Richard Laymon - Flesh

How could he do a thing like that?

How could I sleep through it?

He probably just slipped his hand in for a quick feel, nothing more.

Yeah, sure thing. A feel here, a feel there.

If he’d cleaned the goddamned salsa off his hand, I never would’ve been the wiser. What the fuck was he doing, eating while he groped me?

Alison heard an engine. Headlights brightened the road on her left. A car moved slowly ahead of her, close to the curb. “I’m sorry!” Evan called through the open passenger window. “Please, can’t we at least talk?”

She kept walking.

Evan’s car stayed beside her. “At least let me drive you home. We can’t leave it like this.”

“Oh yes we can.”

“I didn’t do anything!”

“Oh no?” Alison strode across the grass and stepped off the curb. Evan stopped his car. She crossed in front of its headlights and went to his door. The window was down. She clutched the sill and peered in at him. “You didn’t do anything? How do you figure that, huh? What do call grabbing my tit, not to mention whatever else you might’ve grabbed?”

“I didn’t know you were asleep, damnit! I came back from the kitchen and sat down with you, and you looked at me. You opened your eyes when I sat down, and gave me this look as if everything was okay, and I put my arm across your shoulders. You didn’t tell me to get lost, so I thought you liked it. I thought everything was okay again. That’s when I put my hand in your blouse. I didn’t know you were asleep. You didn’t act asleep. My God, you moaned when I…touched you.”

“I don’t believe you,” Alison muttered. But her outrage had turned to confusion.

What if he’s telling the truth?

She lowered her head. Her grip on the car door seemed necessary to hold her up.

“I thought you were awake. I never would’ve done those things if I didn’t think you were awake.”

“What things, exactly?”

“You really don’t remember any of it?”

“You did more than…touch my breast?”

“Yes.”

Alison groaned.

“You seemed to like it.”

“Christ.”

“You were breathing hard, you were kind of writhing…”

“My God, I don’t—”

“Then suddenly you snored. I couldn’t believe it. I mean, I was in shock. I couldn’t believe you’d been sleeping the whole time, but I thought what if you were! I mean, what if you suddenly woke up and found me all over you? So I buttoned your blouse as fast as I could, and decided I’d better pretend the whole thing never happened unless you brought it up first. Which you didn’t.”

“It was just going to be your dark little secret.”

“It was a mistake, Alison.”

“Yeah, uh-huh.”

“I’d planned to tell you about it, but not until later. I figured that, once everything was patched up between us, it’d be safe to tell you about it. Hell, you probably would’ve thought it was funny.”

“A riot.”

“I can certainly understand your being upset. I mean, I know how it must look. But look at it this way: if you hadn’t noticed that sauce on your bra, we’d be making love right now. Wouldn’t we?”

“Probably,” she admitted.

“So what I did…it wasn’t exactly bad, the timing was just off. If it’d happened before last Thursday or after tonight, it wouldn’t even be an issue.”

“Murder isn’t a fucking issue if you put a bullet through someone’s head a minute after he’s already dead.”

“What the hell does murder have to do with anything?”

“I’m just making a point. About timing.”

“I’ve said I’m sorry, Alison. I’ve explained that it was a misunderstanding. I thought you were awake.”

“Did I start to undress you?”

He didn’t answer.

“Wouldn’t that be the standard procedure if I’d been a participant in your little grab-fest?”

“I thought you were just relaxed and enjoying it. Like the way you just relaxed and did nothing while I was giving you the massage.”

“Sure,” she said. She felt so tired.

“I just want you to understand. I want you to come back with me. Everything was going great, Alison. We owe it to ourselves to give it another try.”

“No.” She shook her head slowly from side to side. “It’s over. It’s done.”

“We’ll talk about it tomorrow, all right?”

“Good night, Evan.” She pushed herself away from the car door, staggered backward a few steps, and rubbed her face.

“Tomorrow,” Evan said.

“Get out of here,” she muttered.

He drove away slowly.

Alison stood in the street for a while. Finally, she willed herself to move. She shuffled her feet along the pavement and managed to step over the curb. She was still several blocks from home. She felt drained. Instead of continuing down the sidewalk, she wandered onto the grass. Soon, the cool dew soaked through her shoes. She wanted to lie down, to shut her eyes and forget, but not on the wet grass. She went to a concrete bench that surrounded the trunk of an oak near Bennet Hall.

At the far side, where she couldn’t be seen from the road, she lay down on the bench. She folded her hands beneath her head and let her legs hang off the edge of the circular seat. She closed her eyes.

This is fine, she thought. If Evan comes around again looking for me, he’ll never spot me over here.

The concrete hurt the backs of her hands and her shoulder blades, so she used her purse for a pillow and folded her hands on her belly. That was much better.

Something skittered noisily among the leaves overhead. Squirrels, she thought.

She wished she had a sweater. A blanket would be better. If she had a blanket, maybe she would just stay here all night.

Evan’s got one in the trunk of his car. His make-out blanket. Shit, he got a lot of use out of it with me.

Never again.

Thought I was awake. Sure he did.

The chill of the concrete seeped through the back of her blouse and shorts and seemed to seep into her skin. She felt a cool breeze sliding over her bare arms and legs. It stirred her hair. It smelled moist and fresh.

Her attic room would be hot.

Another good reason not to move.

I couldn’t move if I wanted to, Alison thought. And I don’t want to.

Fuck it all. Fuck everything.

Okay, not the squirrels unless one lands on my face. And not Mom and Dad. And not Celia and Helen. And not pizza. Or John D. MacDonald or Ronald McDonald.

That shit didn’t even get my joke.

Fuck him. Fuck Evan Forbes. And fuck Roland Whatever and how about Professor Blaine because they both look like they want to rip my clothes off? And who else? How about all of them? How about every man everywhere? Helen’s right, they’re nothing but walking cocks looking for a tight hole.

Okay, just most of them.

Alison realized she was gritting her teeth and shivering. She wrapped her arms across her chest.

Stick around here, she thought, and they’ll find you in the morning like the frozen leopard on Kilimanjaro. They’ll stand around you in awe and say, “What’s she doing here?” And some asshole will probably stick his hand in your blouse. Can’t let a little thing like rigor mortis stand in the way of a cheap feel.

You’re going nuts, Alison.

She rubbed her face. With her arms no longer hugging her chest, the breeze slid over her and stole the warmth from the skin beneath her blouse.

Her attic would be warm, her bed soft.

Enough of this.

She got to her feet and started for home.

The second story windows were dark, but the light at the top of the stairway had been left on. Alison, still shivering, hurried up the stairs and unlocked the door. She stepped inside. The warmth felt wonderful.