Richard Laymon - Flesh

Hell, she thought, it sure didn’t bother you much at the time.

Shortly afterward, though.

If there are regrets, they start in fast, before you even have time to get your clothes back on. If there aren’t regrets, you know that, too. There had been times when Alison felt right afterward. Not recently, though. Not with Evan. Maybe not since Jimmy, the summer after high school graduation.

Jimmy. It was missing him, more than anything else, that had brought her so often to Solitary Rock during her freshman year. Especially after the letter that began, “I will always cherish the memories of what we shared together, but…” But she was eight hundred miles from Jimmy and he’d fallen for Cynthia Younger in his world civ class.

Sitting on Solitary Rock with the sun warm on her head and back, Alison didn’t feel the loss of Jimmy. She had finished with the pain and bitterness a long time ago. Instead, she inspected the memories of Jimmy and the way her life had gone since then.

The guys she had dated. The guys she had been serious about. The ones she had slept with.

Four of those, she thought, but only three if you don’t count Tom and you shouldn’t count Tom because that was only once and we were drunk. So three after Jimmy—Dave, Larry, and Evan. And it hadn’t been really right with any of them.

Good, but not right. Not wonderful. Not without those regrets sneaking in.

She wondered how she would feel about Nick Winston, the guy she’d met last night at Wally’s. Thinking about Nick, she felt no eagerness to see him again. Probably a nice guy, but…

Her rump was starting to hurt. She changed positions, lowering her legs and crossing them. Leaning back, she pressed her palms against the rock and braced herself up. She lifted her face into the sunlight. The heat felt wonderful. She imagined going now to the secluded place where she had been with Evan, taking off her clothes, and feeling the sun all over her body.

No way, she thought.

But she leaned forward and pulled her skirt up high on her legs. She unbuttoned her blouse, lifted its front, and tied it around her ribs. Then she leaned back again, bracing herself on stiff arms. That was better—feeling the sun on her chest and belly and thighs. The sun, and the mild breeze.

So I’ve struck out a few times in the man department, she thought. It’s not the end of the world. I’m twenty-one, not bad to look at. No reason to let this stuff get me down. I’m better off without Evan, better off alone than getting stuck with a guy who isn’t exactly right. Hold out for the one who is right and don’t lie to myself when one isn’t. That’s the main thing.

Later, when Alison left, she didn’t return to Summer Street. She felt peaceful, and had no need to tease or punish herself by walking past Evan’s apartment. She walked the length of the wooded park, saw a few strolling couples. She spotted lovers leaning against a tree deep in the shadows, and felt only a moment of sorrow.

At the house, she found Celia asleep on the sofa with her headphones on. The quiet tapping of a typewriter came from beyond the closed door of Helen’s room. Alison stepped to the door and knocked. “Yo,” Helen said.

She opened it. Helen scooted her chair back, turned it around, and looked at Alison from under a transparent green visor.

“Anything exciting happen while I was gone?”

“Just Celia bitching about her aches and pains, though I don’t believe I would call that exciting.”

“Any calls?” she asked. Why do I care? she wondered. I don’t. But she felt a letdown when Helen shook her head.

“Nary a one. Your public must be otherwise occupied.”

“Just as well.”

“I thought you were finished with Evan.”

“I am. I was just curious, that’s all.”

“Celia got a call from Danny Gard, wanted to go out romping with her tonight. You should’ve heard her pissing and moaning.” Helen scrunched her face. “‘No, I can’t. No, I wasn’t just fine last night, I was in aaaagony. Maybe next week. Maybe next month. No, it’s not you, it’s meeee. I’m in pain. I can hardly moooove.’”

“Celia isn’t really going to stay home on a Saturday night,” Alison said.

“Nah. She’s just waiting for a better offer. I guess she didn’t have a great time with him last night.”

“He’s a gross character. Last time I saw him, he was at Wally’s engaged in a belching contest with Lisa Ball.”

“He’s a Sig,” Helen said, as if that explained it.

Alison nodded. “His idea of a high time is lighting farts.”

Grinning, Helen asked, “You know that from personal experience?”

“I’ve heard him pontificate on—” The sudden jangle of the telephone stopped her words. She felt herself go tight. “I’ll get it,” she muttered, and hurried into the living room.

Don’t let it be Evan, she thought.

Her hand trembled as she picked up the phone. “Hello?”

“Celia?”

Thank God. “Just a moment, please,” she said. Celia, still on the sofa, had her eyes closed. The music from the headset had probably covered the blare of the ringing phone. Alison wondered if she was asleep.

Helen appeared in the doorway of her room. She raised her bushy eyebrows.

Alison covered the phone’s mouthpiece. “It’s for Celia.”

“A guy?”

“Yeah.”

“Find out who it is.”

“Who may I tell her is calling?” Alison asked.

“This is Jason Banning.”

“Thank you. Just a moment.” She covered the mouthpiece again. “Jason, the actor, that scuzzball’s roommate.”

“The freshman.”

Nodding, Alison set down the phone and hurried to the sofa. She nudged Celia’s shoulder. The girl frowned and mumbled and kept her eyes shut. Alison lifted one of the mufflike speakers off her ear. “Hey, snoozy, you got a wakeup call.”

“Huh?”

“You got an admirer on the phone.”

A single eyelid struggled upward. “Huh? Who is…?”

“Jason.”

She raised her other eyelid. Her gaze slid sideways to Alison. “Jason? Jason Banning?”

“That’s the one.”

“Be damn,” she mumbled.

“Want me to tell him you can’t come to the phone?”

“Eat my shorts.” She pulled the headset off and slowly sat up, groaning. “God, I’m death warmed over.”

Alison brought the phone closer. She placed it on the coffee table and handed the receiver to Celia.

“Hi, Jason,” Celia said. She sounded cheerful and friendly and in tip-top shape.

Alison looked at Helen. Helen shook her head and chuckled.

“Yeah, some bastard ran me off the road…No, not too bad. I’m not too pretty to look at, but…Well, that’s just ’cause you haven’t seen me…Oh? Well, I wouldn’t mind seeing you either…Tonight?…No, I don’t have any plans that I can’t get out of…”

Helen, still shaking her head, swiveled her eyes upward.

“That’d be great. What time?…Okay. Great…Terrific. See you then.” She held out the phone, and Alison hung it up for her.

“Are you sure you’re up to a date?”

“He’s taking me to the Lobster Shanty, I’m up to that.”

“Decent,” Alison said. The Lobster Shanty was the finest restaurant in Clinton.

“That should be a real thrill,” Helen said, “going out with a freshman.”

“A gorgeous freshman,” Celia amended.

“Robbing the cradle.”

“Floss your butt.” She lay down again on the sofa and crossed her ankles. “Besides, he’s twenty-one, same as us.”

“Sure.”

“He is.”

“What’d he do, flunk three times?”

“He worked after high school. Modeled, did commercials, that sort of stuff.”