Alarums (5 page)

    Bodie crouched to pick up the quarter.

    She wore a knee-length skirt. She had slim, pale legs. They had no tan at all. Their whiteness made them seem blatantly naked.

    Bodie had a difficult time forcing his gaze away from them.

    He peeled the quarter off the sidewalk, and stood.

    The girl's face was red. One of her fine, black eyebrows was curled upward in a pretty good imitation of a question mark. Bodie guessed that she had noticed the inspection of her legs.

    
I'm done for,
he thought.

    The girl sidestepped, ready to be on her way.

    Bodie sidestepped, too.

    'Excuse me,' she said. Her voice trembled. 'Please, I'm in a hurry.' She stepped the other way. Again, Bodie blocked her.

    She gave up trying to dodge past him. Standing still, she looked into his eyes and caught her lower lip between her teeth.

    'I'm sorry if I upset you,' he said.

    'I'm not upset.'

    'And I was not staring at your legs,' he added.

    'There's nothing wrong with my legs,' she said.

    'Really?' He didn't know why he said that. He could think of nothing else to say.

    'My legs are fine,' she insisted.

    'And dandy,' Bodie said. 'They're a couple of the dandiest legs I've seen in a long time.'

    'Yeah, I'll bet.' She watched him with narrowed eyes.

    
Either she has a leg problem that I didn't notice,
Bodie thought,
or her self-image needs an overhaul.

    'In fact,' he said, 'I couldn't help wondering what the rest of them looked like.'

    'I've only got the two.'

    'That isn't what I…' He realized she had made a joke. Taken totally by surprise, he burst out laughing. The girl didn't laugh, but a corner of her mouth turned up in a rather wry half-smile.

    'I've got this-here quarter,' Bodie said. He flipped it in the air and caught it. 'What-say we mosey over to the student union and I'll buy you a Dr Pepper?'

    She accepted the offer.

    It started that way: a tossed coin, a look at her legs, a misunderstanding, and a joke that made things right.

    Melanie seemed perplexed that he found her attractive. She made nervous jokes about being skinny and plain.

    

    

    The next night at the drive-in, when he fumbled under the back of her blouse to unhook her bra, she said, 'You'll be sorry.'

    He said, 'Don't be ridiculous.'

    He got it open and reached around to the front and she grabbed his wrist.

    'Don't,' she said. She was weeping, her tears making silver slicks down her face in the light from the movie screen.

    'It's padded,' she sobbed.

    'So?' She let go of his hand.

    He moved it to her breast.

    'See?' she asked.

    And Bodie said, 'That's not so bad, Herman.'

    She laughed through her sobs, and elbowed him. The breast was warm and smooth. It wasn't large, but it filled his hand. The nipple felt very big. The other breast was the same. His hand wandered from one to the other. He wanted them in his mouth, but when he tried to unbutton her blouse, Melanie stopped him.

    'Not here,' she gasped. They left the drive-in and Bodie drove to his apartment.

    

    

    When he opened the door, she stood rigid and gazed into the dark room with wide, frightened eyes. Bodie took her hand. It felt like ice. It trembled. 'Nothing to worry about,' he said, and led her inside. He turned on the lights.

    'I don't know about this,' she said. Her voice sounded high and tight.

    'Neither do I,' Bodie said to calm her down. 'Let's just watch some TV.'

    A quick, jerking nod.

    'We don't have to do anything,' he told her.

    'Okay.'

    He turned on the television. Leaving Melanie on the sofa, he went into the kitchen and poured wine. Then he sat down beside her. She used both hands on her glass, trying to hold it steady. As she took a sip, she watched Bodie raise his glass. They both saw the surface of his wine shimmer. He was shaking a little, himself.

    'What are you so nervous about?' Melanie asked.

    'Who, me?'

    'Yeah, you.'

    They stared into each other's eyes. For a long time.

    'We don't have to do anything,' she told him. Smiling, she set her glass on the table.

    Bodie put down his glass.

    They kissed. They held each other. She was trembling, but she was the one who eased him down onto the sofa. They lay on their sides, their bodies together. She still trembled, but she untucked his shirt and unbuttoned it and spread it open and caressed his chest. Bodie followed her lead. Soon, they were both bare to the waist. Bodie kissed her mouth, her eyes, her long neck with its black velvet choker. He stroked and held and squeezed her breasts while her hands roamed his back.

    Her hands didn't venture below Bodie's belt. He abided by the unspoken rule, and kept his own hands from straying lower on Melanie.

    He realized, soon, that this was as far as Melanie was willing to take it. The lower half was out of bounds. Squirm and rub, but hands off and clothes on.

    He realized something else.

    Melanie was a virgin.

    She had to be.

    The lower half wasn't just out of bounds, it was not even on the map.

    Bodie would be her first.

    
If he could just get her pants off… That might not be easy, though.

    
Better not try it.

    
Maybe tomorrow night, or…

    Melanie's hand pushed under his belt. Her cool fingers curled around his penis.

    
My God,
he thought.

    As her fingers slid, he opened the waist of her corduroys.

    The corduroys ended up beneath her. Bodie didn't know it. He didn't know much of anything. He was dazed above her, inside her at last but only partway, holding back, aching with the feel of her slick tightness hugging him, needing in all the way but holding back, not wanting to hurt her though her fingers dug into his buttocks, urging him deeper and she panted, 'Harder… In… Push!' And, at last, he pushed. Flinching rigid, Melanie gasped,
'Oh!'
in a high hurt voice and thrust up against him. He went deep. All the way. All of him inside and it was past bearing and he erupted, throbbing and pumping.

    She held him. She stroked his hair. She wouldn't let him up. He mumbled lazily about not wanting to crush her, but she told him not to worry about it.

    

    

    Bodie fell asleep. When he woke up, he was still on top of Melanie. He was still inside her. He felt glued to her. 'I think we're stuck,' he said.

    'Good.' She smiled and kissed the tip of his nose.

    'I think we really are stuck.'

    'Something must've dried.'

    He pulled free as gently as he could, but it hurt her. Her lips peeled back with pain.

    Bodie looked down. 'Not a pretty sight.'

    Melanie sat up. She looked. 'Yuck.'

    'I guess we'd better take a shower.'

    They took a shower. Bodie, Melanie, and Melanie's corduroy pants. When they were finished, only the cords were still bloodstained. 'They'll never be the same,' Bodie said.

    Melanie smiled. 'Neither will I.'

    

    

    
She's part of me, like it or not. Her problems are my problems. It got that way very fast and maybe not on purpose, but that's how it is and that's why I'm driving through the desert night with a psychic or a nut case in the back of the van.

    'I'm sorry,' she said near his ear.

    He felt a rush of affection.

    'Forgive me?' she asked.

    'You had every right to be upset.'

    She eased forward between the seats and rested a hand on Bodie's thigh. He looked at her. The bare arm led to a bare shoulder. Below the shoulder was the mound of a breast. A small breast, its nipple large and dark. 'Why don't you find a place to pull off the freeway?' she suggested.

    'Are you sure?'

    The answer was Melanie's hand sliding to his groin. Bodie started looking for an off-ramp.

    

    

    After a quick shower to get rid of the wine smell, Pen dried herself with a fresh towel. She put a bandage on her scraped thigh, slipped into her moccasins, and put her robe on. Then she picked up the empty glass and the wine bottle.

    
Polish it off,
she thought,
and maybe you'll be able to sleep.

    
You'll sleep, all right. You'll be dead to the world, and maybe that's not such a grand plan.

    
You might even have a visitor.

    
Don't even think about that.

    
I'd damn well better think about that. He has my phone number, so he must have my address. It's right there in the directory for him. The answering machine is off, so he knows I'm here. What if he decides to come over?

    
They don't do that,
she told herself, and opened the bathroom door. She walked quickly to the kitchen and put the wine bottle into the refrigerator. Then she rinsed out her glass at the sink.

    
Crank callers don't pay visits.

    
Who says so?

    Fictional cops. In books, on TV, in the movies.
He's just a crank caller, ma'am. No reason to be alarmed.
These guys who get their jollies phoning up women, they're timid mice afraid of their own shadows. That's how come they use the phone, 'cause it's anonymous and safe.
You've got nothing to worry about.

    That's what they say, those fictional cops. And the next thing you know, the caller who's a timid mouse is sneaking through the gal's house with a butcher knife, intent upon carving her up.

    Pen turned off the faucet. She set the glass in the sink. As she dried her hands, she looked across the kitchen. In the dining area stood her table surrounded by four sturdy, straight-backed chairs.

    She carried one of them into the living room, moved her umbrella aside, and tilted the chair backward, wedging its top rail under the doorknob.

    'That'll slow him down,' she muttered.

    She didn't need to check the windows; they'd been closed and latched since last weekend. With dowel rods in the runners to keep the windows from being slid open, they were secure.

    
Real secure,
she thought.
Glass.

    If he wants in badly enough…

    
He would have to be crazy. There are fifteen other apartments in this complex, all with windows facing the courtyard and pool. If he smashes a window - if I scream - someone will hear.

    
Would anyone come to help?

    
Probably. Manny Hammond
, for instance. There's a guy would jump at the chance to rush to my rescue. Wouldn't that be wonderful. Better him than nobody, I suppose. By a small margin.

    Pen returned to the kitchen. The butcher block on her counter held eight knives. She took the two largest knives into her bedroom. She placed one on the night-stand. Crouching, she set the other on the carpet just beneath the edge of her bed.

    
In case we end up on the floor…

    
Are you serious?
she wondered.

    
Must be, I'm doing it.

    She realized that she didn't want to leave the night-stand knife in plain sight. She took a copy of
Publishers Weekly
from her magazine stand and spread it open on top of the weapon.

    
Okay, you're in good shape now.

    
You're in good shape, all right, if paranoia's good shape. You're acting totally bonkers.

    
Yeah? Better safe than…
her mind flashed a picture of the coroner's slide, the naked woman face-down on the autopsy table, buttocks purple. World's worst hie key.

    
One more knife,
she decided, and returned to the kitchen for it. She placed this knife on the floor beneath the other side of the bed.

    Back in the living room, she unplugged her stereo and removed its extension cord. Kneeling in her bedroom entry way, she ran an end of the cord through the gap between the door and the frame, over the top of the lower hinge. She brought the plug back through under the hinge, made a knot, and yanked. The cord held firm. She drew it across the doorway and tied its other end around the rear leg of her dresser.

    Standing, she admired her work.

    'Have a nice trip,' she said.

    What else might she…?

    
Isn't this enough? I'm certifiable.

    
This is enough
, she decided.

    She turned off the bedroom lights.

    Other lights in her apartment were still on. She had-intended to leave them on. But the dark line of her trip cord was plainly visible across the bottom of the doorway.

    It won't do much good if he can see it.

    Pen stepped over the cord and made her way through the apartment.

    She wished she could leave all the rooms bright. But darkness would work against him in more ways than just hiding the cord.

    
You really are expecting him to show up?

    
No, not really. All right, yes. Yes, I think he'll show up. Maybe.