She shook her head. “I’m happy this way,” she whispered.
He took a long drink. “I don’t know how to put it in words . . . I love you . . . like I’ve never loved any woman. I never leveled with any woman except you and Nina Lou. I had to with her, but I wanted to with you. I’ve been a heel with most women. I just tell them they don’t turn me on. I act like maybe with the right woman my pecker grows six feet. Look, I don’t know how long you’ll want me, but as long as you do . . . it’s going to be your way . . . no games. I’ll love you all the way . . . and if you want what there is of me . . . then . . . I belong to you.”
She held him close. “Oh, Tom . . . I love you. And I want you . . . and I’ll be with you whenever you want me . . . and for as long as you want me . . . forever . . . we are forever. I swear it.”
They lay together for a while, and after a time his even breathing told her he was asleep. She was still wide awake and longed for a cigarette. She also wanted to think things out. She loved him—the size of a man’s penis wasn’t a barometer for love. She had to convince him of this. She slid out of bed, careful not to disturb him, put on her robe and tiptoed down the steps. The living room was deserted and the fire was just about dying. She put some newspaper on it and added another log. Soon it was crackling and warm. She sat on the couch, her legs curled under her, and stared into the fire and thought about Tom. She had always thought all men were built pretty much alike. Oh, she knew some were larger than others . . . but she never knew anyone could be like Tom. Suddenly she wondered about her father. Was he a stallion like David? Of course. He would have to be. But poor Tom. Her emotions were confused. She thought of him protectively, yet with tenderness and desire. It was the desire to be in his arms . . . to feel his bare chest against her breasts . . . to feel the closeness of him . . . to feel his lips on hers—that was what love was all about.
She heard the door open and she knew Hugh was standing behind her. He came around and stared at her. Then he glanced upstairs.
“He’s asleep,” she said. “He’s finished the bottle of Jack Daniels.”
He went to the wooden table that served as the bar and poured himself a Scotch. “Want one?”
She shook her head. “I’ll take a Coke though.”
He handed her the drink. “Want some cold steak? You must be starving. You didn’t eat a thing at dinner.”
She stretched. “I feel marvelous. Just marvelous. I don’t need food.”
He looked concerned. “January, I don’t know how good his marriage is, but he loves that baby and—”
“Hugh, I know he’ll never marry me. Don’t worry about it.”
“You’re in love with him?”
“Yes.”
He sat beside her. “I’ve seen girls fall in love with him before. And they all say they can handle it. But when he decided to walk . . . several of them reached for the pills.”
“Hugh . . . how well do you know Tom?”
“Does anyone really know Tom? I’ve known him for six years. We met when he was writing something about space in one of his novels. He came to Houston for research. We buddy-buddied together. And when I came to Los Angeles, he was just getting a divorce, so I shacked up with him. He fixed me up with some of his rejects and I had me quite a time. My own marriage was coming apart, but I had that thing about divorce . . . you know the bit . . . wait until the kids can understand. Hell, they never really understand . . . even when they’re grown and have kids of their own. My daughter, God love her, has a three-year-old, and she says, ‘Dad, why are you and Mother splitting . . . after all these years!’ Well, hell—” he stopped suddenly. “What am I doing, rambling on like this? You ask me a simple question and I give you my life’s story . . . when it’s really Tom’s you want. Okay. How well do I know Tom? I don’t. It’s not easy to know Tom. We’re friends, good friends—I know if I ever needed him, I could call on him. And he knows the same about me. We’re a lot alike in some ways. A man like Tom gets lost in his writing, the characters become him, or vice versa. I get lost in my work . . . I never even got to really know my kids . . .”
Then he began talking about his children, about his early days of flying. She listened carefully, realizing he was unburdening his own guilts—his wrecked marriage, the loss of contact with his children. She told him not to feel guilty, that he was only following his destiny. “You really think that people should do their own thing?” he asked. She nodded, and it never once struck her as odd that she was offering Hugh Robertson advice, because at that moment she felt she could solve anything. They talked about the mystery of life . . . the solar system . . . infinity. He explained that the concept of intelligent life existing beyond our own solar system was now an accepted fact. He felt that in centuries to come there would be communication between solar systems. There would be telstars and satellite planets . . . chains of them . . . stretching out into space like a giant bridge connecting the planets and the solar systems.
“But how will we communicate with the little green men?” she asked.
“What makes you think they’ll be green? If a planet is adjacent to another sun in the same position earth is to our sun, it has to breed the same kind of being.”
“You mean there could be another earth? With a superior race?”
“Millions of them. Some, billions of years ahead of us . . . and of course some, billions of years behind.”
They were both silent after that. Then she smiled sadly. “It makes everything we do or think about seem awfully small in comparison. I mean, when you think that on all those other worlds there are people like us, praying to God. Like when I think of how I used to pray to Him to help me to walk . . .”
“Walk?”
They both turned, and it was Tom coming down the steps. He had on a robe and he was carrying an empty bottle. “I woke up and found both my girl and my booze gone.” He came and sat beside January. “Did I hear you two say something about a walk? It’s almost two in the morning.”
“No,” Hugh said. “January was saying how she prayed to God to learn to walk.”
“I couldn’t sleep,” she said as she snuggled against him. “Hugh and I have been talking about the stars.”
“What about the walking?” Hugh asked.
“It’s a long story.”
“It seems to me I’ve told you some pretty long stories tonight,” Tom said. “Now it’s your turn.”
She began to talk, hesitantly at first. And then she found herself reliving those long hopeless months. The fire died out, but neither of the men seemed to notice. And as she talked Tom’s dark eyes held her, offering silent compassion and admiration. She realized she had never told anyone how much she had really endured. She had told Linda just the facts. Even Mike never knew the total desolation she had felt, because she always put on a brave front with him. But sitting in the darkness with Tom’s arm around her, all the suffering and loneliness she had known suddenly spilled out. When she finished, neither man spoke. Then Tom stood up. “I think we all need a drink now.”
Hugh poured himself a Scotch. “Can you use this? We’re clean out of bourbon.”
“I came prepared,” Tom said. “I had the driver put a case in the kitchen. I’ll be right back.”
Hugh watched him leave the room. Then he raised his glass to January who was still huddled on the couch. “I get a whole new picture of you now. You know, I think everything’s going to be fine with you and Tom. Looks like he found himself a real hunk of woman in a skinny little girl.”
The front door opened so quietly that neither of them heard the two men enter. January turned just as a hand clamped over her mouth. She saw the gleam of the knife that was held at her throat. At the same moment, the other man flashed a light in Hugh’s face. “Okay, Mister . . . if you don’t want your old lady killed, give us your jewelry and the money. If you shout or try to get help, your old lady gets her throat slashed.”
“There is no money or jewelry,” Hugh said hoarsely.
/> “Come on, Mister . . .” The man towered over Hugh. He was close to seven feet. “Last week we hit someone down on the beach. A weekend couple like you. Had to threaten to cut his balls off before his old lady coughed over her rings. You people who come out for weekends on the beach . . . you always got cash and jewelry.”
“She’s got no rings or anything,” whispered the one with the knife at January’s throat.
Hugh emptied his pockets. Some change . . . two fives . . . a few singles and keys came spilling out.
“That’s chicken shit, man,” the giant said. Then he glanced at the stairs. “You hold the girl,” he called out. “I’ll take him upstairs. Maybe I can convince him to show me where he keeps things.”
January was left alone with the man with the knife. Where was Tom! The kitchen was behind the workroom. Unless she screamed he wouldn’t be able to hear her. She stared at the man, who was breathing heavily and smirking at her. He was a little man, he hardly reached her shoulder. But he had a knife and it was at her throat.
One of his hands reached out and untied the sash of her robe. It fell open, and he stared at her nude body. His smirk became an evil grin. “Oh . . . Caught you and the old man ready for a little action.”
She shut her eyes and tried not to scream as his rough hand touched her breasts. Then he unzipped his pants and exposed himself. “Pretty good for a little guy like me. But like I always say, you got to have your weight somewhere. Now my friend up there”—he nodded toward the steps—“he’s all business. But me, I like to combine business with pleasure. So you and me is gonna have ourselves a little fuck.” He wrenched the robe off her. “Turn around!”
“Please . . .” she begged.
“Oh. Maybe you’d like it all romantic. On the nice soft couch over there with me on top of you. Sure, and give you a chance to grab for the knife. Oh, no, sister. You’re gonna take it doggie style. That way I got you in no position to fight. Now turn around and bend over!” he snarled.
“Please . . . I won’t take your knife. Please . . .”
“You bet your ass you won’t. And because you gave me some lip—I’m gonna make you use it. Your lips. Hey, that’s a joke. Get it? Now before I give it to you, you do a little ground work.” He pushed her to her knees and shoved his penis in her face. Her revulsion made her forget fear, and she suddenly jumped away and raced across the room. In an instant he had her by the arm and slapped her across the face. Then he pushed her on the floor. “Get on your knees, you cunt. No more games. I’m gonna ram my joint so far up your ass it’ll come out through your throat!”
As he leaned close to her, she screamed. His reflexes caused him to jump away. Then she felt the cold blade of the knife at the black of her neck. “Trying to wake the neighbors? Well, nobody’s home . . . on both sides of you. We hit them for some transistor radios. Nothing worthwhile. But don’t try any more screaming. It would take the enjoyment out of it all for me and might make me cut you up before I fuck you.”
But she continued to struggle as he pushed her into a kneeling position on the floor. Then she saw Tom’s shadow in the doorway. He had heard her scream! With one last burst of strength, she twisted and managed to pull away. But the little man grabbed her. He was breathing hard, and she felt him against her as he made a futile attempt to penetrate her. She knew Tom was creeping around the room. She made one final effort and wrenched herself from his grasp. He clawed at her breast in anger as he tried to pull her toward him. Tom was behind the man now. And then she heard the thump as the bottle hit his head. The man gasped, released her, and slipped to the floor. Tom pulled her into his arms. She was sobbing hysterically. “Oh, Tom! He was trying to . . . Oh, God! If you hadn’t come in time . . .”
He picked up her robe and helped her into it. Her teeth were chattering, but she pointed upstairs. “There’s another one. A giant. And he’s with Hugh . . .”
Tom looked at the unconscious man on the floor. He handed her the bottle. “Now, look, if the bastard even stirs, hit him with this. Don’t spare him. Just remember what he wanted to do to you.”
Then he started for the stairs. There were sounds of a scuffle. Obviously the giant was beginning to rough up Hugh. Tom crept up the stairs, one at a time. A board creaked. She held her breath. The little man on the floor stirred slightly. January wavered as she held the bottle. But the man merely moaned and slipped back into unconsciousness. She was relieved. Somehow she felt she couldn’t have hit him. Not with him lying there like that. If he was attacking her it would have been different. She stared at him. He was an ugly little man with two days’ growth of beard. There was a smell of decay about him. Yet with his eyes shut and his mouth open there was something oddly pathetic and innocent about him.
She turned and watched Tom inch his way up the stairs. There was another sound of scuffling in the room. Furniture scraped, and it seemed as if the ceiling would come down. Tom took two steps at a time. He had just reached the top when the door opened and the giant appeared. He stood there for a split second, taken off guard at seeing another man. His eyes went from Tom to his unconscious accomplice on the floor. With a guttural curse he leaped at Tom and they both rolled down the steps. Tom was the first to scramble to his feet, but the huge man lumbered after him. “I left your friend half dead in the bedroom,” he snarled. “But with you, I’m gonna finish the job.” His fist crashed into Tom’s stomach. Tom doubled over but staggered to his feet. This time the man lunged for his jaw. Tom ducked. He was stalling for time to get his breath back. But the huge man gave him no chance. He came at him with another smashing blow to the stomach, and Tom went down. January stood riveted in one spot as he approached her. Then she saw the knife lying on the floor. She grabbed it and raced across the room. The giant laughed. “Oh, want to play games? Want Big Henry to try and get the knifey away from the little girl?”
He started toward her. She leaped behind the couch. He came after her and she ran to the other side. “TOM . . . HUGH . . . HELP!” she screamed.
The man laughed. “No one awake but just us chickens.” Then he laughed heartily at his joke. He was coming closer. She hesitated. If she stabbed at him and missed, it would be all over for everyone. She had to stall for time. She ran around to the other side of the couch. The giant was laughing. “Come on. You’re a cute piece. Wish I had the time to give it to you.” He came closer. She backed away and almost tripped over the man on the floor. She heard Tom begin to stir. The giant heard it too. His smile disappeared. “Okay, you bitch. No more fun and games.” He jumped across the couch and grabbed her. She tried to slash at him with the knife, but he twisted her arm. She cried out in pain as the knife fell to the floor. He picked it up, shoved her across the room, and started toward Tom, who was standing now.
“Okay, Mister. This is one time you’re gonna wish you never woke up.” He lunged at Tom to slash at his throat, but Tom ducked. Then Tom connected with a punch on his jaw. But the man seemed to barely feel it. He came at Tom, grinning, stalking. Tom kept backing away. Then he crouched like a cat, waiting. The man approached, brandishing the knife. Tom didn’t move. The man came closer. And suddenly Tom leaped up like a panther, smashing the side of his hand against the man’s windpipe, following with his fist to the man’s jaw. It all happened so quickly that January couldn’t believe her eyes as the huge man crumpled to the floor like a paper bag. Then Tom raced up the stairs for Hugh. January followed. Hugh was on the floor, just beginning to regain consciousness. His jaw was beginning to swell. One eye was shut, but he forced a slight smile. “I’m gonna live . . . guess I wasn’t much help . . . I’m not in very good fighting shape these days.”
They went downstairs. The little man was beginning to come around. Hugh went to the phone. Tom stopped him. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Calling the police. They’re junkies. Look at that one’s arm—loaded with needle marks.”
“Put that phone down,” Tom commanded. “We’ll get some rope and tie them together and I??
?ll drive them a mile off and dump them. If we have the police, then January gets involved. You know how the papers will play that up.”
Hugh went to get the rope while Tom tried to slap some life into the face of the bigger man. When Hugh came back Tom was still working feverishly on the man, massaging the back of his neck. But he lay like a rag doll. “We can’t dump them,” Tom said. “They’d never make it. They’d freeze to death.”
“They’ll make it,” Hugh said as he bound them together. “They’re junkies . . . junkies don’t feel weather.”
“Hugh, I think this man is dead.” Tom stood up and stared at the limp figure of the huge man.
Hugh leaned over him, felt his wrists, his neck. “I feel a slight pulse.”
“Then we’ve got to get him to the hospital. Hugh, you’re going to drive January back to New York. January, get dressed immediately.” It was a command and January ran up the stairs.
“But what will you do?” Hugh asked.
“As soon as you both get out, I’ll call the police and tell them to send an ambulance. I’ll say I wanted to do some writing and you loaned me the place. Then I’ll tell it like it was—that I was out in the kitchen . . . I surprised them. . . .”
“Why don’t you drive January back to New York? I’ll call the ambulance and give the same story. I think January would prefer it that way.”
“I would, too,” Tom said. “But look, man. You’re five foot ten. There’s no way you could have hit that guy in the windpipe or on the jaw unless he bent down to let you.” He looked at his raw fist. “And I’ve got the skinned knuckles to prove I did it.”
January came down with her bag. Her face was white and she clung to Tom while Hugh went out to start the car. “I heard your plans. But what if the men talk? What if they say there were three people here?”
“They’re junkies, so they saw double, or triple—it’s my word against theirs. Don’t worry.” They heard Hugh’s horn. He led her to the door. “Oh, Tom.” She clung to him. “I thought we’d have the whole weekend together. Not just one night.”