Evan Hunter - Candyland

"I'm really sorry Heather wouldn't let us meet last night," he says. "I'm enjoying talking to you."

"Well, Heather's very protective of her turf, you know."

"I didn't realize that about her."

"Oh, sure. Her possessions, too. She once loaned me a pair of earrings — we were going out that night, and I forgot to put on earrings? You'd have thought they were the sacred crown jewels, the way she kept reminding me to return them."

"Are you wearing earrings now, Lois?"

"No. Earrings? I'm in bed."

" I didn't know that."

"Nobody wears earrings to bed."

"I didn't realize you were in bed."

"It's four in the morning. Four-fifteen already, in fact."

"I'm sorry if I woke you."

"Stop being so sorry all the time, Ben. You don't have to apologize for everything you do, you know. It's four in the morning, so what?"

"Four-fifteen."

"Right. So what?"

She can hear his breathing.

"What color are your eyes?" she asks.

"Brown."

"Are you tall?"

"I consider myself tall."

"How tall is considering yourself tall?"

"Five-eleven."

"That's a good height, five-eleven."

"I'm comfortable with it."

She hesitates a moment, and then says, "I told her it might have been fun."

"I'm sorry? Told…?"

"Heather. You coming over. I told her it might have been fun."

"I think it might have."

"I think she didn't want to share you, is what it was."

"Like the earrings."

"Well, not exactly like the earrings, no."

"Come to think of it," he says, "I guess I don't know any women who wear earrings to bed."

"Unless they forget to take them off," she says. "That happens sometimes."

"Yes, but usually…"

"Usually a woman will not wear earrings to bed, that's definitely correct."

"What do you usually wear to bed, Lois?"

"Well, that depends."

"On what?"

"On the time of year, I guess. During the winter, I usually wear a flannel nightgown. In the summertime…"

"How about tonight, for example? What are you wearing tonight?"

"Now?"

"Right now, for example. What do you have on right this minute, Lois?"

She hesitates.

"Lois?" he says. "What are you wearing?"

"A short nightgown and matching panties," she says.

"What color?"

"Blue. I like blue."

"A kind of baby doll nightgown?"

"Not that short."

"How short?"

"Above the knee. But not as short as a baby doll."

"Does it have lace on it?"

"No, it's just this sheer nylon. Blue."

"Are the panties sheer, too?"

"Well, yes."

"Very sheer?"

"Yes."

"Can you see yourself through the panties?"

"I guess I could. If the light was on."

Her heart is suddenly beating very rapidly.

"Ben?" she says. "You didn't really kill someone, did you?"

"I have never killed anyone, ever, in my entire lifetime," he says. "I promise you. Even during the war, I did not kill anyone."

"How do I know you're not lying to me?"

"I'm telling you the truth, Lois. I spent the entire war in Saigon. I never killed anyone. Not then, not now."

"Did you go to bed with prostitutes? In Saigon?"

"Yes. In Saigon."

"You told me before that you'd never been to bed with a prostitute."

"I was lying."

"So how do I know you're not lying now? Because this was a prostitute who got killed, you know."

"Yes, but it wasn't me who killed her."

"Are you telling me the truth now?"

"I swear on my grandmother's eyes."

"Because I have to be able to trust you, you know."

"You can trust me."

"Tell me a secret," she says. She is whispering now. She realizes all at once that she is whispering. "If you want me to trust you."

"I have no secrets."

"Then how can I trust you?"

"Trust me, Lois."

"Tell me what you're wearing," she whispers.

"Just a white T-shirt and slacks."

"What color slacks?"

"Blue."

"Like my nightgown and panties."

"Yes."

"Are you wearing shoes and socks?"

"No. I'm lying in bed."

"Are the lights on?"

"Just a lamp by the bed. Are the lights on there?" he asks.

"No, I'm lying here in the dark."

"Are you covered with a blanket or anything?"

"On a night like this?"

"Or a sheet?"

"No, I'm just lying here."

"Do you have air-conditioning?"

"No."

"Are the windows open?"

"One of them."

"I can hear sirens."

"This city."

They both fall silent, listening to the sirens.

"Ambulance," he says.

"Or police."

"They have a different sound."

"Maybe it's the police coming to get you," she says.

"How? They don't know where I am."

"They'll find you."

"So what? I didn't do anything."

"I hope not."

"I promise. Is it very warm there?"

"Sort of."

"Lois?"

"Yes, Ben?"

"Why don't you take off the nightgown? If you're warm, I mean."

"I'm not too warm."

"Night like tonight," he says.

"I'm really not…"

"Hot night like tonight."

"Well."

"Take it off, Lois."

"Well"

"Go ahead."

"All right."

She puts down the phone, pulls the nightgown over her head, tosses it to the foot of the bed. She lies back against the pillows again, puts the phone to her ear.

"Okay," she says, "it's off."

"What do you look like?"

"I can't see myself. It's dark."

"Turn on a light."

"Okay."

She reaches for the bedside lamp, finds the switch, turns it on. A warm glow suffuses the bed.

"Okay," she says.

"How do you look?"

"Fine."

"Tell me."

"Tell you what?"

"How you look. Describe yourself."

"I'm this raving beauty," she says, and giggles.

"Describe your breasts, for example."

She takes a deep breath.

"You know," she says, "Heather told me what you do with her."

"Did she?"

"Um-huh. What you do on the phone."

"She shouldn't have told you that."

"But she did."

"That was very naughty of her."

"But she told me."

"Telling you our secrets that way."

They are both whispering again.

"Did it excite you?" he asks.

"Sort of."

"Her telling you what she does with me on the phone?"

"Sort of."

"Have you ever done that with anyone on the phone?"

"No."

"Why don't you take off your panties, Lois?"

"Is that what you ask Heather to do?"

"Yes."

"Does Heather take off her panties for you?"

"All the time.'.

"Will you call me from Los Angeles when you get back there? Make me take my panties off, too?"

"Take them off now, Lois."

"Will you call me from Los Angeles? The way you call Heather?"

"All the time."

"Order me to take my panties off?"

"Yes. Take them off, Lois. Now."

She catches her breath.

"I have to put down the phone," she says.

"I'll wait."

"Stay there," she says.

"I'm waiting, Lois."

She puts down the receiver, hooks the waistband of her panties in both thumbs, slides them down over her narrow hips, raises her buttocks, pulls the panties down over her thighs and her knees, kicks them off her ankles and her feet. She lies back again, picks up the phone.

"They're off," she whispers.

The watch Emma wears is a thirty-nine-dollar Timex with a shiny black case and a black plastic strap and a dial that lights up blue when she pushes in the winding stem. She hits the stem now, the moment the telephone rings. It is exactly four minutes to five. In the dark, she picks up the receiver.

"Boyle," she says.

"It's me," Manzetti says. "Are you asleep?"

"Well, yes, I was."

"Sorry. I just heard from the L.A.P.D. They rode by Thorpe's house again, there's still nobody home. It's already two in the morning out there, where the hell is he?"