The Stake

by Richard Laymon

  “I’m gonna kill him,” Jim said.

  “Shut up about it!” Lane snapped.

  He did.

  There was a long silence.

  Finally Lane said, “I guess I’m lucky to have friends like you guys. I don’t want anyone trying to nail Riley Benson because of me, but it’s nice to know you care enough to be pissed at him.”

  “I’ll piss onhim,” Jim said.

  “Hey!”

  “Okay, okay, I won’t.”

  “Besides,” Henry put in, “Benson would probably enjoy it. He’d be right in his element.”

  “Hen,” Jim said, “I’m starting to like you.”

  “You’re not so bad yourself.”

  “The jock and the nerd,” Betty said. “What a pair.”

  “You got a nifty pair yourself there,” Henry said, and Betty squealed as he did something to her.

  Jim glanced back and grinned.

  “Keep your eyes on the road,” Lane warned.

  Betty cried out, “Don’t you!.. Ow!”

  “Oh, that didn’t hurt.”

  “Did, too.”

  “But this might.”

  “Don’t you dare!” She shrieked, then giggled.

  “Are we having fun yet?”

  “No! Yes! No, stopthat!”

  “Hope they don’t act like this in the movies,” Lane said. “They’ll get us all kicked out.”

  “Oh, I’ll be a model of decorum,” Henry assured her.

  Betty yelped. It was followed by a smack, and Henry said, “Ow! You didn’t have to slug me.”

  “Want another one, four-eyes?”

  Jim looked at Lane and shook his head.

  * * *

  It was Henry’s idea that they sit in the last row of the movie theater. “That way,” he explained, “you don’t have to worry about who’s behind you.”

  “The dink won’t sit anywhere else,” Betty said, following Lane into the row. As they sat down she added, “He’s paranoid.”

  Leaning forward, Henry looked past Betty and said, “Did you read Curtains?”

  “Dad’s book? Yeah.”

  “Remember he had that lunatic sitting behind people in the movies and slashing their throats? Makes a person think, you know?”

  “Makes methink you shouldn’t read that kind of book,” Lane told him.

  “Better a wall at your back than a stranger. You just never know. Until it’s too late.”

  “Spare me,” Betty muttered.

  “I may be sparing us all. You’ll thank me for it when nobody rips open your jugular.”

  The theater darkened and Previews of Coming Attractions started. “Want some?” Betty whispered, lifting her tub of popcorn toward Lane.

  “No thanks.” Though it smelled good, the popcorn would make her thirsty and she had no drink. She and Jim had decided to wait for the intermission before getting snacks.

  Jim stretched an arm across her shoulders. As he caressed her upper arm, she leaned closer to him. He tried to push his hand under her arm, but she pressed it tight against her side. “No funny stuff,” she whispered, “or I’ll trade places with Betty.”

  “Anything but that,” he said. He brushed his lips against the side of her forehead, then turned his face toward the screen.

  About ten minutes into the feature attraction, he stopped stroking Lane’s arm. The film was Night Hunt, about a young woman being stalked through the woods by a heavily armed killer. Jim seemed engrossed by it. The heroine was beautiful and running around in torn clothes. Lane suspected that had something to do with grabbing his attention. But the suspense was terrific. Soon Jim took his arm away and sat up straight. As Lane shifted in her seat, she noticed that Betty had stopped eating, though her tub of popcorn was still half full. She glanced past Betty at Henry. The boy’s eyes were fixed on the screen, the lenses of his glasses reflecting the light. Betty gasped, and Lane jerked her eyes back to the film.

  It seemed to be over very fast. When the lights came up, Jim gave her a look as if he’d been blown away.

  “Pretty decent,” she said.

  “Man.”

  Henry said, “Was that totally awesome, or what?”

  “Must’ve been,” Lane told him. “Betty couldn’t even finish her popcorn.”

  “Small oversight,” Betty said, and stuffed a handful into her mouth. She said to Henry in a muffled voice, “I could go for a hot dog.”

  Henry and Jim headed for the lobby to pick up refreshments. They returned with loaded arms just as the lights dimmed. Lane took her Pepsi and nachos from Jim. He sat down beside her.

  Leaning close to him, she whispered, “How are you and Henry getting along?”

  “He’s not so bad for a twerp.”

  She elbowed Jim gently in the ribs. The wrapper of a straw shot past her face and landed on Jim’s far shoulder. She grinned at Henry.

  “Sorry,” he said. “Aim was off.”

  “He was trying for my eye,” Betty explained.

  As the movie began, Lane clamped her drink between her thighs and poked her straw through the X on its lid. She sipped her drink. She ate her nachos, leaning forward and keeping the cardboard dish under her chin, careful not to drip any of the melted cheese on her white sweater.

  From the start it was obvious that this film, Dance of the Zombies, was a turkey. Henry started talking back to it. Once Jim was done with his nachos, he drew Lane closer to him. He caressed her arm and kissed the side of her face while she tried to eat the last of her chips.

  “Pay attention to the movie,” she whispered.

  “It sucks,” he said, and kissed the corner of her eye.

  She stuck her last nacho chip into his mouth. “Suck on that,” she told him.

  As Jim chewed, she took the Pepsi from between her legs and drew the cold, watered-down soda into her mouth. She didn’t expect his other hand. It had been resting on the far arm of his chair. But now it suddenly pressed tight against the crotch of her jeans. She flinched and shoved it away and choked on her Pepsi. The drink shot up her throat, sprayed from her mouth, burned inside her nasal passages and spilled out her nostrils. Hurling her cup to the floor, she hunched over and flung both hands under her face to catch the mess.

  Jim pounded on her back as she coughed.

  “Jesus, gal,” Betty said, and joined in the pounding.

  “Is she all right?” Henry asked. “What happened?”

  Finally Lane could breathe again. She wiped her tearing eyes. With a napkin from Betty, she dried her face. The legs of her jeans felt damp. So did the front of her sweater.

  “What happened?” Henry asked again.

  “Went down the wrong pipe,” she muttered. “I’m going to the John.” Without a glance at Jim, she squeezed past the knees of Betty and Henry. She lunged into the aisle and shoved through the swinging door to the lobby.

  In the rest room she used damp paper towels to clean the faint spatter of stains on her sweater.

  Second time today, she thought. First Riley, now Jim. I’m spending half my life cleaning up after getting messed with by shitheads.

  Why’d he dothat?

  My hands were full, that’s why. Figured he’d get in a grab when I couldn’t stop him. Rotten bastard.

  Betty came in. “Are you okay?”

  “No. And I’m not going back in there.”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Jim. The bastard.”

  “What’d he do?”

  “Never mind. I’m gonna call my dad and have him pick me up.”

  “Well, Jim’s waiting right outside the door.”

  “Yeah?” Lane wadded the paper towels, tossed them into the trash bin, and shouldered open the rest room door. It missed Jim, but not by much. Henry was standing nearby, staring at the room as if embarrassed to be a part of all this.

  “Are you okay?” Jim asked, frowning, all concerned.

  “What do you think?”

  “I’m sorry. Jesus, Lane. I didn’t mean for yo
u to choke.”

  “Yeah, Sure.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  She turned away from him and strode toward the pair of public phones beside the drinking fountain. Jim rushed after her. “Hey, what’re you doing?”

  “Calling home. Go on back in and enjoy the movie.”

  “Hey, come on.”

  “Get lost.”

  “I didn’t doanything.”

  “Right.” She dug into her handbag, searching for change.

  “You don’t have to call anyone,” Jim said. “I’ll drive you home, if that’s what you want.”

  “I’m ready to leave,” Betty said.

  “Me, too. The movie stank, anyway,” Henry said.

  “How about it?” Jim asked her.

  “Okay,” she muttered. “But you’d better just keep your fucking hands to yourself.”

  Jim grimaced.

  Henry’s head snapped toward him. Glaring, he snapped, “What did you do to her?”

  “What’s the trouble over here?” the manager asked, approaching.

  “We’re just leaving,” Jim said.

  They hurried for the exit doors. Henry, in the lead, kept glancing back at Jim with furious eyes. He held the door open for the group.

  Outside he grabbed Jim by the arm. “What’d you do to Lane, you rotten scum?”

  “Don’t you touch me, asshole.”

  “You want to make me?”

  “Henry!” Lane snapped. “Quit it. Let go of him.”

  “Better do like she says,” Jim said, “before I wipe up the sidewalk with you.”

  “Oh yeah?” Though Betty tried to pull him away, he kept his grip on Jim’s arm. “I’ve been beat up by tougher guys than you.”

  Jim cocked back his arm.

  Lane kicked him hard in the rear. Crying out, he jerked rigid, freed his arm from Henry’s grip and grabbed his ramp. He started hopping up and down as if that somehow helped the pain. He turned around as he hopped. His face was bright red under the streetlights.

  “That hurt!” he blurted, his voice high-pitched and accusing.

  “It was supposed to. You want to beat up on somebody, try me. Better yet, why don’t you team up with Riley Benson? You’re no better than him. Maybe the two of you’d like a try at me.”

  “Oh yeah?” He stopped hopping. He stood there, gasping, clutching his seat with both hands. “Well, fuck you.”

  “Not in your lifetime.”

  “If you think I’m gonna forget this...”

  “I sure hope not. Do me a favor and get lost.”

  “Yeah! I’ll get lost, all right! You and your asshole friends can walkhome, see how you like it.”

  “We’ll like it just fine, thanks.”

  He turned away from her and hobbled past Henry and Betty.

  “Ciao,“ Henry said, and Betty thumped the side of his head.

  Jim scowled back at them, then turned his head more until his eyes met Lane’s. “I wouldn’t take you back if you begged me. Not a chance. It’s over.”

  “I’m already eating my heart out,” she called to him.

  “Who needs you? You’re a pain in the ass.”

  “Literally,” Henry said.

  Betty thumped him again.

  “Try Candi,” Lane suggested. “I’m sure she’ll appreciate your finer traits.”

  Jim flipped her off, then vanished around the corner.

  Joining her friends, Lane said, “Let’s walk over to Antonio’s and get a pizza. My treat. Then I’ll call home and get Mom or Dad to pick us up.”

  “Spectacular,” Henry said.

  “I could go for some pizza about now,” Betty said. “All this excitement sure stirs up the ol‘ appetite.”

  They started walking. Lane, stepping between Henry and Betty, put her arms across their backs. “You were great,” she said to Henry.

  “The nerd showed hair,” Betty agreed.

  “Our Henry’s not a nerd.”

  He beamed.

  “You almost got yourself creamed,” Betty told him.

  “That was sure some kick,” Henry said. “Any harder, you would’ve knocked his ass out his mouth.”

  Lane laughed. “Well, I tried.”

  “Did you see the look on his face?” Betty asked. “I mean, that crud didn’t know whether to shit or go blind.”

  “He’ll wish he’d gone blind when he tries to sit down,” Henry said. “Spectacular. You ought to try out for the football team.”

  “Anyway,” Lane said. “That’s over. I should’ve dumped that creep a long time ago.”

  “That’s what we’ve been telling you,” Betty said.

  “I’m a slow learner.”

  “You’re lucky to be rid of the slimebag,” Henry told her.

  “Yeah.” They waited for a car to pass, then stepped off the curb and started across the road. “He wasn’t allbad, though. Sometimes, he could be...” A lump suddenly closed her throat. Tears filled her eyes. “...He could be nice,” she finished, her voice trembling.

  Betty rubbed her back. “Hey, it’s all right. You’re better off without him.”

  “I know. I know.”

  “If you get desperate,” Henry said, “there’s always me.”

  “You ready to die, Hen-house?” Betty asked.

  “Just a suggestion.”

  Lane squeezed both of them closer against her sides.

  “Quit it before I kick your butts.”

  Thirty-two

  “Do you want to talk about it?” Larry asked after dropping off Henry and Betty.

  Lane slumped in the passenger seat with her arms folded, turned her face toward him and said, “I kicked Jim in the butt. So he advised us to walk home.”

  “You kickedhim?”

  “You wouldn’t believe what he did to me.”

  “Oh, I might.”

  “Guys are such pigs.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Not youuuu. But I mean it. Honestly. All they want to do is grab grab grab. They’ve got sex on the brain.”

  “And you don’t, huh?”

  “I don’t go around grabbing... their private areas.”

  “Happy to hear it.”

  “You weren’t like that, were you? When you were a teenager?”

  He was glad there wasn’t enough light coming into the car for Lane to see his face go red. He’d been in his office with the door shut when she phoned from the pizza parlor. Gazing at his pictures of Bonnie. Remembering all the details of his dream. Longing for her. A girl nearly the same age as Lane. Who even lookedquite similar to her.

  “I guess every teenager has sex on the brain,” he said.

  “But you didn’t go around always trying to cop a feel, did you?”

  “When I was your age? No. I dated sometimes, but I wasn’t especially interested in the girls I went out with. So I didn’t try much funny stuff with them.”

  “You weren’t interestedin the girls you dated?”

  “We’re talking about my high school days, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well then, no. Not much. I basically just went out with dogs.”

  “Dad!” She sounded shocked but amused.

  “It’s true. And I didn’t want to get fleas, so...”

  “Really, that’s not nice.”

  “Okay okay. Seriously? I wasn’t exactly dashing, and I knew it. So I never even tried to go out with any of the girls I really thought were neat. They scared the hell out of me. If a girl looked like you, for instance, I’d just admire her from afar and maybe daydream about her. I sure wouldn’t date her.”

  “Jeez, Dad.”

  “Weird, huh? Now I’ve got a kid who’s one of them.”

  He looked at Lane and smiled. She shook her head. Then she reached out and patted his shoulder. “Iwould’ve gone out with you.”

  “A pity date.”

  “No way. I’ll bet youwould’ve been a perfect gentleman.”

  “A lust-crazed maniac!” He shot his hand un
der Lane’s outstretched arm and thrust it into her armpit.

  “Don’t!” she cried out. Giggling, she clamped her arm down and squirmed.

  He pulled his hand free, got it under her elbow and tickled her side.

  “Dad! Stop!”

  He returned his hand to the steering wheel. As he eased the car to the curb in front of their house, Lane grabbed hisside and dug her fingers in.

  “Don’t!” he cried out, mimicking her and laughing. “Please. Stop!”

  “You can give it but you can’t take it,” she said.

  Writhing as she tickled him, he shut off the engine. Then he grabbed her forearm and pushed up the sleeve of her sweater. “Indian burn,” he announced.

  “No!” she gasped, breathless with giggling. “Don’t! I mean it! I’ll tell Mom!”

  “Tattletale.” He gave her the Indian burn. Gently. Then let go.

  “Is that the best you can do?”

  “Oh? You want me to give you a good one?”

  “I think I’ll pass, thanks,” she said. She patted his arm. “Maybe some other time. Maybe...” She suddenly clutched his forearm with both hands and twisted, wringing its flesh.

  “Yeeeoow!”

  “That’ll teach you, tough guy.” Laughing, she hurled herself at the passenger door and scurried from the car. She ran to the house. But instead of using her key to let herself in, she waited on the porch for him.

  Larry rubbed his arm as he walked toward her. It stung.

  “I didn’t really hurt you, did I?” she asked.

  “I’ll live. With luck.”

  Lane held out her arm. “Want to give me one?”

  “No.”

  “Come on, I’ll feel better if you get me back.”

  “You’d just scream and wake up your mother,” he said, and unlocked the door. They entered the house quietly.

  Lane looked toward the sofa. “Where is she?”

  “In bed.”

  “Ah-ha. Gosh, I hope I didn’t interrupt anything when I phoned.”

  Jean, complaining of a miserable headache, had gone to bed nearly an hour before the call, giving Larry his opportunity to be with the pictures of Bonnie. He said, “You’ll never know.”

  “Ho ho ho.”

  “Well, it’s time for me to hit the hay.”