by Jack Ketchum
“That one,” he said. “The blonde. The Brit.”
Dulac nodded.
Their table was angled uphill at some distance from the bus stop so the British woman and the American didn’t notice them.
Dulac kept nodding knowingly. Dulac was a fool. Ruth sucked the last few drops of lemonada up into her straw. Her deep-set eyes squinted at the woman.
“Bah! She is not so pretty I think.”
“Pretty enough,” said Sadlier.
“Him I like.”
Ruth smiled. He didn’t like it when Ruth smiled. Her teeth were bad. He didn’t like to see them.
“You like the American?”
“He’s very pretty.”
“He would not even look at you.”
“He would look at me if he had to.”
He shrugged. He was not at all interested in the American. He would not involve himself for Ruth’s sake.
But the girl. She owed him a cigarette. And more.
Tonight would be good to be collecting.
LELIA
It was evening and she dressed for him slowly, facing into the minor- for all of them in fact, they were all a part of this she realized now but mostly for him-and it was like a camera lens opening and shutting, opening and shutting, bright flashes of light pouring in through the darkness and then only darkness again but she took her time and didn’t mind.
Her fingernails raked shallow furrows of blood in the soft sweet-smelling earth of her skin, her thighs, her breasts.
She plowed and furrowed for him in the darkness.
DOGSON
The Harlequin Bar was as it always was-packed. Packed with bodies throughout the narrow front room along the bar, through the back room, along the terrace and down the stone steps, spilling out to six or eight deep between the steps and the outdoor tables in the courtyard. The tables were packed too and people stood between them. The seamless music thrummed and blasted.
Inside they danced on the tables pushed back to the wall, danced to the bar, danced out the door with drinks in hand. It was the only way to move, to get from one place to another. Outside, men cruised men and men cruised women. Lovers were being born there on the terrace while above them on the balcony of the upstairs bar a Victor/Victoria party was in progress and women spilled champagne over their tuxedo jackets. The choreographer for the Crazy Horse in Paris reached down to pet his black Afghan hound, a Brazilian chorus girl on each arm. A British rock star ambled through the crowd looking as conspicuous as possible in black leather jacket and shades and flanked by a pair of pink-and-blue-haired gofers. Dimitris, the club’s owner, sipped wine with a Ford Agency model whose blonde swimsuited body had adorned The New York Times magazine section just last Sunday. A videotape was being made nearby and the redheaded Danish photographer was easily as beautiful as the model. Dimitris’ eyes kept wandering.
Their own party had the best seats in the house, a table on the terrace with a good view through the window into the bar and the best possible overview of the crowd below. These complements of old friends-Dimitris, Eduardo and Xenia. It was the best place to be seen as well so they’d dressed for it. Billie in white and Michelle in black-they swore they hadn’t planned it-looked stunning.
It wasn’t the champagne. But Dodgson’s grin just kept on spreading.
He saw Xenia in the doorway sliding through the crowd like a knife through butter, her police whistle shrill above the drums and synthesizers. She’s having a bad night, he thought She looked tired, the strain showing. It occurred to him that she'd probably been fasting. Today was Good Friday-what little was left of it Earlier practically every Greek in town had been parading through the streets singing O My Son, Mary’s lament haunting and beautiful, the local priest and high school band leading the procession. Greek Orthodox Easter was only two days away.
She threw them a smile but it had no real backbone in it.
A few steps behind her Eduardo came through with another tray and the difference between them was obvious. A small sandy-haired man in his late twenties, a native Portuguese, Eduardo looked fresh, unruffled and calm. He and Xenia had lived together once when he was barely twenty years old. They were the talk of the island then but it hadn't lasted long. Xenia was a fighter. She had to be. Eduardo, a lover-easy as the island breezes. But they had remained fast friends.
Eduardo acknowledged them too.
“Come sit down.” Dodgson said to him.
He pushed past a man in a soft cream Stetson. The hat was probably worth as much as everything Dodgson was wearing.
“Soon! Wait. Watch!” He disappeared into the crowd. The big ratty Frenchman from the Sunset Bar who Billie said had been bothering her the evening before was sitting with a pair of blondes at one of the tables in the courtyard. Then the crowd closed up and Dodgson lost sight of him.
Had he imagined the man was watching them?
They drank and talked. The music halted for the first time that night and Dodgson checked his watch. One o’clock. Time for the floor show.
“Have a look,” he told Billie.
Through the window they saw the spots come up on the wiry little chunk of a man standing on the bar, wearing a black lace mantilla, glossy lipstick and a red sequined dress. He held a single candle, burning, in each hand.
“Oh my god,” said Dodgson.
“What?”
“Look who it is.”
The song was “Don’t Cry For Me, Argentina” of course and Eduardo was lip-synching it, looking like a sailor's drunken dream of a Spanish whore, emoting like crazy during the first slow torchy part then peeling down to a red maillot and black silk stockings as the Europop started, to strut and bump and kick, all razzle-dazzle and Hollywood glitz and the crowd howled, loved it.
Dodgson knew he was basically gay despite the affair with Xenia but he hadn’t expected this. Hell, Eduardo could even dance.
“Is that…?”
“It sure is.”
Billie, Danny and Michelle looked happy as kids in a candy-store window.
***
By the time he was finished-rolls of toilet paper strewn like streamers into the hooting, dancing crowd-even the rock star had his shades pushed up on his forehead and was watching and grinning. The man in the Stetson waved his hat, whistling. Eduardo took his bows amid wild applause and accepted a rose from a young man at his feet. He blew kisses to the audience as the lights went to black and the music started up again.
“I fucking love this town!” said Dodgson.
Across the courtyard an old Greek woman closed her upstairs window. Somewhat belatedly, thought Dodgson.
Xenia came to their table and they ordered drinks. “When I come back, I sit with you,” she said.
“When did he start this?’ said Dodgson.
“When they fired that other malaka,” she said. “He’s a fuck of a lot better, neh? He’s a fucking genius!”
“Neh. Absolutely!”
They watched her plummet back into the bar like a bird of prey.
An expensively dressed but overweight young woman leaned over the railing to Danny. There was too much perfume to tell if that was expensive too.
“Excuse me,” she said. “I don't know you.”
Danny looked at her, puzzled, then laughed. “Hey, I don’t know you either.”
“No, I mean, are you anybody?”
“Anybody?”
“You know…”
Dodgson got the feeling she was new at this.
“Well, certainly:’
“See, we’re making a film here…” She pointed to the willowy redhead with the video portapak.
“Oh. Are we in it? Is this fiction or nonfiction?”
“Nonf…it’s a documentary.”
“And of course you want people who are somebody.”
“Yes. Right.”
“As opposed to nobody.”
“That’s right.”
Dodgson had to laugh. He had her on the run now.
“Well for
god’s sake he’s somebody. Robert ‘Fast Eddie’ Dodgson, author of…what were those books again. Sparky? Oh yeah. Small Woods and The Killing Season.”
Dodgson was astonished. “You read them?”
“I read Small Woods. Pretentious as hell.”
“It was.”
“But talented.” He turned to the girl again. “That’s my buddy here. Pretentious but talented. So you should definitely get him in. As for me…”
“Yes?”
“You really don’t know me?”
“I’m sorry. No.”
“Well shit, that’s really refreshing, you know?”
“Untalentedsaid Michelle. “Just pretentious.”
The girl looked at her.
“She’s kidding,” Danny said. He put out his hand. “Daniel Morgan Hicks. Hicks Pharmaceuticals. Now you know me, right?”
“Uh…no.”
“We make Arafat.”
“Arafat?”
“It’s a feminine hygiene spray. Smells like the PLO. No, I’m kidding. More like apricots, with a hint of camel. I designed it myself. My dad loves it. Hey, I could send you some. Give me your address.” He pulled out a pocket notepad and the stub of a pencil. “We got crates of the stuff.”
“No, that’s…”
“And you need to know about the women.”
“The women? Thanks, no. Maybe later.”
“They’re very beautiful, don’t you think?”
“Yes, very.”
“This one here, her name’s Michelle. She loves me. Used to be the mistress of Idi Amin. It’s true! Now she’s a speech therapist. And this one here…”
But the girl had backed away and disappeared into the crowd.
“I think you lost me the interview,” Dodgson said.
“That’s okay. Your books are out-of-print anyway.”
“Morgan? Daniel Morgan Hicks?”
He shrugged. “Everybody ought to have a Morgan in the family, don’t you figure?”
Xenia arrived with the drinks. She served them, then took one for herself off the tray and sat down next to Dodgson. Cognac. She swirled it in the glass.
“What a night!” She smiled at Billie across the table. “Excuse me,” she said. “I don’t know you.”
Everyone laughed.
“What? What's funny?”
“We just got that line, in a different context,” said Dodgson. “You had to have been there.”
Billie reached across the table.
“Billie Durant. And you’re Xenia. Robert’s told me quite a lot about you.”
Xenia took her hand, smiled and looked knowingly from her to Dodgson and then back again.
“Robert, eh? Did he tell you I was a jealous woman? Did I hear you say you leave tomorrow?” They laughed. “No. I’m joking. Welcome to Mykonos.”
“Thank you.”
“Your first time?”
“Yes.”
“You like it?”
“I love it here.”
“I get you some more champagne. You love it even more. Where’s Eduardo? The prick thinks he’s a star now.”
She turned to Dodgson.
“I think I like this one. Much better than the last one. What was her name?”
“Margot.”
“Margot, yes.”
“She’s dead, Xenia.”
“Dead?”
“Almost two years now.”
“Jesus! How…?”
“A razor. A bathtub full of water.”
“My god. And what about you? You were still with her then?”
“Off and on. Mostly off.”
“I'm sorry. I really am. I shoot my mouth off again.”
“It’s all right.”
“She must have been…”
“Crazy? Yeah, well I guess she was a bit There were a lot of pills…and she’d lost her job…and then us. We weren’t getting along at all. There were other women, other men…”
“You mourn her. You still do. I can smell it on you.”
He smiled. “You have a very good nose, Xenia.”
“Xenia has the best damn nose in Mykonos. And it’s not right that you do this. You go with this one here now. Have a good time, eh?”
“The best nose and the best kiss, Xenia.”
“The best kiss, yes.”
Her scarred weary face moved toward him and she did have a fine kiss, warm and friendly as it had always been.
There was a commotion in the crowd.
He looked down the terrace steps and saw that it was more than the usual jostling and shoving. Someone was plowing through fast toward them, head down.
A pair of boys stumbled against each other, spilling their drinks. A tall blonde woman was pushed aside and then the man with the big cream-colored Stetson, who started swearing. The figure-he could see now that it was a woman-swung her head around and shouted something back at him.
And Dodgson knew her.
Some knowledge of the body even from behind, of the harsh voice driving beyond the angry unintelligible words.
The crowd parted for her. As though it knew.
His blood rushed to his head as he rose and for an instant he was afraid he was going to black out and something cold ran the length of his spine as he thought. It can’t be. She can't have followed me.
People just don’t do that.
Then she stood on the landing glaring at him. A cigarette in her hand, legs spread wide apart. Breathing hard and glaring.
The night went suddenly dark and bleak and cold.
Lelia.
LELIA
…inside her the winds blew hot and dry and wild and they were fearsome, awesome, magnificent. Blood sang in her ears. Dogs howled. She did not think, she just pressed on, some great wide hand propelling her through the stricken crowd and they were there together, Dodgson and the other one and the three women, three this time, three of them now, their circle widened by one and the dark one had his lips, she had them for a second, she had his mouth which was Lelia’s not hers and she saw the heads turn and all eyes on her eyes, the eyes of the English whore as well but she knew that the way to kill the Hydra was one head at a time so she walked to the dark one who had put her mouth on his and she jabbed the cigarette into her chin, pushed it into flesh and made it sizzle.
BILLIE
…so that suddenly Xenia was standing, screaming, a hoarse yell filled with startled pain and Dodgson was on his feet beside her lunging for Lelia. Billie reached instinctively across the table to restrain him but there was no need. Eduardo had her-he’d appeared out of nowhere in the crowd behind her. back in his street clothes now and had one of her arms while the man in the Stetson hat had the other, they were dragging her back…and she could see the muscle in Eduardo’s jaw twitch and thought, He’d like to kill her and I really don’t blame him and Lelia was yelling something as they pulled her away but at first the crowd was yelling too so she couldn't hear. And then she did hear, she could see the twisted gash of mouth and the head whipping back and forth and back and forth.
“I own you!”
DODGSON
…he heard and thought, no, this is not possible-I made love to that woman and she can’t be this thing they are dragging screaming away through the astonished snapshot faces staring at us, at her, at me. Can’t be.
LELIA
“No. It’s over! I’m all right. I’m all right now.”
At least they were away from the fucking gawkers, the faceless meaningless crowd, out on the street away from them.
“I’m all right!”
“The fuck you are,” said the smaller one, the one without the hat and she’d remember him, his hands were hurting her where he gripped her arm so she said it again and again until they believed her- I’m…all…right…out…of…control…sorry, sorry…and finally the one with the hat let up and then the fucking puking little cocksucker dragqueen on the other side though he still stood staring like he’d like to kick her teeth in but she was doing the kicking toni
ght and while the other one the cowboy began to move away scared of her the other stood hating her she could tell and she wished but she couldn’t let him see what hate was really like because the wind was blowing and all her life had led to this, these moments, and the little man’s mouth was good only for sneering and sucking cock and she wondered if he went down on Dodgson too, the little fuckface bastard.
I’m all right. I’m sorry. Really. I’ll go away now, all right? I swear I will. I’ll go.
He released her.
She started to walk.
Then so did he.
She waited in the shadow between two houses. The winds, the dogs began to howl again.
This is what I have come to do, she thought. I have come for this. They will not deny me.
She waited in the shadow. She lit cigarette after cigarette and watched the night drain slowly away like wave upon wave of cold seawater moving down the tideline, watched the people in the courtyard drift off like leaves upon the tide.
The havoc winds were unrelenting.
She felt a moment’s panic. Where am I going?
Men and women passed her but most did not see her standing there in the shadow and those who did and who recognized her leaned and whispered but did not stop. They had better not stop.
Her patience was a living thing inside her.
The man with the hat walked by. She watched him from the shadow. She peered around the comer. The bar was closing now. The crowd was a thin milling crescent
She didn’t need to wonder if they were gone. She knew they were there. The hounds could smell them, the winds bore their scent on the low broad tide of blood. She hugged the shadows.
She lit a cigarette. Then lit another and another. Four of them burning. She bundled them together.
This time she would…
She moved from the shadow into the dim light.
This time she would…
She walked toward them easily, quietly. Unnoticed. The remains of the crowd gently parting.
This time she would…
…claim him…
…put out their fucking eyes…
