cans of fuchsia balls.
All right. She would try. She’d make an effort. After all, eighth grade was twenty years ago. Her coordination might have improved. She’d had babies since then and masturbation took coordination, didn’t it? Especially while driving.
8
T HE MAN ON THE MOTORCYCLE returned on Monday morning, but this time he was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt although he wore the same helmet and rode the same bike. As soon as Sandy looked out the window he unzipped his jeans and dropped them to his ankles. No underwear. Interesting. He worked quickly, making it on the nineteenth stroke. After, he waved to her. She didn’t wave back. At least he didn’t ride up on the lawn this time.
Sandy didn’t call Norman. She didn’t call the police either. What was the point? They hadn’t believed her before. Besides, he wasn’t hurting anyone. But who was he? And why had he singled her out? Or did he go to a different house every day? Yes, last time he had come on a Monday too. Maybe Monday was
her
day.
Some day he’ll come along, the man I love . . . and he’ll be big and strong, the man I love . . . maybe Monday
. . . Oh, the possibilities were endless.
She had to hurry if she was going to make the nine-thirty-two train. She had a date to meet Lisbeth in New York for lunch and wanted to do some shopping first. She needed something for the Fourth of July formal at The Club, something black and slinky like Myra and her friends had worn in Jamaica. Maybe she’d get her hair cut too, if there was time.
The phone was ringing when she stepped out of the shower. She wrapped herself in a towel and answered.
“Mrs. Pressman?”
“Yes.”
“This is Hubanski.”
“Who?”
“Sergeant Hubanski, Plainfield PD.”
“Oh . . . yes . . . of course . . .”
“We found a sheet.”
“You did?”
“Yes, plain white, exactly the kind you described.”
“Where?”
“The corner of Sunset and Morning Glory.”
“That’s not far from here.”
“We know.”
“When?”
“When, what?”
“When did you find it?”
“Oh. Yesterday afternoon. I was off. My boys picked it up, so I didn’t know about it until this morning. We’re checking out the laundry marks now. When we’ve got something we’ll give you a call.”
“Yes, please.”
“Just wanted you to know we’re hot on his trail.”
“Yes. Well, thank you for calling, sergeant.”
So, they’d found a sheet. Was it his? Was that why he was dressed differently today, because he’d lost his sheet? Unlikely. He must have more than one sheet. This one that Sergeant Hubanski had come up with probably belonged to some neighborhood child who had been playing tent and left it outside.
“Good morning, Mrs. Pressman,” Florenzia called from downstairs, slamming the front door. “That’s just me.”
“Good morning, Florenzia,” Sandy called back.
“You got some mail . . . You like to see?”
“Yes, please.” Sandy met her halfway down the stairs. Florenzia handed it to her. “Thank you.”
“It be very hot today.”
“You can turn the air-conditioning back on now. I turned it off for my shower.”
“I be doing downstairs today in case somebody come looking to buy house?”
“Yes, that’s a good idea.”
“Mr. Pressman, he tell me to keep house looking good and he be giving me a raise.”
“Oh?”
“That’s so. He tell me two weeks ago.”
“I didn’t know, Florenzia, but we’re certainly very pleased with the way you keep the house.” How like Norman to offer a raise when they were about to move.
Sandy took the mail to her bedroom and closed the door.
Nothing from Bucky yet but there was a card from Jen. The first.
Dear Mommy,
Camp sucks! I am starving to death. There is no steak. There is no roast beef. Only one cookie a day. You should see me. I am all bones. Please, please, get me out of here. And hurry!
Your daughter,
Jennifer P.
That proved it! Jen was too young for camp. She
All right. She would try. She’d make an effort. After all, eighth grade was twenty years ago. Her coordination might have improved. She’d had babies since then and masturbation took coordination, didn’t it? Especially while driving.
8
T HE MAN ON THE MOTORCYCLE returned on Monday morning, but this time he was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt although he wore the same helmet and rode the same bike. As soon as Sandy looked out the window he unzipped his jeans and dropped them to his ankles. No underwear. Interesting. He worked quickly, making it on the nineteenth stroke. After, he waved to her. She didn’t wave back. At least he didn’t ride up on the lawn this time.
Sandy didn’t call Norman. She didn’t call the police either. What was the point? They hadn’t believed her before. Besides, he wasn’t hurting anyone. But who was he? And why had he singled her out? Or did he go to a different house every day? Yes, last time he had come on a Monday too. Maybe Monday was
her
day.
Some day he’ll come along, the man I love . . . and he’ll be big and strong, the man I love . . . maybe Monday
. . . Oh, the possibilities were endless.
She had to hurry if she was going to make the nine-thirty-two train. She had a date to meet Lisbeth in New York for lunch and wanted to do some shopping first. She needed something for the Fourth of July formal at The Club, something black and slinky like Myra and her friends had worn in Jamaica. Maybe she’d get her hair cut too, if there was time.
The phone was ringing when she stepped out of the shower. She wrapped herself in a towel and answered.
“Mrs. Pressman?”
“Yes.”
“This is Hubanski.”
“Who?”
“Sergeant Hubanski, Plainfield PD.”
“Oh . . . yes . . . of course . . .”
“We found a sheet.”
“You did?”
“Yes, plain white, exactly the kind you described.”
“Where?”
“The corner of Sunset and Morning Glory.”
“That’s not far from here.”
“We know.”
“When?”
“When, what?”
“When did you find it?”
“Oh. Yesterday afternoon. I was off. My boys picked it up, so I didn’t know about it until this morning. We’re checking out the laundry marks now. When we’ve got something we’ll give you a call.”
“Yes, please.”
“Just wanted you to know we’re hot on his trail.”
“Yes. Well, thank you for calling, sergeant.”
So, they’d found a sheet. Was it his? Was that why he was dressed differently today, because he’d lost his sheet? Unlikely. He must have more than one sheet. This one that Sergeant Hubanski had come up with probably belonged to some neighborhood child who had been playing tent and left it outside.
“Good morning, Mrs. Pressman,” Florenzia called from downstairs, slamming the front door. “That’s just me.”
“Good morning, Florenzia,” Sandy called back.
“You got some mail . . . You like to see?”
“Yes, please.” Sandy met her halfway down the stairs. Florenzia handed it to her. “Thank you.”
“It be very hot today.”
“You can turn the air-conditioning back on now. I turned it off for my shower.”
“I be doing downstairs today in case somebody come looking to buy house?”
“Yes, that’s a good idea.”
“Mr. Pressman, he tell me to keep house looking good and he be giving me a raise.”
“Oh?”
“That’s so. He tell me two weeks ago.”
“I didn’t know, Florenzia, but we’re certainly very pleased with the way you keep the house.” How like Norman to offer a raise when they were about to move.
Sandy took the mail to her bedroom and closed the door.
Nothing from Bucky yet but there was a card from Jen. The first.
Dear Mommy,
Camp sucks! I am starving to death. There is no steak. There is no roast beef. Only one cookie a day. You should see me. I am all bones. Please, please, get me out of here. And hurry!
Your daughter,
Jennifer P.
That proved it! Jen was too young for camp. She
Similar Books
