Andrew Vachss - Blossom

"Those pictures…the ones you saved…not the ones you ripped out. You thought women could see this mark you have on you?"

"That's what he said. He said they'd always see it. And maybe they'd laugh at me. Or worse. He said women are evil. Nasty, smelly evil things. Down there."

"But you like them, don't you, Lloyd?"

He nodded.

"You know what that means?"

"No."

"Listen to me, now. Listen good. It means the preacher was a liar. There's no mark on you. There never was. Women won't hurt you…not the ways the preacher said they would. You're a man— you'll be a man. The preacher can't change that."

"The stuff…he made me do…I…"

"It doesn't mean anything, Lloyd. Nothing. You want to know about women, you're curious about them. That's natural , okay? All young men, they feel like that. Tying them up so they can't hurt you…peeking in windows so you can watch without them seeing you…you don't need that. There's other ways."

"How?" Spark of desperate hope in his eyes.

"You'll see. Me and Virgil, we'll show you. It'll take some time, but it's going to be all right. All right, understand?"

He nodded. Wanting it to be true.

"Lloyd? One of the kids around here, he told the cops they were sneaking around, looking in on parked cars. Remember?"

"Yes. It's true. I was with them."

"And you told the other kids that you hated them…that maybe something should happen to them?"

"I didn't mean it. It just…hurt so bad. That they could be with girls and I couldn't. The mark…"

"The mark is gone, boy. It never was there. It was a lie. And this is the truth. Don't hate women. Don't be afraid of them. They never did anything to you."

"I…"

"But somebody did, Lloyd. The man who told you about evil…that's what he was. Understand?"

The kid ground out his cigarette. Hands shaking, but his voice was steady then— hot wire of pain burning. "I hate him," he said.

"That's the first step," I told him.

33

I PULLED OUT BEFORE the full morning light. Switched the Chevy for the Lincoln. Left the stack of magazines in the Chevy's trunk. Rebecca's cousins would know what to do with whatever they found back there.

Back in the motel, I took a shower. Slept until noon.

34

WHEN I GOT UP, I called Glenda. Nobody asking for me. I put on my prospector's outfit and went into the streets to look around.

Found a pay phone. Dumped in a handful of quarters, dialed the Mole's junkyard. Heard the phone picked up at the other end. The Mole never answered— he just waited.

"It's me. The Prof call in?"

"Every day." It was Terry's voice. Like father, like son.

"Tell him I'm okay. Keep checking, okay?"

"Sure."

I drifted in loops, looking for enough vacant land to build a racetrack on.

After a couple of hours, I realized I'd never get a feel for these streets without some help. I wasn't tuned in— couldn't feel the heat. If there was any.

35

IT WAS ALMOST five when I pulled into the parking lot of the diner. I found my way to the booth in the back, lit a smoke, waited.

Blossom came to the table, a menu tucked under one arm, order pad open in her hand.

"What'll it be?"

I looked up just in time to see Cyndi smoothly bump her hip into Blossom, pushing the blonde woman aside. "This is my table, honey," she said, flashing a smile.

"It's been your table the past half hour, girl."

"I was on my break. Now shove off, okay?"

Blossom gave her a "watch your step" look and moved away, not looking back.

"Thought I'd see you last night. After I got off," Cyndi said, a tentative smile on her lips, not showing any teeth.

"Business. Never know when I'm going to get a call."

"Like they leave messages for you and stuff?"

"Or call me in the car."

"Oh! You've got one of those car phones?"

"Yeah."

"They're pretty expensive, huh?"

"Business expense."

"That's what I'd like to be," she said, puffing out her chest. "A business expense."

"No you wouldn't. Kleenex is Kleenex, no matter how much it costs."

"What d'you mean?"

"When you're done with it, you throw it out."

"I know. But…nothing lasts forever, right?"

"Wrong."

"Oh." She tapped one shoe. Waiting for the bus. Not sure where it was going, but sure it was coming.

I lit a cigarette, not in a hurry.

"You want tuna again?"

"Ah…I'm not sure. Look, I have to work again tonight. Late."

"That's okay. I mean…maybe you could come by after…"

"No. It'll be real late. Way too late. But if you're getting off at six, maybe we could have dinner together. Before I go to work."

"Dinner?"

"Yeah."

"And then…"

"I'll take you home."

She smoothed the sides of her skirt with the palms of her hands. Bit her lip. "I'd…like that."

"Okay. Then just bring me a chocolate milkshake and some dry toast. I'll wait here until you get off."

"Coming up."

I ground out my smoke. Found the pay phone in the back. Called my pal John the real estate broker. He didn't have topographical maps of the area right there in his office but he sure as shooting could get me some. Have them for me by tomorrow afternoon.

I sipped the milkshake. Nibbled at the toast. Watched the traffic outside the window. The joint was near-empty. Not a hangout— it flowered at mealtimes, lay dormant in between.

It wasn't quite six when Cyndi bounced up to my table.

36

I HELD THE passenger door for her while she climbed inside, her chubby thighs flashing in the late afternoon sun. Wearing a black silk blouse over a red miniskirt, black spikes on her feet.

"I hope this is okay?"

"What?"

"This…outfit. I mean…for going out to dinner and all."

"It's fine. You look lovely."

"Thank you." Ran her hand over the seat cushion. "Leather. It even smells good. Where're we going?"

"You tell me, Cyndi— I don't know this town. Someplace nice. And quiet. Where we don't need a reservation, okay?"

"You mean nice nice? Like fancy?"

"Sure."

"Can we go to Ricardo's? I've never been there, but I heard it's real nice."

"Sure."

I followed her directions. Ricardo's was in Hammond. A small joint backed up against the lake. The lot had only a half dozen cars sitting there.

Instead of a maitre d', there was a plastic sign on a stand. Please Wait to Be Seated.

A dark-haired hostess in a cocktail dress came over. Looked Cyndi up and down, glanced at me long enough to calculate the cost of everything I had on. Asked, "Two for dinner?" and led us to a table ten feet from the kitchen.

"Will this be all right?"

"How about one of those tables?" I asked, nodded my head in the direction of a long, low window.

"They're all reserved, sir."

"All?"

"I believe so.

"I'll call next time," I said, starting over in that direction, tapping Cyndi at her waist to come along. The hostess trailed after us, stopping at the first table at the end of the row.

"Perhaps this one?" she asked, her face set.

"Fine."

"Your waiter will be with you shortly."

I held Cyndi's chair for her. Picked a tiny box of wooden matches from the white tablecloth, cracked a flame, lit a smoke.

The waiter looked like he'd done time back when it was a credential. He must have caught the action with the hostess. Bowed to Cyndi. "Good evening, madam. Sir. My name is Charles. I'll be serving you this evening. Can I get you something to drink before dinner…perhaps some champagne?"

"Could I…?"

I nodded, cutting her off. "Some champagne for the lady. Whatever you recommend. I'll have ginger ale over ice."

"Very good, sir."

Cyndi looked around like a kid at the circus. A kid who'd never been before. "Oh, wow! This is beautiful. And they treat you so nice. I didn't want to order champagne. I mean, I love it and all, but they always water it down, you know."