Alan Cook - Honeymoon for Three

Now he had to stay much closer to them to make sure he was behind the correct set of taillights. The traffic was sparse, but another danger was that they would turn off and he would miss their turn because they were out of sight around a curve. He might sail right on by them. This closeness made the chances of them becoming suspicious of him much greater than it had been.

Alfred was right behind the VW when it turned left onto Route 50, trusting in the darkness to keep them from noticing his car. He dropped back a few yards and caught glimpses of Lake Tahoe on the right by the light of the moon. They drove through the resort city of South Lake Tahoe, mixing with enough other traffic to keep him on high alert.

The VW suddenly turned into what looked like a driveway. Alfred couldn’t afford to take this turn, but he strained to read a sign as he drove by. El Dorado Campground. He drove on around a curve, parked, and used the car’s interior light to read his watch. It was almost ten o’clock. It had been a long day. He was having a hard time staying awake.

As he waited five minutes to make sure they had checked in and driven away from the entrance, Alfred put his hand under his shirt and felt his bellybutton. His outie bellybutton. If it had been an innie, his life might have turned out differently. He might have been the person in the car with Penny. He might be sleeping with her tonight. He might be…

Rage expanded inside him, like steam from a teakettle. His body vibrated. Life was unfair. He became wide awake. He started the car and made a U-turn. The Ford had a wide turning radius, and he didn’t judge the distance correctly. He had to back up to complete the turn. When he was in reverse, a car came around the curve, traveling fast. Alfred didn’t have time to do anything. He watched, mesmerized, as the headlights seemed to drill right into him, but the car swerved at the last second as it roared by, its horn blaring.

Now his shaking was from terror. He pressed the gas pedal, forgetting that his car was still in reverse. It flew backwards into the bushes alongside the road, narrowly missing a tree. He braked belatedly and finally got it into drive. The wheels spun for seconds. Then he surged forward with a squeal of tires, almost going off the road on the other side before he got the car under control.

He turned into the campground and stopped beside the office. He had to sit for several minutes until his bodily functions returned to a semblance of normalcy. He got out of the car. The first thing that registered was how cold the night air felt. It penetrated his sweatshirt and khaki pants. He was wearing all the clothes he had brought. He quickly entered the office to get warm.

When Alfred entered one of the campground restrooms, he remembered how poorly equipped he was. Not only was he underdressed, he also didn’t have a toothbrush or toothpaste. He hadn’t brushed his teeth for over thirty-six hours. He had to settle for rinsing his mouth out with water he sucked from a faucet by sticking his head into a sink and tilting his mouth up. He tried to remove the scum that coated his teeth with his tongue. He could imagine what his breath smelled like.

He didn’t have any shaving equipment either. Of course he was wearing a beard, but he was thinking that it might be better if he shaved it off. He had been in close proximity to Penny during those Sunday mornings in the cafe. If she saw him, she might recognize him by his beard.

He could sleep in his car, lying across the bench seat. That wasn’t comfortable, as he knew from his experience last night, but the worst part was that he didn’t have any blankets. He would freeze his ass off. He couldn’t handle that prospect yet. He decided to find Penny’s campsite.

The campground was dark and silent. The inhabitants slept in their tents or campers. It was too cold and too dark for anybody to be outside drinking wine at one of the wooden picnic tables. Alfred used his flashlight sparingly and walked warily along the rough roads of the campground, trying not to run into one of the many tall evergreen trees, or step on a large pinecone, or, worst of all, come into contact with one of the bears that his imagination saw prowling at night, looking for food.

It was a large campground, and he wasn’t at all sure of his directions. He had the feeling that he was going over the same paths again and again. Just as he was about to give up and return to his car-assuming he could find it-he spotted the green VW. In the dark it looked black.

He had to make sure it was the correct car. He came right up to it and stooped in front of the license plate. He shone the flashlight on it, shielding it with his hand so its rays wouldn’t spread. This was Gary’s car, all right. Next to the car was a small tent. What he would call a pup tent. It must be the smallest tent in the campground, just big enough for two people. If they were friendly. That thought brought back Alfred’s rage.

He stood motionless, a few feet from the tent, and stared at its dark outline. When he looked directly at it, the fabric blended into the blackness of the night and disappeared. The way he would like to make Gary disappear.

He heard noises coming from inside the tent. Whispers. Soft giggles. Then grunts. A stifled shout. He knew what they were doing. He pictured Penny’s body, the way it had looked when he saw it from her window. Perfect. The body of a goddess. And that bastard was ravishing her.

Alfred wanted to dive on top of the tent and bring it crashing down on them, then beat them with a fallen tree branch until they stopped. Stopped the whispers. And the giggles. The grunts and the cries. He would silence them. Forever.

No. He couldn’t do that. He couldn’t kill Penny. Gary, yes. He could kill Gary in the blink of an eye. Easily. Without remorse. But Penny might still be his. She might see the light. Recognize that he was the only one who truly loved her. For months he had watched her from a distance. He had been afraid to approach her, afraid that she would reject him. Just like the one other girl he had been brave enough to approach had rejected him. But now he was ready to act. He had to act-before it was too late.

He silently backed away from the tent until he couldn’t hear the noises inside. Slowly his insides cooled. His skin cooled off more rapidly, matching the temperature of the night air. He shivered. He forced himself to start walking back toward his car. He needed to get some sleep. If he could.

Penny laughed as she put a dime into the slot that turned on the water for the shower. A shower with class-cobwebs, peeling paint, and aromatic canvas curtains. What a way to start her wedding day. A nontraditional wedding day if there ever were one. Their conformity scores had been correct.

She and Gary had met through a computer matching service called Human Inventory. Although as Gary, the IBMer, had pointed out, the probability that the service actually used a computer in 1964 was not high. Computers were just barely up to that kind of challenge, and the programmers who could make them work were still too scarce for a startup company to employ.

The concept sounded good. Even if they’d only used a punched card sorter, it had worked for her and Gary. All applicants had taken a series of tests for interests and attitudes. Interests of matched couples didn’t have to coincide exactly; some diversity was good, but the scores should be close on several attitudes. And they were. They had both scored very low on conformity. Thus her easy acceptance of the current situation. And they had both scored high on-she peeked through the curtains to make sure nobody else was about, afraid that somebody might read her thoughts-attitude toward sex. Those scores had also been correct.