. If someone told a joke, of course Scott would laugh.
But this was different. This was smiling. Almost as if smiling came naturally.
She kissed him on the cheek and the cane was pressed into his hand.
“It is kind of a small place, even just for the two of us.”
“Is there anything we need? Milk, maybe?”
“Yes. We could use milk. And tea bags.”
He nodded, and Scott smiled again. Fuck, what a thrill. His heart leapt. It had been doing that quite a bit lately.
“Kissy-kiss?” At one time he would have thought anyone who said that a proper fool.
Quite mad, really.
Not anymore.
She took him in her arms and Scott wrapped his free arm around her. Their lips met and Scott enjoyed some tongue and one or two thoughts for later.
“Bye, lover.”
“Bye.”
Fuck, I never thought I would say that again. Or maybe I never have said it.
The latch snapped open and then Scott was through the door and into the hallway.
Crap, with her there it was like he didn’t want to leave, but routine had its role. She had to understand a few things about him. She’d better know, otherwise she would simply overpower him. Smother him, if he wasn’t careful.
He laughed out loud on the thought.
As long as my head’s between her legs when it happens, who cares?
He grinned from time to time as he walked.
Holy, crap.
Had his life ever changed.
And just this once, not for the worse. Scott, as often as not, enjoyed his walk to Mel’s on the corner, where the stock was never moved. He’d stopped going to the big supermarket nearby when the new manager had gotten on some kind of efficiency kick and moved everything in the place. Moving the aisles and rearranging the shelves, the freezer cabinets and everything, might have found another couple hundred square feet of retail shelf space. Scott, he sort of took it as a personal insult.
He’d gone in, making it in through the turnstile no problem, and then walked smack-dab into some kind of a low display. He never did figure out what that was.
Scott caught a sharp corner with a hip. His pocket or his jacket snagged a tab of stainless steel, he over-balanced, and then he went down, falling on the slender stick and breaking it.
Being the centre of attention of a bunch of strangers that he couldn’t even see was embarrassing. Their comments, their voices, were just a stream of meaningless noise. They all had something to say. It was a good thing he couldn’t see them, he was sure he would have punched somebody. It was the voices of the little kids standing over him. That was all that stopped him. He hated humanity at that moment, and of course they had to help him up, all worried about him. The staff had to get someone to lead him around while he did his shopping—minimal as it was.
All of their fucking apologies grated on him, when all he wanted was to be left alone. The stock boy who took him home hadn’t been properly briefed. Scott thought the kid had forgotten exactly where he lived, until a couple of days later when the store manager showed up at his door with a new white cane for Scott.
More apologies, and Scott had been barely polite to the man.
Fucking asshole. I’ll never shop there again, Buddy. Give it up. And fuck you, too.
Fuck all of you.
If they were looking for some feel-good publicity, Scott sure as hell wasn’t going to give it to them.
But today was a better day, in fact a wonderful day. It was a rare event in Scott’s experience.
The breeze was warm, and the birds were noisy and cheerful, the air was wet and the smell of fermenting dog-shit everywhere you turned was a portent of spring. Whatever. The traffic was just as
heavy as usual. Somehow the cars, trucks and buses didn’t seen quite so threatening, not so cold and impersonal anymore.
The chess players, and the men with Italian accents playing bocce-ball in the park, ignored him. They never minded the weather either. Italians were full of life. No one ever heard of a depressed Italian.
Crossing the street held no terrors for Scott anymore.
He had acquired a kind of fatalism over the years. It was a way of dealing with things.
It would happen someday.
Once you accepted it, things got better. Scott felt kind of sorry, even ahead of time, for the poor bastard who was slated to kill him. Just make sure you do it right. Don’t leave me in a fucking wheelchair, okay, Buddy?
Do it right.
Man, that is one dark thought, and yet he couldn’t quite shrug it off, either. Scott tapped his way down the street.
Fuck, I wouldn’t wish that on anybody. That is one burden I will never have to bear.
Yeah.
Now he had something to live for.
Why does the chicken cross the road, anyways?
Maybe he’s hoping someone will kill him.
He’d done it a million times, and this time was no different. The ‘pong’ of the signal changing and the sound of cars accelerating was a reminder of pain, death and injury, but so far, he’d been lucky.
You had to admit that. So far, no one had run him over. Yet a forty-two year old man on a bicycle had been killed by a pickup truck at this very intersection just a couple of weeks ago.
Sticking close to the storefronts, he found the fourth doorway to the left of the intersection of Queen and Main streets.
The laundromat was busy, as always on a Saturday, with the smells of laundry, the voices of women and small children coming vaguely through the wall. There was the sound of rotating dryers and squelching washing machines, the latter of which, if you overloaded them, would leave a crust of dry soap on your clothes because the water wouldn’t penetrate all the way through. On a tight budget, Scott had only done that once or twice, as doing the wash cost nine dollars and seventy-five cents per load.
The Mysterious Case of Betty Blue Page 2
