Eye Candy (9 page)

Shelly pulled off his blazer and wrapped it around my shoulders. “Don't you love rain? It's so fresh and . . . and . . . wet.”

How many beers did he drink? I wasn't counting, but . . .

“Shelly, we're getting drenched! Let's jog to Tenth and find a cab.”

“But, Lindy, doesn't the rain make you want to sing?”

“Sing? Hel-lo. We're drowning here.”

He began belting out “Singing in the Rain” at the top of his lungs.

I heard laughter and saw a couple under a black umbrella, arms around each other, laughing as they hurried past.

How lame is this? I thought, watching him do a splashy tap dance as he sang.

Sorry, Shelly. You're pushing it with the Gene Kelly act.

“Hey, don't you like that song?” Shelly asked, grabbing my arm. Water soaked through his shirt. His hair was matted to his forehead.

“No way!” Laughing, I pulled him down the block, his blazer over my head.

A taxi appeared at the corner, windshield wipers sending up a spray of water. It had its OFF-DUTY sign lit, but the driver pulled over and asked where we were going. When I told him Seventy-ninth and Amsterdam, he said, “Jump in.”

I climbed in and slid across the seat. Shelly stood at the car door, shaking water off like a dog. Then he lowered himself into the cab. The driver grumbled something. I couldn't hear him through the Plexiglas divider. The taxi took off, wheels whirring on the rain-slicked street.

Breathing hard, raindrops clinging to his dark eyebrows, running down his cheeks, Shelly pretended to pout. “I didn't get to finish the song.” He hummed a few more bars.

“You're totally crazy,” I said.

He wiped water from his forehead. “Yeah. Tell me something I don't know.”

“You look normal, but you're not,” I teased.

“Sometimes I lose it a little,” he said solemnly, lowering his eyes. “Therapy doesn't help. I'm thinking of joining an Ashram.”

“Really?”

“No.”

I leaned close and kissed his cheek. It felt cold and wet, like a fish.

He turned and pressed his lips against mine. A nice kiss.

“Can I read your writing sometime?” I asked.

“No,” he answered sharply.

18

Shelly was fun to be with. But he seemed to switch personalities in seconds. He had been so thoughtful when we were talking on the park bench. And then at the club he'd become a different person.

Was I being too analytical?

Was he just a thoughtful guy who also liked to have fun?

Maybe I needed someone like Shelly to draw me out, to help me be less self-conscious.

The elevator stopped on the eleventh floor. I was home. I stepped out into the long, green-carpeted hall. No one around this time of night, but as I passed by I could hear loud music from apartment 11-C and angry, arguing voices from 11-D across the hall.

Our apartment, 11-J, is at the very end of the hall. The corner is dark because the bulb is out in the last ceiling fixture. We've complained to the super about it for weeks, but so far, no fresh bulb.

I fumbled around in my bag, trying to find my key in the dark—when the door swung open and Lou stepped out. Startled, we both let out short cries. Lou lurched into me. I felt as if I'd been bumped by a truck.

“Oh. S-Sorry,” he stammered. His
s
's whistled.

I backed into the corner. “Lou. Hi. You're still here?”

Duh.

He grinned at me, a lopsided grin. Even in the dark, I could see that his eyes were glassy. He was breathing hard, his big chest heaving up and down. His furry eyebrows folded as he struggled to focus on me.

“Lindy . . .”

“Lou, back up. Are you totally trashed?”

“Lindy, listen—” He shut his eyes. His sour breath made me cringe.

“Hel-lo. Lou, you've got me cornered here. Back up a little, okay?”

He didn't move. Instead, he shot both arms out, blocking my escape. He smelled of sweat and beer and stale pot smoke. “I want to tell you . . .” He opened his eyes. He gazed at my breasts, then slowly raised his eyes to my face. “Lindy . . .”

“Lou, we'll have a nice chat some other time, okay? Can I help you downstairs? Let me get you a taxi.”

“I want to tell you . . . you're so awesome-looking.”

“Thanks, Lou. But I've been dancing for hours. I'm kind of wiped. Could you let me—”

“You're so fucking bootiful, Lindy.” He let out a giggle, as if he'd said something funny.

I tried to squeeze around him, but he moved quickly to block my path. “Lou, I don't like this game. Let me go. I mean it.”

“So fucking bootiful.”

“You can hardly speak. Please, give me a break here. Just take a step back. You know what? Come back inside the apartment. You shouldn't go home like this.”

My heart started to pound. He was like a bear, and I was cornered. He blinked at me and giggled again.

“Let's go inside, okay?”

“Bootiful.” Instead of backing up, he grabbed my waist with both hands and pressed his face against mine. His cheek felt burning hot, and moist.

I felt panic sweep over me.

I can't breathe. He's going to suffocate me.

“So bootiful . . .”

“Lou, get off me. Now! I mean it. Get
off
!”

He wrapped his arms around me, pressing me against the wall. His wet lips brushed my ear. He lowered his hands to my breasts and started pawing them roughly. “Do you have any idea how fucking awessssome you are?”

Should I stomp on his foot? Should I kick him in the balls? I don't want to injure him. I just want to get him off me.

Should I call for help?

“Get
off
! Get your hands
off
me!”

Finally he let go of my breasts. He lifted his face from mine and squinted at me. “Do you know why I stay with Ann-Marie?” Sweat ran down his forehead, his cheeks.

“I . . . don't want to hear this. Please. You crossed a line here, Lou. You're really scaring me.”

“Just to be close to you, that's why.”

“Stop it, Lou. Just shut up, okay? I'm going to—”

“Tha'ssss why I stay with her.” Another insane giggle. “I think about you all the time.”

“Shut up, Lou.” I didn't mean to shout, but I couldn't help it.

What is he planning to do? Is he going to grab me again?

No, no. Take a breath. He's out of his head. You can't afford to panic. You have to be the calm one.

“Really. No shit, Lindy. All the time I'm with her, I'm thinking about you.”

“Please please please. Listen to me, okay?” I brought my arms up fast and shoved him hard.

Startled, he toppled back into the apartment door. He hit it so hard, I thought he might break the door.

But here was my chance. I scrambled around him, away from the wall. My legs were trembling. My whole body shuddered. But I was in the clear. I hoped.

“I feel so close to you. I want to be with you. You're so bootiful.”

I rubbed my cheek. It was still wet from his sweat. “Let's get you a taxi. I promise I won't tell Ann-Marie. Just stay away from me. Be a good boy, Lou, and I promise I won't tell Ann-Marie.”

“Do you like me, Lindy?” He suddenly had this little-boy expression, his glassy eyes all wide and hopeful. “Do you like me?”

“I like you, Lou. But let's get you home, okay? I won't tell Ann-Marie. I promise.”

He nodded. “Good.” He wiped the sweat off his face and forehead with his shirt sleeve. “Good. It will be our sssecret, right? Our little secret?” He eyed my breasts again.

I started toward the elevators at the other end of the hall. I suddenly felt weary, as if he'd drained all my strength away. I turned and made sure he was following me.

His shoulder dragged against the wall as he walked. “Our little secret. You're so totally awesome. Do you know that, Lindy? You don't mind, do you? Ha ha. You don't mind if I call you, Lindy? I mean—if I . . .”

“Shhh. Take it easy. You'll be fine. You just had a little too much—”

He pulled a clear plastic envelope from his shirt pocket and waved it in front of my face. I saw white powder inside. “Want some?”

“No, please. Put it back.”

He pushed his bottom lip out in a pout. He suddenly looked like a big baby.

“Put it away, Lou.”

He obediently stuffed it back in his pocket. “I never get high,” he said, shaking his head. “Isn't that a shame? I never get high.”

“You're doing a pretty good imitation,” I said. I was breathing normally now, no longer trembling, over my fear. As we passed, I heard the couple still arguing in 11-D. I felt grateful no one had heard Lou and me out in the hall.

I pushed the elevator button. I couldn't wait to get rid of him. And what would I find in the apartment? Ann-Marie passed out on the couch? Or totally high, chattering away, demanding to stay up all night and bond?

“Just can't get high,” Lou muttered, pressing his forehead against the elevator door. “No matter what. It's weird, isn't it? Fucking weird.”

I tugged him back just as the door slid open. Then I took him by the hand and led him into the elevator. When the door closed, I had another moment of panic.

Will he come on to me again? Will he try to smother me again? He has me trapped here.

But no. He leaned on the metal rail with his head tilted back against the elevator wall, eyes closed, a smile on his face, humming to himself. When the car bounced to a stop on the first floor, Lou bounced with it, his knees buckling, legs nearly collapsing under him.

He giggled. “Are you hungry?”

“No. Come on.” I pulled him to the front door.

“Want to get a burger or something?”

“No. I'm really not hungry.”

“Pizza? Just a slice?”

Out onto Seventy-ninth Street. The rain had slowed to a steady drizzle. Light from the streetlamps shimmered in the wet street. Two men with black umbrellas stood waiting for the crosstown bus at the corner. The newsstand there was dark and closed up.

I stepped into the street to get Lou a taxi. He bumped up against my side. “I get so hungry when I'm loaded. Ha ha.”

I saw a taxi with its light lit at the end of the block and started to wave frantically.

“But I can't get high. It's the weirdest thing. Do you like me? I mean, really like me? Ha ha.”

“Oh, thank goodness,” I said as the taxi pulled up beside us. I opened the door and shoved Lou into the back. He hit his head on the Plexiglas divider, let out a groan, then settled back in the seat.

“Our little secret,” he said, grinning.

“Bye, Lou.” I slammed the car door and watched gratefully as the taxi roared away.

As the elevator carried me back up to the eleventh floor, I felt as if I were being transported through a different world. Lou's gross behavior in the hall had changed everything. Shifted reality in an ugly way.

I felt as if I'd been in some sci-fi moment where you find yourself in a parallel universe—your surroundings look exactly the same, but the people you know act differently, not at all like themselves, and everything you thought true wasn't true anymore.

Was he telling the truth about how he felt about me? Did he really stay with Ann-Marie to be close to me?

No. I couldn't believe that. No way I wanted to believe it.

I held my stomach. I suddenly felt sick.

Wait. He was coked out of his head. He could barely speak. Why should I take anything he said seriously?

I should shut it out of my mind. He won't remember a thing tomorrow.

But . . . he'd
mauled
me. He'd forced me against the wall. He'd pressed his face, his body against mine. He'd played with my breasts. He'd mauled me like a bear.

He is dangerous.

Don't get carried away. You don't want to tell Ann-Marie about this. No way. Ann-Marie is totally crazy about him. She acts so jealous when anyone else comes near him.

You can't tell her.

But what if it's true? What if he's a total pig who's just using her?

No. I can't tell her. She'll hate me forever. I'll lose my best friend.

My bag. Where is my bag?

I raised both arms, expecting to see it on one of them. But no. Did Lou take my bag? Of course not.

The elevator bounced to a stop. I lurched out before the door was fully open. Then I ran down the hall, my shoes thudding on the carpet. Yes, there it was in the corner. It must have fallen from my hands when Lou came out of the apartment.

I picked it up off the floor, rummaged around in it till I found my key. I opened the door slowly and poked my head in, expecting to find Ann-Marie in the livingroom.

No. The lamp beside the couch was on dim. No one on the couch. I stepped inside. Two wine bottles on the coffee table, two empty wineglasses. No one in the front room. Peering into the short hall, I could see that Ann-Marie's bedroom door was closed.

I took a deep breath and let it out. Thank goodness. She had gone to bed. I didn't have to decide whether or not to tell her about Lou.

I glanced at my watch. Nearly three-thirty. No wonder I felt so tired. I'm a working girl. I'm not used to these hours.

I crossed the hall and entered my room, clicking on the ceiling light. Yawning, I dropped my bag onto the dresser top. I undid my earrings, pulled them off, and set them down next to my bag.

Feeling a breeze on my back, I turned away from the dresser and saw that the window was wide open. The half-drawn shade flew into the room, then flapped back against the window frame. I squinted at the window, trying to remember if I had opened it.

No. I remembered deliberately leaving it shut because the forecast had said rain. It was a stuffy, humid night. Had Ann-Marie opened it for me to cool off my room?

I usually kept the window locked because it opened onto a fire escape. I'd been trying to get the super to put bars in the window. I didn't feel safe without them. Anyone could climb down the fire escape from the roof or up from the alley behind the building, and step right into my room.

I shuddered. I had a frightening hunch. Someone had climbed into my room. Someone was hiding in the closet. Such a strong hunch . . .

I yanked open the closet door, preparing to scream.

No one.

Way to go, Lindy. Now you're frightening
yourself
. Get to bed. It's been a long night.

I crossed to the window and felt rain floating in on the warm night air. I closed it and locked it, straightened the shade, and turned back to the dresser. I glimpsed myself in the mirror. The pink lipstick had faded away, leaving my lips dry and chapped. I had dark blue lines under my eyes, and my skin was pale. I looked like the
ghost
of Lindy Sampson.

And I felt so grimy and sticky. I'll shower in the morning, I decided.

I started to pull off my pink T-shirt when I noticed the middle dresser drawer half open. Strange. I have a thing about always pushing my dresser drawers shut. No reason. It's just one of the things I do, like making my bed every morning.

I gazed down at the half-open drawer. My underwear drawer. I pulled it open all the way—and uttered a sharp gasp.

Empty.

Where were my panties and bras? I blinked a few times, as if that would fill the drawer up again. But no. It took me a while to see the envelope, a legal-sized white envelope standing against the back of the drawer.

“What the hell is this?”

I lifted it out, tore it open, and pulled out a letter. I scanned it quickly, then read it twice before the words began to make sense. Then the letter shook in my hand as I read it—slowly—for a third time:

I thought a beautiful girl like you would have nicer
underwear. Did you get my phone message? I am
going to kill you, Lindy. It's not a joke. I will kill you.

There's only one way to stay alive. Keep going out
with me. Keep saying yes.

Don't think you can escape me. I've been in your
room. I may be watching you right now.