Case of Lucy Bending (56 page)

"I don't care," she said in a singsongy voice, eyes glittering. "I just don't care."

Her tender child's skin was flushed. He could smell her sweet child's scent. The hands he gripped were boneless. Her body was without force or resistance. She was all compliance, willing, eager.

He opened his knees, let her move closer to him. Are you sure of what you're doing? he asked himself furiously. Are you absolutely
certain
this is the only way?

"Are you sure we're alone?" he asked, playing out his part.

"Hurry," she said in a charged voice, her eyes hooded. "Hurry."

She stood, legs spread, waiting for him. But he sat rigidly, noting the trancelike appearance, quickened respiration, sweat on forehead and upper lip. He thought he detected a tremor in those grasped hands, a rise in skin temperature.

"Hurry," she said. She tried to push her hands into his crotch, but he held her fast. Her body writhed between his knees. She leaned up to him, mouth seeking.

"Hurry," she said.

She was a small, warm animal trying to wriggle into him, mewling and nuzzling. He held her off as best he could, wanting to observe with a professional's detachment, but determined to push this as far as he could.

He bent forward to put his lips close to her ear. "And then what did she do? Your mother?"

"He reached . . ." she recited in a disembodied voice. "And she took off her panties. I saw ..."

Her eyes were tightly shut now, the dream whirling. Her body had stiffened. Her body vibrated in a paroxysm of memory.

"And then?" he demanded.

"On her back. She was ... On the bed. And he had, you know, his peter. They were making a baby. In her hole. I saw."

"Everything?" he said sternly.

Her eyes flashed open. "Everything!" she screamed. "I saw everything! Hurry. Hurry. And he was moving back and forth. I thought he was . . . But he wasn't, because she wasn't crying. Oh! Oh! That's what she said. Oh! Oh! But he wasn't hurting her, I could tell. Once she laughed. I heard her laugh. So it was all right. You know? It wasn't bad. It was nice. And then she looked up and saw me. So I ran away. I went back to my own room. And I—"

She gave one convulsive sob, wrenched away from him, turned, vomited onto the floor at his feet. He stood quickly, held her as she bent far over and retched. Thick, ugly sounds came from her. Her small body was racked with spasms. She spewed in a gush.

"All right," Levin said quietly. "It's all right, Lucy."

Still holding her shoulder with one hand, he was able to reach the intercom and buzz the emergency signal. Two short rings, one long. The door flung open, the receptionist came running.

There was confusion then. The receptionist brought newspapers to cover the sour mess on the floor. Then a maintenance man came grumbling with a mop and pail. Then the receptionist returned with a can of spray disinfectant that smelled vilely of wild cherry.

Dr. Levin had led Lucy away from this scene. He placed her so that she faced the window, looking out. He put an arm about her shoulders.

"Would you like a glass of water?"

"I'm fine, thank you," she said formally.

"We don't have much time left. Is your mother waiting for you downstairs?"

"Yes. In the car."

"Well, before you leave, perhaps you'd like to use the bathroom and freshen up."

She turned her head to look at him. "You're not going to tell mother, are you?"

"About your being sick? Of course not."

"No, not that. About what I told you."

"No, I won't tell her that either."

"She'd kill me if she knew."

He smiled sadly. "I don't think she'd do that. I think she'd be glad you told me. But I'm not going to repeat it, to your mother or anyone else."

"I never told anyone," she said sorrowfully. "Not even Gloria, my best friend." "I know," he said. "It was a very hard secret to keep, wasn't it?"

She nodded, pulling at her braids. He moved around in front of her, sat on the wide windowsill facing her. He held her shoulders lightly.

"Lucy, there's a favor you can do for me."

"What?"

"You know the homework you get in school? They give you homework, don't they?"

"Of course, silly."

"Well, I'd like to assign you some homework, too."

"What kind?" she said suspiciously.

"I'd like you to remember what you saw your mother doing the night of the party, and how it affected you. Do you understand? I'd like you to think about how you felt while you were watching, and how you felt about it later. Then, the next time I see you, I'd like to talk to you about it."

"Okay," she said chirpily. "That's easy homework. I don't have to write anything out, do I?"

"You can if you like. I'd be happy to read anything you write about it. Or we can just talk about it like friends. We're still friends, aren't we?"

"Oh sure," she said. "I'm sorry I messed up your floor. I had a piece of pizza for lunch, and I guess it turned my stomach."

"Probably," he said, nodding. "Our time is up, Lucy. I'll see you next week."

"Can I tell you my new story, then?"

"Of course you can," he said, walking her to the door. "Now you tell the lady at the desk that you want to use the bathroom. Wash your face and rinse out your mouth, and your mother will never know what happened."

"It'll be our secret," she said with a mischievous grin. "So long, Doctor Ted." And then she was gone.

He went back to his desk to switch off the tape recorder. He lighted a cigar, not because he especially wanted it, but to blow a few mouthfuls of smoke into the air to dull that cloying wild cherry scent. Then he let the cigar go out.

He slumped tiredly into the swivel chair, head lowered, hands clasped across his belly. It had been a harrowing session. He looked down at his puke-spattered shoes. He knew significant progress had been made, but he was not particularly proud of himself.

Later, people recalled it as being an odd sort of day, choppy and chaotic. It had no form. Beach dwellers wandered about, talked, drank, sat down, stood up. No one seemed to know what to wear, what to do. A woman said, "A rickety-rackety day," and everyone knew what she meant, and agreed.

Perhaps the weather made it so. It dawned fair, turned foul, and then came rain squalls, periods of azure sky, thunder, a downpour, scudding clouds, balm again, high humidity, a chill wind, a searing sun, etc. Nature flaunted its whole bag of tricks.

That Saturday did not begin auspiciously for William Jasper Holloway. He was in the bathroom, shaving, when Jane came in and said,
⁴
'I want a divorce."

Holloway set his razor carefully aside, gripped the sink with white-knuckled hands, and stared at his wife's reflection in the medicine cabinet mirror.

"That is not something you say to a man while he's shaving."

She shrugged. "Is there any good time to say it? You know this marriage just isn't working. No sex in—how long? Other things. I'll be happier if we break up, and you'll be happier, too."

"Let me be the judge of that," he said, happy already. But still remembering the early steamy days of their marriage when they came apart for each other.

"I'll move out on Monday," she said. "I think that's best. I'll go to a hotel. Your lawyer can talk to my lawyer."

"But you won't talk to me?"

"No," she said. "What good would it do? I've thought about it for some time, and my mind's made up."

"I know what that means," he said bitterly.

"I'm sorry, Bill," she said softly.

"No you're not," he said.

He was too confused to clean his revolver that morning. It wasn't the thought of losing Jane that roiled him; it was the
trouble.
Lawyers, arguments, the settlement, the children, court appearances. Decisions demanded. His peaceful routine disturbed.

He didn't bother with breakfast, but filled an ice bucket with cubes and went directly to the living room bar. He poured a stiff vodka, took a gulp, and looked around. If he got to keep the house, the first thing he'd get rid of was all that depressing brown stuff.

He wandered out onto the beach with his second drink in a thick plastic tumbler so that people might think he was having a morning coffee. There were a lot of wanderers that morning. Everyone aimless and vacant-eyed.

Ronald Bending was standing on wet sand. His hands were deep in the pockets of his plaid Bermuda shorts. He was staring out at the crazy sea, charging every which way. Holloway went up to him and Bending turned.

"Morning, Bill," he said.

"Jane wants a divorce," Holloway said.

Turk looked at him. "For real?"

Holloway nodded.

"Shit," Bending said, and then he told Holloway what had happened to his car. He said he was getting out of the porn deal.

"Yes," Holloway said, nodding, "that's wise."

"What are you drinking?" Bending asked, peering into the other man's tumbler. "Seven-Up?"

"You know better than that."

"Buy me one and then let's go dig up Luther. He better get out, too."

So Holloway went back to his place, mixed himself a vodka and water, and a bourbon and soda for Turk, also in a plastic tumbler. The two men carried their drinks down the beach to Empt's home. It was drizzling then, but they didn't notice.

"This divorce," Bending said. "Jane's idea?"

"Yes."

"I'm sorry, Bill."

"I don't care."

They climbed the coral rock steps to Luther's terrace and banged on the sliding glass door. He finally appeared, wearing a terry cloth robe and carrying a mug of coffee. He came out onto the terrace, looked at their tumblers.

"You're starting early," he said.

"It's never too early," Holloway said. "Luther, we came to tell you that you better get out of the porn deal."

"You're right," Empt said unexpectedly. "I decided last night that I'm going to take my money and vamoose."

Bending looked at him curiously. "What made you change your mind?"

Empt's eyes flickered. "My lawyer convinced me that with you two guys out, I didn't stand a chance."

They knew he was lying.

"You weren't threatened?" Turk Bending asked. "Nothing like that?"

"Oh hell no," Empt said boisterously. "No one threatens me. No, it's just a business decision. I can use that money in my own place. Buy some new hardware. Expand."

"The smart thing to do," Bending said.

"I think maybe I'll get a jolt, too," Empt said. "Something to soothe the gut. I had a wet night last night."

Holloway left Bending and meandered back to his own home. He was gloomy and jarred, ruminating on his ordinariness. The clouds were breaking; there were patches of sunlight; a few people were in the water, shouting.

Professor Lloyd Craner was on the terrace, sitting bolt upright, silver-headed cane clamped between his knees. He was sipping black coffee from a delicate bone china cup.

"Morning, professor," Holloway said, taking a chair on the other side of the wicker table.

"Jane told me," his father-in-law said. "I'm sorry, Bill."

"Well . . ." Holloway said. "It happens."

"Yes," the old man said, and looked as if he might weep. He tugged angrily at his goatee. "I don't like this—this breaking up. People should come together, not break up." He sighed. "Ahh, I'm a sententious old fool. Is there any chance of solving your, ah, problems?"

"Ask Jane," Holloway said. "I don't think so. When she makes up her mind ..."

The professor nodded sadly.

"I hope," Holloway said, "that no matter what happens, we can continue to see each other."

The grandee lifted his white eyebrows in astonishment. "Of course. Understood. You're the only one I can beat at chess."

"Not always," Holloway said, smiling. He rose. "I'm going to replenish my vitamins. May I bring you something?"

The codger considered. "A small brandy perhaps. To revive my flagging spirits."

"Be of good cheer," Holloway said. "Everything passes."

"Unfortunately," Professor Craner said.

At the same time, Wayne Bending, in his bedroom, the door locked, was packing a small knapsack with the few things he wanted to take when he made his escape. An extra pair of socks, pocket compass, jackknife, map of Florida, a condom that Eddie Holloway had given him, a few other trifles. .. *

Wayne figured he'd have dinner with his family that night, kill a few hours, and then go up to his bedroom. He'd wait until everyone was asleep, and then he'd sneak out of the house. He'd go to A1A and thumb a ride north. Maybe he'd try New York first. If that didn't work out, he'd head westward for California.