Read Online Bad Desire by Gary; Devon - Free Book Online Page A

What an odd twist of events.
    Folding the bills, she put them into the pocket of her loose, pajamalike jacket. All right, Henry, she wondered, biting her lips, Where did you go? She lifted her head and looked back in the direction of the ballroom. Someone—some man, undoubtedly—had been waiting there in the dark for Jeannie. Henry had come this way and vanished.
    Shame on you, she scolded herself. You ought to be ashamed of even thinking such a thing. Henry and Jeannie? Don’t be ridiculous.
    She heard nothing but the eternal hiss of the Pacific. Then, as the currents of the night changed, Faith sensed that someone else was standing farther down the patio, beyond the honeysuckle that trespassed the stone railing of the balustrade. She tried to see over the tumbling mass of flowers but all she could make out was the motionless profile of a man, facing the night. Is that Henry? she thought. Without making a sound, she lifted the vines aside to see him more clearly.
    A reading lamp inside the lodge had been left on; the beam it sent across the patio was fine as mulled cotton. It caught one of his shoulders and half of Henry’s face. Immediately, she went toward him.
    His left hand was thrust in his trouser pocket, his right hand held a cigarette. In the way he stood, in the set of his head, Faith could see how intensely he was gazing into the distance and she approached him quietly. When he lifted the cigarette cupped in his hand, she noticed how his fingers were webbed with light, his lips cast red by the glow. A few steps behind him, she stopped. “Hello, sailor,” she said, light-heartedly, “want to dance? I think I’m free tonight.”
    It was as though her voice had struck him physically; she could feel his body go rigid as if to ward off a blow.
    â€œHenry, what is it? Are you all right? What’s going on …”
    When he finally turned to look at her, his voice was calm, but flat. “Why’re you always following me?” he said. “Can’t I get a breath of air?”
    Faith swallowed the dryness in her throat. “I don’t always follow you. I hardly ever follow—”
    â€œYou’re here, aren’t you?”
    â€œI was only going to ask if we were winning or losing at poker—but I will gladly leave you alone.” She took a step to go, but all her instincts told her not to leave him like this. “What’s the matter with you, anyway? What is it, Henry? Are you angry with me ? You’re certainly angry about something.”
    For several seconds he didn’t speak. He stared at her, eyes flashing. She saw something in him then that she had never seen before and it chilled her. His eyes were a thousand years old, hard with hatred, the eyes of an old, old soul masquerading in his man’s face. “Why are you staring at me like that?” Like the changing moonlight, in an instant, his expression seemed to her to dissolve, his face returning once again to that of the husband she knew. It’s the night playing tricks on me, she thought.
    â€œI hate these people,” he said, quietly, “sometimes … goddamn , I hate them, I can’t begin to tell you. We’re all on our own out here, Faith.”
    He wasn’t making sense to her but she dared not ask what he meant.
    An abrupt snap of wind shook the panes in the lodge windows behind them and the first plump raindrops struck the awning above. They stood at the edge of the patio, facing each other, like cats. Rain rustled in the bougainvillaea, lightning cracked and the thunder rocked the tile floor beneath them; he stiffened and looked at the night.
    â€œWhat’s the matter, Henry,” she said, softly, “afraid of the storm?” Never before had she wanted to sound so loving, so tender. “Something’s going on, isn’t it, my darling?”
    Through the wet air, her hand went out until she was touching his sleeve.