Authors: Richard Laymon
INJUN JANET
Exhausted but happy after her day of teaching, Janet returned to Meg’s house. She took a long bath, then stretched out on
her bed in the guest room.
When she woke up, she felt good. The room was gray.
She looked at the clock: 5:10.
Morning or afternoon? she wondered.
Then she remembered that this was Friday afternoon, that she’d been up since dawn and spent the day subbing at the high school.
It had been great. Mrs. Bonner’s lesson plans had been flexible, so—this being the day after Halloween—Janet had devoted every
class period to masters of the macabre. All the kids were familiar with Poe, so she’d taught about lesser known writers such
as M. R. James, Algernon Blackwood, H. P. Lovecraft and William Hope Hodgson. A lot of the kids had seemed
really
interested.
Maybe that’s why they behaved so well, she thought.
A few of the kids had been rats, but most had been fine.
Best of all, she’d been asked back. By the end of the school day, the people in the main office had apparently found out that
Mrs. Bonner would be continuing her absence for at least another week, so they’d asked Janet to fill in for her.
Somebody over there must’ve put in a good word for me.
But who? She’d been so busy in her classroom that she hadn’t met anyone except the principal, the office secretaries and the
teacher in the faculty lounge who’d invited her to the faculty Halloween party.
Maybe I’d better go to that, after all.
Earlier, she had pretty much decided against it. She wasn’t crazy about parties in the first place, this sounded like a rowdy
bunch and they would mostly be strangers. Who needs it?
But the situation was different now that she’d been asked to sub at the high school for a full week.
She might as well get to know some of the people so she wouldn’t be spending the week among strangers. Besides, from a practical
standpoint, she’d heard that teachers are encouraged to
recommend
which subs they want.
If they get to like me, they’ll ask for me. I might end up subbing
every day.
Might even end up with a full-time position.
Right, she thought. An exciting idea, but she couldn’t exactly hope for a full-time job. Not with a baby on the way.
How will I even go on subbing?
Starting to feel scared, she quickly climbed out of bed.
“Let’s just take this a day at a time,” she muttered. “So far we’re doing just fine, thank you very much.” She smiled down
at her flat belly. “Aren’t we, honey? Yes, we are. So tonight we go to the faculty Halloween party…but as what?”
Janet had no idea.
She wished Meg would get home from work. Meg might have some costume ideas.
But no telling when she might return. Her job at the college bookstore lasted until six, but she sometimes went out afterwards
for drinks, sometimes for dinner as well.
This being Friday—T. G.I. F.—she probably
would
go out after work.
I’m on my own, Janet thought.
Since the party wasn’t supposed to start until eight o’clock, she had plenty of time to visit a mall and buy a costume.
I’m not going to
buy
a costume, she told herself. Only people with no imagination
buy
Halloween costumes.
So use your imagination.
Janet looked at herself in the closet mirror.
How about going as Lady Godiva? Stark naked…with a
box of chocolates in each hand.
That’d be a hit, she thought.
She put on fresh white panties and a white bra.
A good start, she told herself. Now what?
She swung open the closet door, pulled a string to turn on its light, and stared at the hanging garments.
Has to be something simple. I obviously can’t go as a kangaroo.
She flipped through the hangers, glancing at each outfit.
Too bad I was never a cheerleader.
Yeah, right.
It came as no surprise, but she found no costumes or uniforms of any sort. She owned just an ordinary array of old and new
clothes. They allowed for certain possibilities: hobo, pirate, cowgirl, gypsy, hippie…If she dared to wear a certain
slinky, low-cut evening gown, she could go to the party as a lounge singer.
Or high-class call girl.
She chuckled and shook her head and muttered, “Don’t think so.”
On the last hanger, she came upon a white doeskin shirt
that she’d only kept because it had been a present from her parents. They’d given it to her as a souvenir after a trip to
Arizona.
What the hell were they thinking?
Smiling, she shook her head.
Dad obviously thought I’d look cute in it.
And I do, she thought.
She’d only worn it once—to a Merle Haggard concert with her parents. But she’d looked
real
cute.
I could wear
this
to the Halloween party, she thought.
Would never want to wear it anywhere
else
…unless I get invited to the Grand Ole Opry…
She lifted its hanger off the bar, pulled it out of the closet and held it out for inspection. Though the shirt was several
years old, its white buckskin looked clean and new. So did its colorful beadwork. Its fringe swayed all over the place.
“Never seen so much fringe in my life,” Janet muttered. It dangled off the shoulders, ran all the way down both sleeves, crossed
the back at shoulder-blade level, and circled the entire hemline.
Get me a coonskin hat, she thought, and I can go as Davy Crockett.
In white doeskin? I don’t think so.
Maybe Calamity Jane.
It’s all a moot point if the thing doesn’t fit, she thought.
So she removed it from the hanger and pulled it on over her head.
It felt loose enough to wear. It also felt wonderfully smooth and soft against her skin—though the fringe tickled her thighs.
Jeans will take care of the tickling.
She stepped back from the closet, swung its door shut and looked at herself in the mirror.
“Not bad,” she muttered.
Who am I kidding? I look terrific.
The V-neck, cross-hatched with leather laces, almost plunged low enough to show her bra. But not quite.
Though her bra didn’t show, plenty of leg did.
I’ll wow them all, she thought, if I don’t wear jeans with this.
Wouldn’t dare.
Why not? she thought. I used to wear miniskirts just as short.
Raising her arms, she watched the shirt rise. Through the swaying fringe below its hem, she could see the white crotch of
her panties.
That
also
happened with miniskirts, she reminded herself.
In one of her dresser drawers, she found a black leather belt. She put it on, drawing the shirt in snugly around her waist,
and fastened the buckle.
Davy Crocket my ass, she thought. I look like a sexy Indian maiden.
Moccasins!
She pulled a pair out of the closet and slipped her feet into them.
Back at her dresser, she opened a drawer and took out a red bandana. She rolled it into a band, then tied it around her head.
Now all I need is a feather.
Where do I find a feather? she wondered.
At a dime store, that’s where. Maybe over at the Woolworth’s on the Third Street Mall.
Forget it. I’m not going out like this, and I’m not going to
change.
I’ll have to go featherless.
Unless Meg has one.
Thinking of Meg suddenly reminded her of Dave.
She picked up his red-inked note, took it down the hallway to the kitchen and picked up the phone. Her hand was shaking. On
the first try, she misdialed.
He probably isn’t home, anyway.
She tried again. As the phone started to ring, she took a deep breath that made her feel sick.
Please don’t let him be home.
It rang seven times. Then she hung up.
She breathed deeply again and the sickness was gone, replaced by a weariness as if picking up the phone and dialing it had
used up all her strength.
She went into the living room. Sitting on the couch, she felt her shirt’s fringe and the couch’s rough upholstery through
the seat of her panties.
This shirt
is
awfully short, she thought. I’d better wear jeans.
If I go.
I really
should
go.
But what’ll Dave do?
He won’t do anything, she thought, because I’ll be at the party and he won’t know where to find me. And he won’t do anything
to
Meg
because I’ll warn her and she can go to a movie or something.
Janet suddenly heard footsteps outside. A key slid into the lock and the knob turned. The door swung open.
“Hey there, hon! Whatcha up to?”
“Not much.”
Meg pulled her key out of the lock and elbowed the door shut. “Guess what I’m…” Her voice stopped. She gaped at Janet
and a big smile spread across her face. “Let me guess. It’s either a pow-wow,
Let’s Make a Deal
, or an orgy.”
“That bad?”
“Hell, that good. You look great. What’re you dressed up for? Trick or tr eats was yesterday.”
“Long story.”
“Give me the brief version.”
“I subbed at the high school today…”
“They called you
already?
”
“Yep. And while I was there, I got invited to the faculty Halloween party. Which is tonight. Since I’ll be subbing at the
school all next week, I figured I’d better go to the party. So I needed a costume. So this is it, unless you can come up with
something better.”
Meg slung her purse onto the rocker. “Stand up and let’s have a look.”
Janet stood up. “Charming, huh? Do you think it’s too…revealing?”
“It is a bit skimpy, hon. But if I had your figure, you’d never get a
stitch
on me.”
“I don’t want them to think I’m…”
“A brazen hussy?”
“Something like that.”
“Shit, you look as cute as a butterfly’s butt. You’ll charm their pants off.”
“Hmm. Don’t wanta do that.” She started for the hallway.
“What’re you doing?”
“Going for my jeans.”
“Don’t!”
“Yep. You convinced me.”
“Hey, I was kidding. You look great. For heaven’s sake, don’t hide your assets.”
In the bedroom, Janet put on her faded blue jeans. Then she checked herself in a mirror. Much better. She felt relieved as
if she’d just backed out of a bet she couldn’t afford to lose.
Meg came into the room, pressed her thick lips together and shook her head in exaggerated despair. “You’ve blown the entire
effect.”
“I feel better now.”
“Well, just remember, you can always shuck the jeans if the mood strikes.”
“Thanks for the tip. Have you got a feather?” She touched her headband. “I could really use a feather.”
“Sorry. Haven’t got one of those. But how about war paint? We used to use lipstick when I was a kid.”
“Did the Indian women go in for war paint?”
“Only when they were fighting off men. You’ll probably be doing a lot of that tonight. With or without the jeans.”
“I’d be doing
more
of that if I stayed home.”
“Me
no sabe
.”
“I’m breaking a date with Dave.”
“Uh-oh.”
“Wednesday night when I phoned him, he…
we
decided to see each other once more. Tonight.”
“You agreed to it?”
“I thought it’d be a chance to finish things.”
“It’d finish things, all right. He’d probably rape you and…God only knows. You saw what he did to Mosby. The guy isn’t
stable.”
“Oh, I think he’s stable. He’s just an asshole.”
Meg shook her head. “He could hurt you, Janet. He really could.”
“Well, anyway, I’m
not
seeing him tonight.”
“Thank God for that.”
“But I haven’t been able to get in touch with him. I don’t know how he’ll take it and I’m afraid he might come over here looking
for me. If I’m not here, he might take it out on you.”
Meg’s sallow complexion flushed. Then she forced out a husky laugh. “So happens, hon, I’ll be at a party myself tonight. At
Mosby’s place. Just the two of us. Candlelight and fondue.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Wow! You and Mose?”
“Righto. We sort of hit it off the other night while you were out chasing Dave.”
“That’s great! Is it serious?”
“With me, it’s
always
serious.”
“I’m speechless.”
“Nothing to be speechless about—we aren’t married yet.” But the corners of Meg’s eyes were crinkled with happiness. “Anyway,
I won’t be coming back tonight, so you don’t have to worry about Dave messing with me…
plus
, you’ll have the place all to yourself in case you meet someone fabulous at the party.”
“I don’t work as fast as you.”
“Hell, you don’t
need
to work. Let’s put on that war paint, okay? It’ll give you back some of the zip you lost by putting on the jeans.”
“Ah, I don’t think so. Let’s forget the war paint. I don’t want them thinking I’m wacko.”
COWBOY LESTER
Lester shut the door of Emily Jean’s bedroom and stepped in front of her full-length mirror. He tilted his Stetson forward,
buttoned the collar of his white shirt, and adjusted the slide of his bolo tie.
Helen had always hated the bolo tie. “Makes you look like a hick,” she’d told him when he bought it in Phoenix. But he liked
the casual way it looked and he liked the polished umber of the petrified wood on its slide, so he’d bought it in spite of
Helen’s protests. “It’ll be a cold day in hell,” she’d said, “before I’ll be seen with you when you’ve got that monstrosity
on.”
In the mirror, Lester saw himself sneer at her. “A cold
night
in hell,” he muttered, and laughed once.
Then he walked slowly backward, hunched over just a bit, arms poised near his sides the way gunfighters always held them in
the movies. He inspected his stance in the mirror, then straightened slightly.
Better.
Suddenly, he went for his revolver.
As it cleared his holster, his left hand cut through the air, palm slamming the hammer back to full cock. He squeezed the
trigger.
The hammer clacked down.
His thumb drew back the hammer again as he extended his arm and aimed carefully at the face in the mirror.
He squeezed the trigger again.
Then he cocked the pistol again and squeezed the trigger again.
Cocked again, squeezed again.
Cocked, squeezed.