Eye Candy (17 page)

36

Friday night, Ann-Marie pulled up to the building in a rented, white Toyota Camry. Luisa and I tossed our weekend bags into the trunk and climbed inside, Luisa stretching out sideways on the backseat, me sliding beside Ann-Marie and struggling with the seat belt.

“Where's Lou?” Luisa asked. “What's with this rental car?”

Ann-Marie bit her bottom lip and stared straight ahead at the windshield. “Lou is history,” she said. “He's a loser.”

Thank God, I thought. I wanted to jump for joy.

Instead, I put a hand on Ann-Marie's shoulder. “What happened?”

She frowned and pulled away from the curb. “I'm going up Amsterdam to 125th,” she announced. “We'll take the Triboro, I think.”

“What about Lou?” Luisa persisted.

“Nothing about Lou,” Ann-Marie said. “We weren't getting along. That's all. It's been building for a long time.”

I wanted to tell her what a rat Lou was. I wanted to tell her what the son of a bitch tried to do to me. The disgusting things he said. I wanted to assure Ann-Marie she'd made the right decision. Good riddance to a big heap of garbage.

But I knew better than to put my two cents in. In my junior year at NYU, another really close friend of mine broke up with a guy I knew had been cheating on her. I made the mistake of telling her how smart she was to lose the guy, what a total piece of shit he was.

The next day they got back together, and neither of them ever spoke to me again.

So I made sympathetic noises and tried to change the subject. But Luisa, leaning forward with her elbows on the back of my seat, was relentless as ever. “How did you dump him, Annie? What did you say to him? Did you break his heart? Come on, tell us. Did you make the big guy cry?”

Ann-Marie shook her head in reply, and I saw a teardrop slide down one cheek. “Grow up,” she told Luisa. That's all she said. And it closed the subject for the rest of the ride to the Hamptons.

It started to rain as soon as we exited the LIE. The forecast was for rain the whole weekend and, for once, the weather guys got it right.

Saturday morning was dreary, with rain pouring down on the tall grass behind our house, thunder low in the distance, and the fog so thick we couldn't even see the bay. Dune Road was empty. I guessed a lot of people had seen the forecast and decided to stay home this weekend.

I didn't mind it that much. I like rain. I liked the sound of it pattering on the roof of our little house. A cozy fire would have been perfect, but we didn't have any firewood. The lights flickered once or twice, but the power stayed on.

Ann-Marie, wearing a long-sleeved, red-and-white-striped shirt over a one-piece swimsuit, paced back and forth for a while, nursing a mug of coffee. “What are we doing out here?” she asked, staring out the water-smeared window.

“Relaxing,” I said.

Ann-Marie sighed and slumped into a chair away from the window with a romance paperback. She'd brought a stack of them out. She said she likes them because she can read one a day, and they all have happy endings.

Wow. That wasn't a good sign. I hoped she wasn't heading into one of her depressions. I'd been through them with her, and they weren't pretty.

After lunch, a guy Luisa had met on the beach last weekend picked her up in his BMW convertible. She disappeared with him, saying, “Don't wait up.” Sort of a joke between us. Luisa says that every time she goes out.

The rain had stopped but the fog still hung low, clinging to the tall grass in back. Water poured from the gutter at the side of the window.

“Want to take a drive or something?” I asked Ann-Marie. “Go into town and look around?”

“Gee, that would kill ten minutes,” Ann-Marie said, not looking up from her paperback. “There's nothing to see in Westhampton.”

“How about a movie?”

Why did I feel I had to entertain her? I guess I felt bad for her because she had given up a guy she'd been crazy about. She was going through a hard time and didn't want to share it, the way she always had in the past. She wouldn't even talk about Lou, which wasn't like her at all.

“Let me see what's playing.” I reached for the
Dan's
paper, the local Hamptons weekly. But before I could open it, my cell phone rang. I ran across the room and grabbed it off the table. “Hello?”

“Hey, Lindy, it's Brad.”

My breath caught in my throat. “Brad? Where are you?”

“I'm in the Hamptons, too. I'm staying with a friend. The parents have a house in Quogue.”

How did Brad know I was in the Hamptons?

“Crummy day, huh?” I said.

“Well, the rain stopped. You doing anything? I'd really like to see you.” He was talking rapidly. He sounded nervous.

“I don't know. Ann-Marie and I . . .”

“I'd really like to talk to you, Lindy. It's kind of important.”

Staring out at the fog, I suddenly felt chilled. I knew Brad was waiting for an answer, but I didn't know what to say.

I didn't have any police protection out here. This was supposed to be my place to escape from everything.

“You know Magic's Pub?” he asked. “On Main Street in Westhampton. It's a little bar with great hamburgers. I'm there now. Think you could meet me?”

He's not going to try anything in a restaurant, I decided. “Okay,” I said.

I clicked off the phone and turned to Ann-Marie. “Brad. Says he has something to tell me.”

Ann-Marie looked up from her book. She tsk-tsked.

“Come with me,” I said. “Get dressed and come into town with me. I'd feel a lot safer.”

She thought about it, then shook her head. “I'm not up to seeing people today. I don't want to sit in a bar with you and Brad and talk about how the weather sucks and when is summer really going to start.”

“I know you're in a bad mood, but you won't come as a favor?”

She shook her head again and pulled the shirt tighter around her swimsuit. “You'll be okay. Don't get alone with him.” She returned to her book.

Sighing, I changed into an oversized maroon sweatshirt, which I pulled down over a pair of gray leggings, tugged a floppy faded denim cap over my hair, borrowed the car, and splashed over the rutted Dune Road to town.

I found Brad hunched over the tiny bar at Magic's Pub, cigarette dangling from his mouth, a half-empty beer glass between his hands. He pulled the cigarette from his mouth when he saw me and flashed his lopsided grin.

He was wearing a striped Polo shirt and khaki cargo shorts. His white hightops were caked with sand. My great detective skills told me he'd been walking on the beach.

“Hey, Lin, nice to see you.” He jumped down from the bar stool and kissed me on the cheek. His beaky, broken nose bumped my ear. I wondered how he moved his nose out of the way when he seriously kissed women.

My mind was skipping around, noticing every detail, alert. He ordered me a Coors. We took our beers to a square, wooden table in the corner. He complimented my hat and told me how awesome I looked three or four times. He kept tapping one hand on the tabletop as we talked. I don't think he realized it.

He seemed almost as tense as me, which is saying something.

What did we talk about? I didn't really listen. Brad was talking really fast, gesturing with both hands. I could tell he'd had a few beers while he was waiting for me.

There was enough tension at our table to blow up the restaurant, I thought. I was actually relieved when Brad suggested we take a walk.

The fog hovering low over the ground made the little town look surreal, like in a black-and-white movie. The air felt heavy, hot and steamy.

“A short walk on the beach?” Brad suggested. “We're almost there. I jogged in the rain this morning, and it was really eerie and beautiful at the same time, so much fog you could only see a few feet out.”

I pulled back. I didn't want to be alone with him on a deserted beach. “I don't think so,” I said.

“Oh, come on. A short walk,” Brad insisted. He took my arm and practically pulled me toward the beach. “You've got to see it. It's amazing.”

“Was . . . anyone else there?” I asked, struggling to hide my fear.

“Oh, sure. Lots of people. It was actually crowded.”

Tall, gray waves crashed onto the sand. The fog was so thick on the shoreline, the waves seemed to appear from out of nowhere, leaping out of the wall of mist. The sky darkened as storm clouds rolled low in the sky.

Brad lied. We were the only ones on the beach.

My mouth suddenly felt dry. My heart started to pound. “It's beautiful, but I really have to go,” I said.

Brad didn't reply. His little bird eyes squinted out to the fog over the water. He led us closer to the water.

“Let's go, Brad. I'm getting soaked by the spray,” I said, pulling my hat lower on my head. I tried to turn back, but Brad grabbed my arm.

“Hey,” I said. I didn't like the expression on his face. His eyes were suddenly wild, and he let the cigarette fall from his mouth, onto the sand. Beads of water covered his forehead and cheeks.

The sky grew darker. Thunder roared somewhere out on the ocean.

“Brad—let go.” I pulled back.

But he grabbed my shoulders and held on to me. “Lindy, I didn't want to do this,” he said, shouting over a crashing wave. “I really didn't want to do this.”

37

I've decided to go back to my old girlfriend.”

I stared at him, my heart pounding. “Huh?”

“I don't want to hurt you. I thought I owed it to you to tell you in person. But she and I, we had a good thing going, and we're going to try again.”

I know I was supposed to be upset by the big announcement. And I know I should have handled it better, more maturely. But I was so relieved by Brad's news, I burst out laughing.

38

Monday night, I knew it was time to kill Lindy.

I couldn't force my dinner down. I left the pizza slice growing cold on the plate. I was so jumpy, I knocked over my can of Bud and sent suds pouring over the table.

I jumped up, my stomach in a knot, and started to pace the apartment. Ten steps forward, ten steps back. I was so crazed, I counted the steps!

I guess I knew what I had to do. I was just gathering my energy, like a freight train picking up steam, getting it together, getting my
freak
on.

I didn't want to kill Lindy. She was the nicest, most beautiful girl I ever knew. But she had seen me in the alley between the buildings. She saw what I did to that woman named Evan, and then she ran.

And I've been living in terror ever since. Living in a panic, waiting for the front door to burst open and the police to come storming in, guns raised.

I lift my hands in surrender. One of them thinks I'm holding a gun, and he fires once, twice. The first bullet catches me in the head. It makes a large hole in both sides of my skull, and my brains come spraying out the back. The second bullet pierces my heart and blood spurts up.

I end my life as a fountain.

Unless I can get to Lindy before she tells the police what she saw. Unless I kill Lindy first.

You see, my imagination is too good. I can picture exactly what will happen to me. I can see it all so vividly, in THX sound and digital projection.

But I can also picture what will happen to Lindy. Lindy will be dead, and I'll be safe again. I can eat my pepperoni pizza in peace. And I can go back online and find another girl, even hotter than she is.

So, a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do. I can't live in this square box like a mouse in a trap. Ten steps by ten steps.

You can't do that to me, Lindy.

I call her first to make sure she's home. I act romantic and hint about how I hope she's alone. That makes her giggle. And yes, she tells me her roommates are out. “And I'm so glad you called.”

Yes, I'm glad I called, too. I'll be even more glad in an hour or less. Of course, I'll miss you, Lindy. I'll think about you often. Maybe even when I'm out with a new hottie, who only wants to do me, do me, do me, and not spy on me when I'm gettin' busy with someone else.

I suddenly felt kinda crazy. Like I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs and punch my fist through the wall. Like I wanted to jump on the table, even with its puddle of spilled beer, kick the pizza slice across the room, leap up and down and crow like a rooster.

I used to be a great crower when I was a kid. Mom always begged me to stop. One day, Dad stopped me by punching me in the mouth. He knocked out three teeth, and I never crowed again.

Get yourself together, Shelly.

This is a sad occasion, remember. You're going to see Lindy for the last time.

I walked uptown to work off some of my extra energy. It was only fifteen or twenty blocks. People turned and looked at me on the street. I could feel their eyes on the back of my neck.

I guess I was talking to myself the whole way. Sometimes I heard what I was saying, but it didn't make any sense to me.

I flexed and unflexed both hands, limbering them up, getting the muscle tone just right. You should always warm up before exercising, right?

“Hey—what are you staring at, lady?” I waved a fist at her. “Like to have your eyes checked for you?”

Ha ha. She turned and ran. Good thing. I can't do two in one night. At least, I've never tried.

I was sweating by the time I reached Lindy's building on Seventy-ninth Street. I wiped my forehead with the sleeve of my T-shirt. Lindy buzzed me in and I straightened my hair in the lobby mirror while I waited for the elevator. A guy's gotta look his best at all times.

She greeted me at the door with a smile. She had her blond hair tied up in a bright blue scrunchie. She wore a loose-fitting blouse and a short, pleated skirt that came down only halfway to her knees. My little cheerleader.

I kissed her and followed her into the livingroom, so shabby and not feminine at all, even though three women lived there. How can they stand all that ugly, clunky used furniture?

“How are you?”

“What a dreary weekend. All that rain.”

“You should've seen the fog at the ocean.”

And blah blah blah.

All the time, the siren is going off in my head. My own personal wake-up call, saying, “Get this show on the road.”

So I stepped up close to her. She stopped talking and smiled. She thought I wanted to kiss her again. I wrapped my hands around her throat, delicately at first. She seemed to like it.

And then I tightened my hands. Tightened them around her smooth, warm throat, holding her still as she struggled, shutting off her air.

She wheezed and honked like a goose. A terrible sound. I knew it would give me nightmares for days. The terrified look in her eyes wouldn't help, either. Lindy, don't look at me like that. It's your own fault, you know.

Honk, honk, honnnnnk.

Her face, that pale, pretty face with the smooth, lustrous skin—her face turned bright purple. Like the egg-plants you see stacked up at Fairway Market on Broadway.

Her face darkened and her hair fell loose and her eyes stared up at me, blankly now. And the honking stopped, but I still kept squeezing. Never do a job halfway, right, Shelly?

I kept squeezing, even though my hands were aching now. Even though I had to hold her up above the ground because her legs had given way. I kept my hands wrapped around her throat, and I squeezed and squeezed, making lemonade, dude, squeezing those lemons, squeezing all the juice out.

Goodbye, Lindy. I grabbed her corpse under the armpits, and dragged her into the bedroom. I slid her onto her back on the bed with her head propped on the pillow. I lowered her eyelids and said goodbye.

Oh yes, oh yes.

I walked out of the building whistling to myself.