Out Are the Lights (16 page)

    She lowers her head to the pillow, and weeps.

    

    

    Soon, Schreck enters the room. 'And how are we today?' he asks.

    'My… My legs,' she says in a weak voice.

    'They had to go. I'm afraid.'

    'You're… no doctor.'

    'Oh, but I am. I must say, the operation was a great success. Now, if we're as successful with the next stage…'

    Her chin trembles. 'No,' she says.

    'Oh yes.' He pats her shoulder. 'Buck up. I'm sure we have nothing to worry about. You're young and strong. With any luck at all, you'll pull through just fine.'

    After he leaves, she rolls onto her belly, whimpering with pain. She drags herself to the edge of the mattress. She reaches down to the carpet, and tries to lower herself.

    Her torso drops.

    Her bandaged stumps pound the floor, and she faints.

    

    

    She wakes up in the operating room.

    'Ah, Miss Thatcher, just in time to observe the procedure.' Her right arm is strapped to a board beside her body. A tourniquet of surgical tubing is already tied in place.

    Schreck places a scalpel against the skin of her upper arms. 'No!' she shrieks.

    'We came through stage two like champs,' says Schreck, grinning down at her.

    She raises her head.

    No arms, no legs.

    She lays her head back, and her eyelids tremble shut.

    Schreck slaps her awake. 'Miss Thatcher, the procedure is complete. The artificial limbs may seem a bit awkward and painful, at the outset. But you are a very lucky young lady, very lucky indeed.'

    As he pulls her to a sitting position, the sheet slides away. She begins to gasp wildly. Schreck tosses the sheet to the floor.

    From the bandaged stumps of her arms hang arms. Legs protrude from her bandaged thighs.

    Their brown, withered skin looks as if it has been stretched over bare bones.

    A waltz is playing. Schreck, in a tuxedo, dances across the floor with Beatrice in his arms. 'You have never danced better, my darling. You seem so young, so vital tonight, as if her very essence has flowed into your veins.

    'Nor have you ever looked more lovely, my Beatrice. What do you ask? Why didn't I give you a new face? How could I. This is the face that I love.' He kisses her twisted, gaping mouth. The music changes to a tango.

    'Shall we, my darling?'

    Lifting one of her pale, youthful arms, he begins to dance. Her bare feet swing above the carpet, her dress billows out. Schreck spins her wildly, laughing.

    He laughs, even as one of her legs drops to the floor.

    'We shall dance until dawn,' he says. 'We shall dance as we have never danced before.'

    
THE END

    

    

    'Dal, what's wrong?'

    He shook his head, afraid he might cry if he tried to talk. He stepped into Elizabeth 's arms. He put his hands under her loose blouse and caressed the smoothness of her back.

    'You didn't break up with Connie?'

    'No.'

    'Why aren't you with her?'

    On the way over, he'd anticipated such a question. He had an answer ready. 'She thinks I'm in San Diego. On a buying trip.'

    'What's wrong, then?'

    'Later.' He lifted her blouse. He took her breasts in his hands, squeezed them, pressed his face between them, kissed them, licked a nipple until it was slippery and rigid, and sucked it deep into his mouth.

    Elizabeth moaned and stroked his hair.

    He pulled her shorts down her legs. Squeezing her buttocks, he licked a trail down her belly. He found that she had shaved her pubic hair. He licked the smooth mound. His tongue went lower. She trembled, and her fingers clenched his hair.

    'Now?'

    'Okay.' Dal sat up in bed and crossed his legs. Elizabeth lay in front of him, hands folded behind her head. Hair clung to her forehead with sweat. She was still breathing heavily.

    Herbert, in his wheelchair a yard away, stared at her with shiny eyes.

    'Well?'

    'I got fired.'

    'How?'

    'Pete came into the store. He was furious, apparently, because Connie told him about our engagement.'

    'He didn't take the rebuff kindly?'

    'He had a phony police I.D. or something, and he pretended to arrest me. He handcuffed me and marched me right out of the store.'

    'Subtle bastard.'

    'When I got back, Mr Lane took me into his office and fired me.'

    'Didn't you explain to him?'

    'Yeah, of course. I don't know if he believed me or not, but he said it didn't matter. Goddamn self-righteous bastard. He said even if I was telling the truth, that he didn't want an employee whose personal life interfered with the job.' Elizabeth reached down and stroked his knee, 'I'm sure you can find something else.'

    'Yeah. But what's to keep Pete from doing it again? He could pull that stunt every time I land a job.'

    'If he posed as a cop, you might get him arrested.'

    'Great. That'd really get him pissed at me.'

    Elizabeth rolled onto her side. Her hand glided over his thigh, sending a shiver up his back. She raked the hair of his scrotum. 'Let me shave you,' she said.

    Dal moaned and smiled.

    'Then we'll go out and kill the bastard.'

    'Pete?'

    'Who else?'

    'You're joking.'

    'Am I? It would have to look like an accident, of course.'

    'Are you serious?'

    'Don't you want to?'

    'I'd like him dead, that's for sure.'

    'Then it's settled. Stay here. I'll get the shaving cream and razor.' She swung out of bed, patted Herbert on the cheek, and trotted into the bathroom. She returned, soon, with a wet towel, a can of Rapid Shave, and a straight razor.

    'Haven't you got a safety razor?'

    'Of course. But it wouldn't be half the fun.'

    'Do you know how to use that?'

    She knelt on the bed and looked down at her own smooth crotch. 'Does it look like it?'

    'It looks great.'

    'Now, we have to decide on a method that's perfectly safe. Lie back. There. How about a car accident?'

    

    

    They sat in a booth at Savilli's, an Italian restaurant chosen by Connie because, in addition to good food, it catered to Santa Monica 's senior citizens. For their sake, it abandoned the semi-darkness common to better restaurants and kept the place well-lit. This made it less difficult to read Pete's lips.

    'I know it was a nasty trick,' he said. 'I was feeling pretty nasty when I did it.'

    'That sort of thing could get him fired.'

    'I hope so.'

    The waitress came. Pete asked for another round of margaritas.

    'What if Dal reports you?'

    Pete grinned. 'Hell, he could sue me, get me busted, get my ticket pulled.'

    'Your what?'

    'Ticket. My private investigator's license.'

    'My God, Pete.'

    'Oh, I'm not too worried. From what I've seen of Dal, he's basically a sneak and a coward. If he wants revenge, he won't go through the legal system. He's more the type to burn down my house or poison my dog-if I had one-or maybe bribe a couple of punks to rough me up.'

    Connie saw the waitress approach with fresh drinks. She finished her first margarita, tipping the glass high and sucking up the remaining froth. Pete laughed. She licked the foamy mustache off her upper lip. The waitress took her glass, and set down a full one.

    When she left, Pete said, 'I'm a little worried, though, that he might try something with you.'

    'I can handle him.'

    'Can you?'

    'My hands are deadly weapons.'

    They both laughed. Then she remembered breaking the arm of the guy who attacked her, kicking the other one in the face, burning their car. Her face turned hot.

    'What's the matter?' Pete asked, 'I wasn't exactly joking about my hands.'

    His eyes narrowed. He looked intrigued.

    'I got attacked a couple of weeks ago. Two guys jumped me, and I had to bust them up pretty badly. I sort of-I don't want to say I enjoyed it, but-at the time it was kind of exciting. I felt so powerful. Like I could take on the world. But later on, I just felt sick about the whole incident. I still do when I think about it.'

    'You feel dirty inside.'

    'Exactly.'

    'You should try killing someone.'

    'Thanks, I'll pass on that.'

    Pete lifted his bell-shaped glass, and drank, and back-handed the foam off his mouth. 'At any rate, I think we should stay together for the next few nights. Until Dal's had a chance to cool down.'

    'Do you think it's necessary?'

    'It couldn't hurt,' he said.

    'Couldn't hurt at all,' Connie agreed. 'Your place or mine?'

    'Which would you prefer?'

    'Yours. It's so rustic and romantic.'

    'How would you like to move in? Just for a few days,' he quickly added.

    'I'd like that. Just for a few days.'

    'Or as long as you'd like.'

    'When do we start?'

    'How about tonight?'

    When the waitress returned, Pete asked for the clams in the half shell as an appetizer. Connie, who'd never eaten them before, expected the clams to be served fried and crispy.

    She stared at the wet, slimy-looking things and said, 'This isn't the way Howard Johnson does it.'

    'Try one.'

    'I'll try anything once.' She scooped a clam out of its shell and slipped it into her mouth. She bit into it once. Unladylike to spit it out, she thought. So she swallowed it and managed not to gag.

    'What do you think?' Pete asked.

    'It's not for nothing they're called clams.'

    She took a long drink of margarita. Amused, she watched Pete finish off the serving. 'I guess we don't have as much in common as I'd thought,' she said.

    Pete grinned and chewed.

    The rest of dinner, Connie found delicious. She ate a side dish of linguini in a delicate sauce of oil and garlic, then a full plate of veal parmesan, sipping the house rose between bites. 'Great stuff,' Pete said as he finished.

    He paid the bill. Outside, Connie thanked him for dinner and kissed him. They walked to his car, holding hands.

    

    

    Dal waited in the passenger seat of Elizabeth 's Mercedes. She was gone for two minutes. Then she stepped out of the shadows near the house, and started across the street.

    She wore white shorts and a white halter top. By contrast, her skin looked very dark. Beautiful, Dal thought.

    The car light came on when she opened the door. She smiled and climbed in and shut the door. The car went dark. 'Not home,' she said.

    'What should we do?'

    'Wait.'

    'That could take hours.'

    'What's your hurry?'

    'I just want to get it over with, that's all.'

    'Someone's coming. Kiss me.'

    'Huh?'

    'We want them to think we're lovers.'

    'Aren't we?'

    'Of course we are.'

    He pressed his lips to her open mouth.

    

    

    Pete drove Connie to her apartment house. He entered first, and had a quick look around while Connie waited in the doorway, 'It's okay,' he said.

    They went into her bedroom. She knelt beside her bed. 'Did you check under here?'

    'If he grabs you this time. I'll let him have you.'

    'The little girl who cried wolf,' she said, and reached under the bed. As she gripped her suitcase, a hand patted her rump. 'My God, he's attacking from the rear!' She didn't move. The hand pressed against her skirt, slid lower and rubbed between her legs. 'You'd better stop him, Pete. He's getting fresh. Next thing you know, he'll be pulling up my skirt and-'

    He did. And then he slipped her panties down.

    She felt his touch. Her hand went limp on the suitcase. 'I guess I can get it later,' she said.

    

    

    An hour later, wearing fresh panties and nothing else, she again knelt beside the bed. She dragged the suitcase out, and threw it onto the bed beside Pete. He took a sip of beer, and grinned.

    'You look pleased with yourself,' Connie said.

    'I am.'

    'You ought to be.'

    He drank his beer and watched her pack. She didn't pack much: toilet articles, a few changes of clothes, her swimming suit, half a dozen paperback novels, and her manuscript. 'All set,' she announced, and shut the suitcase. 'You just gonna sit there?'

    'It's the best seat in the house.'

    'But the show's over.' She stepped into her corduroys, and pulled a blue velour top over her head.

    'Just an intermission,' Pete said. He climbed off the bed and got dressed.

    He carried her suitcase to the door.

    'I'd better take my own car,' Connie said. 'I'll want to come back for my mail and stuff.'

    'I can bring you by.'

    'Every day?'

    'Is your mail that urgent?'