If Evan cares at all about me, she thought, he’ll pick me up. He knows it’s pouring outside and I’ll have to walk home unless he gives me a ride. Coming to my rescue about now would go a long way toward getting back on my good side. He has to know that.
After wiping off the tabletop, she lifted the heavy tray and carried it into the kitchen.
Maybe he’ll show up, she told herself. And if he does, maybe he’ll be in for a surprise.
Before leaving the house that afternoon, Alison had tucked her toothbrush and her new nightie into the bottom of her flight bag. Then she had taken them out. She would have no use for them even if Evan should make an appearance. After all, she hadn’t changed her mind about sleeping with him. It was silly to prepare yourself for something that just wouldn’t happen.
But she thought about last Friday night. He had come into Gabby’s after the movie let out at the Imperial, sipped a beer while he waited for her to finish the shift, and they had walked back to his apartment. She hadn’t expected to spend the night. It was so wonderful, though, that she couldn’t force herself to leave and they had made love almost till dawn. That had been her first whole night with him.
If they could have another night like that…
We won’t, she told herself. Too much has changed.
But she’d gone ahead and put her toothbrush and nightie back into the bag. You never know. Maybe, somehow, everything would suddenly be right again.
She wanted it all to be right.
As she unloaded the dirty dishes in the kitchen of Gabby’s, she imagined Evan coming for her. “I just couldn’t stay away from you any longer,” he would say. “I tried to stay away and punish you, but I couldn’t. I’ve given it a lot of thought, Alison. Sure, I’d like to make love with you. I’d like nothing more, because it makes us part of each other, as if, for a little while, we’re one person. But I can live without that if I have to. The main thing, really, is just to be with you. I would be happy just looking into your eyes, just hearing your laughter, just holding your hand.”
And maybe she would go back to his apartment, after all. While he waited on the sofa, she’d close the door to his bedroom and slip into the negligee…
“Al!”
Startled, she turned around. Gabby, standing at the grill, was looking over his shoulder at her. “Go on and get out of here. Have a good weekend.”
“Thanks,” she said. “You, too.”
At the rear of the kitchen, she scooped her tips out of the apron and into her bag. She struggled into Helen’s heavy raincoat, put on the strange hat, and lifted the bag. “See you Monday,” she called, and pushed her way through the swinging door.
The table that she had just cleared was no longer deserted.
Evan sat there.
His arm was around Tracy Morgan.
More-Organ Morgan, Mouth-Organ Morgan, also known as Tugboat Tracy for reasons that had always been unclear to Alison.
Alison felt herself shrivel inside.
Evan, as if sensing her presence, looked around at her. His glasses were spotted with rain. One side of his mouth twitched upward.
Alison rushed for the door, shouldered it open, and lurched into the pounding rain.
She looked sideways.
Behind the lighted window, Evan watched her and calmly stroked Tracy’s long, auburn hair.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Roland had purchased the handcuffs that afternoon at Spartan Sporting Goods for $24.50.
He had wanted to buy the cuffs when he’d first seen them a few weeks ago. Staring through the display case at the shiny bracelets, he’d been excited by thoughts of what he might do with them. Not that he would ever do such things. Still, just owning them would be nice, the same way it was nice to own a few knives even if you didn’t actually plan to run around carving up women with them. He’d bought the Buck knife that day. It wasn’t embarrassing, buying the knife, because people bought knives for camping, fishing, hunting. But if you’re not a cop, why do you need handcuffs? What would the salesperson think? It would be like buying a pack of condoms.
Roland had never bought condoms, even though he wanted them. And he hadn’t bought the handcuffs, either.
Until today.
When Dana challenged him to spend the night in the restaurant, he immediately remembered the cuffs and he knew how to win the bet. The cuffs would guarantee it. His courage, or lack of it, would be irrelevant once he had anchored himself to something in the restaurant. No matter what, he would win the bet.
With a hundred dollars and his reputation riding on the bet, he had returned to the store. He could feel himself blushing as he peered through the counter glass.
“Can I help you with something?” asked the clerk.
Roland kept his eyes down. “I’d like to see the handcuffs.”
“Black or nickle finish?”
“Nickle.”
Crouching, the man slid open the back of the counter and reached inside. He was heavyset, his brown hair long around the sides of his head as if to make up for what was lacking on top. He put the cuffs on the counter.
Roland picked them up. They felt heavy.
“Grade A tempered steel. The links’ll withstand a direct pull of twelve hundred pounds.”
Nodding, Roland tugged the bracelets. The connecting chain snapped taut. “Fine,” he said. “How much are they?”
“Twenty-four fifty. Interested in a case?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Anything else? We’ve got a sale on the Navy MK.3 Combat knife, regularly forty-nine ninety-five. A real beaut of a knife. Like to see one?”
Roland shook his head. “No, this’ll do it.”
“Cash or charge?”
That was all there was to it. No embarrassing questions, no snide remarks. Relieved, Roland left the store with his purchase.
And spotted Celia. Now, there was a gal he wouldn’t mind trying the handcuffs on. That other gal, too—the one in the jumpsuit. Looking at that one, he could see himself cuffing her hands behind her back and pulling down that zipper all the way past her waist.
Oh, yes. Either one of those gals. Cuff them, and they’d be at his mercy.
But he hadn’t bought the cuffs for that. He would never have the guts, anyway.
I’m not crazy, he had told himself.
He’d bought the handcuffs only because of the bet. With them, nothing could prevent him from winning, as long as the restaurant had a secure fixture to which he could fasten one bracelet. It was bound to.
A door handle. A pipe. Something.
A brilliant idea.
Sitting in the darkness cuffed to the bar rail, however, Roland wasn’t quite so sure the idea was brilliant. What if something happened and he had to get out?
Like a fire, for instance.
Good thing he had blown out the candles.
The place isn’t going to burn down, he told himself. Don’t worry about it.
He couldn’t help worrying about it.
Suppose Dana started the place on fire to drive him out so he’d lose the bet? No. She’s not that crazy. A little crazy. That time at the movies when he reached across to get the popcorn from Jason and accidentally brushed her breast with his arm, she’d dumped her drink on his lap. Once when they went to the drive-in, she made him get in the trunk of Jason’s car so he could sneak in without paying, then she had talked Jason into leaving him there for almost an hour.
She really hates my guts, Roland thought. But she won’t burn the place down. That was too crazy even for Dana.
Probably.
What she might do is leave.
No, she wants the Polaroids. She’ll come in for them.
That doesn’t mean she’ll give me the key.
When she finds me cuffed here, she might just take the photos and go. Or worse.