Two guys from school pulled in their open Jeep. When they saw her they nudged each other and grinned.
She wasn’t being immodest when she said that most of the boys at Crystal Falls High wanted to bop her. She was the Sexy New Girl. Next year there’d be another Sexy New Girl and she’d be Old Stuff, if her family hadn’t moved by then. But not now. Now she was hot.
A tow truck came in tugging an old car. A towel delivery truck carried several bundles into the station. A candy truck pulled in right behind it. A guy in a uniform went inside carrying a clipboard.
She was watching all this — she had to do something while the attendant was glomming her boobs — and that’s how she happened to see the silver Lincoln Towncar pull onto the far end of the drive.
She smiled to herself.
She always did when she saw him like this.
It was like being in one of those old spy movies she’d seen on TV.
When we see each other, don’t let on that you know me.
That was one of his big rules: secrecy. He was absolute about it, too.
Don’t let anybody know you know me.
She wondered what he’d do if she just walked up to him, slid her arms around his waist, and kissed him.
Guy would probably start screaming.
Guy would just freak out.
Guy would just probably fall down dead right on the spot.
The dweeb said, “I’m going to check your oil.”
Should I spread my legs? she wanted to say.
But the dweeb was like the guy in the silver car. He’d probably freak out, too.
Then she had her idea.
She picked up her cell phone, punched the number she knew by heart, and listened to three rings.
“Hello.”
“Guess where lam?” she said.
“Jeez, I told you about these cell phones.”
“You’re about fifty feet away.”
“I am?”
“Look out your window.”
She saw him look out on the drive for the first time. He looked startled.
She didn’t wave. Didn’t let on in any way that she knew him.
“We’ll talk later,” he said. And rang off.
She smiled.
Cell phones scared the shit out of him. Too easy for other people to listen in.
“Oil’s fine,” said the dweeb, hungrily gaping at her breasts from above.
She handed him the credit card. He nodded thanks and then took off at a half trot back to the cash register.
She watched the door of the silver Towncar open, watched the handsome man step out.
The way he walked, the way he held himself, reminded her of her father. But then, wasn’t that why she treated men the way she did? To pay back her father?
A few months ago there’d been this article in Cosmopolitan about women who enjoyed teasing men and then destroying them in some fashion.
The article, written by a woman with a serious name like Sonia or Judith (and with Ph.D. after the last name), insisted that teases and femme fatales were simply visiting all their pent-up rage on men. Their fathers hadn’t shown them sufficient attention or love, so these women were going to take it out on the other men in their lives.
At first, Darcy thought the article was pretty lame. But the longer she read, the more she believed.
Especially the part about how femme fatales liked to ruin the lives of their lovers.
That was one reason Daddy had been so eager to get out of Buffalo and come out here. When she was fourteen, she’d had an affair with Daddy’s new vice president, a married man in his forties. She’d capped off the affair by secretly videotaping the veep and herself in bed and then sending the pictures to the veep’s wife.
Daddy had kept threatening to go to the district attorney, but he didn’t want a scandal any more than the veep did.
She so enjoyed seeing Daddy (and dear Mommy, for that matter) get upset about the veep that she almost told him about the much briefer affair she’d had with his golfing partner... They hadn’t actually slept together... but damned near. Wouldn’t that upset Daddy even more?
That one she decided to keep to herself. Maybe someday when she was a little older, someday when she needed a handy weapon to hurt Daddy with, maybe then she’d pull that story out and use it on him. But for now...
She’d hated the idea of coming to Crystal Falls, afraid that she’d have nothing to do. But she was an inventive girl and soon found plenty to do.
They were shaking his hand, the handsome man who’d just stepped out of the silver car.
He was a celebrity to them, the handsome man.
He was a man who carried with him the aura of fabled, far-off lands, of treasures untold, of power unimaginable. He was Senator David Conners Cummings and, best of all, he was their friend. Was there a man or woman or boy or girl he hadn’t helped in this entire community?
And they were well aware of this. And so they acted both grateful and a little starstruck when they were around him. As now.
He walked inside.
She kept thinking about last night, how he’d looked when she’d told him about the photos.
For my scrapbook, David, she’d said. That’s the only reason I took them, she’d said. For my scrapbook, honest, she’d said.
But he knew better.
She saw the panic in his eyes.
Good Lord, somebody having photos of the two of them making love—
Good Lord.
She looked over at the silver car. She’d always wanted him to take her for a ride in it, but he’d been too afraid.
Couldn’t afford to be seen with her. Under any circumstances whatsoever.
The dweeb was back.
“Here you go,” he said, handing her the credit-card holder for her signature.
She signed her name.
When she handed the holder back, she caught him looking right at her breasts.
“You should see my nipples,” she said.
It was cute and even a little bit sexy, the way the dweeb blushed.
“Why, I didn’t—”
“It’s all right,” she said, a peculiar gentleness in her voice. In an odd way, she really had been touched by the way the dweeb had blushed. This was one of the few times she found herself wondering what having a nice, normal relationship would be like.
But then Senator Cummings was back on the drive, and she lost interest in the dweeb and nice, normal relationships.
The Senator allowed himself a single glance in her direction — quick and nervous — and then he was in his big silver car and sweeping out of the gas station.
The dweeb took the credit-card holder back from Darcy and said, “You, uh, you aren’t gonna complain to Red, are you?”
“Who’s Red?”
“Guy that owns this place.”
She smiled up at him. “What would I complain about?”
“Well, you know—”
And damned if he wasn’t blushing again. Standing right there on the drive on this fine, sunny autumn afternoon, and blushing his little dweeb ass off.
“You mean complain about you staring at my breasts all the time.”
He wanted to cut and run.
He was sweet. She couldn’t get over it. Whoever would’ve thought she’d find a dweeb appealing in any way?
In her gentlest voice, she said, “No, I won’t say anything to Red.”
“I appreciate it.”
“You’re sweet, you know that?”
His cheeks were starting to go crimson again.