he glanced back and saw her step into the living room. He picked up the phone.
Let it be Shiner, he thought. Please.
“Hello?”
“It’s me.”
Tanya.
He felt a quick pull of disappointment and loss. Then heat rushed into the empty place. His heart quickened. “Just a second,” he said.
“Have you got it?” His mother’s voice on the extension.
“Yeah. Thanks.”
She hung up.
“Okay,” he said. “She’s off.”
“Can you get away later?” Tanya asked. “Around midnight?”
“Midnight?”
“It’ll be just you and me. We’ll meet the others later.”
He felt as if his breath had been sucked out. He managed to say, “Yeah.”
“We’ll take my car. I’ll park across the street from your house.”
“Okay.”
“Are you all right? You sound funny.”
“Just excited,” he said.
“So am I. I can hardly wait. Midnight.”
“Yeah.”
“See you then, Duke.”
“See you.” He hung up the phone, turned around, and stared at the wall clock. Ten till nine. Three hours and ten minutes to go. Forever.
Not forever.
Midnight would get here. He knew that. And somehow he suspected that it might arrive too soon.
He was hot and sweaty, but shivering anyway. He clenched his teeth to hold his jaw still. He wrapped his arms tightly around his chest.
Felt like his lungs were shaking.
I’ll take a shower, he thought. A hot shower. It’ll make the shivers stop. And it’ll help pass the time. Besides, I want to be clean for her.
He walked unsteadily toward the bathroom, images twisting through his mind of Tanya’s scar, her bare breasts, Shiner’s smile, the razor blade sliding on Tanya’s flesh, the comfortable, exciting feel of Shiner’s hand in his, the suck of Tanya’s mouth taking the blood off his fingers. Spreading suntan oil on Shiner’s back. Spreading blood up Tanya’s belly and breast.
Thirty-seven
Robin sat cross-legged on the sofa, a folded towel beneath her to protect the upholstery from the dampness of her bikini pants. She played her banjo and sang for Nate.
He sat on the floor in front of her, a dreamy faraway look on his face as he gazed at her. His hair was mussed from the swimming. It shimmered golden in the light from the fireplace at his back. The fluttering light burnished his bare shoulders and thighs. The wine in the glass that rested on his knee gleamed like a ruby. He didn’t sip the wine while she sang.
Ending a piece, Robin said, “It’s getting a little warm in here.”
“I could turn the fireplace off.”
“No, don’t. It’s lovely.”
“It makes you glow,” he said.
She drew a forearm across her wet face and looked down at herself. Her chest gleamed in the ruddy firelight as if it were slicked with oil. Her bikini top was no longer damp from the pool, but its edges were darkened with moisture. “That’s sweat,” she proclaimed.
“Your sweat’s beautiful.”
Beads of it dribbled down her sides. She lowered her arms and smeared them to stop the tickling. “Beautiful or not,” she said, “I’m gonna warp my banjo.” She lifted it away from her belly, slipped the strap off her head, and used a loose corner of her towel to dry its back. She laid the banjo on the sofa beside her.
“That’s all?” Nate asked.
“I don’t want to bore you.”
“I could listen to you forever.”
“Maybe I’ll write a song just for you.”
“I’d like that. What would it say?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” She reached to the table, picked up her wineglass, and took a sip. “A lot of stuff rhymes with ‘Nate.’ ‘Great,’ ‘first-rate’…‘fate.’”
“‘Mate,’” he added.
“Yeah. ‘Mate.’ that’s a loaded one, isn’t it?”
“Says a lot.”
“Nautical, too. Nautical’s good on the banjo.” She picked up the instrument again, played a few bars of “Blow the Man Down,” and began to sing:
I’ve got a first-mate
And his name it is Nate.
Yo-ho, I think he’s just great!
He’s sweet and he’s sexy
From his toes to his pate—
And oh how I love to mate with my Nate!
Laughing, he shook his head, set his wineglass on the carpet, and clapped. “Fantastic. What’s a pate?”
“That’s the top of your head.”
He put a hand up there and ruffled his hair. “Sexy, huh? And my toes too?” He wiggled them.
“You making fun of my song?”
“I love your song.”
“I know it’s sort of silly,” she said. “Most of my stuff is. The banjo’s not meant for serious stuff. It’s bright and plucky.”
“Like you.”
“Is that how you see me?” she asked.
“Only part of the time. I see you a lot of different ways. Serious, sad, innocent, full of hope, afraid…but brave too. You must be damned brave, going on the road the way you did.”