Richard Laymon - Flesh

“I take it back,” Helen said after washing down a mouthful of potato chips with cola. “I did go out with a guy once who didn’t try to make me. He turned out to be a homo.”

“I want a man who will be my friend,” Alison told her.

“Gotta find yourself a homo, then.”

“But I like sex, too.”

“Then what’s your beef with Evan?”

“It’s turned into too big a deal. I don’t want sex to be the only thing. Maybe not even the main thing.”

“Yeah, you and me both. I used to think, if I could just find some guy who looked like he got beat over the head with an ugly stick. But that hasn’t worked out, either. The ugly ones are just as messed up as the handsome ones—maybe even worse.”

“The pits,” Alison muttered.

“So did you and Evan break up, or what?”

“Not exactly. I just told him we need to abstain for a while and see how it goes.”

“Oh, boy.”

“Oh, boy?”

“I bet he wasn’t too crazy about that idea.”

“He didn’t take it very well.”

“Surprise, surprise.”

“If he dumps me over something like this, I’m better off without him.”

“Don’t worry, he won’t dump you.”

“I don’t know. He was acting…pretty spiteful.”

“Sure. He was looking forward to some whoopy. Major disappointment, sob, sob. By tomorrow, though, he’ll be telling himself you just had a bad night, and he’ll be expecting you to come to your senses by the next time he sees you. He’ll probably treat you extra nice, just to be on the safe side.”

“He’ll be in for another disappointment.”

“How long are you planning to hold out?”

“Just long enough to see what happens.”

“Know what I think?” Helen asked, brushing some crumbs off the front of her robe.

“What?”

“I think you’ve just had a bad night, and tomorrow you’ll come to your senses and put out for the guy.”

“You on his side?”

“I know you. You’re angry at him right now, but anger has a way of softening pretty fast and you’re an easy mark. First thing you know, you’ll be feeling sorry for him—and feeling guilty because you’re the reason he’s so miserable. Then you’ll do what’s necessary to cheer him up. This time tomorrow night, you’ll be in the sack with him.”

“No way.”

“You’ll see.”

Alison heard the faint, scuffing sound of footsteps. Someone was climbing the outside stairway. Very slowly. Helen stopped chewing and raised her thick eyebrows.

Alison’s heart pounded hard. “Maybe it’s Celia,” she whispered.

Helen shook her head. “Try again. Wally’s doesn’t close till two.”

“Oh, God. I don’t need this.”

“Want me to tell him you’re in the shower, or something?”

The footsteps came to a stop on the landing just outside the door. “No, I’d better…”

A key snicked into the lock. Alison’s stiff body relaxed, sinking back into the sofa. Mixed with her relief was a hint of disappointment.

Then Celia came in, and Alison jerked upright.

Celia’s right arm was held across her chest by a sling. A bandage covered the right side of her forehead from her eyebrow to her hairline.

“Whoa,” said Helen.

“What happened?” Alison asked.

“I got creamed, that’s what.” With her left hand, Celia swept the jacket off her shoulders. She dropped it, along with her purse, onto the floor beside the door. “Some bastard tried to turn me into a road pizza.”

She limped toward the sofa, wobbling a bit, apparently not only injured but somewhat drunk. After easing herself down beside Alison, she carefully raised her legs onto the coffee table, stretched them out, and moaned.

“You and that stupid bike,” Helen said. “I told you you’d get nailed.”

“Take a leap.”

“You were on your bike and a car hit you. Tell me that I’m wrong.”

“How about getting me a drink?”

“Don’t you think you’ve had enough?”

“It helps the pain.”

“I’ll get you something,” Alison offered. “What do you want?”

“Anything but beer. I couldn’t look another beer in the face. Bring me some whiskey, okay?”

Alison hurried into the kitchen. She grabbed a bottle of Irish whiskey from the cupboard, got a glass, and returned to the living room. She filled the glass halfway and handed it to Celia. “You’re a bud,” Celia said.

“How’d it happen?” Alison asked, sitting down again.

“Some bastard tried to run me down. I was over on Latham Road, you know? On my way back from Four Corners. And this van came down on me. The guy had all kinds of room to go around, but he steered right at me. He intended to hit me. Some kind of a nut. Anyhow, I tried to get out of his way and the bike flipped. That’s how I got busted up.” She sat up slightly, wincing, and took a drink. Then she settled back. She rested the glass on the lap of her sweatpants.

“He intended to hit you?” Helen sounded skeptical.

“You bet your buns.”

“Why would someone—?” Alison began.

“Cause he was a fuckhead, that’s why. And no, I didn’t flip him off. I didn’t do anything.”

“I’ll just bet,” Helen said.

Celia glared at her. “What’s your problem, your vibrator go on the fritz?”

“Matter of fact—”

“Come on, Helen,” Alison said. “Lay off. She’s hurt, for godsake.”

“I’m pulverized.” Celia took another drink.

“Anything broken?” Alison asked.

“No bones. I’ve got sprains, strains, contusions, abrasions, and general fucking mayhem from head to foot. I was in the emergency room about two hours. On the bright side, my doctor was a hunk. A guy that really enjoyed his job. He checked me out where I wasn’t even hurt.”

“Every cloud has its silver lining,” Helen said.

“Yeah. I’ll probably be hearing from him.” She lifted her glass, held it in front of her eyes, and stared at the amber liquid. “You wanta hear the good part?” she asked. From the tone of her voice, she didn’t sound overjoyed by “the good part.” Helen frowned. Celia kept her eyes on the whiskey. Her jaw moved slightly from side to side, rubbing her lower lip across the edges of her teeth. “The guy that did this to me…he bought the farm.”

“What?” Alison asked. “You mean he—?”

“Crumped, croaked, bit the big one. His van went onto the shoulder of the road after he tried to hit me, and plowed into the guard wall of a bridge. Killed him dead. Then he got his ass cooked.”

“Holy Jesus,” Helen muttered.

“Served the bastard right,” Celia said, and drank her glass empty. “I didn’t even know the guy. So what’s he doing, trying to kill me? Huh? Can’t even go riding my bike without some nut trying to murder me. Served him right. What’d he wanta do that for? He didn’t even know me. But he sure paid. He paid. Wish I coulda seen the look on his face when he hit the wall. Boy, I bet he was surprised.” She smiled and her chin trembled and she began to weep. She lowered the glass to her lap. It fell over. A few drops of whiskey trickled onto her sweatpants. Squeezing her eyes shut, she pressed her head back against the sofa cushion and sobbed.

Alison put a hand on Celia’s thigh. “It’s all right,” she whispered. “It’s all right.”

“Christ.” Celia sniffed. “The guy got cooked.”

The buzz of the alarm clock startled Jake out of sleep. He killed the noise and pushed himself up on one elbow. Ten o’clock. He’d slept for seven hours. So how come he felt like death warmed over?

Because of yesterday.

Groaning, he swung his legs off the bed, sat up, and rubbed his face.