The Demon (3 page)

He returned her smile and nodded. Sure. I understand.

 
As Louise continued walking up the street, Harry walked to the left, up and around the block, to be sure he got there at least five minutes after her. Harry could not remember how many times he had done this, enjoying it more and more each

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time: the anticipation, the expectation, the grinding excitement in his gut and that vague feeling of fear and apprehension that came from the unknown element that existed in each and every one of these situations, the fact that she might not live where she said she did, or the fact that the situation might be different than anticipated, and also the fact that perhaps her husband might be there waiting, or suddenly come home, and it might be all part of some weird joke. There were endless possibilities, but they had never happened, but the fact that they could and might added to the excitement. There was a buoyancy in his step as he walked along Seventh Avenue.

 
Harry was going to a neighborhood movie that night with a couple of friends. After dinner he stretched out on his bed, waiting for it to be time to leave. He had a vague uneasiness in him that he could not understand or explain. It wasnt the food he had just eaten—he did not have an upset stomach or indigestion. Actually he did not know what he had. He just felt uneasy. And it could not have anything to do with whats-her-name—Lois—uh . . . Louise. That was as routine as the meal he just ate. She put the kid down for a nap and they went to bed, Harry declining the coffee, wanting to be sure to take care of business properly and to leave before there were any embarrassing encounters with her husband. And she was as good as any other broad—kind of frisky and hungry. As a matter of fact it was fairly long, and frantic enough, for an afternoon.

 
No, it wasnt that. As a matter of fact there werent even any of those embarrassing scenes where the kid wakes up and comes stumbling into the room asking Mommy for a hug. Everything went smooth and simple. And he did not think it had anything to do with the game. There was no big deal about that. It was just another game, though he did wish he knew how it had turned out. He had thought, briefly, of calling someone and finding out, but he felt conspicuous somehow and he just could not get around to it. He could always

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find out later . . . and anyway, he did not want to make a thing out of it. It really was not a big deal. And even if they did lose, it was not his fault. He had gotten his hit. You cant expect to get more than that off that guy. And anyway, it was more than most guys got. There really wasnt any reason for him to hang around and finish the game. O well, screw it. Whatevers wrong will go away. Go to the flicks and forget all about it.

 
After the show they stopped in at Caseys to see what was happening. Harry had already learned that they had won the game, and because the second movie was an incredibly funny one, he was in a good mood. They joined the others and Harry slapped Steve on the back. I hear you clobbered the bums.

One nothin aint exactly slaughterin them.

Whats the difference, you beat them, didn't you?

Yeah. No thanks to you.

Come on Steve, dont start that again.

 
If I wasnt the best softball pitcher in Brooklyn, we might not have won the game.

Then what you bitchin about?

 
Steve smiled at Harry and patted him on the back. I aint bitchin. I understand, Harry. A stiff dick aint got no conscience, right?—laughing—any port in a storm. But you know your trouble? Taking his hand off Harrys shoulder. Your trouble is you aint got no loyalty.

What do you mean I aint got any loyalty?

 
Just what I said. We/re all friends. Grown up together in the same neighborhood and all that shit, but you aint got no feelings about it.

 
Get off it. I have as much loyalty as you or anyone else— Harry knew that was true. He thought about it many times, and he knew his feelings about his friends—and maybe more.

 
Yeah, that may be, smiling, but you sure dont show it. You may be a brain, an all that, but youre a son of a bitch— Anyway, you going to buy one or be one?

 
Harry smiled, tossed a bill on the bar and bought Steve a drink.

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Harry liked his job and enjoyed his work. The corporation he worked for was just the right size for his needs and ambitions: large but not mammoth; large enough to offer unlimited opportunity for growth and advancement, yet not so huge as to swallow him up and leave just a number on an IBM card. And, too, because the corporation had such diversified interests, his job was never boring, but, rather, it was exciting and challenging, each new problem being different than the last.

 
Harry joined the Lancet Corporation immediately upon graduating from Brooklyn College. He finished college on the GI bill, majoring in business administration, with a background in accounting, and when he was interviewed in his senior year by a representative of the Lancet Corporation, it was realized almost at once that they fulfilled a mutual need and so Harry reported for their Orientation Program the day after commencement.

 
Harry was amiable and fit in very well with his work and his fellow employees on all levels, and was liked by those who worked with him. He advanced rapidly in the couple of years he had been with the firm and was definitely one of the more promising junior executives. One of the first things Harry did upon completion of the Lancet Corporation's Orientation Program was to enroll in a night school and study economics. He thought that it would not only help him in his work, but would make a good impression on those he had to impress, and he was correct in both instances.

 
The future looked bright, and the path smooth, and Harry White would reflect on these things occasionally, and briefly, not with a sense of gratitude or humility, but with a sense of impatience, wanting the promotions and the money, property and prestige now.

 
By the time Harry graduated from Brooklyn College he was just barely getting enough sleep to get by, not because he had to spend an extraordinarily long time studying, but be-

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cause of his love life, which was extremely active. When he first started working at Lancet Corporation, he went on the wagon, so to speak, as he did when he first started college, but as time passed and he became more comfortable and more secure, and the novelty wore off, he gradually drifted back to being Harry the Lover. But other than coming in occasionally on Monday with eyes a little red and hazy, his "outside interests" did not create any problems for him. And he always kept a bottle of eye drops in his desk drawer and would occasionally, and offhandedly, tell his fellow employees about a congenital eye condition he had that was responsible for his eyes' redness at times. He did not really wonder if anyone believed him, but it made him feel good to tell the story anyway.

 
Harry had been on his good behavior for a year or so, confining his amorous activities to the weekends, when he started finding himself being distracted at work. Not by the women in the office, but by a disquieting feeling within, and he found himself looking up at the clock earlier and earlier in the day, waiting for five o'clock, a tension building up in his body. Then his weekends gradually extended themselves into Monday, then started on Friday, and inevitably it was no longer possible to confine his activities to particular evenings, but he was forced to follow his inner urge.

 
Eventually this urge led Harry to eating his lunch as rapidly as possible and then walking around the streets. He never associated this new habit with the antsy feelings he would get occasionally, or even considered that it had become a habit. It was simply something he liked to do, especially during the nice weather, and he was unaware that he inevitably would stroll behind this broad or that one until it was time to go back to the office.

 
Soon Harry stopped eating in the coffee shop in the building and called down ahead of time and ordered a sandwich to go, and then picked it up and walked over to Central Park and sat by the lake and ate his lunch. It certainly was far more relaxing than standing on line in the crowded restaurant and then

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gulping down a sandwich with all the noise and smoke, and so he strolled the few blocks to the park and watched the ducks ripple the reflections of the skyscrapers.

 
Harry dearly loved the first warm days of spring when the heavy coats could be left at home and only a sweater or light jacket need be worn. And the colors! O, yes, Harry loved the colors of spring. Not so much the trees and flowers, though Harry did like to look at them, and the birds too, but Harry never was exactly what is referred to as a "nature lover," though he was quick to emphasize that he did love natural things . . . au naturel. The springtime colors that Harry loved were the colors of the womens dresses as they bounced along the street unemcumbered or hidden by the heavy winter garments, their legs curved down to their ankles, their filmy dresses clinging to the roundness of their flesh, their eyes shining and faces flushed with a smile as the breeze fluffed their hair and pressed their dress against the soft, gentle slope of their tummy and the inside of their thighs as they met at the mound of Venus. Aaaaahhhhh, springtime, springtime, when the earth and all thereon are reborn and a young mans fancy lightly turns.

 
And today was as fine a spring day as ever any man could wish to see. There was a blue sky, a cloud or two, birds winging and swooping their way across the lake and through the trees, and a lovely young lady sitting on a bench just a few feet from the lake. Harry finished his lunch, dropped the paper, etc., into a litter can and walked to the edge of the lake directly in front of the young lady. He twirled the water with his fingers for a moment, then slowly turned and looked at her crossed legs, concentrating on the area where the leg flows into the roundness of the ass. He was as open about his staring, and the direction, as possible, and after a few moments she uncrossed her legs, not looking at him directly, and smoothed down her skirt, which reached almost halfway to her knees. Harry continued to stare until she fidgeted, and then he arose and walked over to the bench, smiling widely and warmly, and staring into her eves. He had read somewhere that Wyatt

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Earps greatest weapons were his eyes, which were light blue and seemed to stare right through people and immobilize them. That is what Harry did. He just stared at women and thrust all his lust at them with his eyes. She tried to look straight ahead but was forced to follow his approach. He sat next to her and she girded herself for the usual opening line of, Its a lovely day, or do you have the time, or some such thing, but Harry threw her one of his curves: Your husband sure is a lucky man.

 
She turned her head and looked at him, startled, a smile softening her face. I don't understand.

 
Well, staring into her eyes, his lust tangible for a moment, then smiling and gesturing with his hand, what I mean is he has you to come home to. Her eyes questioned him, but her mouth relaxed slightly. Harrys face opened in a sparkling smile. With you to go home to he must just whistle through the day.

She jerked her head back slightly with a: Huh, fat chance.

O, comeon, now, I know he does.

You must be kidding, raising her eyebrows and smirking.

 
No, Im not. Im serious. I just know it must make his whole day worthwhile knowing that youll be waiting for him when he gets home.

 
She relaxed a little more and chuckled, and Harry could see the tension slowly drain from her body as he smiled at her. Youre really something else, shaking her head and smiling, a real joker.

 
O, you shouldnt say that, putting his hand on his breast dramatically, you hurt me to the quick. She suddenly started laughing out loud, and as Harry watched her laugh he noticed a few pigeons from the corner of his eye as they swooped around and above them and wondered what she would do, and what she would look like, if one of them suddenly shit on her head, or right on her nose . . . but then he realized, almost simultaneously, that it might shit on him, so he quickly replaced the image with the obvious thought that she and her husband had a problem or two. He smiled and gestured, See

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what I mean? With that laugh you just made my life worthwhile.

 
She smiled and shook her head, Youre really something else, then stood, looking at her watch.

Youre not going, are you?

Thats right, time to get back to work.

O, what a pity, looking sad and forlorn.

 
Sorry, smiling warmly, but a jobs a job. Youre more fun than a barrel of monkeys, but I got to go.

 
Well, at least allow me to call my coach so you dont have to walk through these sordid streets.

 
Youre too much, smiling and starting to walk up the path to Fifth Avenue.

 
Please dont mock me, you might be accosted by ruffians. She continued laughing, and he bowed low and gestured with his hands. At least allow me to protect you, me lady.

Now youre calling me names, laughing out loud.

 
Well, with a hurt expression on his face, if you wont allow me to call the coach, how about a rickshaw—looking into her eyes with an expression of mock seriousness on his face— a bicycle—she nodding her head and chuckling—a skateboard —both smiling, Harry spreading his arms—how about a piggyback?

 
Thanks, but no thanks. I think it would be safer if I crossed the street on my own two legs.

O.K., laughing. Do you usually sit by the lake at lunch time?

Uhhhmmmm, shrugging, it all depends.