The Graduation (8 page)

“Have you been to the McCoy house much?” Michael asked.

“No.”

“Have you been there lately?”

“No.”

“Oh.” The fly leaped onto the shoulder of Clark’s gray T-shirt. Clark continued to ignore it. Michael felt off balance. He had plotted too long against Clark in his own mind. The physical presence of the guy was intimidating the hell out of him. And that stupid fly. He had always hated flies. “Have you been to see Polly since Alice died?” he asked.

“No.”

“But I spoke to Polly this morning. She says you were at her house the night her aunt died.”

“She’s wrong.”

The fly crawled toward Clark’s neck, pausing beneath his Adam’s apple. He mustn’t be able to feel it. Or else he liked flies.

Of course he likes flies. He’s always painting them.

“Polly also thought you were there the night of the party?” Michael said.

“She wanted me to come at the end, but I didn’t.”

“So you were invited?”

“Why are you asking me all these questions?”

Michael desperately wanted to move. He wanted to brush away the fly from Clark’s neck, and then put more space between the two of them. He also wanted to pull his coat closed tighter. Clark was staring at Michael’s coat pocket now, the way it hung down slightly. Michael could feel the eyes of every creature in every sketch in the room watching him. He felt—knowing full well it was a hysterical thought—as if they were Clark’s allies.

“I told you why,” Michael said.

“The paper I read said Alice died with a gun in her mouth?”

“That’s right.”

“That doesn’t sound like murder to me.”

“The gun in her mouth didn’t kill her,” Michael said, straining to keep his voice steady. The fly crawled around the back of Clark’s head and disappeared. But Michael knew it was still there. He could feel it as if it were crawling along the base of his own skull. “She was killed by a blow to the nose.”

Clark showed a flicker of interest. He stood away from the wall, moving closer to Michael. “Go on.”

He was committed. He would throw everything at Clark that he knew or suspected and see what happened.

He saw plenty happen, quicker than he thought he would.

“It was some kind of setup,” he began. “We were downstairs in the living room when we heard this shot. But the shot—”

The fly suddenly buzzed from behind Clark and went straight for Michael. It had chosen a bad time. Michael was in the middle of trying to readjust his coat. The fly made him jerk slightly, as if he were going for something
inside
his coat. Then again, maybe the fly made no difference. Clark obviously suspected Michael was carrying a weapon. Sooner or later, he would probably have lashed out.

Clark snapped his right foot up. He had on heavy black boots. The tip caught Michael in the lower right side of his rib cage, sending him and the stool he was sitting on toppling backward. Michael hardly had a chance to react. Pain flared across his side. The back of his skull hit the wall hard. He fell to the floor at an awkward angle.

Oh, man, this is bad.

Clark loomed above, the manfly painting in his hands. This time Michael definitely reached for the gun. He had his fingers on the handle and was pulling it out when the canvas came crashing down on him. The frame tore into the top of his scalp, the canvas ripping down over his face. He felt the gun slip from his hand. Then another hand—this one had thick numbing fingers—reached inside his brain. He momentarily blacked out. The next thing he knew, Clark was leaning over him, the barrel of the automatic pressed to his cheek. Clark’s hair seemed suddenly much redder. Then Michael realized he was seeing him through the film of his own blood.

“I didn’t kill her, dude,” he hissed, showing some emotion at last. “She was my girl. Maybe it was you who killed her. Maybe I should kill you and bury you in the backyard. What do you say to that, Mr. Mike?”

“Go to hell,” Michael whispered.

Clark chuckled. Then he drew back the hand that held the gun and a freight train hit the side of Michael’s head.

He came to an hour later. The fly was crawling around his ears. He waved it away, feeling nauseated. His hair and shirt were a mess with sticky, wet blood. Clark was gone. So was the gun. He sat up and groaned, the room spinning at odd angles. He suspected he had a concussion.

He noticed Clark’s book still face down on the floor. He crawled toward it, throwing off the painting wrapped around his neck.
Shakespeare’s Collected Works
. Clark had been reading
Romeo and Juliet
.

Michael stumbled outside onto the cracked drive-way. The Harley-Davidson had gone for a ride. He checked his watch. The sun would be setting soon.

“
Don’t come to the all-night party, Mike.
”

Michael climbed into his car. He had to get down to the dock.

Jessica and Sara stopped at the first drugstore they saw when they got off the freeway in San Pedro not far from Los Angeles Harbor. It was after six. The boat was set to sail at precisely seven. They had little time to purchase the contraceptives.

“So what are we going to get?” Sara asked as Jessica turned off the engine.

“Ask the pharmacist for his recommendation.”

“No way. I’d be too embarrassed.”

“What’s the big deal?” Jessica asked. “They’re professionals.” She added, “I’ll wait for you here.”

“Hold on a second, sister. I’m not going in there alone. You go in.”

“Why me?” Jessica asked. “You look more innocent.”

“All the more reason you should do it.” She grinned. “You slut.”

Dinner with the parents had been far more enjoyable than Jessica had anticipated. First of all the food had been fantastic. Both Sara and she’d had lobster. Then her mom and dad had been in good spirits. They hadn’t brought up her future once. The conversation had revolved mainly around the ceremony. Mr. and Mrs. Cantrell had loved her song. Sara’s various improvisations had been tactfully forgotten. Jessica’s mom had fallen in love with Michael.

“
He seems such a nice boy. How come you only went out with him one time, Jessie?
”

One sticky spot during the entire meal wasn’t bad. Russ and Bill were riding down to the boat with their buddies. Make that two different sets of buddies. Nobody on the football team would speak to Russ. He had, after all, supposedly wiped out their varsity tree. The situation didn’t seem to bother him. During the brief time Jessica had spent talking to Russ after the ceremony, he’d appeared removed from the whole situation. Perhaps that was what came from being locked up too long. Sara and Russ had looked stiff together. Sara still wasn’t talking about it.

Jessica’s mood had continued to brighten since the applause for her song. But it could have been hormonal. The idea of a sleazy encounter on the high seas no longer depressed her. Indeed, she was now looking forward to it.

“I wish I had more slut in me,” Sara said, jolting Jessica back to the present situation.

“Is someone having second thoughts?”

“No,” Sara said quickly. “I was just wondering, you know, if it will hurt. I’ve heard that it can. Have you heard that?”

Jessica nodded solemnly. “I read about this one girl—the first time she had sex, she bled so much she had to have a transfusion.”

Sara snorted. “Get out of here.”

“Don’t worry. I honestly believe we’ll find it a deeply moving and fulfilling experience.”

“I hope not. I just want to have some fun. So what are we going to get?”

“What are our choices?” Jessica asked.

“In a drugstore, there’re condoms, foam, and sponges.”

“Guys aren’t supposed to like to wear condoms.

“I heard that, too,” Sara said. “But they’re safer.”

“You think Russ caught something at juvenile hall?”

“The place is full of guys.”

“That’s worse,” Jessica teased.

“Please, we just ate.”

“Why don’t we get all three? None of it can cost much.” Not to mention the fact that she wasn’t hurting financially. Less than an hour ago, her father had given her an envelope stashed with ten crisp one-hundred-dollar bills. The cash was supposed to be spending money for next week in Hawaii, but she was going shopping this week. Boy, was she going shopping.

“Great,” Sara said. “And have Bill put on a wet suit while you’re at it.”

“We just have to buy the stuff. We don’t have to use it all at once. Come on, I’ll go with you.”

The drugstore was empty except for the pharmacist and a helper. Unfortunately, the pharmacist appeared preoccupied in the back making up prescriptions. Worse, his sole employee was a total babe of around nineteen years old. He smiled as they entered.

“Can I help you find something?” he asked.

“No,” they said in unison, looking at each other. Jessica leaned over and whispered in Sara’s ear, “Let’s go somewhere else!”

“We don’t have time!” Sara whispered back.

“This is totally humiliating. I’d rather have a baby.”

“You’re coming to the counter with me.”

“I’m just here to get a toothbrush.”

“Jessie!”

“Shh! Tell him our names why don’t you.”

They huddled into a back row and inspected the store’s G.I. Joes and Gumbies. Sara idly picked up a package of pink balloons. “Those won’t fit,” Jessica warned.

Sara threw the balloons down in disgust. “I’m supposed to be the first one to the ship. I have to talk to the Captain about a check I gave him.” She glanced toward the counter. “I think I see them.”

“Where?”

“Near the cash register.”

“All right, here’s what we’ll do,” Jessica said. “I’ll call the guy over and get him to help me pick out a toy. You grab the stuff, get the pharmacist’s attention, and we’ll be on our way.”

“Why can’t I get help with the toy?”

“Because I thought of it first. Now get away from me.”

Sara sulked over to the laxative section. Jessica smiled and waved her hand. The guy saw her and hurried to her side. He had blond hair like Bill’s, but was taller and thinner than Bill. She could tell he liked her, glasses and all.

I hope to God he doesn’t ask me for my number.

“Looking for something?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she said, picking up a brown plastic horse. “I wanted to ask you about this toy.”

“Yes?”

“Ah—how much is it?”

He checked the price, which was clearly marked on the side. “Two twenty-five.”

“Oh,” she said. Sara had reached the proper area and was quickly examining the boxes on the shelves. “What kind of horse is it?” Jessica asked. He took it from her hands and fiddled with the cheap tiny hatch on the underbelly.

“It looks like the Trojan horse.”

“Trojans?” she whispered.
How did he know?
Then she realized he was
not
—thank God—referring to the popular brand of condoms. She giggled loudly. “Yeah, that’s what it is.”

He smiled uncertainly. “Buying it for a nephew?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s his name?”

“Michele.”

“Your nephew?”

“I mean, Michael.”

Oh, no, no, no!

Sara had finished making her selection—it apparently didn’t take long when one was willing to take everything the store had to offer—and signaled the pharmacist. Unfortunately, someone else had entered the store. No, not another person. An all-seeing, greasy butterball.

“Do you live around here?” the guy asked Jessica.

“Sara, my darling!” Bubba exclaimed, sauntering up to the counter, still wearing his ridiculous gold-tasseled sombrero and blue graduation gown. He must have stolen it.

Sara turned a distinctly unhealthy shade of green and threw Jessica a look of pure misery. She wanted help, Jessica knew. But Jessica wasn’t about to give it to her. Bubba hadn’t seen her so far and Jessica had no intention of letting him see her. She pulled the young man with her toward the corner, using him as a shield.

“I’d really like to know more about this horse,” she said.

“What are you doing here?” Bubba asked, picking up one of the boxes. Devilish delight filled his face. “Sponges! A girl who thinks more of her man’s pleasure than her own. Bravo, Sara! Bravo!”

“How old is your nephew?” the guy asked.

“Who cares?” Jessica asked. “I mean, what?”

“I was just wondering if another gift might be more appropriate,” the guy replied, not put off by her rudeness.

“Is this all?” the pharmacist asked Sara. Sara nodded stiffly, not looking at Bubba, even though she was obviously trying to dematerialize him by the sheer power of her thoughts. Bubba raised a hand.

“Wait,” he said. “We would like a bottle of baby oil.” Bubba spoke to Sara. “Usually, after exerting myself in lovemaking, I enjoy a full-body massage. It restores my vital energies that much quicker.”

The pharmacist somehow kept a straight face, but it was clear it was only because he had been a pharmacist for many years. “Would you like the oil?” He asked Sara.

“No,” she said curtly.

“Is that guy hassling your friend?” the handsome young man asked Jessica.

“I don’t know her.” Jessica said.

Bubba put his arm lovingly around Sara and spoke to the pharmacist. This is all new to her. She’s embarrassed. Look, she’s blushing. Give us the largest bottle of oil you carry.”

“My name’s Dave,” the guy said to Jessica. “What’s yours?”

“Why?” she asked, terribly distracted.

“I don’t want the oil.” Sara said, pushing forward her money. “But I’ll pay for this other stuff—now.”

“I won’t hear of it,” Bubba said, reaching for his wallet.

“I was just wondering if maybe we could get together later?” the handsome young man asked Jessica.

“I can’t,” she said.

“Why not?”

“I’m busy,” Jessica said. “I’m married.”

Sara kept shoving her own money on the pharmacist. He finally showed mercy on her and took it, ringing up the three different boxes of contraceptives, minus the oil. Bubba moved back a step.

“Modem women,” he told the pharmacist, shaking his head, not overly displeased. “They think they know what they want, when they haven’t a clue what they
need
.”

“Thank you,” Sara told the pharmacist, grabbing the bag and hurrying for the door. Bubba watched her leave, then turned toward the rear of the store. Jessica tried to duck behind Dave. Too late.

“Give my regards to Bill, Jessie,” Bubba called. “But if I were you, I’d keep Sara’s receipt.”

Jessica gave the Trojan horse back to Dave and chased after Sara. When they were back in the front seat of the car, trying to breathe and not groan at the same time, Sara glanced over at Jessica and remarked, “That wasn’t so bad.”

Jessica stuck the keys in the ignition, her hand trembling. “We handled it like mature adults,” she agreed.