Resurrection Dreams (14 page)

“It’s not that, exactly.”

“I know. You feel sorry for him. That’s what got you into this.”

“But how do I get out of it?”

“Short of moving out of town? Well, I know something that worked for me. There was this guy, Blake Bennington. You wouldn’t know him, he showed up while you were in med school. A real yuck. He came into the shop one day and I sold him a swimming suit and I thought I’d never see the end of him. Talk about a royal pain. He wouldn’t leave me alone. The more I told him to fuck off, the more he wanted to fuck me. I just couldn’t get rid of him.

“There’s this thing about guys like that. They think they’re in love with you, but they aren’t. What they love is their idea of you. And that just grows if you keep your distance from the guy. So what you’ve got to do is get up-close and personal. Shatter the image.

“What I did, I finally let Blake take me out. We went to the Fireside Chalet. I tell you, he thought he’d died and gone to heaven. We’re both sitting there in our fancy duds, drinking and having lobster tails, the way he looked at me, you’d think I was Venus or something. So then about half way through the meal, I laid this gorgeous fart.”

“Oh, no,” Vicki said.

“During dessert, I kind of casually started picking my nose. I actually got out a pretty good-sized booger and wiped it on the edge of my plate. He kept glancing at it. Couldn’t keep his eyes off the thing.

“He was down, but not out. He went ahead and took me to his apartment after dinner. He tried to get me out of my dress, and I told him I didn’t think he’d better because, after all, my skin rash might be contagious.”

“Gawd,” Vicki said.

“And I told him that even if it wasn’t contagious, I was pretty embarrassed and didn’t want anybody to see my runny sores. And besides which, it was my time of the month and did he really want blood all over everything?”

“Sounds like you laid it on a little thick.”

“He got pretty depressed. We both drank more and more. Finally, I threw up on his coffee table.”

Vicki shook her head.

Ace grinned. “All this apparently had a subtle but profound effect on the fantasies he’d built up around me.”

“Subtle.”

“He never asked me out again. In fact, he seemed to go out of his way to avoid me.”

“And you think I should try something like that with Melvin.”

“Just a thought. It’s a tried and true method. And it’s a way to get rid of him without wounding his pride. You don’t tell him to take a hike, he decides he wants to take a hike. Perfect solution to your little dilemma.”

Vicki pushed herself away from the wall. “Know something, Ace?”

“Plenty.”

“You’re crazier than shit.”

Ace laughed. “I might be crazy, but I got rid of the guy. Think about it.” She headed for her room.

While Vicki took her shower, she did think about it. She knew she couldn’t pull off such stunts as Ace had described. Even if she had the guts, her sense of dignity wouldn’t permit it.

But Ace had a good point about idealizing.

Melvin doesn’t know me. If he thinks he’s in love, or something, it’s because of fantasies. The more I try to avoid him, the more he’ll probably want me.

Spend some time with him?

Ugh!

When she finished her shower, she put on shorts and a T-shirt and joined Ace in the kitchen. Ace had already prepared a batch of margaritas in the blender. The glasses were rimmed with salt, waiting for her arrival. Ace gave the blender another buzz, then filled the glasses with the frothy cocktail.

They went out to the patio and sat at the table.

Vicki sipped her drink. “Delicious.”

“And good for you.”

“I’ve been thinking about what you said.”

“Gonna barf on Melvin?”

“Hardly. God, I don’t really want to do this, but it makes sense.”

“What? Spell it out, Einstein.”

“Meet with him. Not to gross him out, or anything. But I can see a couple of ways it could help. For one thing, it’s bound to put a crimp in his fantasy life if he spends some time with the real me.”

“Except the real you is so adorable.”

“Right. I know I’m wonderful, but I bet I don’t live up to his image, whatever that might be.”

“Especially if you cut the cheese.”

“The other thing is, even if he isn’t turned off by a dose of my adorable self, it still ought to take some of the fuel out of the fire. Just because of access.”

“You gonna give him access?”

“People mostly desire what they can’t have.”

“Right. Go to bed with him.”

“The more I try to avoid him, the more he’ll need to be with me. It’s like roots. If a plant isn’t getting enough water, its roots keep growing longer and longer.”

“Christ. You go away to school, you come back deep. Roots, for godsake.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Right. You don’t want Melvin’s root growing longer and longer. So what’s the plan?”

“Meet him someplace in public. Have a couple of drinks with him. Just socialize for maybe an hour or so. With you along for moral support.”

“Oh, good. I’d hate to miss it.”

“How about the Riverfront Bar? Tonight?”

“That’s about as public as you can get.”

They drank up, and went into the kitchen. While Ace refilled their glasses, Vicki checked the telephone directory. Melvin was listed.

Ace stood there, watching as she dialed.

Through the earpiece, Vicki listened to the ringing. She felt a little breathless. Her heart was pounding, her stomach knotted. After the sixth ring, she began to hope he wasn’t home.

Maybe this isn’t such a hot idea, she thought.

Maybe try it for another night.

Like next month.

After the tenth ring, Melvin answered. “Who’s this?”

“Vicki.”

“Vicki?” He sounded amazed. “Hi!”

“I was thinking about the car.”

“Yeah. You wanta keep it?”

“No, but I thought you might want to pick it up. Ace and I are going to be at the Riverfront Bar tonight at about ten o’clock. Why don’t you stop in, we’ll have a couple of drinks, and I’ll give you the keys. Then you can stop by the clinic later on and take the car home with you.”

“Have drinks with you?”

“Sure. It’ll give us a little chance to chat.”

“Gosh.”

“Okay?”

“Sure. Sure. Ten o’clock?”

“Right. See you then, Melvin.”

“Sure. See you then.”

Vicki hung up. She let out a deep, trembling breath. “I must be crazy,” she muttered.

Ace handed a glass to her. “Crazy, but smart. It may work. Or it may not. Either way, you’ll have the joy of knowing you brought joy, however fleeting, into the otherwise drab existence of that young, adoring, demented, shit-for-brains dork.”

Melvin whistled as he prepared his hamburger.

Whistled, “Everything’s Coming Up Roses.”

He couldn’t believe his good fortune. Only two nights ago, he had resurrected the dead. Now, this. Vicki had actually invited him out for drinks.

Giving her the car had been a bright idea, after all. Though she was apparently too shy to accept such a gift, she appreciated the offer of it. This was her way of thanking him.

Melvin didn’t know how he could stand to wait for ten o’clock.

He turned his hamburger over. Grease sizzled and snapped on the skillet.

It’s not all coming up roses, he told himself. He wasn’t real happy about going into the Riverfront Bar. At that hour on a Saturday night, half the assholes in Ellsworth would be drinking in there.

Nor was he exactly delighted that Ace would be sitting in on the festivities. She wasn’t an asshole. She was okay, he supposed. Still, three’s a crowd.

If only he could be alone with Vicki, someplace private.

But this was a start. This was a great start.

Melvin draped a slab of sharp cheddar over the top of his burger, and put the lid on the skillet. While he waited for the cheese to melt, he spread mayonnaise over his bun. He picked up a knife and was about to saw off a thick slice of red onion when he thought, What am I, nuts?

Onion breath on his first date with Vicki?

No way.

Not that she’s gonna kiss me, he told himself.

But maybe she will. Who knows?

He took the lid off the skillet. The cheese had melted and run down the sides of the burger. He slid a spatula under the patty, and lifted it over to his bun. He pressed the top of the bun down on it. Then he turned off the stove, picked up his plate, and sat down at the table.

Patricia, sitting there, smiled at him and stuffed a wad of raw ground beef into her mouth. There wasn’t much left of the half pound he’d set in front of her before starting to cook the burger for himself.

Eats like an animal, he thought. Nothing but uncooked meat, and of course there was the jar of bat blood in his laboratory. She’d gulped that down the first night. He doubted that she’d had an appetite for such things before he killed her. It was like the biting, somehow connected with having been dead.

As Melvin ate his hamburger and watched her, a drop of pink juice fell from her chin, joining the other stains on the white front of her T-shirt. The spots were in the middle between her breasts.

Melvin could see the dark of her nipples through the thin shirt.

He never would’ve guessed he’d get tired of looking at a naked woman, especially one as attractive as Patricia. But there was just so much to see, and seeing it constantly—not to mention “playing” with her to the point of exhaustion—had finally started to bore him. So he’d given her the shirt this morning and told her to wear it. She obeyed.

Melvin hadn’t expected the shirt to turn him on. It was intended simply to spare him from always seeing her naked. But the way he could sort of see through it, the way it took on the shape of her breasts and moved with them, and how it almost wasn’t long enough…He found a whole new joy in watching her.

They had spent most of the day cleaning house. Patricia cleaned, Melvin supervised. House-cleaning was wonderful. It required a lot of motion: walking, reaching, bending, kneeling. The T-shirt bobbed and swayed, and rose and fell mere inches like a stage curtain controlled by a tease. He loved it. He watched, but didn’t touch. Finally, unable to stand it any longer, he went ahead and took her. On the carpet of the upstairs hall. With the vacuum cleaner still running, humming beside their heads. He made her keep the T-shirt on. He’d been in such a frenzy that he didn’t take time to tape her mouth, and she gave his shoulder a nasty bite. Worth it, though. Out of this world.

He watched Patricia stuff the last of the raw meat into her mouth. Juice dribbled down her chin, spilled onto the shirt.

She was mostly obedient except for the biting. It seemed that she simply couldn’t control it.

Can’t go on this way, he thought.

Two days, and he already had four bites on his shoulders, another on his upper left arm. Once, she’d come very close to opening his throat.

She always did it to him when he was about to go off, and too distracted to stop her. The sudden pain of the bites never failed to push him over the edge. He had incredible orgasms. They weren’t half as good the few times she didn’t bite.

In spite of that, he knew that he couldn’t go on letting Patricia sink her teeth into him every time they screwed. The pain of the wounds lasted a long time after the ecstasy was over.

And the wound worried him. In those Romero movies, a single bite from the living dead was enough to turn you into one. He tried to convince himself that was a pile of shit, but he couldn’t quite get the idea out of his head. Besides, even if that was shit, he knew for a fact that the bites weren’t doing him any good. Like Vicki had said, human saliva’s a regular cesspool of bacteria.

The antibiotics he’d been taking for the bite on his hand should help with the others, maybe keep him from getting infected, but still…

Try screwing her right after she’s eaten?

Could try it now, and see if she bites.

But he didn’t feel like it. He would be seeing Vicki in just a few more hours.

If he used the method on Vicki, would she turn out the same as Patricia? He didn’t especially want that to happen.

Too soon to tell, though.

The smart thing was to try it with a few others, see how it goes, before taking a chance with Vicki.

Maybe they can bite each other, he thought, and smiled.

Patricia smiled back. She lifted her T-shirt, baring her breasts, and used the shirt to wipe her wet lips and chin. “Do you want to play?” she asked.

“Let’s watch television.”

She nodded. She seemed to like television almost as much as playing.

They went into the living room and sat together on the couch. He gave the remote to Patricia. She spent a while changing channels, then settled for a rerun of “Gilligan’s Island.”

Melvin gazed at the show. He didn’t even try to pay attention. He imagined how it would be tonight with Vicki. Whenever his mind returned to the present, he glanced at the red numbers of the digital clock on the VCR. How could time possibly pass so slowly?

The shows changed. He fidgeted. He watched the clock.

Finally, it was eight-thirty.

He squeezed Patricia’s leg. “Stay here,” he said. “I’ve gotta take a shower.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“Stay here.”

She gave him a pouty look, then turned her eyes to the television.

Melvin went upstairs. In the bathroom, he hung his robe on the door. He stood before the mirror and watched himself remove the bandages. His hand was looking better. The swelling and inflammation had gone down. The newer bites on his arm and shoulders didn’t appear infected.

But they burned like flaming oil when the hot spray of the shower splashed onto them.

Gritting his teeth against the pain, he shampooed his hair and lathered himself with soap. He was rinsing when he glimpsed a vague, moving shape through the plastic curtain. Psycho. Goosebumps crawled up his back. The curtain skidded open and of course it was Patricia standing there, not Norman’s mother with a butcher knife.

“Damn it!” he snapped.

She lowered her head as if ashamed. “I missed you, Melvin.”