A. Homes - Music for Torching

"We just had the house cleaned," Elaine says.

Her father slides the cigar back into his pocket. "I'll wait," he says. "I'll have it later, in peace."

Elaine watches her father lower himself onto the living room sofa; he's a little stiff, unsure of himself.

Her mother goes to him. "Are you tired?" she asks. "Would you like to lie down for a few minutes before we go home?" She puts her hand on his forehead and then sweeps it back through his white hair. Elaine has never seen her mother behave this way before-solicitous.

"I'm all right," he says, waving her away.

Her mother bends and kisses her father. She gives him a long good one right on the lips, and Elaine is shocked. The kiss is so tender, sexual, surprising. Elaine's parents are lip to lip in her living room, and she's watching them with her eyes popping out like she's a kid-grossed out.

"Come on, old man, I'll take you home," her mother says, helping her father off the sofa.

"All right, old woman, let's go," he says.

"I put the leftovers in your fridge. You have plenty for tomorrow," her mother says.

"Thanks," Elaine says. She can't bring herself to hug or kiss either of them. She is glad her parents are leaving. They have frightened her. They can go home and do whatever they want, but here in her house she doesn't want them being affectionate, she doesn't want them getting along, she has no concept of them that way.

"Willy's here," Paul says, looking out the window.

Daniel opens the door.

"You got lucky last night, leaving before the liver," Willy says, stepping in. "Organ meat, can't be beat."

Paul and Elaine are still sitting in the living room.

"Hello, Willy," Paul says over his shoulder.

"Hello," Willy says.

And no one says anything else.

"What's going on?" Willy asks.

"My grandparents just left. We're all kind of burned out," Daniel says. "Come up to my room."

Elaine pictures the two of them fondling the Ziploc bags, flipping through fat-girl magazines. "Why don't you go outside? It's such a nice day, play outside."

Despite the distractions, Elaine is thinking about yesterday, about Pat yelling "Freeze," about the cop with the red balloon, about the way she went racing to the school, looking for the guidance counselor. She thinks about the hammer and nails. She fixates on the idea that the police will investigate-they'll find the hammer with her fingerprints and bust her. She feels a sense of impending doom; something is about to happen, something she's not going to like.

"I've got to go out for a minute," she tells Paul. "Be back soon."

He looks at her.

"What?" she says.

"You tell me," he says.

They stare. Bastard, bitch, prick, cunt.

There is the constant fear of being found out, exposed. What does he know? What is she getting at?

"I just need a minute alone," she says.

"You are alone, Elaine, everyone has gone on their merry way."

"Just let me go," she says. "I'll be right back."

"Take the videos," he says.

"Can I go?" Sammy asks. "I want to go."

There's a pause.

"Sure," Elaine says. "Of course you can go." She offers Paul the same opportunity. "Would you like to come along for the ride?" "Absolutely not," he says.

Elaine goes. She gets in the car and goes with Sammy.

She passes Pat and George's house. They are home, both cars are in the driveway. She hovers in the middle of the street, idling with no particular plan in mind. She hovers until she feels conspicuous and then steps on the gas. She wonders why everything seems catastrophic, why she's always holding her breath, waiting for something to change her life.

"Where are you taking me?" Sammy asks.

"Video store."

"Why are we going this way?"

"For a change," she says.

"Are you kidnapping me?"

"What are you talking about?" Elaine asks.

"I don't know," he says.

"Well then, stop it," she says.

They return the movies, and on the way home Elaine swings by the vocational school.

"Have I been here before?" Sammy asks.

"Have you?" Elaine pulls into the empty lot and parks. "I have to check on something, about the house." She plants an explanation in Sammy's brain, something Sammy can repeat if Paul asks what they did. "Stay here," she says, getting out of the car.

"Why?"

"It's really dusty, you won't be able to breathe." She is intentionally scaring him and hating herself for it.

"Hurry," he says.

"I will."

Elaine scurries across the grass to the split sides of the prefab house. She steps in. Her theme has been elaborated upon. Her FUCK THIS now reads FUCK THIS WHOLE FUCKING THING. And someone has woven string, a deep-red yarn, around the nails, connecting the dots. And someone else-she assumes-

has gone at it circling the phrase with black Magic Marker and, in a wobbly hand, offering the evaluation BAD ATTITUDE B-.

There must have been a party last night, a conclave of youth on the loose. Elaine looks for the hammer, the nails. Gone. All gone. She hopes they are being held in Allied hands. She hopes no one called the cops.

"What were you looking for?" Sammy asks when she gets back into the car.

"Details," she says. "Whenever you do something, you have to be sure to get the details right."

Paul. Paul is home alone. He is in front of the TV watching an extra videotape he bought for himself when he was shopping for McKendrick. Amateur porn: Neighborhood Women . There is something about the cheesy homemade quality of it that he finds appealing. He thinks of the date, and of Mrs. A. He closes his eyes and thinks of Elaine. He pictures himself lying out on the new deck, drinking, listening to the sound of the neighbor's Weed Whacker. He imagines Elaine giving him a little lap dance where the neighbors can see. He thinks of the lap dance, the deck, the warm air of a June afternoon. It's exciting up to a point, and then it isn't. He thinks of Elaine and wonders what's going on with her-has she done something? He swells with generosity. Goodie. Goodie if she did it, goodie for her if she got herself out of the house and got herself laid. He's engorged with the idea, generous to a point, and then he's wondering who it might be-could it be Henry? In a fit of jealousy, mad at Paul for doinking the date, could Henry have taken a dive with Elaine? Paul tries out a few other men-George, Mrs. Hansen's husband, the contractor-and decides that, yes, it's Henry, that's the one who makes the most sense.

When Paul hears Elaine come in, he turns off the TV, he holds the Sunday paper on his lap.

"What are you doing?"

"Reading," he says.

"Anything good?"

"Not really."

He gazes at her. "That was nice with your parents," he says.