Richard Laymon - Flesh

“I’m against it.”

“One would think that a man in your line of work, who sees the tragedies caused by private ownership of guns—”

“We had a seventy-two-year-old widow, last month, who woke up to find a stranger in her bedroom with a knife in one hand and a hard-on in the other. She shot him four times with a pistol she kept on her nightstand. Me, I’m glad she had the gun.”

“But statistics show—”

“Save it, Harold. You want the bad guys to win, that’s your business.”

Harold dared a condescending smile. With a shake of his head, he stood up. “I’ll see what’s keeping the ladies,” he said, and backed out of the living room.

He was no sooner gone than Barbara came in.

“Tag team?” Jake asked. He felt sick. He always felt sick when he saw her, but this morning was worse than usual because of what she wore.

“Kimmy’s almost ready,” she said.

“Fine,” he muttered, staring at Barbara and wondering what the hell she was trying to do.

She wore a blue silk kimono. Its front was open, showing a long V of bare skin all the way down to the sash at her waist. The glossy fabric shimmered from the motion of her breasts. Turning away from Jake, she crossed the living room. The kimono was very short. At the far side of the draperies, she reached high to pull the draw cord and the garment lifted above the pale curves of her buttocks. The draperies skidded open. She lowered her arms, and the fabric drifted down.

“Real cute,” Jake said.

Whirling around, she glared at him.

Jake smiled. His mouth felt rigid. His chest ached.

“Problem?” she said.

His smile died. “You’re some piece of work, woman.”

“You better believe it.”

“What’re you trying to pull?”

“I’m not trying to pull a thing, darling. Do I take it that you don’t approve of my attire? It’s an early birthday present from Harold. Isn’t it heavenly? And it feels so scrumptious.” Staring at Jake, she smiled lazily and half shut her eyes. Her hands started high and glided downward, caressing the kimono, rubbing the fabric against her breasts. “Scrumptious,” she whispered.

“If only Harold could see you now.”

“So what if he did.” She squirmed slightly as she rubbed her breasts. Her motions had loosened the front of her kimono, widening the opening. It was open all the way down.

“For godsake!” Jake snapped in a hushed voice.

She smirked. “Turning you on?”

“I get turned on better scraping dog shit off my boot.”

Barbara’s eyes went wide. Her face colored. Her back went stiff. She tugged the kimono shut. “You bastard.” Her voice trembled when she said it. Her chin started to shake.

Astonished, Jake realized she was about to cry.

She pivoted away from him. “Kimmy!” she shouted. “Get your ass down here!”

“Barbara!” Jake snapped.

“Fuck you.” She hurried from the room.

Jake stayed on the sofa, stunned and angry and confused. What the hell had just happened?

Normally, when he came to pick up Kimmy, Barbara acted as if he were a visiting peasant: haughty, sarcastic, delighted by the opportunity to rub his nose in the lifestyle she had achieved by dumping him for Harold.

What was this, today?

Acting like that with Kimmy and Harold in the house.

Harold had to know she was dressed that way.

What was she trying to prove?

That’s pretty obvious, he thought. She was trying to prove she could turn me on.

Look how she flew apart when I put her down.

The gal’s got a major-league problem.

Off the deep end, or she wouldn’t be pulling that kind of stunt.

Troubles with Harold?

Oh, wouldn’t that be a shame.

Golly, I’m so sorry. It breaks my heart, you slut.

The harsh thoughts made Jake feel a little guilty. He told himself that he had loved her once, that it was wrong to wish misery on her.

What about Kimmy? If Barbara and Harold were having problems, she could certainly be affected. He didn’t want that. If Kimmy had to live with her mother—and there was no real alternative as long as Jake remained unmarried—then he wanted her to be in a home where there was love and happiness.

The situation was only tolerable as long as he could be sure that Barbara was taking good care of her. If this morning was any indication, however, Barbara was losing her grip.

Maybe it’s nothing, he told himself. Just a fleeting aberration. Tomorrow’s Barbara’s birthday. She would only be twenty-seven, but he remembered her saying, when she hit twenty-one, that it was all downhill from there. She apparently believed it, too. Each year, after that, she had fallen into a pit of depression around birthday time.

That must be it, he decided.

Flaunts her stuff in front of her ex-husband to prove to herself that she’s still got something to flaunt.

And he smashes her down.

Shit.

At least it was good to know that her bizarre behavior was nothing more serious than the birthday blues.

If that’s what it was.

“Hi, Daddy!”

He stood up, suddenly feeling good as Kimmy came toward him, smiling. As always, after going days without seeing her, he was amazed by her beauty. A gorgeous four-year-old kid with big blue eyes and a great smile, she couldn’t go anywhere without people taking a second look.

Harold stood in the entryway, holding her overnight bag. Kimmy had Clew, her tiny stuffed kitten, clutched in one hand. She raised her arms, and Jake picked her up and kissed her. “How’s my baby?” he asked.

“I’m not a baby, I’m a little girl.”

“Oh, well excuuuuuse me.”

Leaning back and grinning, she poked a finger against a button of Jake’s shirt. “You have a spill, Daddy.”

“I do?” He looked down.

Kimmy darted her finger up and poked his nose.

“Oow! Y’got me!”

Laughing, she sucked on her forefinger. Her eyes were eager with mischief. A Wet Willy was on its way.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” Jake said, forcing her away before she could twist the wet finger in his ear. She giggled and tried to hold on, but he freed himself and put her down.

Not in front of Harold, he thought.

Then he wondered, with a tug of pain, if she ever gave Wet Willies to Harold.

“Let’s get the show on the road,” he said.

He reached down his hand. Kimmy took a firm grip on his forefinger and led the way.

“You two have a good time,” Harold said as they approached him. He gave the overnight bag to Jake. His smile looked strained. “You’ll have her back tomorrow?”

Jake nodded.

They left. It was good to get out of the house. He smiled down at Kimmy.

Her smile was gone. “Don’t I get to stay by you tomorrow?”

“Not this time. Tomorrow’s Mommy’s birthday.”

“I know that.” She gave him an annoyed look. She did not approve, at all, of being told what she already knew. Clearly demeaning.

“Well, you want to be there for her party, don’t you?”

“I s’pose.”

“It’ll be fun.”

He opened the passenger door for Kimmy, and lifted her onto the safety seat. While he strapped her in, she tucked Clew into the top of her bib overalls so the tiny gray head poked out like a kangaroo in its mother’s pouch.

Then she stuck her forefinger into her mouth.

“Oh, no, you don’t!”

“Yes, I do!”

Jake grabbed her wrist, but let himself be overpowered. The wet fingertip pushed into his ear and twisted. “Eaah! You got me!” Before she could get him again, he ducked out of the car.

He hurried around and climbed in behind the steering wheel. Kimmy was ready to bestow another Wet Willy. She strained to reach him, but it was no good.