ago, he’d shown up at her apartment almost an hour late. His excuse? He’d been stuck in traffic on the way home from work.
Thing is, he had a car phone. He could’ve called, told her not to expect him on time.
She hadn’t bothered to get on his case about it.
I’m his friend, not his mother.
Was tonight just another example of such thoughtless behavior?
Maybe it’s more than that, she thought. Maybe he’s late on purpose to punish me, teach me a lesson. This is what happens when you send me out in the middle of the night for condoms.
He wouldn’t be that low, would he?
You never know.
Duane’s not like that.
If he is like that, she thought, it’s better to find out now.
He probably decided to try one more store. What’s five or ten more minutes? But maybe that store was farther away than he thought…
From somewhere outside, somewhere a block or two blocks or maybe even five blocks away, came a bang.
It might’ve been a door slamming.
It might’ve been the backfire of a car.
It might’ve been a large firecracker.
But Sherry thought it sounded mostly like a gunshot.
Chapter Three
Though this neighborhood on the west side was fairly safe by Los Angeles standards, a day rarely went by without Sherry hearing a few mysterious bangs. If they seemed to come from nearby, she might look out a window. If very nearby, she might hurry away from the windows and duck with her back against a wall. Usually, however, she did nothing.
For the most part, the bangs were simply background noise. Like sirens and car alarms and police helicopters and screams, they were of little importance unless they happened in front of your face.
Or unless your boyfriend was out there on an errand.
And late returning.
Had the blast come from the direction of the Speed-D-Mart?
Sherry couldn’t tell. All outside noises seemed to be entering through the open windows on the other side of the bedroom.
It probably wasn’t even a gunshot, she told herself. And if it was, it might’ve come from just about anywhere. The chances of Duane being the target were enormously slim.
But where is he?
On her hands and knees, Sherry turned her body until she could look back and see the clock radio on the headboard.
10:47.
Time sure flies when you’re waiting for someone.
Especially when you’re afraid he might’ve gotten killed or something.
“He’s fine,” she muttered. He’ll come waltzing in with a perfectly reasonable explanation.
Maybe reasonable to him.
How can he do this to me?
He’d better have a good explanation.
She turned around completely, crawled to the corner of the bed, leaned forward and puffed out the candle. The room fell dark except for the ambient light from the windows. She climbed off the bed and made her way to the door.
In the bathroom, she stepped to the sink. She turned on the cold water, bent over, and splashed her face. It felt very good, so she ducked lower and cupped water onto her head.
Maybe I should take a shower.
A nice, cool shower would feel great—and she could easily make it last fifteen or twenty minutes. By the time she finished, Duane would certainly be back from the store.
Or wherever the hell he went.
But she had already taken a shower tonight—with Duane after watching the GI Jane video. Taking another so soon…
She suddenly found herself thinking about the look and feel of Duane as he’d stood with her under the hot spray. She remembered the longing in his eyes, the taste of his open mouth, the slippery caresses of his urgent hands, the stiffness of his penis pushing against her, rubbing her, nudging her, prodding her as if hoping to endear itself and find a snug home.
We should’ve just done it there in the shower, she thought.
But I had to insist on the bedroom.
And a condom.
And now he’s gone.
Sherry turned off the faucet. She stepped away from the sink, found her towel and pulled it off the bar. It was still damp. She used it on her dripping head and face, then stood in the near darkness and mopped the sweat off the rest of her body.
As dry as she was likely to get, she hung up the towel.
In the living room, she turned toward the television.
The red numbers of the VCR looked very bright.
10:53.
Gone about forty minutes.
By the faint light from the windows, Sherry made her way toward the kitchen. The carpet ended. The tiles of the kitchen floor felt a little slippery under her bare feet. Careful not to fall or bump into anything,