Читать книгу Jumper - Steven Gould - Страница 13

SIX

“Christ, where do you get your clothes?”

I shrugged instead of answering and climbed into Robert’s car. The springs creaked and I had to slam the door twice before it would catch. I put the champagne bottle on the seat between us, a white ribbon tied around its neck.

Robert eased out of the parking lot gingerly, the springs rocking excessively as we went over the gutter. “Shocks are shot,” he said. “But it’s ugly.”

“Great. How many people are going to be at this party?”

He waved his free hand “Oh, fifty, a hundred, who knows. They got band for it, I think. She can afford it.”

“What will her parents be doing?”

“They’re out of state.”

Good.

We had to park half a block down the street because of the accumulated cars. There was a crowd of Stanville High football players standing around the front door, beer cans and cigarettes in hand and mouth. We threaded our way between them.

One of them called out, “Who’s your date, Robert?”

Robert just kept on walking like he hadn’t heard, but I saw his neck turn red. I paused at the door and looked around. They were all grinning. The one who spoke was Kevin Giamotti, who used to extort lunch money from me in junior high. I looked at him, my stomach knotting for a second, my heart beating faster.

Christ, he’s just a kid!

I shook my head and started to laugh. Compared to those guys in the alley near Times Square, Kevin was a baby. And I’d been scared of him? It seemed ridiculous.

Kevin stopped grinning. “What?” He started to frown.

“Nothing,” I said, waving my hand. “Absolutely nothing.” I turned, laughing even harder, almost uncontrollably, and went into the house.

Sue Kimmel stood at the end of the hall talking with a couple who seemed far more interested in touching each other than listening to her.

“You two in heat or what?” she said. “The bar’s in the living room. If you’re going to drink, give your keys to Tommy. He’s behind the bar.”

The couple moved on, joined permanently at hip and lip.

“Hello, Robert. Who’s this?”

Robert opened his mouth and I said quickly, “I’m David.” I brought the bottle from behind me and presented it with a slight bow. “So nice of you to let me come.”

She raised her eyebrows and took the bottle. “The pleasure, Miss Doolittle, is all mine, I’m sure. Bollinger? They don’t sell this around here. Folks around here think Andre’s is hot shit.” She touched the bow and ran her finger down the condensation on the bottle. “Where did you get it?”

I swallowed and said, “My refrigerator.”

She laughed. “Subtle. Well, I shan’t stare down the horse’s mouth any longer.” She looked at Robert. “Trish was looking for you. She’s out on the patio.”

“Thanks, Sue.” He turned to me. “You want to meet Trish?”

I started to say something but Sue Kimmel said, “I’ll bring him along in a minute. After we open this.”

I found myself being gently steered down the hall and into a large room crowded with men and women my age or older. The temperature was several degrees higher than in the hallway. I loosened my tie and followed as Sue pushed her way through the crowd, using the cold, wet champagne bottle as a shepherd’s crook, steering people right and left by touching exposed skin or thin cloth.

We finally ended up at a long bar running the length of the far wall. A big man, perhaps six feet four, stood behind the bar, using a built-in tap to fill a beer mug for one of the guys pressed up against the bar. He wore a strap over his shoulder festooned with car keys.

“Yo, Tommy!”

“Yo, Sue.”

She put the magnum of Bollinger on the counter. “Glasses.”

“Yo.”

He pulled two wineglasses off a rack behind the bar.

“Not those … the flutes. Christ, Tommy. Champagne flutes.”

She looked over at me and rolled her eyes. Tommy blushed.

“I use mason jars myself,” I said. I smiled at Tommy and he nodded after a minute, then moved down the bar to fill another beer mug.

“Well?”

I turned to Sue and raised my eyebrows.

She gestured at the bottle.

“Oh, well, okay.”

I’d read up on opening champagne, just in case this happened. The lead foil came off pretty much like it should and I started on the wire, untwisting and lifting it gently away from the cork. The way Sue had swung it around, I was afraid it might go off like a bomb.

The book I read said to ease the cork out gently, keeping a firm grip on the cork, to prevent it from flying off and hitting someone. Shooting the cork off, the book said, “was for buffoons and fops.”

I tried to ease it out, but the thing seemed immovable. I resorted to tugging and twisting, but it still wouldn’t move. I lifted it off the bar and put it between my legs, so I could get a better grip. This put my head down at the level of Sue’s breasts.

“My, David? What’s that between your legs?” She put a hand behind my head and pulled me slightly closer. My forehead bumped against the hollow of her throat and I stared straight down her dress. She smelled of perfume and skin.

I tried to straighten up, my ears and face burning. The cork loosened slightly in the neck of the bottle. I managed to pull away from Sue.

Sue was laughing, watching me blush. Then her smile died and I felt a hand grab my shoulder and pull me around. A voice, loud and deep, shouted in my ear. “What the fuck you doing with my girl?”

He wasn’t as big as Tommy, but he still towered over me, large, blond, bearded. I stared at him, blank, still holding the unopened bottle. He shoved me and I took a step back, bumping into the bar and Sue, and inadvertently shook the champagne. That’s when it went off.

The cork caught him on the chin, snapping his mouth shut on his tongue. Champagne geysered forth, soaking both him and me. I stared in horror, trying in vain to stop the flood with my thumb. This just caused the foam to spray rather than gush.

Beside me I heard Sue say, almost under her breath, “Premature ejaculation … again.”

“You little shit!”

He lunged for me, his hands going for my throat. I dropped, collapsing into a ball, his weight coming down on top of me, covering me, hiding me.

I jumped.

The champagne-soaked tie and shirt made a wet thwack as it hit the wall in my bathroom. “Dammit. Dammit. Dammit.”

Why does this shit always happen to me?

There was an ache in my throat and I wanted to punch something, break things. I stared at myself in the mirror.

Wet hair plastered my forehead and my jaw was clenched tightly shut. The muscles stood out on the side of my face and neck. I relaxed my jaw and found that my teeth had been aching. I took deep breaths, leaning forward on the counter.

After a minute I ran cold water and washed my face and rinsed the hair in front, to get rid of the wine smell. I combed my hair back in a slick, smooth shell.

The difference in my appearance was striking. My hair looked much darker and the shape of my head was changed. I frowned, then went into the bedroom and picked out a black shirt with a stiff, upright collar. I put it on and checked out the result in the mirror.

I looked very little like the boy who walked into Sue Kimmel’s with the champagne.

I jumped.

The football players had abandoned the front porch, but their spoor, crushed beer cans and cigarette butts, dotted the walk and grass. Even before I got to the house I could tell that the band had started—bass and drumbeat shook the sidewalk and made the windows rattle. I opened the door and the sound struck me with almost palpable force.

I considered jumping home again, but took a deep breath and leaned into the noise.

The hall was more crowded than before, but when I finally won free to the room with bar, it was less so. The wall of noise came from the other end of the room. I could see people dancing like they were insane.

There were only a couple of people at the bar, though Tommy was still behind it, drumming on the surface in time with the music. There were twice as many keys around his neck as before.

I hooked a foot on the bar rail and leaned my elbows forward. He glanced at me, then looked again. He came down to the end of the bar and shouted over the music. “Christ. You sure changed quick. I thought I knew everybody who lived in this neighborhood.”

I shook my head. “You probably do. I’m not from around here.”

“Well, you sure faded fast. Sue was looking for you.”

“Oh?”

He reached down behind the bar and came up with the magnum of Bollinger’s. “There’s some left. You probably could have drained a quart from Lester’s shirt, but that would taste rancid.” He pulled down a tulip glass and filled it, draining the bottle to do so.

“Was Lester the guy who jumped me?”

“Yeah. Sue sent him home. She was furious.”

I smiled. “Maybe I shouldn’t have come back myself. I’m glad he’s not here though.”

Tommy nodded. “He could fall down a hole for all I care.”

I blinked. “Don’t like him, eh?”

He nodded, grinned, and went down to the other end of the bar.

The champagne tasted like unsweetened ginger ale, its aftertaste unpleasant. I looked in the bar mirror and un-wrinkled my nose. I shifted my grip on the glass, trying to look more sophisticated, less awkward. I sipped at the champagne again and shuddered.

Some sophisticate.

I took the glass and wandered out onto the veranda, away from the music. There were tables and chairs, white, wrought-iron. Three of them were occupied. One was off by itself, in the shadow of the hedge. I sat down.

The band started playing oldies, songs from the early sixties. They’d been hits before I was born, but I’d heard them often enough. My mom would listen to nothing but old rock and roll, songs from her teens. I grew up listening to them, wondering what they were about. Didn’t particularly like them, didn’t particularly dislike them.

I knew all the words.

“There you are.”

Sue Kimmel pulled up one of the patio chairs and put down a glass of something with ice. “Tommy said you were back, but I walked past you three times before I realized you’d changed clothes.”

I licked my lips. “I didn’t mean to cause problems.”

She rolled her eyes. “Lester is the one who caused problems.”

“He must love you very much.”

She laughed. “Love? Lester doesn’t know the meaning of the word. Lester stakes territories. Lester would piss on fire hydrants if he thought other people had a keen enough sense of smell.”

I didn’t know what to say so I took another sip of the champagne. Ugh.

She swallowed some of her drink and smacked her lips. “I wanted to apologize to you, actually, for Lester’s behavior. He doesn’t realize it, but we’re in the process of breaking up.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You’ve nothing to be sorry about. I’d been thinking about it all week. He’s pissed me off too many times.”

I took another sip. The taste was bad, but it didn’t seem quite as bad as before. I lifted my glass to her, but didn’t say anything.

She lifted hers and drained it. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s dance.”

I felt a rush of panic. Dance? I set the glass down. “I’m not very good.”

“Who cares. Come on.”

“I really rather not.”

She grabbed my hand and pulled me out of the chair. “Come on.” She didn’t let go of my arm, pulling me toward the music.

The band was playing something very fast, very loud. We threaded our way between gyrating bodies until a few square feet of floor space opened up. I felt closed in, threatened by all the close bodies and flying limbs. She started to dance. I stood there for a moment, then started moving. The music pounded on me like waves at the beach. I tried to find a rhythm that matched it, but the tempo was too fast.

Sue was oblivious, her eyes closed, her legs pumping in counterpoint to the music. I tried not to stare at the parts of her that bounced up and down. I felt miserable.

I waited until she was spinning around, facing away from her, and jumped back to the patio. Someone gasped to my right. I looked over and saw a girl staring at me from one of the other tables. “Jesus! I didn’t see you walk up, dressed in all that black.”

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you.” I picked up the champagne flute and took it back to the bar.

“Yo, Tommy.”

“Yo, David. No more champagne, man.”

“Fill it with ginger ale. And put a head on it.”

He grinned and filled it from the fountain gun. “Ze ginger ale, monsieur.”

“Thanks.”

I moved back onto the porch and reclaimed my seat. After a moment, Sue came out, looking puzzled, and a little angry.

“What’s the big idea? Don’t you know how many guys at this party want to dance with me?”

“I can see why. You’re very attractive and you dance like a dream.”

She blinked, her mouth half open to say something. She closed it and sat down. “That was good. Very good. Almost too good. Why don’t you want to dance with me?”

I shrugged. “I feel foolish. You know what you’re doing out there. I feel like a clumsy jerk. The contrast is painful. I’m shallow, I guess, but I don’t want everybody to know just how shallow.”

“Yeah. Real shallow. Compared to Lester, you’re a bottomless pit.”

“I’ll bet Lester can dance.”

“In a fakey, self-centered kind of way. More John Travolta than Baryshnikov.”

I shrugged again and felt stupid. Is shrugging the only expression I know?

“I’m going to get a drink. You need anything?”

I held up my ginger ale.

“Don’t disappear on me.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She came back with her glass filled with some amber fluid. Behind her came Robert and a pretty redhead I vaguely recognized from high school. She was Trish McMillan, the girl Robert “sort of had a thing” with.

“Hell, man. I’ve been looking all over for you,” Robert said. “You okay? I heard Lester climbed all over you.”

“I’m fine.”

“How’d you change so quick? You have a bag with you?”

I smiled and resorted to the ever popular, multipurpose shrug.

He looked like he wanted to ask more, but Trish spoke then. “Robert said he brought you to the party, but I didn’t realize that you were David Rice. How long ago did you run away?”

Sue looked from Trish to me. “What do you mean, run away?”

I picked up my glass and drank some more ginger ale. I didn’t think a shrug was going to work. “I left home one year and two months ago.”

Trish wouldn’t leave it alone. “Well, jeez. You look like you came out all right. Do you recommend it?”

“It would depend.”

“On what?”

“On how bad you had it at home. It’s got to be pretty awful before being a runaway is better.”

“Well, what about in your case?”

I put my glass down. “I’d rather not talk about my case.”

She blinked. “Well, I’m sure I didn’t mean to pry. Sorry.”

“No problem. Nice weather we’re having.”

Robert looked uncomfortable. “Yeah, some weather. David, I’m going to run Trish home. I can come get you after.”

I shook my head. “Thanks. I can get home from here.”

They got up to leave. Sue said, “Contraception, Trish. That vital conversation before.”

Trish and Robert blushed in unison.

“Yeah, right,” said Robert.

When they were gone Sue turned back to me.

“Nice kids. Where do you live?”

I saw no reason to lie. “New York City.”

“Oh. So you’re just visiting the old hometown.”

“I do that.”

She laughed. “What else do you do?”

“I read a lot.”

She swallowed some more of her drink.

“What is that you’re drinking.”

“Glenlivet.”

I shook my head, not understanding.

“Scotch.”

“Oh.”

“Want some?”

An image of a man in his underwear, black socks, hairy legs, unshaven, an empty bottle of scotch cradled in his arm like an infant, mouth open, eyes shut—Dad.

“No. Thank you for asking.”

She leaned forward, her neckline drooping. I looked away. She straightened, pulled up a shoulder strap. I sipped at my ginger ale.

“So, have you seen the house, David?”

I shook my head.

“Come on. We can find someplace quieter to have a conversation.”

She stood and, staggering slightly, led me back into the house and up the stairs. Her tour consisted of “this is the upstairs hall. This is my bedroom.”

Oh my God.

“Uh, Sue. What are we doing up here?”

She shut the door behind us.

“Conversation. That conversation that I was talking about earlier. You know, to Trish and Robert.” She walked up to me; I took a step back and fetched up against the closed door. She kept coming.

“You don’t know me from Charles Manson, Sue. I could have every STD in the book.”

She put her hands on my shoulders. In her heels she was slightly taller than me. “Do you?”

“Do I what?”

“Have any sexually transmitted diseases.”

“Uh, not to my knowledge.”

She pressed her mouth hard against mine. Her tongue flicked along my lips, darted between my teeth. I felt the skin crawl along the back of my head and down my back, an eerie, not unpleasurable sensation. Her mouth, though, tasted of scotch. I pushed her gently away.

“Uh, hold up.” Oh God, she’s beautiful. I didn’t know what to say. I wanted to sleep with her. I wanted to run. I wanted to just jump away.

What about Millie?

She molded her body to mine. “What? You don’t like me? Is this something else you don’t do?”

“Uh, uh … Where’s your bathroom?”

She pointed to a door on the other side of the room and followed me over to it. I went inside and found a small bathroom with no other exit. Oh shit.

She turned on the light

“Condoms,” she said. “Are in the bottom drawer.” She shut the door with a snap, not unlike the popping noise a mousetrap makes when it trips.

I opened the bottom drawer. One box of Trojan Gold condoms sat among hair ties, curlers, and a tube of K-Y jelly. Only one box? Does that make her conservative or easy? I pushed it shut and looked at the window. It was two feet square, to the right of the sink. It opened inward. I stuck my head out. There was a drop of twenty feet on a sheer brick wall.

It would have to do.

I took some of her lipstick and wrote on the mirror, “SORRY, I CAN’T.” Then I flushed the toilet, made sure the door was unlocked, and jumped home to Brooklyn.

“They found someone who matched your physical stats and duplicated his license with your picture. The name may be a little different, but close. Of course the address is his, but if they run your license, the dispatcher will find everything agrees in the computer.” He paused and looked at me. “Oh. They also have access to the real plastic, and stock, and embossers. Your license is real.”

“What about the signature?” I asked Leo.

“Well, you’ll have to practice that.”

I walked in silence thinking about it, glancing occasionally at the card.

We reached Lexington and started up it.

“It’s really a good deal, Mr. Rice. Honest.”

“Relax, Leo. It’s okay. I agree.” I paid him the fee, plus a bonus, and we parted.

Later that day, I put thirty thousand dollars in a share draft account at Liberty Savings & Loan for David Michael Reece. That was the name on my newly acquired driver’s license. I made up a Social Security number. The girl offered me a choice of a toaster oven or a food processor. I took the toaster.

With my new checks I bought a ticket, first-class, one-way, to Will Rogers World Airport, Oklahoma City.

“Are you sure you don’t want a round-trip ticket? If you buy a one-way ticket back, it’ll cost you over three hundred dollars more … first-class.”

“No thank you. I don’t need a return ticket.”

“Oh, you’re not coming back?”

I shook my head. “No. I’m coming back. Just by other means.”

“Oh. You must be driving.”

I shrugged. Let her think what she wanted.

Since I didn’t have a “major credit card” she said I’d have to pick up the ticket after the check cleared.

My ears started to burn and I felt like I’d done something wrong. “Why don’t I just pay in cash then?” I took out a roll of fifties.

She stared. “Uh, we prefer not to deal in cash. Are you in a hurry to get the ticket?”

“Yes.” I bit off the word. What’s wrong with me?

“Let me check with my boss.”

She walked back through a door. I felt, for some reason, like I was sitting outside the principal’s office, waiting to be lectured on proper behavior. I felt like walking out. I felt like smashing things. I felt like crying.

I’d just about decided to jump back to my apartment and blow off the whole experience when she came back through the door with an older woman.

“Hello, Mr. Reece, I’m Charlotte Black, the owner.”

“Hi.” My voice was colorless, listless.

“We normally don’t take cash, because our accountant frowns upon it. Also, I take the deposits to the bank and, frankly, it makes me a little nervous to carry cash in this neighborhood.”

“Ah. I can understand that,” I said. The back of my head twinged. “I don’t want to make a big issue of this, but I’m going to be traveling a great deal. I’d like to make all my arrangements in one place.” I paused. “But I don’t want these waiting-for-the-check-to-clear hassles.”

She frowned. “You could establish credit with us and we could open an account, billing you at the end of each month.”

“How would that work?”

“You’d fill out a credit application and we’d have our credit agency check you out.”

Oh, great. That’s all I need, inquiries into my past.

“How about this instead,” I said. “I’ll write you a check for ten thousand dollars. When I’ve used up that, you tell me and I’ll write another check. And,” I added, “I’ll wait until the check clears to pick up my ticket to Oklahoma City.”

She blinked and inhaled sharply. “That would be acceptable.”

I scribbled out the check, trying to make the signature look casual as well as resemble the one on my driver’s license. She picked it up and looked at it. “Oh. We bank at Liberty. I’ll take this over at lunch. Can we call you this afternoon?”

I shook my head. “My next stop is the phone company. I don’t have a phone right now. How about I drop back by around three.”

“Very good, Mr. Reece.”

Millie met me at the gate with a smile that didn’t touch her eyes. I felt something shrink inside.