Monday I Love You (11 page)

He took some time spreading the tarp on the hanger, fixing it so it wouldn't slip off. I could see a big damp spot on Doris's orange shag carpet, and hoped and prayed it'd be dry before she got home.

“Just stick it on the shower rod in the bathroom,” I told him. He couldn't get lost looking for the bathroom. It was a small trailer and had only one bathroom.

I stood waiting, fidgeting, wishing he'd hurry up. Buster kept looking over my shoulder, keeping the guy in his sights, watching out for me. Buster is a nosy little person, in more ways than one.

When he finally came out of the bathroom, I saw his boots were covered with mud.

“Thought maybe I'd call around to see if I can get hold of a cab to take me to the nearest gas station. Maybe they've got a mechanic on duty who can fix me up.” He smiled at me, rubbing his hands as if to warm them. “What do you think? Know of any good mechanics around these parts?” He put his hands in his pockets and jingled his change. It made quite a racket.

“No,” I said, realizing with a mortified start that Buster had done a load in his pants. He sneaks them in, I swear he does. It seemed I only just changed him. He waits until he's got clean diapers, then he lets fly. He smelled like a baby gorilla. I pretended not to notice.

“It's okay if I use the phone then?” he said.

It hit me then, so hard I stepped backward. This had to be the guy who did the number on the gas station. I tried not to look directly at him, tried to avoid eye contact, the way the experts tell you to do if some weirdo tries to hassle you.

“As long as it's not a toll call,” I said, proud of the way I managed to keep my voice cool and calm. Inside, I was trembling, trying to think of what I'd do if he attacked me. Or Buster. “I guess Doris wouldn't mind.” I held Buster a little bit out from me, he smelled so bad. He doesn't like to be held that way, so all of a sudden, he stiffened and threw back his head and started howling, having a temper tantrum.

“Oh, no more mister nice guy, eh?” I said.

Whenever Buster does a load in his pants, he acts like it's my fault. Ordinarily he has a very sweet disposition. It's only that one thing that gets him going.

“I doubt if anyone would come out here tonight, though,” I said. “It's pretty late. Then too, the weather's not great.”

He made no attempt to get closer to me, to touch me. I tried to remember what the radio announcer had said. A white male with black hair. That much I recalled, and that he wore blue jeans and cowboy boots. Well, that could describe about half the male population of the entire state. He'd escaped from prison, where he was being held on suspicion of attempted assault and rape. Terrific.

Buster stirred against me and I held him tight. He was a big help, so soft and warm and friendly in my arms. He was like an ally, a friend who was on my side.

“Terrible,” the stranger agreed, letting his eyes wander, checking out the trailer and everything in it. “I think it might be my carburetor. I could fix it myself if I had a flashlight. But as it is …” He lifted both hands in a gesture of helplessness.

“The phone book's right there,” I said.

“Thanks. Mind if I smoke?”

“Oh, you can't. Doris would have a fit. See the signs?” I poked a finger at the No Smoking signs. “On account of the baby. Doris says absolutely no smoking in her house. She's not having Buster's little lungs all contaminated with smoke. She's a bug on no smoking. She says she can smell it a mile away. Says not only does it get in your hair and clothes, it makes your breath stink.” I knew I was running on, but I couldn't seem to stop. He made me nervous, the way he stood there so quiet, looking at me. Nothing moved but his eyes. They were weird eyes, all moist and glittery. Beautiful, though.

“When's Doris due back?” he asked in a conversational tone.

“Tomorrow.” The minute it was out, I was sorry. For one thing, he had no business here, a total stranger. For another, it was dumb of me letting him know it was just me and Buster here alone. Really dumb.

“Well, then.” He grinned at me. “It's you and me and baby makes three, right?” He stepped toward me. Whoa, I thought, panicking. I grabbed Buster so tight, he hollered to let me know I was hurting him. I shouldn't have let this guy in, I thought. But I didn't let him in, he just seeped in, like fog under the door. I had to get him out. Doris would have a fit if she found out about him being here.

“I have to change the baby,” I said nervously.

“Take your time,” he said. I was scared he might follow me into Buster's room, but he didn't. I changed Buster as fast as I could, wiped him off good. It's a wonder to me how a sweet little baby can smell so bad.

When I got back, he was looking out the window, pulling back the curtains, peering out into the blackness.

“Still coming down,” he said, dropping the curtains when he saw me standing there.

“Did you get a mechanic?” I asked. “Or a taxi?”

“Yeah. I raised one guy, said he'd send a cab, but when he asked me where I was located, I couldn't tell him. I don't even know where I'm located. How about that?” He threw back his head and laughed uproariously. I didn't think it was
that
funny.

“You're on Old Town Road about a half mile from Route 41,” I told him. “It's the Browns' trailer. They all know it. I'm surprised they said yes. Usually they don't like to come out this far. Especially on a night like this.” As if to prove what kind of a night it was, a sudden gust of wind pushed open the door, sending rain onto the rug. He pushed the door shut, ignoring the slight yelp I'd let out. I told myself if one more sodden stranger came into this house, I was leaving. Me and Buster both.

“I can't understand it,” I said. “I know I locked that door. I can't figure how you got in.”

He shrugged, as if he couldn't understand either, and went over to the telephone. I thought he was going to call the man back and tell him he was at the Browns' trailer. Instead, he stood there, fingers drumming against the table, and he said, “How come you didn't holler when you saw me? Most girls would've, seeing a stranger like that. I have to hand it to you.” His voice was warm and admiring. “You never lost your cool. How'd you know I was an all-right guy, not a burglar or something?”

Pleased, in spite of myself, by the note of approval in his voice, I decided to go for nonchalance. It wasn't easy.

“What's your name?” I asked. “You from around here?” There was something familiar about him, something that made me think I might've seen him somewhere. Maybe on television or something.

“Name's Dirk Delgado,” he said. “Actually, I'm from Florida, just passing through, on my way to Vegas. Ever been to Vegas?”

“No,” I said, not exactly sure if he meant Las Vegas or if there was a place called plain Vegas. The answer was no, in either case.

“What's
your
name?” he asked me.

I opened my mouth to say “Grace” and thought better of it.

“Monday,” I said.

“Monday, huh? What kind of name's that?” He reached out and chucked Buster under the chin. Buster was sort of standoffish when he didn't know you. He sometimes went all to pieces with strangers. I could see him trying to make up his mind about this Dirk guy. After a short spell, Buster decided in favor. He made friendly noises. The guy had passed the Buster test with flying colors.

“Hey. You're some smart kid. You know I'm on your side, don't you? Better watch it, kid. You want to be careful who you make friends with.” Buster wiggled with pleasure, and without asking if it was all right, Dirk Delgado plucked Buster from me and settled in on the orange couch as cozy as if he belonged there.

“Monday's your name, huh? I never knew a girl named Monday before.” He looked at me over Buster's head, expectantly, wanting more.

I took my time. “Well,” I said, “there's Tuesday Weld.”

“Yeah?” I could see he doubted that one.

“Sure. She's a movie actress, been around for years. Then there's Saturday Smith. She's this fabulous teen model. She's only fourteen, and already she's been on sixteen magazine covers. She's sort of gorgeous.”

“Oh sure. I know her. I think maybe I've seen her in a couple centerfolds.”

“Saturday Smith would never appear in a centerfold!” I said, shocked. “She's too classy for that.” Even before he laughed, I knew he was pulling my leg.

“Hey, look here. Look at him, will you.” Buster braced himself against Dirk's chest, showing off, showing how strong he was, how he could almost walk. Then he jounced up and down, crowing in triumph.

“You're some tiger, tiger,” he told Buster. Buster made a growling sound, which made both of us laugh.

“He's a nice little kid,” Dirk said. “Hope he don't grow-up into some smart-ass kid, like there's a lot of them in this world, don't know their ass from their elbow, don't know nothing.”

Suddenly he stood up and paced angrily back and forth, still holding on to Buster, eyes flashing, wearing a path on Doris's new carpet. His boots had those slanty heels that made him look taller than he really was. “Think because they got a BMW they're king of the hill. But they're nothing but smart-ass kids. I met a lot of those in my travels, I can tell you.”

If he tied a red silk handkerchief around his neck, I bet he'd pass for a gypsy chieftain, or a pirate, with his bristly mustache and his dark hair curling over his collar. He was very good-looking in an untrustworthy sort of way.

As suddenly as he'd got up, he sat down again.

“So,” he said, “your name's Monday. I like it. It's different. Memorable, like.” Then he grinned and said, “How long's your name been Monday, Monday?”

I felt my cheeks get hot. “What do you mean?” I said.

He put up his hand. “Nothing. Nothing at all. Just that it sort of sounds like one of those names girls give themselves when they don't like their real name. You know? You get my meaning?”

He didn't seem to expect an answer, so I didn't give him one.

Suddenly, Buster collapsed, the way he does. One minute he's full of it, the next he's had it, ready to call it quits. He's like a balloon someone sticks a pin in—poof, he's limp. I watched him snuggle down into Dirk's chest like an old dog coming home. The guy must be all right, I reasoned, if Buster likes him.

“If you want,” I said, “I can make us some coffee.” I'd begun to think I was wrong about this guy.

“Hey, good idea. Coffee'd go good right now.”

Doris only had instant. I got down two mugs. I'm not mad about coffee, but I figured it'd be more sociable if I had some too.

“So you're the baby-sitter, huh?” He watched me, made me self-conscious. “Been doing it long?”

“Sure. I like babies. Besides, I can use the money.”

“Well, now, I'd say before long you'll have a passel of your own. You engaged? Or anything?”

Buster slept, his little mouth open, mauve eyelids fluttering, foot twitching now and then like a dog dreaming about chasing a rabbit.

I drank my coffee, too embarrassed to look at him, knowing he was grinning at me.

I shook my head no. He thought I might be engaged.

“Got a boyfriend then? Or two or three?”

He said it sort of teasing, but sort of serious, too. I pleated my shirttail and wished I had something nice on. It was an old shirt of my father's, frayed and missing buttons. I never wear anything good when I'm sitting. You never know when they're going to spit up.

“You got any milk?” He stirred the coffee with his finger, still holding on to Buster.

“Only enough for him,” I said.

“Okay. Only asking. How old are you, Monday? Nineteen, twenty?” He leaned toward me, eyes crackling. I smelled cigarette smoke on him.

“Seventeen,” I lied. “How about you?” I was dying to know how old he was.

He studied the ceiling. “Nineteen, no, make that twenty. Almost twenty.”

All of a sudden, I don't know why, he made me uncomfortable. “Here,” I reached for Buster, “better let me take him. I'll put him to bed.” I don't know what it was about him. He was acting really cool, like it was the most natural thing in the world for him to be sitting in Doris and Kenny's trailer like he was an old friend of the family. Rain lashed against the walls, though the wind had died down. I noticed how he cocked his head, listening for something.

“Is the taxi coming for you?” I asked.

He snapped his fingers, remembering. “Have to give it another try. Tell him where I'm located. Old Town Road, right, half mile from Route 41. The Browns' trailer, right?”

I nodded. My palms were sweating. They always do when I'm nervous. “Excuse me,” I said, and put Buster down in his crib for the night. Then I locked myself in the bathroom. I always lock myself in the bathroom, even when I'm alone. I looked at myself in the mirror. That was a mistake. My hair was a mess and my face bright red. Miss Pretty. How could he resist me?

When I got back, he was standing by the telephone, hand on the receiver, as if he'd just hung up. The room was quiet. He'd turned the TV off.

“Says he can't make it tonight,” he told me, shaking his head. “Maybe first thing in the morning. Okay if I stay here until then, Monday? I promise I'll be good.” He flashed the grin at me. I guess I was just supposed to collapse, the way Buster had, fall into his arms. Big deal. But my knees were knocking.

“If you have to, you have to,” I said casually. “I sure hope Doris doesn't come home, though. She'd have a fit. She doesn't know you or anything, I mean. Kenny tells her never open the door to a stranger. Doris said she'd be back early in the morning. She's always on time. I never knew her to be late.”

“Okay, okay. I'll be gone long before Doris gets here. Never fear.” He jingled his change some more. The noise of it was the only sound in the room.