Richard Laymon - The Traveling Vampire Show

“Bette Davis and Joan Crawford are in Baby Jane,” I pointed out.

“I’m well aware of that.”

“They were really big stars in your generation.”

That got a laugh out of Mrs. Simmons. “ My generation, huh?”

I wasn’t quite sure what to make of that, so I changed the subject slightly. “Anyway, I bet Elizabeth would get a kick out of going to the drive-in with us. We’ll pay for her ticket and buy her snacks and stuff.”

“And who, exactly, will be driving?”

“Slim. We’ll be going in her car.”

“I see.”

She trusted Slim. I figured we had it made.

Then she said, “I don’t know, Dwight.”

“I think Elizabeth might especially like spending some time with me after… you know, feeling so abandoned this afternoon.”

“I suppose you’ll want Rusty to accompany you likewise?”

“Doesn’t matter to us. It’s fine either way.”

“He’s grounded, you know.”

“He doesn’t have to come. The thing is, this is really for Elizabeth.”

“I’ll have to ask her.”

I heard some clatter that meant she was setting down the phone. Pressing the mouthpiece of Slim’s phone against my belly, I said quietly, “I think we’re in business.”

Slim looked tickled. She also looked as if she’d known all along that her plan would succeed. Largely because her plans always succeeded.

Almost always.

After a while, Mrs. Simmons returned to the phone. “Dwight?” she asked.

“I’m here.”

“My husband and I have talked it over. We’ve also discussed the matter with Elizabeth, and she’s willing to forgive and forget.”

“Oh. Good.”

“So we’ll allow her to go with you.”

“Great.”

“Rusty, too. He’s still grounded, mind you. This will be the exception to the rule.”

“Fine.” I grinned at Slim.

“But I want you to promise you won’t do anything to make us regret our decision.”

“I promise, Mrs. Simmons.”

“When will you be picking them up?”

“Maybe in about half an hour?”

Slim nodded her approval.

“Very good. We’ll see you then.”

“Great.”

“And Dwight?”

“Yes?”

“This is a very thoughtful thing you’re doing. It goes a long way toward putting you back in our good graces.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Simmons.”

“See you soon,” she said.

“Real good. Bye.”

“Bye.”

I hung up.

Grinning, Slim began to applaud. “Bravo,” she said. “ A fine performance.”

“Thank you, thank you…”

“While you’re on a roll, how about giving Lee another try?”

I dialed Lee’s number. It rang and rang and rang.

Slim picked up the two fresh bottles of beer and we went into the living room. On the foyer floor was Rusty’s shirt and the bag containing my dad’s two empty beer bottles—just where I’d left them before hurrying upstairs to stand guard on Slim while she brushed her teeth.

At the time, I’d figured we would be out of the house in about five minutes.

Funny how one thing leads to another.

Or not so funny.

Watching Slim squat by the bag to take out the empty bottles and put in the full ones, I could hardly believe what had happened after I’d followed her upstairs. There was a dream-like quality to it. As if several of my fantasies—and dreads—had come to life. But I knew I hadn’t dreamed any of it; there squatted Slim in nothing but her blouse and here stood I in nothing but a towel. Our clothes were in the drier. All of it had actually happened.

And we were still dealing with the consequences.

Not to mention the consequences of drinking my dad’s beer.

Drinking those two bottles of beer (and trying to conceal the deed) had led us back to Slim’s house… where she’d gone upstairs to brush her teeth and change into a dark blouse… and all the rest had happened.

Consequences within consequences.

But good consequences. Mostly.

Standing up, Slim said, “You be in charge of the beer.” Then she walked over to the sofa. Her back was toward me, so I watched the tail of her blouse slide up as she bent over and pulled the sofa away from the wall.

She crouched and took out the weapons: her bow, her quiver of arrows, and the two knives Rusty and I had carried while helping her search the house for prowlers.

“What’ll we do with those?” I asked.

“Take ’em with us.” She raised her arm to lift the strap of the quiver over her head. When she did that, her blouse glided up a couple of inches. I kept my eyes on her face until the quiver was on her back and her blouse was down where it belonged.

“Let’s go see if the clothes are dry,” she said.

I picked up the bag, the two empty bottles, and the shirt I’d borrowed from Rusty.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Slim asked.

I must’ve looked puzzled.

A smile spread across Slim’s face. “I only washed your jeans.”

“Oh!”

She laughed.

I set everything down again, said, “Right back,” and headed for the stairway feeling a little stupid.

I was about halfway up when Slim said, “Dwight?”

I stopped and looked around. “You’d better leave my towel up there,” she said. “Put it back where you got it, okay?”

Leave her towel?

“Okay,” I said.

“And check around the bathroom. We don’t want to leave any evidence behind.”

“Okay.”

“And could you check my bedroom, too? I think I left the light on.”

“I’ll check,” I said and continued up the stairs. At the top, I looked back down at her and said, “Stay put, okay?”

“I will.”

“And yell if anything happens.”

“I will.”

On my way down the hall to her bedroom, the towel started to slip. I held it by the tuck… and wondered why I bothered. After all, she wanted me to leave the towel in the bathroom. What would I do then?

Stepping into her bedroom, I was about to flick the wall switch when I saw that the closet light was also on. I walked toward it, striding over the place where Slim and I had been standing when she’d put my hands on her breasts. Then I was in the closet, standing where she’d stood when she took off her T-shirt. I looked down. The powder blue top of her bikini lay on the floor, just where she’d dropped it.

Maybe she didn’t want it left on the floor.

As I thought about picking it up, however, I remembered Rusty fooling with Slim’s mother’s bra. What if I picked up the bikini top and got an urge to bury my face in it… and Slim suddenly showed up and caught me?

So I let it stay on the floor.

I yanked the string to shut the light off, then rushed back across Slim’s room, hit the switch on my way out, and hurried through the hallway toward the glow from the bathroom.

At the top of the stairs, I paused and saw Slim looking up at me.

“Everything okay?” she asked.

“No problem. Your closet light was on.”

“You get it?”

“Yeah.”

“Thanks.”

“I’ll be right down,” I said, and entered the bathroom. I started to shut the door, then changed my mind and left it open a few inches so I would be able to hear her… in case.

The first thing I did was take off the towel. Naked, I went to the bar where I’d found it. I folded it neatly and hung it up.

Then I crouched over the bathtub. I turned on the water and rinsed the tub, then used toilet paper to wipe some hairs that had collected over the drain. I tossed the paper into the toilet and flushed.

The counter and sink looked fine.

So I put on my shirt, then my socks and shoes.