Ryan sat on the bed, sipping his beer, watching her. She had opened a drawer and was feeling inside, closing it gently now and opening the next drawer to dig her hands under the clothes and feeling around in there thoroughly. “You see, what she does she goes through everything to make sure no valuables are hidden anywhere.” And Leon Woody would say, “Yeah, the valuables. Say, man, did you tell her about dumping the drawers on the floor to get at all them valuables?”
No, he didn’t tell her about that. He finished the beer and went through the bath to the adjoining bedroom, the one the women had used Sunday, and checked the tops of the dresser and the chest of drawers. There were two more bedrooms across the hall. He looked into each but saw nothing worth taking, not a hundred and fifty miles from Detroit without a car. He thought of something then and went back through the second bedroom to the bath and opened the medicine cabinet. The Jade East was still there. He rubbed a few drops of the lotion between his palms, then over his jaw, staring at the mirror but barely making out his reflection in the darkness.
He went into the bedroom where he had left Nancy—not hearing a sound in the room and not seeing her at first because he expected to see her standing by the dresser or by the closet. He looked toward the door and as his gaze shifted he saw the movement on the bed, in the bed, that’s where she was, in bed with the spread pulled up to her chin. She was watching him, waiting for him to find her, watching him now as he came around between the twin beds and sat down on the empty one.
“I give up,” Ryan said. “What’re you doing?”
“Waiting for you,” she said, giving him the look with her dark hair on the white pillow. “Guess if I have any clothes on.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Guess.”
He began to nod then, slowly. “You would, wouldn’t you?”
“You’re right,” Nancy said. “Know what you win?”
“Listen, I know a better place.”
“Where?”
“My room.”
“Nope. Right here.”
“Why?”
“I don’t think it’s ever been done before.”
“I believe it and I’ll tell you why,” Ryan said.
“In other people’s houses after you’ve sneaked in. That’s the new game.”
“I’ve heard it’s not as much fun, listening for somebody to walk in.”
Nancy smiled. “Wouldn’t that be good? Can you see the look on their face?”
“Just tell me why,” Ryan said. “Okay?”
“Why. That’s all you say. You know, Jackie, you’re really sort of a drag. I thought you might be fun, but I don’t know—”
“Move over.”
“First you have to take off your clothes. It’s a rule.”
“Shoes?”
“Everything.”
He began unbuttoning his shirt and pulling out the tails, standing close to the bed now and looking down at her.
“Everything,” Nancy said.
“In a minute.” Ryan eased down next to her and her hands held the spread tightly up under her chin.
“Not till everything’s off.”
He leaned in closer, placing his hands on the pillow so that she was looking directly up at him now, between his arms.
She sniffed. “What’s that?”
“Nice?”
“You put too much on.”
“You want to talk or what?”
“I told you the rule—”
He leaned in almost all the way, setting the angle so that their mouths would fit just right and feeling her strain a little toward him, and there he hesitated, holding motionless.
Almost touching his mouth she said, “What’s the matter?”
“Shhh.”
Neither of them moved. The room, the house, was silent.
“I didn’t hear anything.”
Ryan pushed himself up slowly, bringing his hands off the pillow. He touched a finger to his mouth as he rose and moved quietly around the bed to the door. He stood with one hand on the door frame, leaning into the hall, listening. He glanced at her and now he was moving, closing the door and locking it carefully, stepping to the window to look out, hesitating, then pushing open the screen and lowering it to the porch roof. Going out the window, ducking under, he looked at her once more.
“You going to wait for them?”
“Where are they?”
He motioned with one hand, pointing down to the floor. “Come on.”
Then he was out, over the edge of the roof and hanging a moment before dropping. He was in the field bordering the yard, in the high brush, before he turned to see Nancy coming out the window, fully dressed. She stood looking down, undecided, and Ryan smiled. He waited patiently, knowing she would come down because she had no choice, and right now seconds to her were like minutes. He watched her go to her knees and look down again and slowly roll over and let the lower part of her body hang from the roof. It’s going to sting your feet, Ryan thought, but it’s the only way. He watched her drop and stumble and stand motionless as she came to her feet.
From the edge of the bushes he called softly, “Hey!” and waited for her to reach him. He took her arm then and moved through the brush and scrub trees toward the beach, almost running, dragging her after him. As he reached the low rise above the sand he turned to catch her, letting her weight and momentum carry them over the edge so that they fell down to the sand clinging to each other, rolling and coming to a stop with Ryan lying partly on top of her, one leg over hers, resting his weight on his arms beneath her. He could feel her breathing against him as she tried to catch her breath, the nice nose and the partly open mouth close to his face and her eyes closed. He waited until her eyes opened, then waited a little more, looking at her and feeling her body relax.
“You get dressed quick.”
Her expression was calm, but her gaze held his expectantly, sensing something in his eyes or in the tone of his voice.
“You didn’t hear anyone,” she said finally. “You didn’t hear a thing.”
“Just for a while,” Ryan said, “let’s not talk, okay?”
“If we’re going to not talk,” Nancy said, “I’d rather not talk somewhere else.”
“You don’t like the sand?”
“I’m not the outdoorsy type, Jackie. You might as well know it.”
“I don’t think I can move.”
“Try,” Nancy said.
Ryan watched himself at certain times, sometimes when he was alone—like standing seven feet off third base and his hat on just right, or walking along the beach or driving a car—but usually it happened when he was with certain people. He wasn’t aware of himself when he was with Mr. Majestyk. But he was aware of himself almost all the time with Nancy, seeing himself and hearing himself and most of the time he looked dumb. Big jerky dumb guy saying dumb things, trying to impress the girl. He couldn’t get in the right frame of mind to feel sure of himself. He could fake it; he could act like the big smooth-o; but he could feel her watching him, still not impressed, maybe laughing at him, and he never for more than a moment felt in control. He was pretty sure she was at ease. But what if she was faking it? What if she was someone else inside, the way she said her mother was someone else looking out through her eyes? Maybe she was faking it. She was being cool and he was being cool, each trying to be cooler than the other until pretty soon, Ryan decided, you get so cool you can’t even move because of the chance that anything at all you might do might turn out to be dumb—anything. What good was being cool if you weren’t you? Whoever you are, Ryan thought.
He was at the wheel, aware of himself acting natural, not telling her where they were going and finally not having to tell her as they pulled in past the big blue-lit Bay Vista sign with the small red NO VACANCY glowing beneath it.
“I’ll show you where I live.”
He got out and waited for her and finally she came with him, around the side of the motel to his room.
“Wow,?
?? Nancy said. She stood looking toward the dark swimming pool and the closed-in area between the cabanas that extended out to the beach.
“What’s the matter?”
“I can just see everybody at the pool,” Nancy said.
“All the tool and die makers sitting around in their vacation outfits.”
“Some of them go down to the beach.”
“That’d be fun too. Like a Black Sea resort.”
He opened the door to No. 7 and she stood just inside, looking around. Ryan had to move her to close the door. Then he stood looking around with her.
“Yes, it certainly is nice.”
“It’s all right,” Ryan said. “The bed’s comfortable. The walls could use some paint. I don’t know as I’ll bother, though.”
“Just hang some pictures.”
“I could do that, hang some pictures. Cover up where it’s peeling.”
“Get some of those nice old master prints at the dime store.”
“They have them there?”
“God, you probably would.”
“Well, to cover up the bad spots.”
“What else do you want to show me?”
“That’s all. I just wanted to show you where I live.”
“Great,” Nancy said. She turned to the door.
“I thought we might just sit around here,” Ryan said.
“Or lie around.”
Ryan smiled.
“Show me the rest first,” Nancy said.
Outside again she stood looking toward the swimming pool and the trees and the lights showing in the windows of the cabanas.
“The place really jumps, doesn’t it?”
“A lot of families are here. With kids.”
“Oh,” Nancy said, “with kids. That should be fun.”
She walked out to the pool, Ryan following. She stood at the edge looking into the water. A few steps behind her, watching her, Ryan thought: Boot her in the ass and go get a beer.
And what would that prove?
Well, it might not prove anything, but it was a thought. He could hear sounds now from No. 11, the beer drinkers, their wall of cans showing faintly in the darkness. He looked around. There was a light on in No. 5 behind the closed drapes. No. 5, the broad with the window. Or whatever her game was. He could go over right now and knock on the door and say, “Let’s see the window, honey,” catching her off-guard, and she’d probably say, “What window?”
“I’m sorry,” Nancy said.
He could feel her close behind him and could picture her waiting for him to turn around, the good little dark-haired girl waiting patiently, throwing it at him softly and getting him off-stride again, like a goddamn change-up.
“What’re you sorry about?” He half turned as he said it.
“I don’t know. I have the feeling you’re mad at me.”
“I’m not mad.”
“I just didn’t feel like staying inside.”
“Well, you said you’re not the outdoor type.”
“Outdoorsy, I said. I’m just not in the mood.” She edged a little to the side to work around in front of him. “I think I’ll be in the mood later. All right?”
“I sure appreciate it.”
“Don’t be mad. Let’s do something.”
“Yeah, well, if you bust any windows around here, you know who has to fix them.”
“That’s better.” She was smiling at him. “No—let’s just look around.”
“At the dumb families and the dumb kids?”
She reached up, taking his face between her hands, stretching up against him and pulling his face down; she kissed his mouth lightly and quietly, moving around a little but staying right in there and applying pressure when his arms went around her and his hands spread over her back.
She took his hand. “Come on, show me the Bay Villa.”
“Vista.”
“All right, then show me the Bay Vista.”
They were walking toward the beach now, holding hands, Ryan standing off from them watching them and glad it was dark.
“This is all there is to it. Fourteen cabanas—”
“Cabanas?”
“That’s what he calls them. And the motel.”
“Who’s he?”
“Mr. Majestyk.”
“Oh, the one you were with at the Pier?”
“That’s right.”
“Where does he live?”
“In a house. Around the other side of Number One.”
“Show me.”
“It’s just a house.”
A beam of light spread out from the bole of a fir tree to flood Mr. Majestyk’s garden, illuminating the neatly trimmed shrubbery and border of white-painted rocks, the pale clean trunks of birch trees, the pair of flamingoes feeding beneath the birdhouse.
“Beautiful,” Nancy whispered. They were crossing the lawn in the darkness beyond the spotlight.
“He’s home,” Ryan said. “He’s probably watching television.”
“I’m sure he is,” Nancy said. “I love the lamp in the window.”
“His daughter decorated the place for him.”
“I want to see it.”
They were nearing the far edge of the lawn and now Nancy started toward the house, approaching the dark side that faced the empty field. A window was open, showing a square of rose-colored light through the screen.
Ryan caught her arm. “The door’s on the other side.”
“I don’t want to go in.”
She pulled away from him and there was nothing he could do but follow her to the window. He stood next to her, against the wall, as she looked in.
Mr. Majestyk was in his reclining chair facing the television set. He was watching a Western movie, watching intently, with a can of beer and a cigar. He would lean forward to take a sip of beer, his eyes holding on the screen, and the back of the Recline-O-Rama chair would rise with him, following him to an upright position. Dragging on the cigar, he would lean back again, pushing, bumping hard against the chair, and both Mr. Majestyk and the chair would settle back again.
“Wow,” Nancy said.
Ryan could hear the movie dialogue, a familiar voice, a quiet, Western drawl, then a woman’s voice. He recognized the drawl; he knew it right away. He edged close to the window and looked in, across the room, past Mr. Majestyk to Randolph Scott in the good hat that was curled just right in front. He couldn’t remember who the woman was, not bad-looking but sort of old. She sounded tired, like she had given up, saying she didn’t care what happened to her. Then Randolph Scott saying, “When you get done feeling sorry for yourself, I’ll tell you something . . . you’re alive and he’s dead and that makes the difference.”
“I love purple and silver,” Nancy whispered. “And lavender.”
He had seen the picture before. He remembered it now, a good one. Richard Boone was the bad guy. He and a couple of others hold up the stage and take Randolph and the woman and her husband prisoner, holding them for ransom because the woman’s dad was rich. The husband’s a coward and gets shot and you know they’re going to shoot Randolph and the woman once they get the dough, unless Randolph does something.
“The pictures,” Nancy said. “Those are the authentic dime store reproductions I was telling you about.”
“Shhh.”
“With white imitation antiqued frames. Beautiful.”
Mr. Majestyk and his chair sat up. He twisted around, looking over his shoulder, listening, and they ducked away from the window.
There was silence. Ryan stood in the dark with his back to the wall. He heard horses inside, the sound of their hooves fading away. There was no music or dialogue now. Something was about to happen. Maybe the part where Randolph goes in the cave after the guy named Billy Jack—that was a good part—the guy in there after the woman while his buddies are away. Randolph sneaks up behind Billy Jack and is about to belt him when Billy Jack turns and you think right away there’s going to be a fight; but, no, Randolph jams the sawed-off s
hotgun under Billy Jack’s chin and wham the guy’s face disappears quick, the way it would happen, without one of those fakey fights.
Nancy was looking in the window again. “Beautiful,” she whispered and giggled.
“Let’s go,” Ryan said.
“Just a minute.”
“He’s going to hear you.”
Wham, the shotgun went off and Ryan looked in. Yeah, that was the part. Randolph had the sawed-off shotgun now and the babe was holding her hands over her mouth, probably wetting her pants.
“God, where do you suppose he buys his furniture?”
“Come on, let’s go.”
“You have to see it to believe it. The lamp in the picture window—”
“Come on.”
“—with the cellophane on the shade. Hey, did you hear the one—do you know who won the Polish beauty contest?”
Ryan shook his head, pretending to be patient, letting her talk.
“Nobody,” Nancy said.
She laughed out loud and Mr. Majestyk twisted around in the chair, rolling out of it as the back popped straight up. He started for the window but turned abruptly and hurried across the room and through the double doors to the porch.
“He’s coming,” Ryan said. On the other side of the house the screen door slammed.
Nancy was looking in the window again. “You’re right. I think it’s time to cut.”
“Wait a minute—”
Before he could reach out for her, she was across the narrow space of lawn and into the field, into the darkness of the heavy brush, out of sight. For a moment he could follow her sound. He wanted to get out of there quick, go after her. But he hesitated. He waited. When he moved off, it was around to the front of the house. Mr. Majestyk was coming through the illuminated garden, past the two flamingoes.
“Hey, was that you?”
“What?”
“Somebody laughing.”
“What do you mean?” Ryan said.
“I mean, somebody laughing. What do you think I mean?”
“Maybe somebody on the beach.”