IN THE DARK, page 21
She walked completely around her house. Twice.
No envelope.
Back inside, she felt sad and lonely. She placed a phone call to her parents. As she listened to the ringing, she remembered that they’d planned a trip to Lake Tahoe for this weekend.
She hung up.
She stared at the phone.
Call Brace?
I can’t. It’s up to him. He’s the one who screwed up, so he’s gotta be the one to make the next move. Besides, maybe he doesn’t want to see me again.
Yeah, and maybe I don’t want to see him, either.
She wondered how she would feel if she had to face him.
We’ll find out, she told herself. We’ll probably find out pretty soon, too.
Jane spent all day waiting for Brace to call or show up at her house.
While she waited, she went about her business. She ate, did a load of laundry, read a book, watched television, vacuumed the floor. She thought about phoning some of her friends in Mill Valley, but didn’t want to tie up the phone in case Brace should call. She thought about taking a walk, or driving to the mall or the video rental store, but didn’t want to leave the house.
The day passed very slowly.
Night came.
By nine o’clock, Jane had lost all hope that Brace would call or arrive.
I was kidding myself, she thought, to think he might. It’s over with him.
At least I’ve still got the Game, she told herself.
“Oh, yeah?”
I will still have the game, if Mog ever gets over this stupid idea of giving me a rest period. If that’s really what’s even going on.
“It’ll be okay,” she said, nodding at the television. “He’ll come through for me. He won’t let me down like certain dirty creeps I could mention.”
I’ve just gotta figure out how to kill the time till he gets back to me.
At midnight, she left the house.
She had no mission from Mog. She carried no purse or flashlight or weapons.
She left the house dressed in her tank top, gym shorts, crew socks and running shoes. She wore her wristwatch. A key to her house was tucked inside the top of one sock.
She walked briskly along the street for a while, loosening up, getting used to the notion of being out on her own at this time of the night with nowhere special to go.
No envelope full of money waiting somewhere up ahead. No bizarre or dangerous task, either.
Which doesn’t mean I have to stay home, she told herself. Just because Mog hasn’t got a mission for me, I don’t have to sit home and rot.
Leaning forward slightly, she picked up her knees and began to run. She ran slowly at first, then quickened her pace, pumping her arms, swinging her legs out longer and faster until she was sprinting along the roadside. It felt wonderful. The speed, the mild night air blowing against her, the smooth feel of her muscles at work.
Too soon, the fine feelings turned to misery. Her lungs burned. Her muscles grew sore and tight and heavy. Sweat stung her eyes. The sweet night air became the breath of an oven.
She quit running and walked—grimacing, huffing, drenched with sweat.
Gradually, her body recovered. She found herself ready to run again. Instead of sprinting, however, she tried a moderate jogging pace. It lacked the thrill of an all-out dash, but it didn’t demolish her. She was able to maintain a good, steady pace for a long time before succumbing again.
She hadn’t started out with a destination in mind.
The idea was simply to run in the night. To run as hard and as far as she could.
Slowing down for a breather, however, she saw that she was just across the street from the university campus.
The gates of the chainlink enclosure were secured with a new chain. This chain seemed to have no broken links. So Jane climbed the high fence, dangled from its top, and dropped to the other side.
Within the enclosure were vague, dim shapes in the moonlight and darkness. Familiar shapes: the Porta-potties, the tractor mower, the bird bath, the statue of David, the maze of Doric columns off in the corner. They looked just the same as they had looked on Tuesday night when she had been here with Brace.
But there was a big difference, too.
Nothing seemed menacing or strange or dangerous.
It was a familiar, comfortable place to be.
Jane climbed the statue of Crazy Horse and sat behind the chief on the stiff shelf of his unfurled loincloth. She leaned forward against his back. Her hands held him by the sides. Her knees pressed against his hips. The bronze was hard and cool against her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Monday was easier for Jane.
Since Brace hadn’t gotten in touch with her yesterday, a day they’d set aside for being together, the chances of a call or visit from him today were slim.
Worse than slim.
So she didn’t wait around for him. After getting up late in the morning, she skipped breakfast and went to the Donnerville Fashion Mall.
As she wandered from shop to shop, it dawned on her that she could afford to buy anything she saw. I really could, she thought. There was probably nothing in the entire mall that cost as much as $12,550—her take, so far, from the Game. She hadn’t brought that much with her, of course. She’d brought five hundred of it, and left the rest hidden at home.
The five hundred dollars in her purse felt like a fortune.
What’ll I do with it? she wondered.
Buy a wheelchair, maybe.
Oh, it’s not quite that bad. Almost, but not quite.
With every step, Jane’s body ached. The aches came from muscles that had been worked hard. They reminded her of the running. They reminded her that she was becoming stronger, slimmer.
In a sporting goods shop, she bought new running shoes, a pair of shiny blue shorts, and a gray tank top. She also bought two iron weights that looked like miniature barbells and weighed twelve pounds each.
She carried her purchases out to the parking lot, shut them in the trunk of her car, and returned to the mall.
She bought two blouses, one skirt, pajamas that were royal blue and shiny like satin, three pairs of panties that were very sexy and expensive and that she doubted anyone but her would ever see, and a bikini that she intended to wear nowhere except inside her fenced back yard.
She hurried on to the bookstore, and helped herself to eight paperbacks she’d put off buying for several weeks.
It’s great to have money, she thought.
At the food court, she ate cashew chicken.
Then she left the mall and drove across the road to the Cineplex. She bought a ticket, but she avoided the refreshment stand.
By the time the movie ended, she was eager to get home.
It came as a disappointment, but no surprise, that Brace wasn’t at the house waiting for her.
The mail had arrived. It didn’t include a letter from Mog.
Without an answering machine, she didn’t know whether Brace had called. She doubted it, though.
“Ask me if I care,” she muttered.
She wandered about the house, looking here and there just to make sure Mog hadn’t left a new envelope for her. It was a casual search, however; she didn’t really expect to find one.
A glance out the kitchen window showed sunlight on the patio. Jane picked the book she was most eager to start, then snipped the tags off her new bikini. She changed in her bedroom. And stared at her image in the mirror.
She supposed she had always wanted a bikini like this. Never dared, though. Afraid someone might see her in it.
After the negligee from Mog, this thing seemed downright modest. The shiny blue fabric didn’t cover much, but at least it hid the little that it covered.
She wondered if she would ever have the guts to wear it to the beach.
Not till I’ve lost three scabs, fifteen bruises and ten more pounds.
Not even then, she admitted.
In the bathroom, she rubbed sunblock over her skin. Then she washed the goo off her hands, grabbed an old blanket, put on her sunglasses, picked up her paperback, and went out the back door.
She spread her blanket on the grass and stretched out on it. Propped up on her elbows, she tried to read. But her mind refused to stay on the story. After a while, she set the book aside, sank down against the blanket and folded her arms beneath her face.
The heat of the sun seemed to melt the soreness out of her muscles. She thought about reaching back to untie her bikini top, but she couldn’t bring herself to move. She felt too comfortable and lazy.
Oughta, she told herself. Better yet, take it off—Brace’d be sure to show up, then. The guy has a talent for catching me without my clothes on. I try a little nude sun-bathing, and he’ll be johnny-on-the-spot.
Last thing I need. Shocked him once too often, already. Guy thinks I’m nuts and about half a rung up from being a whore.
Thanks a heap, Mog.
Hey, don’t blame Mog. He didn’t force me into that coffin. Or into that nightie.
Brace’s fault. He should’ve stayed away.
Comes when he’s supposed to stay away, stays away when he’s supposed to come.
Like now.
The hell with him. The hell with him, anyway. If he cared about me at all, he would’ve come over yesterday.
Anyway, who needs him? Nobody, that’s who.
Then she imagined Brace climbing over the gate at the side of her house and coming into the back yard and seeing her there on the blanket, stretched out shiny in the sunlight. She saw his smile and the look in his eyes.
“I had to come,” he says. “I’ve missed you so much, Jane. I couldn’t stay away any longer, I just couldn’t.”
“I’ve been waiting for you,” she tells him.
Kneeling over her, he kisses the nape of her neck. Then he unties her bikini top and begins to massage her bare shoulders and back. His hands slide on her slippery skin.
Jane woke up. The weight of the sun seemed to be pressing her against the blanket. She was drenched with sweat. The sweat slid and ran as she rolled over and flopped onto her back.
Shouldn’t fall asleep again, she warned herself. Don’t wanta burn.
She tried to sit up, but felt as if all her energy had been sucked out.
In her mind, she was sprawled on a beach, the sky pale blue overhead, gulls swooping and squawking, combers washing ashore with a steady, hushed easiness. She heard the song, “Surfer Girl.”
She woke up feeling renewed. Roasted and basted, but full of energy. She sat up, spilling sweat down her body. The dribbles made her itch. She wiped them off with slippery hands, then scurried into the house.
In the bathroom, she dried herself with a towel. Her hair was a jumble of wet coils, her skin flushed, her bikini dark with moisture and clinging.
Jane liked the way she looked.
Wild surfer girl.
It’s only a start, she told herself. A couple more weeks, and there’ll really be a difference. Brace won’t even recognize me.
Forget him, will you? Just forget him.
I’m doing this for myself, not for Brace.
With the towel draped over her shoulders, she went to the living room and picked up her new weights. She carried them outside. Standing in a shaded area close to the side of the house, she began to work with them.
She’d had no training, so she used her imagination and lifted them in every way that popped into her head. By the time she finished, she was breathless, again dripping sweat, and her muscles ached all over her arms and shoulders and neck and chest and armpits.
She set the weights down, and returned to the blanket. It was still moist. She lay on it and began doing sit-ups and toe touches and leg lifts. As with the weights, she improvised.
When she was done, she couldn’t move for a while.
Finally, she struggled to her feet. She wiped herself all over with the towel, then hung the towel and blanket on a line to dry.
In the shower, she kept her bikini on for a while. Then she peeled it off, wrung it out and draped it over the top of the shower doors. Her skin was slightly rosy except where the skimpy garment had kept the sun away. The pale areas looked stark. And a little sickly, she thought.
No big deal, she told herself. Who’s gonna notice?
Besides, most of the color wouldn’t last. It would fade, and so would the rather startling contrast.
After her shower, Jane made herself a tall vodka and tonic loaded with ice. She sat on the sofa and swung her legs up. Drink in one hand, book in the other, she boarded The Busted Flush with Travis McGee.
Who’s McGee gonna nurse back to physical and emotional health this time? she wondered.
Poor bird. Whoever she is, she’s bound to end up dead.
At midnight, wearing her new running shoes, shorts and top, Jane left her house.
She walked with long, quick strides. The muscles in her legs and buttocks felt stiff and sore. With every step, they seemed to bunch and slide underneath her skin.
Then she tried to run.
After a few strides, she gasped, “Oh, my God,” and stopped. No more running tonight; her legs and arms couldn’t stand it.
At least I can still walk, she told herself.
Where to?
Doesn’t matter.
No orders from Mog, so it’s my choice. All up to me. Free to go where I wish.
She could think of nowhere she wanted to go, but decided that she didn’t need a destination. It was enough to be outside and on the move, getting exercise, wearing off calories, enjoying the sweetness and mysteries of the night.
Only now and then did a car go by. Most of the houses along the street were dark except for porch lights. She supposed that people were asleep inside—or trying to sleep. From many of the houses came the noisy hum of air conditioning units. From a few, she heard music or voices.
People were in houses all around her.
Most sleeping. A few awake. Probably all of them strangers.
If any look out and see me passing by, she thought, they’ll wonder who I am and where I’m going. Some are sure to think I’m crazy to be out alone at this time of night. Or up to no good. Some will probably envy me and wish they were doing it, too.
They might like to be out, but they stay safe in their homes.
And watch me go by. And wonder.
And know they’re not as free as me.
This is so great, she thought. Why haven’t I been going out every night like this?
Wouldn’t have dreamed of it before Mog.
Back when I was sensible—and afraid of so much.
Look at all I was missing!
Then she heard the quick smack of footfalls coming at her from behind.
Jeez, I’m gonna get nailed! So much for a whole new life featuring midnight walks.
The rushing footsteps bore down on her. Someone running, panting.
Just a jogger?
Look and see. Maybe it’s Brace.
Yeah, right, sure. More likely Rale or some other brand of demented creep. Maybe with a knife he’s eager to plant in my back.
All the more reason to look.
Jane swiveled and twisted her head. The man, only a few strides away, was young and shirtless, dressed in shorts and running shoes, apparently nothing worse than a jogger. He gasped, “Hi.”
“Hi,” she told him, and stepped off the sidewalk to make room for him to pass.
But he didn’t pass. He stopped and faced her. “Warm night,” he said. Huffing for air, he put his hands on his hips, lowered his head, and shook one of his legs. Then he raised and shook the other leg. He met Jane’s eyes. “You’re the librarian, aren’t you?”
Great. He knows me.
“That’s right,” she said.
“Thought so. You live near here?”
He sounded friendly, but Jane didn’t trust him. “Not very far away. How about you?”
“Over on Plymouth. By the way, I’m Scott.”
“I’m Jane.”
“I’ve seen you at the library.”
Have I seen him? she wondered. He looked somewhat familiar, but she supposed there must be plenty of men in town with a similar appearance: average height, slim build, neatly trimmed dark hair, and a face that was pleasant but hardly memorable.
“You sure don’t look much like a librarian,” he said.
“Ah, well…”
“Bet you get that a lot, don’t you?”
“On occasion.”
“Are you going anywhere special?”
Jane shrugged.
“Well, what-say we team up for a while? Do you mind?”
“I’m not running,” she said.
“That’s okay. I’ll walk with you.”
She shrugged. She didn’t want him walking with her, wanted to be rid of him, wanted her solitude back. But she couldn’t bring herself to refuse. “All right,” she said. “We can walk for a while, I guess.”
She stepped onto the walkway and started out.
“You set the pace,” Scott said, matching her stride.
“Thanks.”
“You do this much?” he asked.
“Do what?”
“Go for walks. This time of night.”
Wonderful, she thought. He’s hoping we can make it a regular thing. Just what I’d need.
“No,” she said. “I’m usually asleep by now.”
“Not me. I’m a real night hawk.”
He means “night owl,” Jane thought, but decided not to correct him.
“You don’t need to be at a job in the morning?” she asked.
“Not me.”
“Oh? What do you do?”
“Sleep in.”
“Ah,” she said. Let it drop, she told herself. If he wants to be coy about his employment, if any, that’s fine with me. “So,” she said, “I take it you’re a bank robber.”
Oh, well. What the hell.
He laughed.
The sort of laugh that seemed to say, “I did notice the attempt at humor, babe, but it dropped well short of the mark. Nevertheless, I’m quite the sport. I give you credit for the try.”
