Authors: Richard Laymon
GRAND BEACH, CALIFORNIA
Janet Arthur woke up on Saturday morning with a hand slipping between her thighs. She moaned with sleepy pleasure and nestled
her face deeper into the pillow.
Soon, the hand pulled away.
A breeze stroked Janet’s bare back as the covers were thrown off. She took a deep breath. The breeze held the fresh, exciting
smell of the ocean a few blocks away.
She rolled over and saw Dave kneeling next to her. His black hair was thick and tangled. His sleek, trim body still kept its
summer darkness and he looked starkly pale where his trunks had been during long days by the pool.
“Good morning,” she said. Smiling, she reached out to him.
He was erect. “How come you always wake up like that?”
“I see you in my dreams.”
“Oh, is that it?”
“That’s it.” He climbed between her knees and lowered himself.
“Let’s not just…” Janet twisted and Dave went with it, rolling onto his back.
Janet straddled him. Smiling, she leaned down. She let the rigid flesh of her nipples brush against his chest as she lightly
kissed his lips. “First we’ve got to talk,” she said.
“This is no time to talk.”
“This is a fine time.”
“To screw.”
She felt his hands slide over her buttocks. “It’s serious.”
He gave them a gentle squeeze. “Okay.”
“How would you feel about having a kid?”
“Can’t have one. I’m a guy. Biologically unlikely if not impossible.”
“Let me rephrase that,” Janet said. “How would you like to be a daddy?”
“Eventually, maybe.”
“I had in mind sooner rather than later.”
His hands, gently massaging her buttocks, suddenly stopped.
“You’re not pregnant, are you?”
“Yep.”
“Tell me you’re kidding.”
“That’d be a lie,” Janet said as something inside her began to sink.
“How can you be
pregnant?
”
“If you don’t know…”
“But you said it’d be
safe
.”
“It’s never
completely
safe. Maybe I miscounted the days or…”
“Maybe you
miscounted?
”
“It’s not an exact science, Dave. And you
wouldn’t
use a rubber.”
“It’s no good with a rubber on.”
“Well, then…”
“If you’d stayed on the pills…”
“They’re
dangerous
. I’m supposed to give myself cancer so you don’t have to wear a
rubber
on your dick? Get real.”
“Shit!”
“You knew there was a risk of this.”
Shaking his head from side to side, he let out a long, low moan. “Have you been to a doctor? You haven’t just missed your
period or something?”
“I’m pregnant, Dave. One hundred percent, fully guaranteed. I found out yesterday.”
“Great,” he said. “Just great. Absolutely fucking
terrific
.”
Pushing at his shoulders, Janet sat up straight. “I thought you might be happy about it,” she said.
“Sure. Happy. Okay.” He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. Then he said, “No problem. What’ll it run to get it taken
care of?”
“Well, it isn’t due for about seven months so we’ve got plenty of time to save up.”
“I don’t mean delivery costs.”
Her throat tightened. Heat rushing to her skin, she asked, “What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean.”
“You want to
kill
it?”
“Oh, for the love of God.”
Janet made a quiet, whimpering sound and smashed her fist into his cheek. Her other fist caught the side of his nose. Blood
rushed from his nostrils.
He twisted sharply beneath her, grabbed her arm and threw her off the bed. She hit the floor hard, shoulder first, feet in
the air.
Dave looked down at her. “You damn near broke my nose!”
She rolled over and got up.
“What do you want to hit me for? Shit! All I said…”
“I know exactly what you said.” She stepped into a pair of brown corduroy trousers.
“So what’s all the fuss about? It’s perfectly legal.”
“Sure. Legal.” She pulled on a big, loose sweatshirt.
“What the hell’s wrong with you?” Dave blurted.
“I’m leaving,” Janet said. She shoved her hands into the front pockets of her cords and leaned back against a wall.
“You can’t leave!”
“The hell I can’t. I’ll be back Monday for my things.
While you’re at work. Don’t worry, I won’t take anything that isn’t mine.”
“You’re not being rational.”
“Screw rational. I’m pregnant. You want to murder my baby.”
“It’s not
murder
. Murder’s what Idi Amin does to his political enemies. Murder’s what Manson did. Murder’s what Nixon did in Vietnam. Murder
isn’t aborting a goddamn fetus.”
“When it’s
my
fetus, it is.”
“You’re nuts.”
“Go to hell.”
“What’ll you do for money?”
“I’ll manage.”
“Easier said than done.”
“I’ll teach.”
“Sure you will. This is October, in case you haven’t noticed. They hire teachers in the
spring
, not in
October
, for God’s sake.
Halloween’s
in a couple of weeks. You’re not gonna get a
teaching
job. Who do you think you’re kidding?”
“Good-bye.” She grabbed the straps of her purse. As she walked toward the door, she heard a soft thump—Dave kicking something,
probably a wall.
“You’ll be back!” he shouted.
Janet didn’t answer.
“You’ll come back
begging
.”
The hall carpet felt stiff and cool under her bare feet. With each step she took, the floor seemed to give the way ice gives
on a thinly frozen pond.
She trotted down the apartment-house stairs and hurried across the foyer.
Outside, the sun felt good on her face. She climbed into her Ford, did a tight U-turn and headed for Grand Beach Boulevard.
Meg would be glad to see her. And glad that she’d split up with Dave. “That guy’s a creep,” Meg had said after meeting him.
“Beautiful, but a creep.”
“You hardly know him.”
“Oh, I know him. I’ve known plenty of guys like Dave. Hotshots. Think they’re God’s gift. What they are, they’re assholes
disguised as men.”
Meg wasn’t home.
Janet sat on the front stoop. The shaded concrete felt cool through her corduroys. She was too hot in the sweatshirt. With
nothing on underneath it, she couldn’t take it off. So she fluttered its front to get some air inside.
For a long time, she stared at her engagement ring. Then she pulled it off. It left a band of pale skin around her finger.
She put the ring in her purse and looked inside her billfold.
A twenty-dollar bill and six ones.
She opened her checkbook. Her bank account contained a grand total of one hundred and thirty dollars and twelve cents.
“What wealth,” she muttered.
It was all that remained of the stipend she’d received for her teaching assistantship at the university last spring.
At the bottom of her purse, she found a ballpoint pen. She couldn’t locate any scratch paper so she tore a deposit slip out
of her checkbook. On its back, she wrote, “Meg, I’ll be back this afternoon. Must see you. Janet.”
She left the note under the heavy brass door knocker and went back to her car.
THE SUPERMARKET
That morning, Albert looked at his reflection in the window of the North Glen Safeway.
Pretty as a girl.
Makes me wanta puke.
A mustache would probably help.
Good luck, he thought.
He didn’t even need to shave more than a couple of times a week. Growing a halfway decent mustache would probably take him
months. Maybe years.
I’ll just have to put up with it, he thought.
“You’re awfully cute,” Betty had said. The dumb bitch.
Twenty bucks!
When the automatic door sprang open, Albert stepped into the supermarket. He went directly to the cookie aisle, pulled a package
of Oreos off the shelf, and headed for a checkout line.
How’ll I get my hands on twenty bucks? he wondered.
Six, he reminded himself. I’ve already got fourteen, so…
It’ll be less than that after I buy the Oreos.
Screw it.
His cheapskate father only forked out two bucks per week in allowance. At that rate, it would take three damn weeks just to
save up six dollars.
And that’s if I don’t spend any.
He tore open the sack and ate a cookie. It made the emptiness in his stomach hurt less.
Maybe I oughta get a job.
Yeah, like doing what? Bagging groceries after school?
Babysitting?
He sort of
liked
the idea of babysitting. Maybe someone
would hire him to take care of a cute little gal, and he’d be alone with her…Maybe give her a bath…
He felt a hardness start to grow in his jeans.
Yeah, but who’s gonna hire me as a babysitter? Nobody,
that’s who.
Albert stepped into line behind a woman with a shopping cart. “Would you like to go ahead of me?” she asked. She had a gentle
voice and an open, friendly smile.
Albert glanced into her shopping cart. There wasn’t much in it. No more than a dozen items, at most. “Naw,” he said. “Thanks
anyway. It’s all right.”
“You sure? I don’t mind at all.”
“Yeah. I’m in no big hurry. But thank you for the offer.” He ate another cookie and watched the woman start piling her groceries
onto the conveyor belt.
The clerk rang up each item on the cash register. Then the woman’s total came up.
Munching a cookie, Albert watched her unsnap a checkbook and flatten it out on the counter close to him.
The check had a snowcapped-mountain design.
Against the rich blue sky to the left of the mountain peak, Albert saw a block of letters and numbers:
Arnold Broxton
Rita M. Broxton
3214 Jeffers Lane
North Glen, IL
Was this woman Hank Broxton’s mother?
No, she looked too young to have a kid in high school.
Albert was prying open a cookie when he saw Rita make out a check for thirty-two dollars.
The cookie parted cleanly, leaving all the vanilla filling on one side. With his upper teeth, Albert scraped an uneven furrow
through the whiteness.
He tried to take a closer look at the checkbook, but Rita was already folding it shut.
What was her last name? Jeffers? No, that was the street.
Broxton! That’s it! Same as Hank. Remember Hank.
Albert paid for his cookies, then watched Rita walk toward the exit.
She looked nice in those tight slacks. Smooth and curved without any seams showing through.
Maybe she’s got nothing on underneath!
Following her outside, Albert wondered if he should offer to carry her shopping bag to her car.
No, don’t.
Don’t want anybody seeing me with her.
GRAND BEACH
Janet tucked her purse under the front seat of her car, locked the door and put the key chain into a pocket of her corduroy
trousers. Hands free, she walked half a block to the beach.
The breeze was stronger there, and cooler, and had a sea taste that made her breathe deeply and feel good. She bent down to
roll up her cuffs, and the breeze filled the front of her loose sweatshirt.
She glanced ahead. Nobody seemed positioned for a good look down the neck hole of her sweatshirt so she stayed low, letting
the breeze roam around inside, drifting over the hot skin of breasts and belly, while she rolled up both the cuffs of her
corduroys.
Then she straightened up and strolled down to the shore. The breakers were rolling in, one after another, their bellies translucent
green with the sun behind them, their heads glinting and frothing as they fell.
The first cold lick of water made Janet flinch. Then she stepped out farther and let the water climb her ankles.
With a lifeguard tower as her landmark, she started strolling south.
Each time a wave retreated, it sucked sand out from under her feet.
The water slipped back into the ocean, leaving the hard-packed sand bare for a few seconds before it came swirling back, curling
between her toes, rising and soaking the rolled legs of her trousers, then sliding away again.
Sometimes, she watched how the water played around her legs and feet. Other times, she watched the surfers, the sailboats
far out, or the diving, squealing gulls. Much of the time, she watched what was happening to her left where the beach was
dry.
Lots of joggers, both men and women. Children digging in the sand. Dogs chasing each other and sticks of driftwood. Lone sunbathers.
And couples.
Couples running together, walking, sitting or lying close to each other in the sand. Many held hands. Some embraced as if
they were alone.
She was glad she’d never been to the beach with Dave. The one time she’d suggested it, he had said, “The beach? My God, you’ve
gotta be kidding.”
If he’d come to the beach with her, it wouldn’t be the same now. It wouldn’t be so totally her own. It would’ve been ruined
for her.
It’s all mine, she thought. Completely mine.
The water felt
so
good.
She wished she were wearing a swimsuit under her heavy sweatshirt and cords.
Her only swimsuit, a blue bikini, was back at Dave’s apartment.
That gonna stop ya?
Letting out a soft, quiet laugh, Janet waded out. The water climbed her trousers, making the fabric cling to her legs and
groin and buttocks. When it reached her waist, she dived beneath a wave. The cold water washed over her, soaked and pulled
at her sweatshirt, pushed her, tumbled her, sucked her forward, tossed her backward.
Again and again, she stood up to meet the inrushing waves.
She dived into them, swam under them, rode them toward the beach, then waded out again to meet new waves.
Finally, exhausted, she waded for shore.
Her sweatshirt, stretched and pulled askew, drooped from her shoulders. Her corduroy trousers felt so heavy with water that
she feared they might fall around her ankles. She hung on to the waistband with one hand as she walked.
When she reached dry sand, she lay on her back and gasped for air. Her breath soon began to come more easily.
That was nice, she thought. Very nice.
But what am I going to do?
Just take it one step at a time. I’ll be all right. The baby’ll be all right.
We’ll both be better off without Dave.
Who needs him, anyway.
The world’s full of guys, she told herself. They’re
always
after me. The trick’ll be finding one who isn’t an asshole.
I sure was wrong about Dave.
Better be more careful next time.
Maybe just the right guy will come along this morning. He’ll see me sprawled here on the sand and fall madly in love with
me. The way I’m dressed, maybe he’ll think I got washed ashore after a boating accident.
I’ll wake up and find him standing over me, smiling.
As her mind played with the idea, she drifted into sleep.
She woke up some time later. Nobody was standing over her, but the front of her sweatshirt and corduroys was nearly dry. She
rolled over and shut her eyes.
The second time she awoke, she was still alone on the beach. She felt as if she were baking inside her heavy clothes. Her
mouth was parched.
She got up, brushed sand off her clothes, then headed back toward the lifeguard tower that she’d earlier used to mark her
way.
It was a long walk.
When she reached the tower, she sat in the sand to rest. She felt tired and gritty, hot and sweaty. She shouldn’t have stayed
out so long. She was probably dehydrated.
I’ll have to make up for it, she thought, when I get to Meg’s.
She struggled to her feet, then walked the rest of the way to Meg’s house.
The front door stood open.
Janet went to it and raised her hand, ready to knock, when Meg’s rough, husky voice called, “Come on in, hon.”
“Okay. Just a second.” Bracing herself against the door frame, she brushed sand off her feet and ankles.
“Don’t worry about it,” Meg said. “A little sand never hurt anyone.”
Janet went inside and saw Meg sitting on the couch, a copy of
T. V. Guide
lying open on her lap, her bare feet resting on the coffee table.
“Been waiting long?” Meg asked.
“Since about eleven this morning.”
“Wish I’d known. I was off playing volleyball at church.”
“Meet anyone interesting?”
“If I had, I wouldn’t be here now. So what’s the word, anyway?”
“I left Dave.”
Meg shook her head. “Sorry to hear it.”
“But not very?”
“Sorry for you. I know it’s gotta be tough.”
“Well…Do you have something to drink?”
“Sure. Something hard?”
“Not too hard.”
“How about a beer?”
“Yeah, that’d be great. In the refrigerator?”
“Right. Bring me one, too, will you?”
With two cans of Hamms, Janet returned to the living room. She gave one can to Meg, then sat on a wicker chair and popped
open her lid.
“Did you catch him stepping out on you?” Meg asked.
“Huh-uh.” Janet took a swallow of the beer. It was cold and sharp and slightly sweet. She breathed, then drank some more.
“He doesn’t want the baby,” she finally said.
“Baby?”
Smiling, Janet nodded.
“Terrific! How far a long are you?”
“About seven weeks.”
“Wow! That’s fabulous! How’re you feeling?”
She rubbed the cold, wet can across her forehead. “Not bad right at the moment.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I’m a bit shaky in the morning once in a while. And sometimes I don’t feel too perky. Aside from that, though, I feel great.”
“A baby. Wow!”
“A baby without a father,” Janet said. “I’m finished with Dave. He wants to kill it. Like it’s a fly or mosquito or something
to be swatted.”
“Maybe he’ll change his mind.”
“He can go to hell.”
“He won’t let you off that easy, hon.”
“He doesn’t give a damn about me.”
“Even if he doesn’t,” Meg said, “he for sure gives a damn about himself. His ego’s way too big for him to let you off the
hook.”
“I hope he rots.”
“Until he does, do you want to stay here?”
“That’d be great. Will I be in your way?”
“Not a chance. We’ll have a great time.”
“Well, thanks. Thanks a lot.”
“Hey, what are pals for?”