Live Girls (20 page)

“Davey Davey my God Davey what're you
doing?
” she shrieked.

Davey's face suddenly relaxed; he blinked several times as if waking from a deep sleep. “I'm...” he began. He ran his tongue around his bloody lips twice. “I'm ... sorry.” He moved from the bed quickly and stepped away from her, turning his back. “I'm sorry, Casey, you should, you should get out of here and stay away from me, there's
”—
he sobbed
—“
there's something wrong with me. Something very wrong.” His shoulders hitched and he gasped for breath through his tears.

Casey stood, and pulled herself together. When she moved toward Davey, he dashed into the bathroom. She heard him retching into the toilet. Casey took a tissue from the box by the bed, wrapped the tampon in it, and tossed it in the trash can in the corner.

“Davey, let me call her now,” she said, approaching the doorway.

Davey was kneeling at the toilet, his robe crumpled around his legs. He stood slowly and leaned on the sink. Washing his face, he said, “I'll be okay. Why don't you go now?"

As Davey was drying his face, Casey stepped into the bathroom and stood at his side. Davey pulled away as if struck.

“Just go, Casey, okay?"

She saw that his hands were trembling and his fingers were worrying the edges of the towel.

“Davey, you're keeping something from me,” she said firmly. “If you'll tell me what's
really
wrong, I'll try to help you, but I don't want to be lied to!"

Casey immediately regretted her angry tone when she saw Davey's face screw up. Tears sparkled in his eyes and he stumbled backward, sitting heavily on the edge of the tub. Through his tears, he began to tell her about Anya....

Benedek was led to a table by a man named Cedric. Something about the man
—
was it the scar on his neck?
—
made Benedek think he should know him. The man's dark, angular face was very familiar, but Benedek couldn't pin it down.

The gaunt, balding man at the door had grudgingly let him in, giving Benedek the once-over with his beady eyes. Benedek was certain that, had Ethan Collier not called ahead the thin, hollow-cheeked man behind the pedestal would have smilingly turned Benedek away.

Once Benedek was seated at his table, Cedric told him a waitress would be with him in a moment, and walked away. Benedek took in his surroundings carefully but casually.

It was dark and sleek with a sparse crowd, which was not surprising at that hour
—
it was just past seven. A smiling blond waitress took Benedek's order: a rum and Coke on the rocks. When she left, he lit a cigarette and looked around at the other patrons.

Two women huddled close over their table talking. One of them, perhaps in her early fifties and strikingly attractive with high cheekbones and thick, sandy-colored hair, waved at Cedric after Benedek settled himself at his table. Cedric escorted her to a door on the other side of the room and let her through.

Rest rooms
, Benedek thought absently, until he noticed that there were no signs.

“Are you going out?” Jackie had asked when she'd come home to find Benedek getting dressed.

“Just for a while."

“That's too bad. I was looking forward to an evening in bed with the television.
Ninotchka's
on tonight."

“Not this evening, sweety."

“Where are you going?"

Benedek had considered lying to her so she wouldn't worry, but as good a liar as he was, she always seemed to see through it. “I'm going to a place called the Midnight Club."

“A nightclub this early?"

“Business, not pleasure.” He'd finished tying his tie and given her a hug and kiss. Still holding her, he'd said, “There's some connection between the club and live Girls."

She'd pulled back gently. “Walter, don't you think you should leave this alone? They'll find him."

“They'll find
him
, maybe. But I don't think they'll find what I'm looking for."

“And what's that?"

After a pause: “I'm not sure yet."

“Walter.” She placed her hand on his neck and squeezed. “Your sister and niece have been killed. They're dead. You're suffering a loss. Shouldn't you be..."

“Mourning?"

She nodded hesitantly.

“Sweetheart, I am. In my way, I
am
. And part of it is
doing
something about it."

“And what are you doing, Walter? What aren't you telling me?"

He pulled his eyes from hers for a moment. “You're right. There's something I'm not telling you. When I know more..."

She touched his face. “All right,” she whispered, nodding. “I trust you. Do what you have to. But be careful."

“Don't worry, honey, I just want to have a look around."

“Christ.” She chuckled, stepping into his arms again. “What you call looking around
most
people call breaking and entering. You and your lock-picking..."

“Don't lose any sleep over it,” he said, smiling. “Go to bed. Let the machine answer the phone. Relax. I'll be back in a while."

“Famous last words."

A few tables away, two couples
—
yuppies, Benedek decided immediately
—
laughed over glasses of white wine.

Only one person other than Benedek sat alone: a jowly Asian man in a blue business suit. He fidgeted and shifted in his seat, looking over both shoulders every few seconds, as if expecting someone. After watching him a few moments, Benedek realized the man was waiting for a waitress. Each time one passed, even if not nearby, the man timidly waved a pudgy hand toward her. He wasn't obvious enough. He became more and more agitated, tugged at his collar and wiped his brow, glanced at the door and...

That's
why he kept looking over his shoulder. He was watching the door.

The waitress came with Benedek's drink and he paid her. As she walked away from his table, the Asian man waved at her; she didn't notice.

What the hell's he need, permission?
Benedek thought.

Finally, the man stood and walked to the door alone. He tried the knob, apparently found it locked. He knocked hard with one knuckle, then took a few nervous steps this way and that before the door.

It opened.

Someone peered out.

A round, fleshy face. Salt-and-pepper hair. Thin lips and a wrinkled brow. There and gone.

The Asian man stepped through and the door closed.

Benedek's cigarette dropped from his fingers to the floor. Without even thinking, he stamped it out with his foot, burning a black spot into the carpet. He had a simultaneous feeling of triumph and fear.

The face in the doorway had been that of Vernon Macy.

“For Christ's
sake
, Davey!” Casey snapped. “What the hell possessed you to go into a place like that?” She lit a cigarette as she paced before him in the little bathroom. Her voice was sarcastic and accusatory, even though she knew he needed a friend. Well, she
was
being a friend by not giving in and showing him undeserved pity. What he needed more than anything, she decided, was a good kick in the ass. “If all you wanted was a blow job, you could've come to
me.
You know
I'm
clean. Jesus, who knows
what
you picked up in there. And you went
back
to her!
Jeee-zus!"

“She bit me,” Davey whispered, staring at his lap.

"Bit!
She
bit
you? Holy God.” She stopped pacing and faced him. “Have you talked to her? I mean, did you at least ask her what she
has?"

“I tried to, but
—
"

“You
tried,"
she spat. “Davey, I am so fucking
sick
of your attitude. You keep digging these holes and jumping in, then asking me to pull you out. Or at least
expecting
me to. And I keep doing it. Well,
you
handle this one. I can only be so understanding and so helpful, then I have to draw the line. You apparently
like
being miserable or else you'd start
thinking
for a change. You'd grow up and take charge of your own life and stop acting like a fucking whiny
child!
You'd
—
oh, fuck it.” She started to walk out. “Christ, I hope you didn't give
me
anything."

“Casey, wait. It's not what you think. There's something wrong...” He pressed a hand to his forehead and closed his eyes.
"Inside
me. I'm having ... nightmares and ... thinking awful things. I can't ... stay ...
away
from her. Maybe if I'd stayed away the first time. But she's doing something to me that ... I
need
now. I don't know what or why, but there's something I
need;
it's a craving. That smell ... your smell...” He met her eyes for the first time in several minutes. “It's driving me crazy,” he said huskily.

Casey took an involuntary step away from him. She realized then what was different about Davey. It was the hungry stare, the stare of a child peering into a pastry display case.

A
sick
child.

His whole body quaked as he stood, licking his lips. “I'm hungry, Casey,” he whispered. “But I can't eat."

She backed into the bedroom and he followed her.

“Davey, you
have
to
see
a
doctor,"
she said.

His voice quavered as he whispered, “I'm afraid he'd have me put away. I just have to wait for it to pass."

She reached the bedroom doorway and stopped. “What if it doesn't?” she asked. Tears were stinging her eyes; she was suddenly terrified of her best friend.

“Then it doesn't. Like you said, it's my problem. I'll...” He turned away from her and went to the bed, sat down, and began rocking back and forth. He spoke rapidly, running his words together. “I'll handle it, now will you just go away please."

He rocked and rocked, like a retarded child, his arms folded tightly across his stomach, acting as if she weren't there.

“All right, Davey,” she said, trying to speak levelly and confidently. “I'll go. But will you do one thing for me? I have some Librium in my purse. Lisa gave them to me months ago. Will you take a couple? They'll calm you down, help you sleep."

At first, she thought he hadn't heard her. Then he nodded rigidly.

Casey got her purse in the living room, took out her pillbox, and went into the kitchen. As she held a glass under the faucet, she realized her hands were trembling.

She was afraid. Davey was dangerous. Maybe the pills would keep him from doing anything harmful for a while. Casey was aware of no disease, social or otherwise, that exhibited itself so suddenly and with such symptoms. But what did she know about diseases? What if that woman, Anya,
were
spreading something around? Surely she was aware of what she had, knew she was exposing her customers to it. Could she
really
not care?

She felt a rush of anger at the woman's irresponsibility. And at Davey's.

What kind of woman could knowingly do that?
she wondered, tightening her grip on the drinking glass.
How could she
—

The glass shattered and a jagged edge sliced into the pad of flesh between her thumb and forefinger. She held the cut between her lips for a moment, then got another glass and filled it, ignoring the broken pieces in the sink.

In the bedroom, Davey was still rocking himself on the edge of the bed.

“Here,” Casey said softly, holding out the pills in her palm.

Davey opened his eyes and stared at the blood on her hand. His lips parted and his chest heaved as he began breathing rapidly, shallowly. He crawled backward on the bed and turned his face from her.

“Put them down and go!” he shouted hoarsely. “Just get the hell away from me!” He curled up on the bed in a fetal position.

Casey's heart was hammering as she put the pills and water on the counter. The slip of paper with Benedek's number on it lay beside the phone. She picked it up, grabbed her coat, and, with weak legs, hurried out of the apartment.

Outside, she hurried to a payphone. She deposited a quarter and dialed the number.