Vicky Banning (8 page)

She raised her voice as two young girls entered the store. “The idea! Taking advantage of a poor old lady, just because you’re the only sporting house in town. I should report you to the Better Business Bureau. You should be ashamed.” She let the tears begin to well up in her eyes. “I think it’s just
terr
…”

“All right, lady,” the man said in a husky voice, trying to quiet her. He, too, had seen the girls enter. “I’ll give you ten percent off.”

“
Ten?
” cried Vicky.

“All right,
twenty
,” the man blurted, glancing toward the girls.

“And forget the tax?” Vicky pleaded with tears straining her voice.

The man glared down at her, his eyes shaded by his brows, then nodded. “And forget the tax,” he growled.

Vicky smiled, wondering if she could get him to deliver them. She must admit that she felt a little guilty, though. He was a nice man and only trying to make a living by running a small business, which she admired. She’d remember to make it up to him later. Many times over and greatly to his benefit.

* * * *

The photography shop was only a block away, so Vicky trudged along, toting her package, until she reached it.

“Do you get better indoor pictures with a
Minox
using a flash attachment, or fast film?” She asked the man behind the counter. He was tall and thin, with a wide lower lip that made him look pouty. His nametag read Hi, My Name Is Antonio. His rimless glasses resembled twin camera lenses, each reflecting the light.

“For black and white,” Antonio said, in a rather squeaky voice, “you’re probably better off using a flash. You just set it and the exposure takes care of itself. With color film, flashes sometimes distort the color values.”

“Then I’ll need a flash attachment,” Vicky said, “and some bulbs. I’m so
helpless
when it comes to cameras. My great-granddaughter’s first birthday is in a few days, and I must get some good shots.” She looked very sad for a moment. “It might very well be the last one I’ll ever see, so I want the pictures to be perfect.”

Antonio looked uncomfortable, not knowing what to say—as Vicky had planned—and was more than helpful, offering every assistance at his command, short of taking the pictures himself. He showed her how to attach the flash, and to set the exposure. When Vicky appeared baffled—almost to the point of tears, of course—he offered to
lend
her the attachment to practice with. She would have to pay only for the bulbs.

Vicky left the shop smiling, and wondered how she’d convince him, when she returned the flash attachment, to refund the money for the unused flash bulbs.

She took a taxi back to the Sanctuary, to arrive there before
Doris
’s group returned from their shopping. The fewer people who saw her sporting goods shopping bag, the better. She was quite prepared, however, to explain to anyone who asked, that she’d just bought a new, more powerful, target pistol. That would give Sarah something to think about. Actually, it might be enough to stop her antagonism. But, no. Better to be sure.

The few rockers on the veranda waved to her as she strolled along the path to the Sanctuary steps. A few of them smiled, somewhat embarrassedly, she noticed. They must have seen, or heard about, the petition. Vicky doubted that many of the residents would sign it voluntarily—they certainly seemed to enjoy the break in routine that
Blueboy
had afforded—but Sarah would undoubtedly work on their sense of propriety. If they didn’t sign, she’d insist that they condoned pornography, and all the other sins of the world that she could think of. She’d be able to coerce enough of them to sign, simply because they’d want to prove otherwise.

Vicky doubted that
Doris
knew anything about the petition. The Sanctuary, in one respect, was like any institution: the authority figure, well liked or not, had to be kept in the dark about certain things. The same as with children, tattle-tales and teachers’ pets were objects of disdain.

Setting her package down in her room, Vicky took a roll of adhesive tape from the medicine cabinet in her bathroom, stepped out onto the veranda, and circled the house to Sarah’s room. It was going to be a matter of perfect timing and speed, she realized. She moved the white wicker lawn chair to stand to the left of the open doors. The room was near the center of the house, but somewhat closer to one end. Vicky noticed that fact purposely, since it would be shortest of the two routes she’d take when her plan was in full operation.

 
After pressing a strip of tape across the door lock, she swung the doors closed and, returning to her room, drew her medium-sized suitcase from within her closet, setting it by the outer door. After attaching the flash to the camera, she tested the bulb and set it on the case, beside the skates.

Satisfied that all was ready for action, she looked up a number in her address book and dialed long distance, to
New York City
.

“Attorneys’ offices,” a woman answered.

“Mr. Theodore Brewster, please,” she said. There was no time to waste on silly games. “Vicky Banning calling.”

“One moment, please.”

Vicky waited, reaching for the directory that had been left in her room when her phone had been installed. She checked the number for
Air Express
, and folded the page to mark it.

“Hello, darling,” a man’s voice said. “How are you?”

“Hello, Teddy,” she said. “I’m just fine. Sweetheart, I want you to do me a big favor, and time is important. I’m going to be sending you a package by
Air Express
…”

* * * *

The black dress will be best
, Vicky decided, as she dressed for dinner. She then frowned.
Why on earth did I buy white skates? That was a mistake, but it’s too late to correct it now.
She dressed slowly, killing time, a practice she was unused to. Anxiety germinated a seed of dislike in her, for Sarah. Not because of what Sarah had done, but because she’d forced Vicky to protect herself in a way she knew she’d regret later on. It just wasn’t her style.

Dinner had begun fifteen minutes ago, according to the clock on the mantel, and Vicky knew that Sarah was a stickler for arriving everywhere on time, including for meals. Vicky slipped off her shoes, and then crept around the veranda with the stealth of a cat burglar, clutching the last prop necessary for her plan to her chest. She pulled the unlocked doors to Sarah’s room outward with ease and slid into the darkness. She was out again in less than a minute, empty-handed.

* * * *

When Sarah entered the TV room, Vicky winked lasciviously at her and watched her stalk off in a huff. She watched Sarah closely and, after a while, saw her yawn, glance at her watch, and begin to rise from her chair.

Vicky rose quickly and rushed off to her room. She removed her shoes, retrieved the camera, skates and suitcase, and left through the double doors onto the porch, leaving the light on and the doors open. Though fully laden, she slunk silently around the house to Sarah’s room. Upon reaching it, she laid the suitcase across the arms of the lawn chair beside the doors and placed the skates before the chair, toes pointed toward the balcony. Pressing her back against the wall, she stood staring into the silent darkness and waited.

Suddenly, light showed through the yellow curtains of Sarah’s bedroom. Vicky braced herself for action. After just a few moments, another light sliced through the outdoor darkness, a sharp, projecting beam through the octagonal bathroom window. It was time.

She stepped up onto the seat of the lawn chair, then up again onto the suitcase that spanned the chair’s arms. If the brand of suitcase—as the ads claimed—could withstand a beating by gorillas, then it could certainly bear up under the weight of a little old lady. But the ads hadn’t made any claims about balance.

The chair swayed from side to side under her unsteady climb, nearly tipping her off until she countered its movement with her slight weight. Straightening, she braced her hands on the windowsill beneath the squared-off panes. Having poised the camera on the ledge, she waited for the perfect moment.

It came quickly, the click of the camera loud in the darkness, the hiss of the bulb as it fizzled into gloom.

Vicky scrambled down from the suitcase onto the chair, then down onto the carpeting of the veranda. She spun around, backed up to the chair, stepped into the skates, and slapped the skates’ closures together—all in one swift movement.

Grabbing the handle of the suitcase with one hand, she clumped her way toward the nearest corner of the veranda, running. She couldn’t get the wheels to turn! The outdoor carpet on the balcony had a thicker pile than that in the sports shop, and the skates couldn’t glide across it. It was as if a brick was tied to each foot. And the skates were to have provided the speed and silence she needed to pull off this caper! Although empty, the suitcase was upsetting her equilibrium, pulling her toward the side of the house. She swore at it under her breath, tugging it back toward her, which threw her dangerously off-balance, this time toward the edge of the balcony and a two-story fall. Sarah would be coming out to see what the light flash was any second now.

“Damn!” Vicky muttered aloud and hefted the suitcase upward to rest on her head—like a Bedouin woman, on wheels. She had to hold it with both hands or fall on her face, or worse, on her back—how mortifying! She leaned forward, balancing, and began to push along the carpet rather than run, soundlessly, with even strides. She gathered speed and, as she rounded the first corner, imagined herself to be the Roller Derby Queen she’d described to the salesman…

And here she comes, ladies and gentlemen, Bruiser Banning, the Bomber from
Boise
, rounding the first turn. And look here, right behind her, slithering round the bend, is Sarah Slaughter, the Scourge of
Seattle
, in hot pursuit, closing in, narrowing the gap. But, watch Banning! She’s rounding the second turn, coming in for the final stretch. Will Bruiser make it in time, ladies and gentlemen? Will she reach home before her arch enemy, the Scourge, catches up to her? Will she be caught? Lose her crown?
NO
, Banning fans! She made it all the way round! There she goes, hopping over the threshold—into her room—

…
and fell flat on her face, spread-eagle across the bed, arms and legs akimbo. The roller skate wheels were now spinning with oiled exuberance, while the suitcase was heaved across the room, tumbling into the open closet with a crash. Sarah hadn’t been chasing her at all, of course, but the imagined excitement of a tight race made it all the more exhilarating.

* * * *

Two days later, Vicky was called to the entranceway of the Sanctuary to sign for a long, cylindrical package that was being delivered. She accepted it eagerly, tipped the
Air Express
deliveryman and rushed to her room. The contents of the package were poorer in quality than she’d hoped for, but would certainly suffice for her purposes. Now to find Sarah.

Since the day was drizzly, most of the residents were indoors, many engrossed in playing cards in the TV room, but Sarah was not among them. Nor was she in the parlor, nor the dining room, so Vicky returned to the second floor, to knock on Sarah’s door.

“Yes?” Sarah said coldly when she answered the knock to find Vicky outside.

“Good morning, Sarah dear,” Vicky began, smiling pleasantly. “I’d like to speak with you, if you have the time.”

“I don’t,” Sarah snapped and swung to close the door.

“Then I suggest you find the time.” Vicky was still smiling, but her voice had tightened. “For your own sake.”

“What do you mean, for
my
sake?”

“You like living here at the Sanctuary, don’t you?”

Sarah’s face was stern as she peered down at Vicky with disdain. “It was better before
you
came.”

“Well,” said Vicky, “if you enjoy living here and wish to continue doing so, then I think we’d better have a talk.”

Sarah’s eyes narrowed menacingly. Her lips twisted into a sneer. Are…you…
threatening
…
me
?” she demanded.

“Yes, dear,” Vicky replied lightly. She cocked her head to one side, pursing her lips coyly. “I hate to…sort of, but if it’s a choice between you leaving, and me, I’m afraid it’s going to have to be you.”

Sarah stood rigidly at the door, her features running the gamut between indignant anger and alarm, tension forcing her hands to tremble. She stepped back into the room, permitting Vicky to enter.