Unknown Man #89 jr-3 Page 17

  Denise took her shower first. She came out with a Pompano Beach, Florida, towel wrapped around her, drying her hair with a bathroom towel.

  She said, “Your turn.” A look passed between them.

  Taking his shower, Ryan thought about the look and the girl in the room in the quiet early evening and felt himself becoming aroused. Drying himself in front of the mirror he liked his color, he liked the way he looked, the way his hair hung down uncombed and the shiny glow on his face. He rubbed in some Ice Blue Aqua Velva. He looked strong and healthy. He felt good.

  When he came out, with the bathroom towel around his waist, he saw Denise still in the Pompano Beach, Florida, towel, rubbing her short blond hair. As she brought the towel down, he saw the look again, felt it, and knew she did too. She kept looking at him as he came over to her and put his hands on her arms, then let them slide around her, feeling her hands on his ribs, her hands slowly moving around him as they closed their eyes and kissed, moving their heads a little, getting it good and comfortable, feeling each other’s mouth and parts of lips, holding and pressing gently, making it last and knowing there was a lot more to come. There was relief in it too, finally, the sound of relief when they breathed and came back to each other.

  They smiled as they made love.

  Boy, it was good, and Ryan told her he didn’t believe it. He said, It’s so good making love to somebody you love. Like the first time, only way better. Do you feel that? He could ask her because he knew she felt it. She smiled and said, Uh-huh, I feel it. He said, God, I don’t know what to do. I want to do everything at once. Seeing the smile in her eyes, knowing they were both feeling the same thing, kissing and not being able to kiss each other enough, putting his hand on the patch of hair between her legs and feeling her girl hand on him, still kissing, their mouths moving, holy shit, it had never been like this before. He said, I’ve never been here before. I’ve never had a feeling like this. She said to him, Put it in me. He watched her eyes and heard the sound that came from her. They were there and he didn’t know if he could stand it, aware of himself for only a moment before he was aware of both of them, trying to get closer, all the way, and somehow get lost within each other. They let go, straining to hold on tight, hearing sounds coming from inside them. He breathed and got his breath and they were kissing again, lying on their sides facing each other, kissing, breathing against each other’s skin, faces, kissing, looking at each other, smiling tired effortless smiles.

  When he was lying on his back, looking at the ceiling, she said, “Where are you?”

  “I’m here.”

  “What’re you thinking?”

  “I was wondering, should we have the ham or the chicken? We could brown some onions and green pepper, put in some tomato sauce…” He felt her move and looked at her, propped up on an elbow. “Why? What were you thinking?”

  “Nothing,” Denise said. “I’m not going to tell you now. You’re thinking about food.”

  “Come on, tell me.”

  “I love you,” Denise said. “I absolutely adore you and I’m in love with you.”

  “Good.”

  “Good?”

  “Yeah, because I’m in love with you.”

  “Do you know you said it? You said, making love to somebody you love.”

  “It’s something, isn’t it? We’re all set, we’re stuck with each other.”

  She lay back on the pillow and was silent. They could hear the surf and the wind gusting through the open window. She said, “But what if after a while…”

  “What if after a while, what?” Ryan said. “Do you want to know everything that’s going to happen to you, or you want to take it a day at a time and be surprised?”

  She said, “Couldn’t I know just a little of what’s going to happen?”

  “Maybe,” Ryan said, “it depends. What’s worrying you?”

  She said after a moment, “I was married before.”

  “I know you were.”

  “I wondered if… you ever pictured me with him. The kind of person he was.”

  “I don’t think of him as a person,” Ryan said. “I think of him as a number.”

  “You do?” Puzzled. “What number?”

  “Eighty-nine. That was the number he had in the morgue. Before he was identified.”

  “Oh. You saw him?”

  “I saw him, but the only thing I remember about him’s the number. The man who had it’s gone.”

  They went out in the sun for five days and turned brown and felt better, both agreed, than they’d ever felt in their lives. Though sometimes when he was silent she would ask him if everything was all right. He’d say, Everything’s fine. She believed him and it would be enough for several hours or until she felt the need to ask him again. She knew about living one day at a time and not worrying about things that might never happen. She felt comfortable and happy being with him, and when they made love she was sure of him beyond any doubt. But she would feel him leave her in his mind and wonder where he was, if he was sorry and had misgivings and was escaping, if he was only being nice to her because she needed someone. She would say to him, standing in the kitchen, “Hold me.” Then it was good again. She could feel he loved her. He told her, often, he loved her. She would say, “But-” And he would say, “Why don’t you just believe me and not think about it?” He would tell her every day to feel and try not to think so much. She said, “But what if I feel and I get scared of the feeling?” He said, “What’s wrong with being scared?” He said, “You have to leave yourself open and take chances and that can be scary, you bet. But if you don’t take chances, what do you win?”

  You make molded salads and watch Name That Tune.

  She could cross that one off, one less option to think about. And living alone was dumb. So why not bet on Ryan? If she felt good with him, natural, herself, and was happier than she’d ever been, what was the problem? As long as he would reassure her from time to time.

  The fifth day the feeling of anxiety would not go away. They didn’t talk or smile at each other as much or as naturally. He’s had enough, Denise thought. He’s bored. She asked him if he wanted to do something, go somewhere. He said, No, he didn’t think so. She didn’t ask him where he was or if everything was all right.

  She said, “Your back’s not going to get very tan.”

  She was lying on a towel on her stomach, her face turned to Ryan, sitting in a canvas chair with his straw hat tilted low on his eyes, staring at the ocean.

  “My back gets whatever it can,” Ryan said. “I don’t like to lie down like that unless I’m gonna take a nap.”

  His tone was all right, but he was quiet, inside himself, deeper in there than he had been during the previous days. She had to think up things to say to him. Maybe put him on a little. She raised her face from the towel, looking at the sky.

  “We’ve been lucky with the weather.”

  He didn’t say anything.

  “It’s going to be eighty today, light showers expected tomorrow.”

  Ryan looked at her now. “Is that right?”

  “One winter in Bad Axe the snow was so deep,” Denise said, and stopped. “You want to know how deep the snow was?”

  “How deep was it?” Ryan said.

  “It was so deep outside you had to shit in a shotgun and shoot it up the chimney.”

  “That’s pretty deep,” Ryan said.

  Denise lowered her face to the beach towel. “So are you.”

  Neither of them spoke for several minutes. Finally Ryan said, “Okay.”

  Denise didn’t say anything right away. She watched him lean over and fish inside the straw bag for something. He brought out his wallet. Denise raised her head a little.

  “Okay, what?”

  Ryan took out a five-dollar bill, reached over, and let it fall on the end of the towel, by her face.

  “Mr. Perez. Let’s go get him.”

  “How?”

  “I’ve got a couple of ideas.”

 
“Is that what you’ve been thinking about?”

  “Part of the time,” Ryan said. “You want to go after your money? It’s up to you.”

  She liked the line of the straw hat brim, low over his eyes as he looked at her. She liked the quiet sound of his voice and his brown arms and the way he sat in the canvas chair, waiting.

  She said, “Why don’t we get it and come back?”

  Ryan smiled. “Why don’t we?”

  He called and reserved seats on an Eastern flight out of Miami. They had to hurry to make it. They packed and dressed inside a half hour. Denise remembered something as they were ready to go and they put the leftovers in the refrigerator for the maid: ketchup and mustard, pickles, oleo, bread, a ham shank and the two inches of Almaden red that were still in the bottle.

  20

  RYAN HAD TO wait while Rita got the coffee, escaping, giving herself time to think, standing over there by the tan coffee urn that matched the beige tones and fabrics of the law office. She came back past the palm tree plants on the file cabinets with matching ceramic mugs and placed one on the desk next to Ryan.

  “Thanks,” he said. “Look, you can’t get in any trouble. All you’re doing, you’re typing up a complaint and a summons. Nobody’s going to ask who typed it.”

  Rita sat down at the desk and made room for her coffee mug. “You want to threaten him, is that it?”

  “I want Mr. Perez to see he could get tied up in court,” Ryan said, “if Mrs. Leary decides she wants to bring suit.”

  “Mrs. Leary, or you could call her the complainant,” Rita said.

  Ryan smiled. “That’s what happens I get in a lawyer’s office. Okay-Denise could bring suit.”

  “Well, why doesn’t she go ahead and do it?” Rita said. “If Perez is being such a prick about it.”

  “Because I don’t think we have to. Going to court, it ties him up, it ties everybody up.”

  He could see Rita was trying to get out of it. Maybe she was mad, holding it in. She said, “I don’t know. God, I’ve got a shit-load of work to get out today.”

  Ryan leaned closer to the desk. “It’s two sheets of paper. What’ll it take you, ten minutes? An ace typist.”

  Rita gave him a tired look. “Ace typist. I’m surprised you didn’t bring a box of candy.”

  “Or a Baggie,” Ryan said. “Okay, I’m asking you as a favor. I guarantee you won’t get involved.”

  “You two must be pretty close by now,” Rita said. “A week in Florida.”

  “Five days,” Ryan said.

  “Are you in love with her?”

  “Yeah, I guess I am.” He felt good saying it. Rita could do whatever she wanted.

  She didn’t say anything right away, looking at him with a thoughtful expression, maybe remembering the two of them together, feeling her impression of him, maybe appreciating him more than she had before. She said, “You’re a nice guy, Jack. I just hope you don’t fuck up.”

  Then, from earth tones and green plants to Jay Walt’s purple crushed velvet and glass-topped chrome. Purple, with light-blue carpeting and the light-blue leisure suit and the clean light-blue Cadillac Seville outside the suburban office building. With Ryan’s dirty light-blue Catalina parked next to it.

  Where Ryan was sitting he could see the two cars through the window. He was thinking, Dark blue next time, or dark brown.

  Jay Walt, in his desk-chair recliner, had his shoes off, his light-blue-socked feet crossed on his eight-foot sheet of glass desk.

  “So what’s the problem?” Jay Walt said. “It’s done all the time. All you want to do is goose him, right? So mail him the complaint. Cost you thirteen cents.”

  “No, I want to see his reaction,” Ryan said, “but I’m afraid I’d blow it. He sees I’m nervous, he’s liable to think I’m pulling something.”

  “Which you are. Shit, come on, you serve paper every day with your nice boyish bullshit. What’re you talking about?” Jay Walt thumbed his gold lighter several times to relight his cigar. “Hand it to him and play dumb.”

  “But he knows me,” Ryan said. “That’s the thing. It’s my idea, he knows that, and I’m handing him the papers. You see what I mean? He’d try and finesse me, I’m standing right there.”

  Jay Walt began to nod and then grinned. “You haven’t told me everything, have you, Jackie? You’re working for the guy-what, now you’re working for the broad? Hey, shit, I’d watch you too. What’s this guy doing?”

  “I don’t work for him anymore,” Ryan said. “You know how he is, he doesn’t see he needs you, that’s it.”

  “No fucking heart,” Jay Walt said. “And you can’t take him to court for fraud, because at one time you were part of it, right? Pissed off and you want revenge.”

  “She’s the complainant,” Ryan said, “I’m not. I can go to California for six months. Shit, I can walk away from the whole thing.”

  Jay Walt said, “Hey, Jackie? Bullshit. You got a good thing, broad with money coming, and you’re not gonna let it out of your sight, man. What’s the value of the stock?”

  “Jesus,” Ryan said, “that’s what she wants to find out. Hand him a mandatory injunction and hope he’ll want to sit down and talk instead of going to court.”

  “Keep the fucking lawyers out of it,” Jay Walt said. “I don’t blame you. But you got a problem. You want to jack the guy up without going near him. The only thing you can do in that case is mail it to him, as I said before.”

  “I was thinking, if you knew somebody I could rely on,” Ryan said, “a bright young guy you think could do a quick study on Perez, give me his reactions, what he says-”

  “Here? The assholes I got? You got to point them to the can they want to take a leak.”

  “-Mrs. Leary’d be willing to pay a hundred and a half. Maybe go two bills if she likes the report. Just between you and me.”

  Jay Walt turned his head against the backrest of his chair to look over at Ryan, waiting there patiently with his offer. Boy with a good reputation, honest, sincere, a little naпve maybe. Maybe not.

  “In advance?”

  “Say a hundred down.”

  “Who drew up the complaint, some law student?”

  “I guarantee it’s in order.”

  “Only the procedure’s a little funny, huh?”

  “You said yourself, it’s done all the time.”

  The diamond on Jay Walt’s little finger reflected a flash of purple as he extended his arm.

  “Lemme have a look, Jackie. See if I like it.”

  They didn’t ask Jay Walt to take his coat off, but as Mr. Perez walked over to the desk with the envelope he said, “Raymond, fix Mr. Walt a drink.”

  “Scotch and a splash’d be fine,” Jay Walt said.

  “Scotch and a splash,” Mr. Perez said. “It still cold outside?”

  “Not too bad,” Jay Walt said. “Maybe forty-five, around there.”

  “That’s cold,” Mr. Perez said. He had his reading glasses on now and had taken the papers out of the envelope. Without looking up he said, “Raymond, hold that scotch and a splash.”

  Raymond Gidre, over by the bookcase bar, turned with the J&B in his hand.

  Jay Walt, in his coat with the buckles and metal rings and epaulets, waited. He had only said to Mr. Perez, handing him the manila envelope, “This seems to be for you; some sort of legal matter.” Trying to play dumb and keep his ass out of it as much as possible.

  “‘Complaint for Mandatory Injunction,’” Mr. Perez said, looking over at Jay Walt. “Some sort of legal matter, huh? ‘To compel the disclosure of information… a summons to appear in Circuit Court, County of Oakland.’ Yeah, I guess that’s some sort of legal matter all right. Raymond, what would you say to taking this fat boy and throwing him out the window?”

  “You open it,” Raymond said, moving toward Jay Walt, “and I’ll throw him. How far you want him to go?”

  “I guess all the way down,” Mr. Perez said. “Might as well.” He walked over to the r
oom’s smaller, regular-size window, snapped the shade up spinning on the roller, and raised the lower window flush with the top pane. “How’s that?”

  “That’s good,” Raymond said.

  Jay Walt didn’t believe it, looking from Mr. Perez to Raymond Gidre, who was close to him now, with his wet-down hair and sportshirt and mother tattoo. He could smell Raymond’s hair tonic. He said, “Hey, guys, come on.”

  “I can run him right through there,” Raymond said. “Got handles on his coat.” Raymond grabbed the belt and one of the epaulets, almost jerked Jay Walt off his feet, and ran him across the room toward the window.

  Jay Walt screamed. “Jesus Christ-come on! For Christ’s sake, wait!”

  Jay Walt’s head banged hard against the window frame. “Shit,” Raymond said. He backed him up, straining, clench-jawed, and pushed him half through the open window, Jay Walt squeezing against the sill with his knees to hold on, looking straight down seventeen floors to the Jefferson Avenue service drive, seeing the tops of cars moving, inching along, feeling the wind cutting his face.

  “Son of a bitch is stuck.”

  “Hold him there,” Mr. Perez said. “I believe he was saying his prayers.”

  “I don’t know, he mentioned Jesus,” Raymond said. “Ain’t he a Jew boy?”

  “I believe so. Ask him.”

  Raymond leaned close to Jay Walt’s back. “Hey, are you a Jew boy?” Raymond looked up at Mr. Perez. “He nodded yes.”

  “Ask him was this his idea.”

  Raymond asked him. “He shook his head no,” Raymond said.

  “Ask him again.”

  “Nooo!” wailed Jay Walt, out in the wind.

  “Ask him whose idea was it.”

  “Ryan!” Jay Walt screamed. “I don’t know anything about it-honest to Christ!”

  “Bring him in and shut the window,” Mr. Perez said. He walked over to the bar and made himself a drink. When he came back, Jay Walt had edged away from the window and seemed to be holding on to his stomach, protecting himself.

  “Slap him a good one,” Mr. Perez said. “Get his attention.”