The Big Bounce jr-1 Page 15

  “I was taking a walk.”

  “You can’t hear when you’re walking?”

  “I didn’t hear anything. How many times do I have to tell you?”

  “You didn’t see a girl? It sounded like a broad laughing.”

  “I didn’t see any girl or anybody.”

  “I don’t know,” Mr. Majestyk said. “Maybe it’s me. Maybe I should get my goddamn ears checked.” That seemed to end it. Mr. Majestyk paused, about to turn and go back inside. He looked at Ryan again. “Hey, you want to see a good movie?”

  “I saw it,” Ryan said.

  As he heard himself and saw Mr. Majestyk frown he wanted to keep talking, but there wasn’t anything to say and a little silence hung there between them.

  “How do you know you saw it?”

  “I was walking by, I heard the TV. I remembered, you know, it sounded familiar. What they were saying. It’s a Western, isn’t it? Randolph Scott?”

  “You hear a TV inside somebody’s house,” Mr. Majestyk said, “but you don’t hear somebody laughing outside, right where you’re at?”

  “I didn’t hear anybody. You want me to write it down and sign it, for Christ sake?”

  “Take it easy.”

  “Your ass, take it easy. You believe me or not?”

  “Forget it.”

  “I don’t forget it, you’re calling me a liar and I don’t like it.”

  “Hey, come on-I haven’t called you anything.”

  Ryan stood facing him. “You believe me or not?”

  “Okay, I believe you,” Mr. Majestyk said. “You want me to write it down and sign it?”

  “Forget it,” Ryan said. He walked past Mr. Majestyk, out of the light into darkness.

  If Jackie didn’t follow her the beach way, Nancy decided, he would come over in the car, race over to arrive before she did, and be waiting with some nifty remark like, “Where you been?” From then on all his moves would be toward the bedroom. Naturally. If a girl asked you to steal $50,000 with her, she wasn’t going to say no to falling into bed, for God sake. Ryan would think that way and there was no reason he shouldn’t. Nancy looked at it as part of the plot, the romantic portion of The Great Cucumber Payroll Robbery. Or, Nancy and Jack at the Seashore. Though it was really a lake. Or, Two Mixed-Up Kids Trying to Make Out. They would make out. Nancy was reasonably sure of that. But if anything did happen, Ryan would be left with the bag and she would deny, if she had to, ever having seen him before. That part, if it ever happened, would be called Tough Bananas, Charlie. Or, Some You Win and Some You Lose.

  It would be too bad if it happened, because she liked Jack Ryan. She liked his looks. She liked his face and his eyes and the smooth, tan leanness of him. She liked the way he stood with his hands on his hips, a little phony but not too phony. She liked the quiet way he talked and some of the dry things he said. It was too bad Jack wasn’t Ray. If Jack Ryan were Ray Ritchie, the whole view of her situation would be different. It didn’t mean she would stay with Ryan forever, she would have to think about the future; but at least the present would be more fun. It really was too bad Jack wasn’t Ray. It was too bad all the Ryans and the Ritchies in the world couldn’t trade places.

  When she got home, she would turn on one lamp and the record player and watch Jackie lead up to it. He would probably be very quiet and move slowly but not waste much time, either. Maybe they should go for a swim first, with nothing on: the ultimate test of how poised he really was.

  Nancy climbed the stairs to the front lawn. The pool did look sexy with the underwater lights turning the water green. If she knew for sure he was here watching, she could give him a little preview before the main feature. There were no lights on in the living room. Of course not, he’d be sitting on the couch in the dark, with a good view of the front lawn and the pool, going over his nifty remark and the way he’d say it. He could be watching her right now.

  He was watching her; she could feel it.

  Nancy walked to the edge of the pool. She took off her sneakers and dipped one foot into the water. She peeled off the tan sweater and shook her hair. She unbuttoned her blouse and felt the water again with her toes, taking her time. He would be on the edge of the couch now. As she took the blouse off he would see she wasn’t wearing a bra and that would bring him out of his seat. Okay, Jackie, Nancy thought, get ready. She unbuttoned her shorts and peeled to bare hips. Give him a little, Nancy thought. She turned slowly toward the house with her hands on her hips. She turned back, just as slowly, and dove in.

  She swam across the pool underwater, came up, went down again, and pushed off against the side. In the middle of the pool she came to the surface and swam to the deep end with slow, easy strokes. To the shallow end and back would give him time to come down to the pool. She made her turn and stroked leisurely toward the diving board and now saw the figure coming out from the house, out of the deep shadow of the patio. She dove underwater, giving him time to reach the edge, and came up breaking the water smoothly, seeing the beer case he was carrying at his side, wondering why he had brought out a whole case of beer and realizing in the same moment that it wasn’t Jack Ryan, that it was a man she had never seen before, a dark figure standing now at the edge of darkness, the lights of the swimming pool reflecting on his sunglasses.

  “Hey, come out of there.” Frank Pizarro grinned. “I got something for you.”

  Nancy stared up at him, one hand on the pool edge. “Get out,” she said.

  “Listen, don’t yell or scream or nothing, okay?”

  “Mr. Ritchie has private police who come by here and I think it’s just about time-”

  “They come see you swimming like that, uh? Goddamn,” Pizarro said. “I don’t blame them.”

  “Tell me what you want,” Nancy said. “And then leave.”

  “I got something to sell you.”

  “You’re trespassing,” Nancy said. “You’re wasting your time and mine and if you’re still here when the police come, you’re going to have a very hard time explaining it. They’ll arrest you and put you in jail without asking questions. Just your being here will be enough to convict you.”

  Pizarro waited patiently. “It’s wallets,” he said.

  “What?”

  “It’s wallets. I got some wallets I sell you for five hunnert dollar.”

  Nancy hesitated. He could be high on something or he could be psycho. She said quietly, “I don’t need a wallet, so will you go, please?”

  Pizarro shrugged. “It’s okay. You don’t want these wallets, then I got to take them to the goddamn police.” He set the beer case close to the edge and kneeled on it, hunching down closer to her. “These wallets come from a place that was robbed. You understand?”

  She had decided there was no sense in trying to understand him; but she wasn’t sure what to say to threaten him, to make him leave. She said, “Yes, you should take them to the police. They’ll appreciate your help.”

  “Sure,” Pizarro said, “I can tell them who stole the wallets. Or I can leave the case somewhere the police will find it. With the name of the person written down inside.” Pizarro watched her. “You know what I mean?”

  “I know the private police should be here any minute-”

  “Hey,” Pizarro said. “No more bullshit about the private police, all right? I been here three hours waiting and this private police you got never come by.” Pizarro grinned, trying to see her clearly through the distortion of the water. “Come out of there, okay,” he said. “So I can tell you something.”

  12

  VIRGINIA MURRAY WISHED THE WIRE or whatever it was in the bra didn’t dig into her chest the way it did. She loved the aqua bathing suit. It was neat with the white buttons down the front; it made her look trim. But it was so darned uncomfortable. The edge of the bra support, which curved beneath her right arm, dug in and left a welt you could feel. (The first time she felt it, the first day here, she was scared to death, because when her fingers touched the welt, she thought it w
as a lump in her breast.) The trouble was, the only other bathing suit she had was the green and yellow print, and with the skirt effect it made her look hippy.

  She had already eaten breakfast. She had written to her mother and dad: “Can’t believe it’s Thursday already and almost time to come home. The past two weeks have gone by so fast. Whew! Will leave Saturday morning about ten or so (no hurry) and should be home before two. I miss both of you very much.”

  She had combed out her hair, put on the aqua bathing suit, and combed her hair again. She had taken her position on the studio couch to watch the morning begin and had looked through the new Cosmopolitan, which, she had a feeling, was getting awfully sexy lately.

  Virginia was surprised when Mr. Majestyk came out to skim the pool instead of Jack Ryan. It was the first morning this week he had not come out about 9:15 or 9:20 with the aluminum pole.

  He was probably doing something else. Perhaps raking the beach.

  She could walk down to the beach, but if she did, she would have to stay at least for a short while and she didn’t like to lie in the sand, even on a beach towel. It was too hot and she would feel herself perspire. It was strange, though, she had pictured herself with Jack Ryan on the beach. Yes, because she pictured them alone. It was late afternoon and she was lying on her back with her eyes closed beneath her sunglasses, very tan, with the straps of the aqua bathing suit unfastened and off her shoulders. She felt someone near her, she sensed it, and opened her eyes to see Jack Ryan standing over her. She looked up at him calmly, past the muscular curve of his naked chest. Finally he said, “Do you mind if I join you?” She told him please do. He dropped to his knees and she sat up, holding the front of her bathing suit against her chest. While they talked about nothing in particular she could feel that he wanted to tell her something. After a while they swam out into Lake Huron together, side by side, stroke for stroke; out about a half mile they rested and came back in.

  They would take her car and go down the beach to a restaurant that looked out over the water and have broiled lake trout and white wine and watch the sun go down. On the way home he would try to tell her. He would sound awkward because he had never tried to express the way he felt. He had never met a girl like her. The girls he knew were out for whatever they could get. But she was different. She was, well, kind. Nice. No, not just nice, more than that. She made him feel, you know, good. Virginia would smile, not laughing at him, but warmly and say, “That’s kind of you, but, really, I’m a very normal everyday sort of girl with no special talents or desires.” He would say, “Well, what is it, then?” And she would say, “Perhaps the secret is that I see goodness in people, which is really God’s love, you know, something everyone can discover in himself”-smiling then a little sadly-“if he would only take the time to look.”

  She wasn’t sure what would happen after that.

  But, darn it, she was sure of one thing-pulling at the bra where it dug into the side of her chest-she was going to take off the aqua suit and put on the green and yellow print and be comfortable for a change, even if it did make her look hippy.

  She went into the bathroom. The green and yellow print was on one of the two outside door hooks, hanging next to her terry cloth robe. The door was a good idea: you could come right into the bathroom from outside without tracking sand all over the house; but you also had to be sure it was kept locked.

  Virginia stepped out of the aqua suit. Turning to the door, she saw her reflection briefly in the medicine cabinet mirror. She picked up the aqua suit, glancing at the mirror again. The knock came as she was reaching for the green and yellow suit, as she stood naked by the door with the aqua suit in her other hand-several knocks in quick succession close to her, not two feet from where she was standing.

  Ryan drove into Geneva Beach for breakfast.

  After walking away from Mr. Majestyk last night, he had gone to his room to wait for Nancy. The car was here and he couldn’t picture her walking home. So he lay on the bed to wait and read an article in True about a guy in Norwich, England, who had hooked, played, boated, and released more than two thousand pike in 15 years. When he realized Nancy wasn’t coming, he thought about driving over to her house. But if Mr. Majestyk was still hanging around, he’d see him or hear him drive off and know where he was going, because Mr. Majestyk knew the car. Then Mr. Majestyk might add it up and decide she was the girl he’d heard outside his window. Maybe it didn’t matter. But why give the guy anything to think about? Parking the car in front of the Bay Vista had been dumb to begin with. He could have left it there and walked down to her house, but he’d see her tomorrow, all day. There was a good article in True about how Early Wynn used to dust batters and once even knocked his own kid down when the kid hit a long ball off him in batting practice. He read it and fell asleep.

  At Estelle’s he ordered eggs over easy and sausage and a glass of milk, then had coffee while he looked at the sports page of the Free Press. The Tigers were playing Washington tonight, Boston tomorrow night to open a five-game series. He hadn’t seen a game yet this year. He hadn’t even seen more than a few innings on television.

  Maybe they could watch the game tonight, if it was on. He couldn’t picture Nancy watching it, but maybe she wouldn’t care if he did.

  The plan for today was to drive by Ray’s hunting lodge, look it over, and tonight go in, setting it up for Friday night. Looking it over wouldn’t take long. They could spend the day at her place. He could bring beer and the wine she liked and a couple of steaks and they could play house most of the afternoon. It was too early to pick her up now. She probably slept late.

  Back at the Bay Vista after breakfast, Ryan didn’t know what to do. He didn’t want to hang around and maybe run into Mr. Majestyk and he didn’t want to sit in his room and read. For some reason he thought of the broad in No. 5, who was supposed to have the stuck window.

  Virginia Murray didn’t move. She wanted to. She wanted to back away from the door, or reach the terry cloth robe and put it on without touching the door. But what if she made a noise? She should have said something right away. “Just a minute.” Or, “Who is it?” Then she could move around all she wanted. But now it was too late.

  The succession of knocks came again, loud and startling, and she could see the edge of the door vibrate. Then silence. As it lengthened, Virginia began to relax. This was silly. She would simply wait for whoever it was to go away. They weren’t going to stand there forever. But as she saw the knob turned and jiggled she jumped and heard her own voice before she realized she had cried out.

  “What do you want?”

  There was a moment’s hesitation. “I come to fix your window.”

  She had to say something. “Can you come back later?”

  “It’s my day off. I only got a little while.”

  “Just a minute, please.”

  Virginia put on the terry cloth robe, hurrying but trying to be quiet and calm about it. She tied the sash and looked in the mirror, pulling the lapels closer together; but when she took her hand away, the lapels came apart. She hurried into the bedroom, taking off the robe, and immediately was sorry she had taken it off, feeling herself naked and picturing him outside waiting. If she took too long, he would know she had been standing in the bathroom without any clothes on. She had to hurry. She had to think. (Mother of God, help me!) She had to put something on. Something. Virginia reached into the closet. She pulled a dress from its hanger. Her light blue shift. My God, it was too thin. But she was going to wear it, because it was in her hand, because it was unzipped and she was stepping into it and zipping it up again, almost all the way up, smoothing the dress over her hips and glancing in the mirror. She was amazed. She looked fine; she even looked calm.

  It was not until she was opening the door that she realized she was barefoot.

  “You said you had a window was stuck?”

  “Yes, come in, please.” She hesitated. “It’s in the bedroom.”

  Ryan was carrying the metal tool
box. Closing the door behind him, he saw her aqua bathing suit lying open on the floor. He saw she wasn’t wearing shoes with a dress on, and had to think about that one as he followed Virginia into the bedroom. He saw her stoop quickly next to the bed to pick up something and saw the way the dress stretched tightly but softly over her behind and smoothly across her back without the little ridge that brassiere fasteners make. By the time Virginia had raised the shade, standing against the morning sunlight coming in, Ryan knew damn well she didn’t have anything on under the dress.

  He put the toolbox on the floor. “Let me have a look.”

  Virginia was trying to raise the window, demonstrating, proving it wouldn’t open. Ryan reached in past her. She jerked her arm out of the way, hitting her hand on the windowsill, and the bunched-up ball of white she was holding fell to the floor. Ryan looked down at her pants covering the toe of his right foot.

  He looked up now at her face. Not too bad. Good skin. Greenish eyes. A nice smell-some kind of lotion. A very clean-looking broad. And a funny look in her eyes like she was really keyed up and ready, a broad who’d been here by herself almost two weeks, about twenty-seven, probably married-not the best-looking broad in the world, but she was a real living person and she had gone to a lot of trouble.

  Ryan put his hands on her shoulders and began turning her away from the window. She kept staring at him with the funny look, her eyes wide open. He moved in closer, his hands sliding down her arms and then working around her waist to her back and pulling her against him; and when it felt just right, he pressed his mouth against hers and threw both of them across the bed.

  At first he didn’t realize she was struggling. He thought she was thrashing around, playing it up, but then, still kissing her, pressed against her, he opened his eyes and saw her eye like a giant eye fixed on him, an all-seeing eye looking into him-and filled with terror.

  No, that wasn’t it. It was a frantic look, a way-up-there look.

  He nuzzled in, kissing her lightly about the mouth and cheek, giving her the old Jack Ryan Special and moving his hand over her hip and up under her arm.