Stacking in Rivertown Page 18

  Tom shakes me off and sits on the couch with his head in his hands. “It’s just so weird, Becca. I thought I knew who you were. But I don’t. It screws my head up.”

  I settle down beside him. “Tom, if this is the worst thing you’ve known to screw your head up, then you should feel lucky. There’s so much that can go wrong in a life, so much damage that can be done. And for what it’s worth, knowing you and your family, and then the life you helped me start here, have been the best things for me. You’re a good man. And I need for you to keep this to yourself.”

  I reach over and take his hand, squeezing it.

  He sits silent, looking down. “Okay,” he says.

  I hug him, turning his face to me. “You’re not going to tell a soul, right? Promise?”

  He nods and stands. “I have to go.”

  I see him out the door and lean against it after he’s gone, my mind racing, wondering if I should pack now and get out of town before work, or should I wait and leave tonight?

  John meets Brett and me as we’re going down the stairs, then they each take an arm and lead me to one of Ben’s favorite rooms. I hear a beat booming from behind the door. Brett checks his watch, then opens the door. Inside, the music is so loud and driving that it shakes me. And the lights are dimmed, casting a red glow, giving a deep flush to everything within.

  This room is spare. The only piece of hardware is a large wrought-iron gate attached to one wall. It has iron leaves, petals, and birds worked between the bars. The gate had to be cut down to fit along the wall.

  Ben liked it because he could tie a person of any shape or size flat against it in any position. “Versatile” was the word he used.

  This night, I see a tall man sitting in a large, heavy chair on the other side of the room. The chair has carvings of lions’ heads on the arms and the top of the chairback. It looks like a throne.

  The man’s face is turned toward me. He’s wearing a dust mask, which isn’t uncommon. The clean freaks that like to do some really kinky stuff wear dust masks.

  So I think, he’s afraid of germs. He’s a clean freak. And my next thought is, what happened to Slim?

  I look at the guy again. He’s wearing sunglasses, and his long brown hair is gathered into a ponytail in back. On his head is a wide brim hat, and he has a full-length cashmere coat wrapped around him as though he’s cold. He’s wearing black gym shoes and on his hands are leather gloves.

  He motions to Brett, who leans close to me. He has to shout in my ear so I can hear him over the music.

  “He wants you to undress for him. Very slow.”

  Where did Ben find this guy? I look at the little video eye in the upper corner of the room. I’m glad that he’s watching tonight. Something about this one is creeping me out.

  John and Brett shove me toward the guy. I wait for a moment, then turn so he can see my back. I begin to sway to the music, letting it pound in my body. I reach behind and draw the zipper down slow, allowing my back to be revealed, feeling how frail, how ephemeral my flesh, my spine. I sense his gaze with the skin of my shoulders, as though I can see him, and in this manner of seeing, know not his shape, but his will.

  He frightens me.

  The gown drops as a hush to the floor, lost in the powerful drive of the bass, making me near blind. I step out of the gown, swaying, running my hands down the outside of my thighs, then turn to face him as I stroke myself upward.

  I drop my slip and kneel, arching back, cupping my breasts in my palms, my fingers lingering upon my nipples. And gazing at him through narrowed eyes, I search him, desperate for clues. Because I’m certain of his danger to me now.

  I stand, running my hands up again and kick off my heels, then undo the garters at the tops of my stockings. I allow the rhythm to turn me. He gets a good view of my ass as I drop my stockings in a flutter to the floor.

  Just as I’m straightening, my eyes closed, near to my own revery, my nipples erect, my thighs aching for Violet, Brett and John grab my arms and drag me, fighting, over to the gate. They tie me onto it spread out, but not just at the ankles and wrists. They tie me several times along each leg and arm. They attach my waist and neck. I can’t move other than to turn my head. Brett forces a gag in my mouth, then rips off my garter belt, throwing it on the floor.

  The man waves them out of the room, then he sits without moving, watching me.

  I think long and hard after Tom leaves. I can’t just take off and not say a word to anybody. Burt or Josh would call the police. I’m going to have to set it up. Death in the family. Whatever. I’ve gotten too settled and made friends like an idiot.

  I dress for work and call a cab. The dangers buzz me. Now that Tom’s figured me out, I think everybody knows. And the thought of dealing with Tutti gets the ghosts whispering in my head. So I make a quick decision and have the cab driver drop me at a big outdoor equipment store nearby, thinking I’ll stock up on some items I might need. I’ll hit the liquor store later for my favorite camping item. Whiskey.

  After locating a pay phone, I call Burt, telling him I’ll be late. I make up some lame excuse about having a flashback. Burt’s all understanding and falling over himself, telling me to take as much time as I need.

  Then I go shopping, checking out the gear.

  As I’m happily testing different colors of sleeping bags against my skin to see which looks better on me, a voice comes from behind. “I wouldn’t have taken you to be the outdoors type.”

  I turn and look, seeing Miriam Dubois standing with her arms crossed, smiling at me. My first thought is, uh-oh, not synchronicity. Maybe it wasn’t Jeremy’s problem after all.

  But in the light of day, I find her eyes even deeper, cradling the ache in darkness where the undercurrents roam.

  “I was trying out the colors. Isn’t that the most important feature of a sleeping bag? By the way, what color are your eyes?”

  She walks over and takes the bag that I’m looking at out of my hands. “This bag looks better on you,” she says, setting one next to my arm.

  I keep my eyes on her face, waiting for her to look back at me. “I’d say pale green, but I see streaks of blue and amber.”

  We’re standing not a foot from one another as we hold each other’s eyes. I break away first, feeling the dangers again.

  I have to get out of town, I think. Tom knows.

  Her voice is softer now, like she’s in a room with a person who’s sick. “This is a better bag anyway.”

  I look at the bag, but I see Violet’s eyes. I remember her face the way it was the last time I saw her.

  “Could I have your autograph?” Some guy in a four-hundred-dollar expedition jacket jams his face in between us.

  She smiles and turns. I feel my chest press in. And for some reason I’m riveted in place.

  When she’s done, she turns back to me. “Would you like to have lunch?” she says.

  “You want to have lunch with me?”

  “Is that a bad thing? Are you dangerous?”

  I stand silent, strangely tongue-tied. But I smell the river, and I see how my desire for her might surge out suddenly and over-reach the banks.

  Miriam draws me along beside her. “There’s a little place close to here,” she says. “Students go there. It’s not a Tutti.” We wind our way through people staring at her and saying hello.

  “By the way,” she says as we get in the car waiting for her, “I don’t know your name.”

  “Becca,” I say, catching her eyes once more. “And have I said that you have beautiful eyes?”

  She laughs at me.

  We end up at a hole-in-the-wall café that might seat ten people on a good day. The waitress comes to our table chewing gum like a machine punching out sheet metal. She looks like she could be a sister to Cinda.

  “Do you have a menu?” I ask.

  She points up, keeping her eyes on her pad.

  I look up. Sure enough, the menu is painted on the ceiling. It’s in the middle of a mural that appear
s to have been conceived after a lot of hits on a bong.

  “What if you ever change your mind about a sandwich or something? A little extreme, don’t you think?” The waitress shrugs and keeps chewing.

  I see that Miriam’s watching me. She smiles when I look at her. I smile back and roll my eyes. She keeps back a laugh.

  “I need a minute,” I say. “I’m going to have to lie down on something so I can read the damn thing.”

  “We only have two sandwiches today anyway.”

  “Two total, or two in general?”

  Miriam breaks in. “We’ll both have the veggie special and two bottles of Evian.” The waitress scribbles, blows a bubble and sucks it back in her mouth after bits of saliva have been thrown out. She leaves without a word.

  “If you don’t order the first time she comes around, you’ll be sitting here for hours,” she says.

  “Great atmosphere,” I say, taking in all the Becker look-alikes starting to wander in.

  “Sorry.”

  “No. I’m sorry. I’m out of sorts today. I’m having a rough week.”

  The waitress returns and dumps two plates with sandwiches down on the table. She pulls our Evians out of her pockets, plops them in front of us, and trots off.

  I watch Miriam as she drags her plate over and eats a bite of her sandwich. She’s so much like Violet, but a Violet like she should have been. Her lips never learned the lessons of Ben’s basement. Her skin never tasted his whip.

  How could we ever know one another?

  “You’re not eating. You don’t like vegetarian?” she says, catching me looking at her.

  “I’ve been off my feed.” But I smell the river again and the fulsome smell of the laybacks. I hear Mama’s laughter, far off, as she’s wobbling down the lane with her groceries.

  I find myself staring at Miriam’s lips. I look away.

  “What were you thinking just now?” she says.

  I swallow, my mouth dry. “I was just remembering.”

  She keeps looking at me, waiting.

  “I guess I’m wondering what the hell I’m doing with my life.”

  “What do you mean?” She stops chewing and swallows.

  “I don’t know. I build my life around running away. It doesn’t appear to work out well.” I shift and feel my cheeks go red.

  Her voice is soft again. “My boyfriend says that’s what I do. He says I won’t face anything.”

  I deflate. Argh. A boyfriend.

  Her eyes are fixed on me. So I poke my sandwich with my finger, lifting the top to see what’s inside. It reminds me of Mama’s Dumpster. I smile.

  “You look wonderful when you smile,” she says.

  Gazing back at her, I get caught in her eyes like the river has just reached up and grabbed me.

  “When I was a kid,” I say, “we tried for years to get a raft to float on this river we lived beside. You know, one time we did it. We floated.”

  Now something shifts in her, deepens. We sit silent, each watching the other.

  “Shit,” she says. She looks at her watch. “I’m sorry. I’ve got to split. I was supposed to meet with Peter five minutes ago. I forgot.”

  Her boyfriend, I gather.

  She stands and throws money down on the table. I don’t move.

  “It was great having lunch with you. I liked the story.” She smiles at me. “Becca.” She has to worm her way through admirers to get out the door.

  I sit and stare, feeling like shit.

  By the time I hit work, I’m in a foul mood, bitching about whatever strikes my fancy. The ghosts are all over me, whispering and twitching me. Memories flash.

  For some reason, Burt sequesters me right during the rush, wanting to know how I’m doing.

  “Shitty,” I say.

  He nods. “It gets worse for awhile. But then it gets better.”

  “I don’t understand the concept. Better.”

  We sit quiet for a minute. Then I remember Tom. My lunch fiasco with Miriam just adds fuel to the it’s-time-to-leave-town fire. “By the way, Burt, something’s come up. My sister has cancer. I need some time off.”

  Burt winces. “We’ll work it out. How soon?”

  “I’m thinking this weekend.”

  “Can you wait until Sunday?”

  I shake my head.

  Afterward, I hit the john, puking. When I step out of the bathroom, Josh catches my arm. “She’s back,” he says.

  “What?” I can’t get the taste of vomit out of my mouth.

  “M.D. She asked for you. She’s bayside again.”

  I escape back into the john and cringe in one of the stalls for a bit. Some weird God is jerking me around for fun. I go to the makeup mirror and decide there’s not a thing I can do to give myself the appearance of being alive.

  I weave my way over to Miriam’s table, waiting while she finishes her conversation with the couple next to her. She stands up when she sees me and smiles.

  “Can you sit with me?” she says, gesturing to the chair next to hers.

  I nod and sit. Tonight she’s dressed in a different tight sweater that shows her nipples quite well. I drag my eyes away from them.

  “I’m sorry about lunch,” she says. “I felt like a jerk leaving like that.” When I don’t say anything, she asks, “What do you recommend tonight?”

  “The seared tuna. Larry’s best dish.”

  “Can you have dinner with me? I messed up lunch. Maybe I can make it up to you.”

  I’m screwed. “I’m sure I’d be interrupted. Besides, I appear to need my stomach pumped out tonight.”

  Tom arrives with her wine. I ask him to bring me a glass of milk. My hands are shaking so badly that I hide them in the pockets of my skirt.

  We sit quietly. Cinda comes with my milk and whips out her pad, taking Miriam’s order. She looks at me. “Josh needs to talk,” she says, turning to leave.

  “Cinda dear,” I say.

  She looks back.

  “Could you have Larry whip me up a bowl of mashed potatoes?” I smile what I sense is a Ben kind of smile.

  Cinda gets twitchy. “Whatever. Larry will yell about it. He won’t do anything extra for me.”

  I try to decide whether she likes living dangerously or if she’s actually this stupid. “Tell him it’s for the wicked witch,” I say. “And bring me ketchup to go with it.”

  She looks at me with disgust and scurries off.

  “God, she’s white,” Miriam says.

  “Can’t stay off the sushi,” I say.

  Josh arrives and takes me away. He’s got two reservations for the same table. After I get that worked out, I sit and eat a few bites with Miriam. Tonight, even the mashed potatoes aren’t working.

  “So tell me about the raft again,” Miriam says as I push the bowl away from me.

  I allow my head to fall to the side and close my eyes, bringing Mama to mind. “And the cool,” I say, drawing it out like Mama did. “The cool, cool stream.”

  She’s so still, trying to hear me over Mozart playing in the background.

  “The lily leaves floating,” I say and pause. “It’s what Mama used to say if I was upset.”

  She’s about to say something when Burt appears beside me. “We’ve got a problem, Becca.” He pulls me away again. As a matter of fact, I make up reasons to stay away from her table. But she keeps sitting there even after her table’s been cleared.

  “Go and talk to her,” Josh says. “And cheer up.”

  “She’s got a boyfriend,” I say, sneering.

  “Who cares? You have two boyfriends.”

  That makes me smile. I kiss him on the cheek and work my way bayside again.

  “Would you like to go somewhere and talk?” she says. “I can see that’s not going to happen here.”

  God. Life is kicking me in the gut. I look at her face, her eyes. So much like Violet. And seeing how her lips are tight, but only in the center, I feel the ache strong in her. I can’t decide whether or not I’d lik
e to end up like Grady.

  Tom knows, I say to myself again. I have to leave, get out of town. This whole thing is a big mistake.

  “Yes,” I say, my mouth always betraying me. “I can have someone else close tonight.”