Outside, the sunlight looked dusty and golden. The shadows of the trees were long.
They walked through the parking lot toward their room.
“Okay,” Owen said. “You got your dinner at the Carriage House. Now what’s your big plan for a night I’ll supposedly remember the rest of my life?”
“How would you like to pay a little visit to your honey?”
“Dana?”
“Who else? I know where she lives.”
“Sure you do.”
“Oh, I do.”
Owen took out his room key and unlocked the door. As he stepped inside, he turned his eyes to the telephone.
No blinking red light.
No messages.
He was disappointed, but not surprised. He and John hadn’t left the room until 6:30. Dana almost certainly would’ve called by then if she’d had any intention of seeing him tonight.
Her “date” was obviously with someone else.
Assuming she had a date at all.
John might’ve made up the whole business.
Dropping onto the end of his bed, Owen asked, “Even if you do know where she lives, she’s out with some guy tonight. Remember?”
“Dates don’t last forever,” John leaned backward, his rump sinking into the front edge of the dresser in front of Owen. He folded his arms. He raised his eyebrows. “When she gets back, my boy, we can be waiting for her.”
“Oh, that sounds like a really fine idea. Then what, we jump her?”
“Wanta?”
“Go fuck yourself.”
John chuckled. “How would you like to fuck her?”
“Shut up.”
“Just pulling your chain.”
“Well, stop it.”
“Wouldn’t you like to see her, though?”
“Not with you around.”
“I have to be around. I know where she lives. And I’m the guy with the good camera. How would you like some more photos of her?”
Owen stared at him.
“You were drooling all over those pictures of her and Lynn.”
“Was not.”
“Were, too. And you think she looks hot in those, just imagine how she must look when she goes on a date. Bet she doesn’t wear that uniform. She probably puts on a nice dress, you know? Maybe a low-cut little number that shows off her cleavage. Know what I mean? Maybe a nice, tiny little skirt that’s hardly big enough to hide her snatch.”
“You’re a pig.”
“You love it.”
“I do not.”
“Bet you’ve got a big ol’ stiffy right now just from thinking about her.”
“Do not.”
“Prove it. Let’s see?”
“Go to hell.”
“Stand up, man.”
“If I do stand up,” Owen said, “I’m gonna punch your face in for you.”
“Oooo, I’m trembling.”
Owen got to his feet.
John pointed at the front of his trousers. “See? What’d I tell you?”
“What’d I tell you?” Owen asked, and slammed him in the side of the face. John made a quick, hurt sound. The blow knocked his head sideways. Spit flew out of his mouth. The glasses leaped off his face, clattered against the wall and fell to the dresser top.
Uncrossing his arms, he put up one hand to fend off Owen.
With his other hand, he tried to push himself off the dresser.
Owen planted a punch deep in his big, soft belly.
John squealed. He started to fold over, but Owen blocked his way, shoved him up, pounded him in the chest and stomach with a left and a right and a left. Each time he was hit, he made a quick whimper.
Owen backed off.
John slumped forward and fell to the floor. Wheezing and sobbing, he pushed himself up. He hobbled to the queen-sized bed and eased himself down on it. Kneeling, he pulled the pillow out from under the bedspread. Then he flopped on his belly and buried his face in the pillow.
“I warned you,” Owen said. He felt sick.
John just kept crying.
“You shouldn’t have said that stuff.”
Voice muffled by the pillow, John said, “You...didn’t have to...hurt me.”
Owen had never done anything like that before...not pounded someone.
He’d thought it would feel great to punch the crap out of a fat, obnoxious slob like John.
Maybe if the guy had fought back.
This is how you must feel if you stomp on a parakeet, he thought. Or kick a cat across a room.
He had a tightness inside his throat and chest. A heaviness inside his stomach. He felt as if he might throw up or begin to cry.
“Are you okay?” he asked. His voice sounded high-pitched.
“No. You hurt me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“All I wanted was...just to be...your friend.”
“I’m really sorry.”
John, sobbing, rolled onto his side. He looked odd and vulnerable without his glasses, as if his face had been stripped naked. His arms were hugging his belly.
“I’ll get your glasses,” Owen said.
John snuffled.
Owen went over to the dresser. He found John’s glasses on a plastic tray beside the ice bucket. When he picked them up, the right lens dropped out and struck the dresser top and broke into three pieces.
“Shit,” Owen muttered.
“What?”
“They’re broken.”
John sighed loudly. He sobbed a couple of times, then said, “Lemme see?”
Owen picked up the pieces of the lens. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to wreck your glasses.”
Sitting up, John swung his legs over the edge of the bed.
He cupped his hands above his lap, and Owen gave him the broken remains of the glasses.
“Some friend you are,” he said.
Owen sat on the edge of the other bed and leaned toward him.
“How do you feel?”
John shook his head.
“Do you need a doctor?”
“How would I know? I’ve never gotten beat up before.”
“That’s surprising.”
“Hardy-har,” John said.
“Do you want to hit me?”
“No. Why would I want to hit you?”
“I hit you.”
“Two wrongs don’t make a right.”
“Come on, why don’t you take a swing at me?”
“No thanks.”
“Come on.”
“I’m a lover, not a fighter.”
Owen laughed. John looked up at him, a slight smile on his face.
His left cheek was swollen and red.
Owen felt bad again.
“Maybe we can get your glasses repaired in the morning,” he said.
“Gonna need a new lens. And frame. See how the frame’s busted?”
Owen saw.
“You did that,” John said.
“I know. I’m sorry. I’ll get you a nice, new pair.”
“You think that’ll make everything okay?” John asked.
“No. But I do wish I hadn’t hit you.”
“Not as much as I do.”
“I know. I’m sorry. Look, should we go out and get some ice cream or something? Would that make you feel better?”
“Nice, big dessert for the fat boy.”
“I could go for some, myself. There’s an ice cream shop across from the photo place.”
“Yeah.”
“Wanta drive over there? I’ll treat you to a cone.”
“Wonder if they’ve got waffle cones,” John said.
“Probably.”
“I love waffle cones.”
“Let’s go see.”
“Promise you won’t hit me anymore?” John asked.
“I promise.”
“Cross your heart and hope to die?”
“Yeah. Cross my heart.