haven't watched a man ... undress in quite a
while," she said, almost as if she were reading my mind. She ran
a hand through her hair again. "I guess we need some ground
rules."
"Turn your back?" I said. "Hang a
blanket between the beds?"
She laughed. "This isn't 1934. And I'm not
Claudette Colbert."
"Then what?"
"I used to know how to handle this kind of
scene," she said with a touching look of perplexity, "but
it's not 1969 anymore."
"What would you have done in '69?"
She smiled at me wickedlv. "You don't want to
know." Rolling on her side, she reached up to the lamp and
flicked it off. The room went dark.
"That's one solution," I said.
I heard her laugh softly and then I heard the
bedclothes rustle as she settled herself in bed.
I finished stripping down in the dark. I pulled the
Gold Cup out of its holster and tucked it beneath my pillow. It felt
like a little stone under my head. I lay there with mv eyes open for
a few minutes, then pulled the blankets up over my shoulders.
"Harry, Lonnie didn't kill that clerk,"
Karen said, in a voice so full of certainty that it startled me as
much as if she'd turned the lights back on. "He'd never do
something like that. He just isn't that kind of man."
"He may have changed in two years, Karen,"
I said.
"No," she said firmly. "That's
Lonnie's whole problem. He doesn't know how to change."
It was an ironic thing to wish for, but I hoped she
was right.
12
I dreamed of Lonnie--a curiously placid dream at the
start, right out of our Lyon Street days. We were painting the
apartment. That was the first thing you did back then--paint. Lonnie
wanted to paint the walls electric blue. I wanted them white. We
split the difference. As we were painting, Karen walked in. In the
dream, she looked young and fresh and sexy. She smiled at me and went
into Lonnie's room. I was intensely jealous of the fact that she'd
chosen to go into Lonnie's room rather than mine. I went over to his
door and opened it. Karen and Lonnie were lying on Lonnie's bed. For
some reason, I didn't realize they were making love and I kept
walking over to the bed. Karen looked up at me from the bed and
smiled. When I caught my mistake, I backed out of the room and closed
the door behind me. As I was going to my room I heard someone cry out
from Lonnie's room. I turned around and went back to the door, but I
couldn't open it anymore. It was coated with ice. I tried peeking
through the window, but the blinds were closed. Then someone inside
Lonnie's room started screaming horribly. I pulled at the door and
slammed it with my fist. But it wouldn't budge. Claude Jenkins came
up behind me, his shirt red with blood, and told me that it was too
late--that they were dead. "That's the price you pay," he
said with a terrible grin. And I woke up.
It took me a few seconds to remember where I was. I
glanced over at Karen's bed. It was empty--the blanket scattered and
the sheets a swirl of white, like drifted snow. I felt my heart race.
For a moment I thought she was dead, like in the dream. Then I heard
the shower going and the dream faded quickly, leaving me feeling a
vague mingling of want and dread.
I glanced at the clock on the nightstand--it was half
past eight. I thought about catching a couple more hours of sleep.
But the room was hot and it smelled, like the blankets, of creosote
and dust. And I didn't want to have any more dreams.
As I lay there, letting the sleep clear from my head,
Karen stepped out of the john. She was naked, except for a towel that
she'd wrapped, turban-like, around her head. She walked over to the
bureau and opened a drawer. Then she glanced up in the bureau mirror
and saw me staring at her. She made a startled face and put one hand
over her breasts and the other over her hips. She stared at me for a
long moment--in the mirror--then slowly dropped her hands and turned
around to face me. She pulled the towel from her head, shook her wet
hair, and gave me a long, contemplative look. At
while," she said, almost as if she were reading my mind. She ran
a hand through her hair again. "I guess we need some ground
rules."
"Turn your back?" I said. "Hang a
blanket between the beds?"
She laughed. "This isn't 1934. And I'm not
Claudette Colbert."
"Then what?"
"I used to know how to handle this kind of
scene," she said with a touching look of perplexity, "but
it's not 1969 anymore."
"What would you have done in '69?"
She smiled at me wickedlv. "You don't want to
know." Rolling on her side, she reached up to the lamp and
flicked it off. The room went dark.
"That's one solution," I said.
I heard her laugh softly and then I heard the
bedclothes rustle as she settled herself in bed.
I finished stripping down in the dark. I pulled the
Gold Cup out of its holster and tucked it beneath my pillow. It felt
like a little stone under my head. I lay there with mv eyes open for
a few minutes, then pulled the blankets up over my shoulders.
"Harry, Lonnie didn't kill that clerk,"
Karen said, in a voice so full of certainty that it startled me as
much as if she'd turned the lights back on. "He'd never do
something like that. He just isn't that kind of man."
"He may have changed in two years, Karen,"
I said.
"No," she said firmly. "That's
Lonnie's whole problem. He doesn't know how to change."
It was an ironic thing to wish for, but I hoped she
was right.
12
I dreamed of Lonnie--a curiously placid dream at the
start, right out of our Lyon Street days. We were painting the
apartment. That was the first thing you did back then--paint. Lonnie
wanted to paint the walls electric blue. I wanted them white. We
split the difference. As we were painting, Karen walked in. In the
dream, she looked young and fresh and sexy. She smiled at me and went
into Lonnie's room. I was intensely jealous of the fact that she'd
chosen to go into Lonnie's room rather than mine. I went over to his
door and opened it. Karen and Lonnie were lying on Lonnie's bed. For
some reason, I didn't realize they were making love and I kept
walking over to the bed. Karen looked up at me from the bed and
smiled. When I caught my mistake, I backed out of the room and closed
the door behind me. As I was going to my room I heard someone cry out
from Lonnie's room. I turned around and went back to the door, but I
couldn't open it anymore. It was coated with ice. I tried peeking
through the window, but the blinds were closed. Then someone inside
Lonnie's room started screaming horribly. I pulled at the door and
slammed it with my fist. But it wouldn't budge. Claude Jenkins came
up behind me, his shirt red with blood, and told me that it was too
late--that they were dead. "That's the price you pay," he
said with a terrible grin. And I woke up.
It took me a few seconds to remember where I was. I
glanced over at Karen's bed. It was empty--the blanket scattered and
the sheets a swirl of white, like drifted snow. I felt my heart race.
For a moment I thought she was dead, like in the dream. Then I heard
the shower going and the dream faded quickly, leaving me feeling a
vague mingling of want and dread.
I glanced at the clock on the nightstand--it was half
past eight. I thought about catching a couple more hours of sleep.
But the room was hot and it smelled, like the blankets, of creosote
and dust. And I didn't want to have any more dreams.
As I lay there, letting the sleep clear from my head,
Karen stepped out of the john. She was naked, except for a towel that
she'd wrapped, turban-like, around her head. She walked over to the
bureau and opened a drawer. Then she glanced up in the bureau mirror
and saw me staring at her. She made a startled face and put one hand
over her breasts and the other over her hips. She stared at me for a
long moment--in the mirror--then slowly dropped her hands and turned
around to face me. She pulled the towel from her head, shook her wet
hair, and gave me a long, contemplative look. At
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