Paul Kavanagh - Not Comin' Home to You

“There’s nobody around.”

“Cars come by every once in awhile. Here, let me do you, it’ll be okay.”

Her hand was in his lap, fingers quick and certain with button and zipper. She drew him out and held him in her hands.

“You’ll see,” she said. “You’ll like this.” And her hands moved skillfully.

Desire died like a felled ox. He felt it going, felt himself softening, and a red flame danced at the back of his brain. He wanted to kill her.

He took her by her shoulders and shoved hard. She went reeling backward and struck her head on the window. Her mouth fell open.

“Get out,” he said.

“I thought you would like that.”

“Get out.”

“If I did anything wrong I’m sorry. I thought you would like it. Most boys—”

“Get out of the car.”

“Look, I said I was sorry.” She inched tentatively toward him. “I really like you, Walker. I’ll do whatever you want. You can take my clothes off if you’d rather. I know a place we could go.”

“Out.”

“Or I’ll suck you off if you want. I never do that but I’ll do it for you if you want.” Her hand reached for him and he slapped her hard across the face.

She put her hand to her face. Quietly she said, “You had no call to hit me.”

“You silly little whore. Get out of the car.”

“You can drive me back. You can leave me off where you picked me up. It doesn’t matter.”

“I’m not driving you anywhere.”

She stared at him. “Are you crazy? Do you know how many miles—”

He took her throat between the thumb and forefinger of his right hand. He said, “I could kill you. Is that what you want?”

She must have read it in his eyes, must have realized suddenly that he was speaking the literal truth, that he very easily could kill her. Because her face changed and there was real fear in her blue eyes. She kept her eyes on his and reached behind her for the door handle, fumbling until she found it. When the door opened behind her he gave a shove and she tumbled out of the car.

“You bastard!”

He reached across, drew the door shut.

“You fucking bastard! You dirty son of a bitch!”

He flashed on a scene: lowering the window and leaning across with the gun in his hand, and her eyes widening in terror when the gun came into view, her curses chopped off short by her fear. And she would back off, her eyes filled with the gun, and he would wait until she turned and started to fun, and then the big gun would buck in his hand and she would crumple up and fall.

“Bastard! Dirty cocksucker!”

He pressed the button on the glove compartment, then remembered that it was locked. Instead he turned the key in the ignition and drove off down the road.

He kept going until he found a driveway to turn around in, then sped back toward her. By the time he reached her she was halfway to the farmhouse. She was walking awkwardly as if she had hurt her leg when he threw her out of the car.

He slowed down. She turned, and he honked the horn at her and put the accelerator on the floor. The tires kicked up a spray of gravel. In the mirror he watched her shake her fist at him. He put his head back and laughed.

He drove back into town, drove around a little, slowing down now and then when he saw a girl walking alone. None of them appealed enough to tempt him to stop the car.

At a drugstore he had a small Coke. As soon as he finished it he asked where the men’s room was. The waitress directed him. He went downstairs and down a long aisle with cardboard cartons on both sides. It took a great deal of effort, but he managed to master the nausea until he was in the lavatory. Afterward he rinsed his mouth thoroughly, went back upstairs and had a dish of strawberry ice cream. The waitress, a gaunt woman with a wedding ring, flirted lightly with him. He didn’t take her up on it. He ate a few spoonfuls of his ice cream, washed a bennie down with a glass of carbonated water, and left.

At five twenty he was approaching the Orpheum Theater just as the show was letting out. He had given up looking for a girl by then. But he saw a girl emerge from the theater with a book bag over one shoulder and a particular expression on her face that he seemed to recall without ever having seen it before.

With no hesitation whatsoever he pulled the car over to the curb and lowered the window.

“I COULD tell you something nobody knows. Nobody in the world.”

“What?”

“But if you ever told anybody—”

“I won’t.”

“I mean I would just about die.”

“I won’t tell.”

“If you ever did—”

“Oh, come on, Emily. Didn’t I tell you what happened with Kenny?”

“This is a lot more than anything that ever happened with Kenneth Fuhrmann, believe me. I shouldn’t tell anybody, not even you.”

“Well, then, forget it. If it’s such a big deal.”

“That’s just what it is. A big deal.”

“Look, either tell me or don’t tell me.”

“I just don’t know.”

“If you don’t want to—”

“Oh, I want to. Of course I want to. You promise you won’t ever say anything?”

“I already said—”

“I’m just so scared. All right, I’m going to tell you. I was in the car with him.”

“Who?”

“You know who. Him. Jimmie John Hall.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I am not kidding. He drove right past the school and he stopped the car for me and I got in.”

“I know he tried to get Diane Bishop and Patti Stryker to go for a ride. You can’t talk to either one of them without hearing all about it. But they wouldn’t go and then he drove away.”

“No he didn’t. He drove on down the street and stopped for me. Nobody saw, thank God. If Don found out he would kill me. Or if my father found out. God, if you ever tell anybody—”

“I said I wouldn’t. What happened? My God, I can’t believe it. You actually got in the car? What was he like?”

“Very good-looking. Very smooth, you know? Nicely dressed and he had a real cool way about him.”

“God, Emily. Why did you get in?”

“Well, I don’t know. It was a hot day and I didn’t feel like walking.”

“You’re really wild.”

“Well, I didn’t know who he was. Or what he was like or anything.”

“What happened?”

“He started driving. And then he headed out of town.”

“Were you scared?”

“Course I was. Because I started to get a feeling, if you know what I mean.”

“That he was going to try something?”

“More than that. He was strange.”

“Tell me about it. What did he say? How did he act?”

“Oh, I don’t know exactly. He was just strange. I got a feeling like, I don’t know, like I wouldn’t be able to stop him if he tried something.”

“What did you do? You must have been scared stiff.”

“I was. What I did, I tricked him. I got him to stop the car by pretending I would cooperate, if you know what I mean. Then the minute the car stopped I yanked that door open and ran for my life. I just ran like crazy across a field.”

“Did he come after you?”

“He started to. And I knew he would kill me if he caught me. I just knew it.”

“God!”

“But I kept running and when I finally looked back the car was gone. I guess he didn’t feel like running all over a field on a hot day. Maybe he was afraid he would get his clothes dirty or something.”