Flesh (9 page)

Alison hung her dripping raincoat and hat on a rack near the door of Wally’s Saloon. Fortunately, the rest rooms were just off to the side; she could change out of her waitress costume without having to pass through the crowd of drinkers.

In a toilet stall, she took off the uniform. She took off her slip and bra. Crouching, she removed her jumpsuit from her flight bag. Beneath it was the negligee. The sight of the royal blue fabric made Alison ache as if all her insides, from throat to bowels, were being squeezed and wrung.

That bastard. Oh, that bastard.

Screw him. Who needs him.

She stepped into the jumpsuit, pulled the soft fabric up her legs, pushed her arms into the sleeves, and raised the zipper. Then she stuffed her bra, slip, and uniform into the bag, and left the stall.

She leaned close to a mirror. Her short hair was matted down somewhat from the rain hat. She ran her fingers through it, shook her head, and it looked okay. Her eyes were still a little red from the crying she’d done after leaving Gabby’s. The hike through the rain, however, had left her cheeks with a rosy glow.

The jumpsuit clung to her breasts. Her nipples made the fabric jut. She wondered if she should put her bra back on. Did she really want to go into the bar this way?

Hell, why not? Give the guys something to look at.

Besides, the soft warm fabric felt good against her bare breasts.

She trembled as she slid the zipper down. In the mirror,
she saw the pale skin below her sternum throbbing from her heartbeat.

She stared into her eyes.

Are you really going to do this? she wondered.

Damn right. Two can play this game.

This is crazy.

No, it’s not. Evan doesn’t want me, somebody else will. It’ll serve the bastard right.

But the zipper really was too low. If she bent over, everyone in the vicinity would get an eyeful. So she raised the zipper a couple of inches, then left the rest room, flight bag swinging at her side.

As usual, Wally’s was crowded and noisy. It was the university’s watering hole, so she recognized most of the patrons. She greeted a few friends on her way to the bar. Some asked where Evan was, and she answered, “Busy.” Which was, she thought, the plain truth.

She dodged Johnna Penson as the girl backed away from the bar with a pitcher of beer. Johnna saw her and grinned. “Hey-ho, what’s up?”

“Not much.”

“Where’s lover boy?”

“Scared to come out in the rain. You seen Celia?”

“Just missed her. She took off with Danny Gard and some other guy. See ya.” Johnna squeezed past Alison.

Alison stepped up behind a guy who was waiting to order.

She realized that she had expected Celia to be here. The support of a friend would’ve been welcome. On the other hand, she could just imagine Celia’s reaction. “You don’t want to do it, pal. It isn’t you. You’re hurting, but you aren’t gonna solve anything by putting out for the first guy who smiles at you. Believe me, you’ll regret it.”

So what if I regret it?

You just want to pay him back, she thought. You’re stooping to his level.

Maybe I’ll just have a beer or two, and go home.

Who you trying to kid?

We’ll just see what happens, okay? Any objections?

The man in front of Alison stepped out of the way, and she moved in against the bar. “A mug of draft. No, make it a pitcher.”

She set her flight bag onto the counter and dug out her purse while the bartender filled her order. After paying, she slung the strap over her head to free her hands, picked up the pitcher and frosty mug, and turned away.

Moving through the crowd was an ordeal. Alison nodded, smiled, said “Hi” to people she knew, said “Excuse me” to strangers, squeezed between people, trying not to bump her drink or theirs, and finally found a deserted table near the front wall. It was a small, round table with two chairs. She put down her load and sat facing the mob.

No sooner had she filled her mug and taken a sip than a man walked toward her, smiling nervously.

That sure didn’t take long, she thought.

Her heart thumped faster as he approached. She had seen him around campus, but didn’t know his name. He was tall and lean, with a boyish face and a scrawny, pale attempt at a mustache.

Not wanting to appear interested, Alison lowered her gaze to her beer.

I’m not so sure about this, she thought.

“Excuse me?” he said.

She looked up. Smiled. Said, “Oh, hi.”

He patted the back of the unoccupied chair. “Anyone sitting here?”

She shook her head.

“Mind if I borrow it, then?”

Feeling foolish, she shook her head again.

“Thanks a lot,” he said.

Alison watched him carry it to a nearby table, where he joined a couple of friends. Her face burned.

“Terrific,” she muttered.

All he wanted was the goddamn chair.

And now I’m without it, so if some guy
does
come along he won’t have anywhere to sit.

I ought to get out of here.

Can’t leave all this beer behind.

Give the pitcher to someone, make a gift of it.

Pour it over that dork’s head.

Instead, she drank what was in her mug, refilled it, and warned herself not to guzzle. This whole deal, she thought, is iffy enough without getting smashed. Take it easy.

She sipped slowly.

At the far end of the room, just beyond the dance floor, a huge television screen was suspended from the ceiling. It showed music videos, the volume so high that it could drive you mindless if you were near the speakers.

The noise had never seemed to bother Evan. It had driven Alison nuts, but she’d suffered with it, time and again, just to keep him happy. He loved to watch her dance—always looked as if he wanted to reach out and tear her clothes off.

What the hell am I thinking about
him
for?

What if he shows up?

Alison looked toward the entrance.

Suppose he shows up with Morgan the Organ-grinder and sees me sitting here alone like a fucking wallflower. Wouldn’t that be cute?

One more good reason to am-scray.

She refilled her mug.

Better take it easy.

Alison looked again at the video screen. A hairless woman wearing a loincloth and skimpy top of leopard skin was twisting and writhing to the music. She had shiny blue skin (same color as my nightie, Alison thought, the one that Evan, the shit, will never be lucky enough to see me in). The gyrating blue woman had a snake around her leg. Its head vanished behind her thigh, then reappeared against her groin. The snake slid higher, angling toward a hip, its thick
body rubbing her through the loincloth as she writhed in apparent ecstasy.

Lord, Alison thought.

She took a sip of beer, her gaze fixed on the screen.

The snake curled around the woman’s bare torso, circling higher. Its head came out beneath her armpit. It moved slowly across her breasts. Its tail was still flicking across her left breast when the head showed up beside her neck. The woman, squirming and rubbing her sides and belly (in lieu, Alison thought, of where she’d be rubbing if the producers weren’t worried about taking a final step out of bounds), turned her face toward the head of the snake and pursed her thick, shiny lips.

“Excuse me?”

Alison flinched.

A young man was standing in front of her, just off to the side. She was surprised that she hadn’t noticed his approach.

“Sorry if I startled you,” he said.

“It’s all right.”

“That’s quite a video, huh?”

She felt herself blush. Her mouth was dry. She took a sip of beer. “Pretty far out,” she said.

“Are you with someone?”

“Uh, no.”

“Mind if I join you?”

He didn’t look familiar to Alison. He appeared more mature than most students, and better dressed in his slacks and white, crewneck sweater. His black hair was neatly trimmed. Instead of a beer, he had a cocktail in his hand—probably a martini.

She pegged him as a law student.

“Some guy made off with the other chair,” she said.

“No problem.” He wandered away. A few moments later, he came back with a chair and sat across from her. “I’m Nick Winston,” he said, and offered his hand.

“Alison Sanders.” She shook his hand. “Law student?” she asked.

“How’d you guess?”

“You have that look.”

“Old, you mean?” he asked, grinning.

I prefer older men, she thought. But she stopped herself from saying it. “Just more together than the rest of us,” she told him.

“You a psych major?”

“What makes you think so?”

“You have that look,” he said.

“Neurotic?”

“Introspective.”

“Nah, I’m not introspective, just depressed.”

“And what, may I ask, could cause a beautiful, obviously intelligent young woman like you to be depressed?”

“‘I see myself dead in the rain.’”

“Ah, an English major.”

She smiled. “Right.”

“Do you really?”

“What?”

“See yourself dead in the rain?”

“Nope. Just felt like spouting some Hemingway.”

“Don’t you find his outlook rather juvenile?”

Her appreciation of Nick Winston slipped a notch. “What do you mean, juvenile?”

“Well, in particular, his portrayals of women. They’re like the fantasies of an adolescent. Maria, for instance.”

“I love that sleeping bag scene.”

Nick raised an eyebrow. “Well, now.”

Alison found herself blushing again. “I just mean, I think it’s very romantic.”

“Romantic, perhaps, but idealized to a ludicrous extent. Have you ever experienced intercourse in a sleeping bag?”

“Maybe.”

“Ah, we’re being coy.”

Alison shrugged and took a drink. When she looked again at Nick, he was gazing into her eyes.

This is certainly progressing apace, she thought.

What the hell am I getting into?

“If you
have,
I’m sure you found it confining and the ground very hard and the entire experience barely tolerable.”

I didn’t find it that way at all, she thought. But that’s my business, Nick old sport.

“I find a king-sized bed to be the ideal setting for such encounters, don’t you?”

“I thought we were discussing Hemingway.”

“And so we are. I believe that I was explaining my theory that the sleeping bag scene in
For Whom the Bell Tolls
presents a false, idealized view of—”

“I think it’s nice.”

The corners of Nick’s lips curled up. “I don’t think it would be so nice in a rain storm.”

“If you had a tent—”

“Unfortunately, I have neither a tent nor a sleeping bag. I do, however, have a Trans Am which could transport us in comfort to my apartment.”

“Where, no doubt, you have a king-sized bed.”

He lifted his glass and took a sip, staring at Alison over the rim. He looked as if the stare were well practiced. Setting down his drink, he leaned forward. He folded his arms on the table and gazed steadily into Alison’s eyes. “As a matter of fact, yes, I do have a king-sized bed. Whether or not we use it, however, is entirely up to you.”

“Thanks.”

“I realize that we’ve just met, and I would understand a certain hesitancy on your part to indulge in…intimacies. I certainly wouldn’t want you to feel any pressure from me in that regard.”

“I don’t know, Nick.”

You don’t know? she asked herself. Isn’t this exactly what you were looking for?

Maybe, maybe not.

“I’ll drive you over to my place. We’ll have a drink or two to take off the chill, listen to some good music. Nothing more than that, unless, of course, you insist.”

“I see. You’ll be a perfect gentleman.”

He shrugged elaborately. “Of course, if you would rather not.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Ah, but you have your doubts.”

“I’m not exactly in the habit of rushing over to a guy’s apartment after I’ve known him for about five minutes.”

“I’m not exactly in the habit of
asking
after five minutes.” He took another small sip of his cocktail. He set it down. He gazed into her eyes. “To be quite honest, Alison, there’s something…special about you. I felt it the moment I saw you sitting here…”

“Gaping at that erotic video,” she added.

“It wasn’t that. It’s just that, when I saw you, it was as if we weren’t strangers, as if I’d known you for a very long time.”

Might’ve been a good line, except that it sounded so trite.

Trite or not, what if he actually meant it?

“I want to know you better,” he said.

“I don’t—”

“A couple of drinks, that’s all. We’ll listen to music, we’ll talk. We’ll get to know each other. What’ve you got to lose?”

Good point.

“If you’re afraid I might
attack
you, or something…” He shook his head, smiling at the ridiculous suggestion.

“It isn’t that.”

“What, then?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then let’s give it a try. We owe it to ourselves.”

“Give me some time to think about it. Meanwhile, I’ve got to use the john. I’ll be right back.”

In a pig’s eye, she thought.

She left the table, taking her flight bag with her. Unfortu
nately, she really
did
need to use the toilet. The homeward hike would take a good fifteen minutes. In her condition, she’d never make it without exploding.

She rushed into the rest room. Her jumpsuit made matters difficult, but finally she finished and left the stall.

She stepped to one of the sinks. Slowly, she washed her hands.

You
could
go with him, she thought. Isn’t that why you came here tonight?

Her heart pounded so hard that it made her chest ache.

Forget it. Grab the rain duds and pull a disappearing act.

In the mirror above the sink, her eyes looked wide and frantic.

She dried her hands on a paper towel, then walked to the rest room door. She opened it.

Nick stood in front of the coat rack, wearing a clear plastic slicker and a tennis hat. He smiled when he saw her. “All set?” he asked.