Case of Lucy Bending (8 page)

She stared at him. "What would I want with an old fart like you?"

"Beats the hell out of me," he said.

She laughed and punched his arm lightly.

"You're okay, perfesser. I'll think on it."

"Do that," he urged.

Before they parted, she gave him the brown olive.

7

Saturday morning dawned blunt, the sky oysterish, with a variable wind at fifteen knots. The sea was choppy. Rain clouds scudded across the horizon, and a waterspout was reported off Delray Beach. There was talk of canceling the Hollo ways' cookout.

But then, toward 11:00
A.M
., patches of blue showed, the sun burned through. The temperature rose to 84° F, and pelicans appeared. The wind still gusted, but now it was welcome. Someone said a shark had been sighted off Boynton Beach, but no one got out of the sea.

The festivities started on the beach shortly before noon, mostly for the children, with hot dogs, Cokes, and junk food available on the Holloway terrace. The Holloway and Bending kids were there, of course, and about twenty others from up and down the beach. Most were in the eight-to-fourteen age group. A few younger, a few older.

Wayne Bending, twelve, was the first one out, carrying his short surfboard with a nylon cord to be attached to his ankle. He was wearing cutoff jeans, sun-bleached and sea-faded. He propped his board against a palm and hunkered down in the sand to wait.

He watched his brother and sister wander over. Harold, five, was carrying his newest electronic game. It was programmed with song melodies, and the crazy kid stood in the middle of the beach punching buttons like mad.

Lucy stepped delicately down to the water and stuck in a tentative toe. She turned toward Wayne and did a burlesque shiver. Which was a lot of bullshit, Wayne knew; the water still held its summer heat.

Wayne Bending acknowledged his sister's physical beauty. He also knew she was as nutty as a fruitcake. And so was his kid brother, Harry. And so were his mother and father. The whole Bending family, Wayne reflected mournfully, was nutty—and that probably included him.

He looked up the beach and saw Mrs. Empt come out on her terrace. She was wearing a white two-piece bathing suit. Not a bikini, but her belly button showed. It was, Wayne knew, an insy.

When he looked in the other direction, he saw Eddie Holloway coming toward him, trailed by his kid sister, Gloria. She was only a year older than Lucy, but she was wearing the world's smallest bikini; the bottom part looked like an eyepatch.

Gloria went down to the water to join Lucy who, at her mother's insistence, was wearing a modest one-piece suit in a peppermint stripe. The two girls immediately began whispering and giggling. Wayne looked away in disgust.

Edward Holloway came up and leaned his surfboard next to Wayne's.

"Doesn't look fabulous," he said, jerking his chin toward the ocean.

"Not what I'd call incredible," Wayne agreed.

Eddie sat down alongside him and took a pack of cigarettes from the hip pocket of his surfing trunks. They lighted up and puffed importantly. Wayne craned around to stare at the Empts' terrace.

"She's there again," he reported. "Mrs. Empt. Looking at you with binoculars."

"Silly bitch," Eddie Holloway said, combing his long blond hair with his fingers.

"She's hot to trot," Wayne assured him.

"If her brain was as big as her tits," Eddie said, "she'd be a genius."

The two boys laughed and pushed each other. They finished their cigarettes, watching the other kids come straggling from homes up and down the beach. They inspected the girls coldly.

"Who do you like, Eddie?" Wayne asked.

"Barbara Fleming. That diaper suit turns me on. She's ripening nicely. Give her another year ..."

"How about Sue Ann?"

"All ass, no jugs. Jesus, this is going to be a dull day with all those brats around."

"Imfuckingpossible," Wayne said, nodding.

"Let's give the drink a try," Eddie said, flicking his cigarette butt away. "It looks like shit, but you never can tell."

They carried their boards down to the ocean and paddled out. But the waves were too short and choppy for a decent ride. So they came back to their palm tree. They grabbed a Frisbee away from one of the younger kids, spun it back and forth for a while, then gave up.

"Wait here," Eddie Holloway said. "Be right back."

He went to the rear of his own home and returned in a few minutes with four cold cans of beer wrapped in a towel.

"I say, old boy," Wayne Bending said. "Good show."

"Any experienced cat burglar could have done it," Eddie said, shrugging. "The drunks are beginning to gather back there."

They popped the tabs, and sipped their beers solemnly, belching occasionally. Most of the kids had gathered on the Holloway terrace, and were wolfing hot dogs and stuffing their mouths with potato chips, cheese crisps, and cream-filled cupcakes.

"Wanna frank?" Eddie asked. "There's plenty. With pickles, onions, relish, and all that crap."

"What're you having tonight?" Wayne asked.

"Steaks."

"I'll wait for that. I'm not hungry right now. The beer and all . . ."

"Yeah," Eddie agreed. "Beer bloats you. I prefer a good scotch and Pepsi any day, but I've got to sneak it. Listen, kiddo, this day is going to be a disaster; I can feel it. After dinner, suppose I clip a couple of joints and we turn on?"

*'Suits me. Can you get them okay?"

"Sure. When my mother is busy with the party. She keeps a dozen or so in her diaphragm case. She'll never miss a couple. This is top-grade grass, the real stuff. We'll fly."

"Sounds good," Wayne Bending said. "When?"

"I'll give you the signal and we'll cut out."

"Whatever you say, Eddie."

They opened their second beers. They watched Teresa Empt walk slowly along the beach in her two-piece suit. Her

long black hair swung loosely down her back. She didn't turn her head to look at them.

"You gotta admit, Eddie," Wayne said, "it's not a bad piece."

"Good lungs," Eddie admitted, "but who needs it? I wonder if she gives head?"

"Would you like a little of that?"

"Depends," Edward Holloway said judiciously. "Maybe once. For laughs."

"I gotta pee," Wayne said.

"Let's take a swim and you can piss in the ocean. The fish won't mind. Then we'll go around to the pool and see what the old farts are up to."

Adults began gathering about 3:00
P.M
. in the pool and patio area between the Holloway home and highway A1 A. A rank growth of tropical foliage hid the party from the road. By 4:00
P.M
., there were eight cars parked on the crushed shell driveway, and there were a dozen people in the pool.

Maria, who had not been fired, was serving, along with John Stewart Wellington, the Empts' black houseman who had been borrowed for the occasion and who insisted on being addressed by his full name.

By 5:00
P.M
., most of the kids had moved around to the pool from the beach. Jane Holloway had invited twenty adults and had ordered enough food to feed thirty, knowing how friends liked to bring friends. Some of the guests also brought bottles, and some brought chilled mangoes, melons, or pastries.

The bar, set up under a big umbrella on the patio, had the usual selection of whiskeys, mixers, and soft drinks. Beer and wine were also available, and there was a large pitcher of Strawberry Pina Colada and one of Banana Daiquiries. Bill Holloway served as bartender, and was his own best customer.

Some of the adults who had been in the pool went into the house to change back into slacks or shorts and shirts, but many men and women continued wearing their bathing suits. The bar began to get a big play. A few of the men clustered around a portable TV set to watch the last quarter of the Hurricanes' game.

There were bowls of potato chips, salted peanuts, chunks of sharp cheddar, and a tub of iced olives, radishes, carrot sticks, cherry tomatoes, cucumber chunks, peppers, celery stalks. At 6:00
P.M
., John Stewart Wellington brought out an enormous platter with five pounds of boiled and peeled shrimp on a bed of crushed ice.

A caterer had been hired to prepare and serve the dinner, which would consist of broiled New York strip steaks, baked yams, and a mixed green salad with hearts of palm. The caterer's truck arrived at 7:00
P.M
. The chef, wearing a high toque blanche, began to spread charcoal in the Hollo ways' brick barbecue.

Jane Holloway, having planned and arranged for all this, left the work to the hired hands and mingled with her guests on the patio, in the pool, at the bar. She detested domestic chores and intended to enjoy her own party.

She was wearing a maillot of black stretch nylon, cut very high on the thighs and very low in back. She was sleek and shiny as a seal. During the afternoon she drank Perrier water with a lime squeeze. Then she switched to white wine.

About 5:30, Ronald Bending sought her out and held a light for one of the thin brown cigarillos she habitually smoked.

"Good party," he said.

"Is it?" she said, looking around. "I guess. Thanks for bringing the shrimp. Was that Grace's idea?"

"That's right," he said, smiling. "I wanted to bring booze. How about you and me taking a walk down to the beach?"

She looked at him with wide, unblinking eyes. "Why would I want to do that?"

"Something I want to talk to you about," he said. "Won't take long. A few minutes."

She considered a moment. "All right. It'll give your wife something to worry about."

He followed her along the chattahoochee walk that led from the patio around the house to the beach. He watched her haunches move slinkily under the smooth suit. He watched the ripple of muscles in the backs of her thighs, the way her suave calves bulged. Nice, he thought. Really nice.

They waded into the ocean up to their knees, and watched a flotilla of sailboats beat against the wind. There was no one nearby in the sea, no watchers on the shore.

"Well?" she asked.

"Listen, Jane," he said hoarsely, "have you got any joints?"

"Jesus Christ!" she said wrathfully. "Is that what you dragged me out here to talk about?"

"No, no," he said hastily. "That's not it. But it just occurred to me I might like a toke later, and I'm out."

She sighed. "I've got some upstairs. I'll get you one after dinner."

"Thank you," he said gratefully. "I'll pay you t)ack. Jane, did Bill tell you anything about Luther Empt's proposition? When we went to his place for drinks?"

"The shootout at the O.K. Corral?" she said. "The whole beach heard about that. Bill's going to buy a gun."

"You're kidding!"

"No, he really is. He told me so."

"What the hell for?"

She shrugged.

"Maybe he wants to take another shot at the moon," Bending said.

"Maybe."

"Did he tell you what Luther wanted?"

"He babbled something about processing movie films or tape cassettes. I really wasn't listening. He wasn't making much sense. I've never seen him so stoned."

"Luther's got an offer from some mob guys to process their pornographic video cassettes."

"Oh-ho."

"He wants to set up a corporation. Him, me, and Bill. Equal shares. A quarter-of-a-million each. Plus a loan from the mob to total a million capital. Did Bill show you the presentation Luther made up?"

"No."

"Well, Luther gave him a copy. Get a look at it. Jane, it's a gold mine. More money than you've ever dreamed of."

"What about the legal angle?"

"Minimal risk," Bending said. "That's what the lawyers claim. We wouldn't be producing the stuff or distributing it or selling it. Just processing it. A mechanical job."

"So?" she said. "Why are you telling me about it?"

"You know Bill—he needs nudging. You can talk him into it. Hassle him. Jane, I want to get in on this, and we need Bill. My God, he can afford it. Easily. You know that."

She sloshed around in the shallows, walking in circles, her head down. Her arms were folded. She gripped her elbows.

She looked up at him suddenly. "What's in it for me?" she demanded.

"Jesus, Jane, you'll be rich!"

"We're already rich."

"I'm talking about
rich
rich."

"And I'm talking about what's in it for me personally. You're talking about
Bill
getting rich. What do I get out of all those big numbers? Me? Personally? If I talk Bill into going along?"

He looked at her admiringly. "You're a tough cookie."

She smiled tightly.

"What do you want?" he asked.

"A piece of the cake, a slice of the pie. Not a big piece; I'm not greedy. But
something."

"How about like, uh, a finder's fee. Some cash. If Bill comes in."