Live Girls (8 page)

“You were considered, Owen. You were. But Chad has a good eye. He knows what we're looking for, he's picked some winners. He ... well, he knows
”—
she cocked one thinly penciled brow, speaking deliberately
—“
what I like.” She leaned toward Davey, making no attempt to hide the scrutiny in her eyes as she looked him up and down slowly. “You know, Owen,” she said slowly, choosing her words carefully, “we hardly know one another. Maybe if we spent more time together ...
you
would know what I like, too."

I can
'
t believe what she
'
s saying
, he thought.

“And next time,” she continued, “maybe you'll get the assistant-editor position."

They
know
they can shit on you, so they're going to!

“Maybe some weekend soon,” she went on, “we can have dinner. Spend some time outside of work, you know, getting acquainted."

They
know
they can shit on you....

“What do you say, Owen?"

...
so they
'
re going to
.

He thought of Beth's last words to him:
You
'
re gonna have to start grabbing things by the short and curlies
.

And of Casey's gentle scolding:
You have no spine
.

Of Chad Wilkes's smug smile, and of the girl in the booth, of her breasts and her jet-black hair, and something seemed to uncurl inside Davey. He wasn't sure if it was confidence or anger, or both, but it was sudden and strong and it pushed the words up through his mouth.

“Not on a bet."

Miss Schuman blinked slowly. “I'm sorry?"

“I said: Not. On. A
bet
.” Quietly, but firmly.

The corners of her mouth twitched. She clearly did not know how to react.

“Miss Schuman,” Davey said, “I think it's time that I
—
"

What?
his mind demanded.
Time that I what?

“Yes?” she prompted.

“Moved on. I think it's time that I moved on."

She chuckled. “To what, Owen?"

“To a new publisher, I suppose. There doesn't seem to be anything for me here."

“And what makes you think there is elsewhere?"

Pause. “I'll turn in my two-week notice before I leave today.” He opened the door.

“That won't be necessary."

Davey half turned to her.

“I don't like your attitude, Mr. Owen. If you want to be rewarded for your work, you must do something to deserve it. So far you haven't.” Puff. Smile. “Chad has. If you're going to go around with your nose in the air making rude remarks to your superiors, then I'll let you go now so you won't waste two weeks of your time. Or mine. How does that sound?” She grinned. “You can take your things with you when you leave tonight. Good-bye, Mr. Owen.” She went back to the paper she was reading as if he weren't there.

Davey left the office and closed the door quietly.

Davey got his things together in no time at all, and he did it with a smile. He felt better than he had in months, satisfied with himself. A little scared, too, of course. He had no idea what he would do next, but it would at least be something that would allow him a little self-respect, even if it were nothing more than bussing tables.

Having gathered together the few belongings he had in the cubicle
—
a few pens and pencils, a tin of aspirin, some newspaper articles he'd cut out for one reason or another, all of which fit nicely into his briefcase
—
he said a silent good-bye to the tiny space he'd occupied for so long, turned his back on it, and walked away.

“Where are you going?” Casey asked him on his way out.

“I quit."

“You
what?
” she hissed with a smile.

“Well, actually, I quit and then I was fired. I'll tell you all about it tonight if you're still coming over."

“Are you high? I wouldn't miss it for the world!"

He tossed a few good-byes to his coworkers as he left, smiling even at those whose names he could not remember. In fact, he was still smiling when he got into the empty elevator and as he crossed the lobby to the doors, opening his umbrella as he stepped outside.

He joined a small group of people waiting at the bus stop: two old ladies, a black woman juggling a baby on one arm and a bag in the other, and a few foul-mouthed teenagers. He collapsed his umbrella and tucked it under his arm; the rain had stopped, leaving only a chilly mist.

He looked around him at the others, catching snatches of their conversations. Then, for no reason, she came to mind again.

Smiling and cool.

Soft and smooth.

And oh so promising.

She was
that
way. Just a few blocks, around a few corners, and he could see her again.

He remembered the uncomfortable stickiness in his pants earlier. The shame and anger he'd felt.

The
pleasure
he'd felt at the touch of her soft, moist lips.

There was a hiss and wrenching sound as the bus came to a stop at the curb. The others filed in; Davey stepped toward the bus, looking from its door to his right, toward her...

He stepped up on the first step and reached into his coat pocket for a token. He felt its round flatness, so much like those four tokens he'd held in his hand earlier, the ones that had lifted the panel from the glass...

“Well,” the driver grunted impatiently at Davey, “you comin’ or goin', fella? I ain't got all fuckin’ day."

“Uh, I-yuh...” Davey looked up at him, fingered the token a moment, then let it drop again. He smiled at the driver and shook his head. “Never mind. Never ... mind.” Davey stepped away from the bus, the doors rattled shut, and it drove away in a belch of stinging exhaust.

Her booth was empty and she was still there, as if she had been waiting for him to return. When the panel rose, she was smiling.

As he walked out of Live Girls afterward, his hair was mussed, his breathing uneven, and his gait a bit unsteady. He could feel the biting sting again. He could feel the moist warmth soaking into his briefs against his skin.

He was bleeding.

W
ALTER
B
ENEDEK BELCHED FIRE INTO HIS NAPKIN AT THE
same instant that Davey Owen walked out of Live Girls for the second time that day. He pushed aside the paper plate with leftover egg foo yong on it and leaned toward the window to watch the young man across the street. He seemed to be limping, trying hard to stay on his feet as he walked into the crowd and quickly disappeared from Benedek's view.

He leaned back in the small plastic chair and belched again, wishing he hadn't eaten the day's special in Lim's Chinese Kitchen, New York's Fastest Oriental Eatery. The acidic sizzling in his stomach showed on his face as he stared across the street at Live Girls.

Such a plain little place, and yet something about it held Benedek's gaze, something that he couldn't actually see but something he
felt
, maybe.

He'd waited for the police in the apartment next to Doris's. Mrs. Shaunessy, an old widow, had heard him shouting and came over to see what was wrong. When she saw the bloody mess in the apartment, she'd taken Benedek's arm, ushered him to her apartment muttering comfort and assurances, then put him on the sofa and poured him a glass of scotch.

Riley had come, Detective Kenneth Riley. They'd met on a number of occasions, never pleasantly. Riley did not like Benedek because he was a reporter and reporters got in the way. Benedek, as a rule, did not judge people by their occupations; he did not like Riley because Riley was simply not a nice man.

After seeing the bodies in the apartment, however, Riley had shown Benedek a rare moment of compassion.

“I'm ... very sorry, Walter,” he'd said, coming into Mrs. Shaunessy's apartment.

“Yeah, thanks,” Benedek had said hoarsely.

Riley had seated himself on the sofa beside Benedek. “You know, Walter, I'll have to question you,” he'd said softly.

“Right now?"

“Well, I'd like to get as much information from you as possible now."

Had Vernon Macy been acting strange lately? Were there some domestic problems between Mr. and Mrs. Macy? Where might Mr. Macy be found?

Benedek had told Riley everything he could, especially about Vernon's strange behavior of late and his visits to Live Girls.

“That was out of character for your brother-in-law?” Riley had asked.

“You kidding?
Way
out."

After a pause, Riley had asked carefully, “You think he might have done it?"

Benedek had looked up at him with disbelief. “
Might
have? Isn't it as obvious as the fucking
weather
, Riley?"

“Well, we'll see. We've gotta find him first. We're going to start with his place of work."

“Go to Live Girls. Times Square."

“Yeah, we'll go there, too, eventually."

“Go there first, Riley."

Riley had frowned at him, apparently puzzled at Benedek's insistence. “What're you thinking, Walter?” he'd asked firmly. “If you know something, you'd better tell me now."

Benedek had started to speak, but his voice never came and he'd finally swallowed the unspoken words with another shot of scotch. He was sure of nothing. He just
felt
something, but that didn't count.

When Benedek didn't answer, Riley stood and said, “We're looking to contact his dentist, too. You wouldn't know his name, would you?"

Benedek shook his head. “Why?"

Riley hesitated. “They were, um, bitten. Extensively. M.E. thinks they might've ... bled to death if ... if they didn't go right away."

“There wasn't that much blood,” Benedek had said.

“Yeah, that's what's got the M.E. scratching his head. You go home now, Walter. I'll have to talk to you some more, but it can wait till tomorrow. You can work out all the arrangements and ... Just go home now. Get some rest."

He'd gone to Times Square. He'd walked for a while up and down the sidewalk across from Live Girls, watching. Waiting to see a familiar dumpy figure hurrying through the crowd. But it never appeared.

Not long after he'd arrived, around ten-thirty, maybe eleven, he'd noticed the young man. He'd stood out of the crowd, totally unlike most of the customers going in and out of Live Girls. All the others looked like typical peep-joint clientele, maybe a little on the unhealthy side, gaunt and worn. This guy, however, was young and in apparently good shape; he was well groomed and wearing a suit. When he came back out, Benedek had noticed that he was limping, almost staggering. Then he'd seemed to make an effort to hold his balance as he fell into step with the others on the sidewalk.

Now why
, Benedek had wondered,
would a respectable-looking young man like that visit a place like Live Girls?

A few minutes later, though, the young man was almost completely forgotten. Benedek was just watching for Vernon, smoking, drinking coffee, letting his mind wander.

He'd stepped into the Chinese place because the view was good from the window. He was not hungry but he ate anyway. Now he regretted it.

The irritation of his upset stomach was forgotten when the young man returned. He'd gone in and, after a while, come out again, walking unsteadily, just as before.

Okay
, Benedek thought after the guy was gone,
once is fine. Maybe he was just curious. But twice within a few hours? Uh-uh. And why the limp?

Something was not right.

Benedek stood and left the humid little restaurant. He went to the corner and stepped off the curb to cross the street, go inside Live Girls, see for himself. But he didn't. He wasn't sure why but it didn't feel right. Not yet.

He watched Live Girls for a long time. Even as night began to fall, Benedek watched the black-curtained doorway and tried to see in whenever someone walked in or out. But all he saw was darkness. And that darkness made him strangely uneasy.