Jiff shook his head. The antique cupboard was full of such stuff. The poor bastard. Aside from me comin’ over here and treatin’ him like dog shit, all he’s got to look forward to is food. “But, you know, you ought’a cut down on this stuff. It’s bad for your heart’n all.”
A grateful sob. “You care about me!”
Christ. Jiff knew that the sight of his naked body was just riling the old man up. He began to dress.
“I’m nothing,” his client croaked. “I’ve got nothing.”
“Aw, don’t start talkin’ like that now. Shee-it, you got quite a bit from what I can see. Nice car, nice place, money.”
“Don’t you understand? None of that means anything, not without love. I’ve got no true happiness at all…”
“Stop feelin’ sorry for yourself!” Jiff snapped. I gotta get out’a here! “Come on, now, none of that. Look, I got work to do, so where’s my money?”
A trembling hand pointed to an inlaid dresser. Jiff picked up the check and folded it in his pocket.
“At least, tell me…Tell me you like me! Please!”
“A’course I like ya—”
“Then love me, too!”
“We been over it’n over it. This ain’t like that, and never will be. This is just fun and games. We’re friends, that’s it. You help me out, I help you out. We play a game. What’s wrong with that? What’s wrong with bein’ friends?”
Teary eyes looked up. “Do you ever…think about me? I mean…when we’re together?”
Jiff was getting sick of this. Man, when I’m with you, all I think about is Christian Bale in his Batman suit, you pathetic fat slob…But Jiff just couldn’t be that much of a prick. The man was too harmless to be disgusted by. “A’course I think about you sometimes,” he lied.
The client clasped his hands. “Thank you!”
Jiff needed to split. He needed to be around some real men. “Now you give me a call next time you want me to come by.” And then he headed for the stairs.
Halfway down, he heard the plea: “Marry me! It’ll be our secret! You can have as many lovers as you want! I’ll give you everything! Just…marry me!”
Jiff hit the back door fast. III
Collier woke at just past noon, a seam of sunlight from the curtains laying a bar across his eyes. What a slug, he thought. He felt sick from some inner confusion, then in bits and pieces everything resurfaced: the atrocious nightmare, Lottie, the hole in the wall…and the voices he thought he’d heard.
He frowned it all away and quickly showered, only now noticing a numb erection. What a night. The stair hall bloomed in the sun, flagging a distant headache that was no doubt the by-product of drinking too much. Just as he began to take the stairs down, he heard children laughing, and an excited voice like a little girl’s exclaim: “Here, boy! Come get the ball! Here, boy!”
Like a kid calling a dog, he thought. He walked back up and looked but no one was there.
Mrs. Butler was dusting the banister down below. She looked up at him, as Collier was forced to look down, where his eyes targeted her cleavage. Today the stacked old woman wore a smart frilled blouse and blue skirt. Collier felt a covert thrill, now that he’d seen her naked in the peephole.
“Good morning, Mrs. Butler—er, I should say good afternoon.”
Her withered face beamed. “Ya missed breakfast but I’d be happy to fix ya up somethin’ for lunch.”
“Oh, no thanks. I’m going to walk into town. I’ll pick something up there later.”
“And again, Mr. Collier, I’m so sorry about my silly drunken daughter bein’ a thorn in your side last night—”
“Don’t mention it. I was a little drunk myself, if you want to know the truth.”
“So what’cha lookin’ for in town? Anything in particular?”
She stepped aside as he descended; Collier’s eyes groaned against her plush body. “Actually, the bookstore. Is that on the main street?”
“Yes, sir, right on the corner. Number One Street and Penelope. It’s a fine little shop.”
Something nagged at him—besides her blaring curves. “Oh, and I wanted to ask you something. Do you allow guests to bring pets to the inn?”
Her eyes seemed to dim. “Pets, well, no. But of course if you’re thinkin’ of bringing a pet on some future visit, I’m sure I could make—”
“No, no, that’s not what I mean. It’s just that—” Suddenly he felt foolish bringing it up. “I thought I saw a dog last night.”
“A dog? In the inn? There aren’t any here, I can assure you. And we don’t own any pets personally.”
What a mistake. I was seeing things because I was drunk and stressed out from her psycho daughter. “I’m sorry, I guess my head wasn’t on straight last night. Let me just say that the beer at Cusher’s was so good, I drank a few too many.”
She tried to laugh. “Well, we want ya to have a good time, Mr. Collier.” She paused and pinched her chin. “There is a stray dog ’cos these parts that some folks see. What kind’a dog was it you thought ya saw?”
“I don’t even know. A mutt, I guess, about the size of a bulldog. Kind of a muddy brown.”
Did she throw off a moment of fluster? “Well, if some stray got in here, we’ll have it out of here a mite fast. Lottie leaves the back door open sometimes. Honestly that silly girl runs me ragged, but you have a nice time in town, Mr. Collier.”
“Thanks. See you later.”
Collier went out the big front doors. Did her reaction strike him as odd, or was it just more overflow? There’s no dog. I’m the one who’s overreacting. He let the winding road out front take him down the hill, into warm sunlight.
After a hundred yards, he felt better; something more positive began to supplant last night’s foolishness. He’d brought one of his boilerplate permission forms because he’d already decided that Cusher’s Civil War Lager would be the final entry in his book. He’d found what he’d been looking for, and the brightest sideline was the brewer herself. She’s so cool, he thought in a daze. “Dominique…” The name rolled off his tongue. He’d already assured himself that his professional motives were intact. I’d give the beer a five-star rating even if the brewer were ugly. Still, he couldn’t wait to see Dominique…
Downtown, the lunch crowd was out, filling the picture-postcard streets with smiles and shining eyes. Money first, he reminded himself. He didn’t have much cash on him, and right there on the corner stood a bank. FECORY SAVINGS AND TRUST. Odd name, he thought, but who cared? There was an ATM.
Several people stood in line before him. Collier waited idly, looking down the rest of Penelope Street. When he turned, he noticed a mounted bronze plaque bolted to the front of the building.
THIS BUILDING WAS CONSTRUCTED ON THE ORIGINAL SITE OF THE FIRST BANK OF GAST, AND NAMED FOR THE TOWN’S PAYMASTER, WINDOM FECORY. IN 1865, UNION SOLDIERS CONFISCATED THE BANK OF MILLIONS IN GOLD THAT HAD BEEN HIDDEN BENEATH THE FLOOR, THEN BURNED THE BUILDING TO THE GROUND TO RETRIEVE ITS NAILS FROM THE ASHES.
Interesting, Collier thought, but now the only thing on his mind was Dominique. I’ll have lunch there today, and give her the release form. “And I’d really like to talk to you some more, too, Mr. Collier,” he remembered her saying. Collier was so distracted by the thought of her, he didn’t even take note of the tube-topped/cutoff-jeaned Paris Hilton look-alike who was now bent over the ATM tapping in her PIN. Collier’s resurgent lust, in other words, was thwarted by thoughts of someone else.