The Sitter Page 16

  After Kevin made his pitch Larry would murmur, 'I'd be happy to go trick or treating with him.' He would give Kevin a fond, caring smile which would probably charm the socks off the Connors--Steven at least--and convince them all that Larry Cutler was one helluva sweet guy.

  Then, and this was the kicker--the move he hoped would set his future in motion-- Kevin would ask if Larry could please sleep over with him in the Lion King tent, kind of an indoor camp out. Lots of scenarios came to Larry's mind concerning what would happen next. Jeannie would probably be less than thrilled with that request, but Larry figured that he'd just play it by ear and come out the winner he knew himself to be.

  Satisfied with the quality ground work he'd laid, Larry let his mind drift back to Jordan. Her mother was not the sort to sit quietly by when her daughter didn't show up when she was supposed to. But still, it would probably be a while before anyone would think of foul play, and Larry figured he was well out of the loop as far as her disappearance was concerned. She was sure as hell not going to hang with a guy who had tried to rape her, right? And why would Larry go out with a girl who had accused him of rape?

  Besides, he didn't really kill Jordan. It had been an accident. Larry could still see her standing in front of him swinging that thing back and forth, the lamp light picking up the glint of metal...

  He sat straight up in bed, his heart slamming into high gear.

  The TOTE! Where is the tote? WHERE?

  He leapt out of bed and began pacing, trying to remember. Blood roared in his ears; he couldn't think. She was swinging...he shoved her down...neck broken. He stared at her in his head, her body all twisted... Couldn't see the tote.

  Had to be there! In the gazebo, couldn't be anywhere else.

  What a dumbass he'd been! He should have searched more thoroughly... “Wait a minute, wait a minute,” Larry whispered, scrubbing at his forehead as if to rub in some logic, some intelligent thought. “It's not too late! The McQueen's are due back sometime Saturday--that's today! I can get back there, find it... ”

  Larry pulled on jeans, a T- shirt, his windbreaker and his Nikes. Heart thudding painfully against his ribs, he went to Catherine's room. She was snoring loudly, her purse on the bedside table, the car keys in an outside pocket. He lifted them easily.

  No moon, but it was easy enough to make his way past Jordan's invisible grave to the tennis court and the gazebo. He walked quickly to the stairs and turned on his flashlight. A mess, just as he'd left it. He played the light all around the area, the cushions, the floor and even the stairs. Nothing. He went outside the structure, looking on the ground at the base of each wall. Nothing. Where the hell was it?

  He turned off the light and slumped down onto the steps.

  I'm a dead man...

  *****

  A sound...nearby. Was that just now or earlier?

  Catherine was too tired to figure it out and drifted back to sleep. Later another sound--this one she knew instantly. It was her Honda being driven up the driveway.

  She sat up wearily, a headache throbbing steadily behind her eyes. She fumbled for her glasses to see the time. Lordee, it was 3:15 in the morning! What could Larry possibly be doing? He gave the keys back to her! She reached for her purse and plunged her hand into the outside pocket. Nothing there.

  What in the world was going on? That Larry...what was he up to now? No doubt some harmless boyish prank, but still, to sneak into her room all quiet- like the way he must have done and take those keys just as bold as brass...She smiled a little, shaking her head with just a bit of admiration. Probably some girl. Off to see some bit of fluff in the middle of the night.

  There was such a thing, though, as respect for property and the wishes of others. There were times, Catherine knew, when a mother had better show some disciplinary muscle and, tired as she was, she knew tonight was one of those times. Sighing, the strength of her headache increasing, she pulled on her flannel robe and knotted it in front.

  She heard Larry close the Honda door and she had an idea. Since Larry took the keys from her purse, then of course he would have to return them. Catherine smiled as she decided to have a little fun and teach her boy a lesson at the same time.

  She moved quietly to the door and stood so that when he opened it and came in, she would be behind him. Listening hard, she heard him approach. The door opened slowly, and Catherine clamped a hand over her mouth; it was all she could do to keep from giggling. Larry's shadowy form appeared in front of her. He moved toward her empty bed and the purse on her bedside table.

  “Well, good evening, Larry-Sweetie,” she said softly, grinning in the dark.

  Larry jumped straight up. His cry of surprise filled the room. His right arm shot out, stiff and hard as a club, and struck Catherine on the side of her neck. She was slammed back into the wall and began to slide slowly down toward the floor.

  She clutched at her neck, couldn't get her breath. Her bottom hit the floor and tears filled her eyes. Lordee...did Larry strike her? Impossible!

  The light came on then, blinding her.

  “Ma?” Larry's voice was thin and strained.

  She looked up at him--his face was distorted and twisted as he loomed over her. She tried to speak but couldn't make a sound.

  “You scared the hell outta me!” Her son raised his fist above her, and Catherine cringed and shut her eyes. Sweet- baby- Jesus, is he going to hit me again? She felt the wall jump just above her head. Bits and pieces of plaster fell into her hair. He had smacked the wall with his fist narrowly missing her head. She heard his ragged breathing.

  “Larry... ” Catherine managed to whisper, opening her eyes. The room looked ugly in the harsh, unforgiving overhead light she made a point of never turning on.

  “Fuck!” Larry shouted, turning away from her. He began to pace back and forth in front of her. “What the hell were you thinking anyway?” He struck his forehead with the palm of his hand. “Standing there, waiting...hiding !”

  Catherine sat against the wall, her legs splayed and one hand gently rubbing her neck. She really must say something to Larry about his language; it was getting entirely out of hand. But there was something more important going on here. Drifting through the painful fog generated by her head and her neck, was the cold fact that Larry had just hit her. She had startled him, yes--an ill considered joke, but still...

  “Larry,” she began. He stopped pacing and turned his back to her. He stood rigid, fists at his sides. His stance was so combative, so...well, menacing, it was almost as if this young man was not her Larry at all. “Larry... ” Catherine forced herself to continue. “You owe me...your mother... an apology.”

  He remained motionless, a statue. Afraid to move, she sat perfectly still. They were frozen that way for what seemed to Catherine like several minutes. A subtle change then. She saw his shoulders sag and his body seemed to soften as he slowly turned to face her.

  “Ma...,” he said at last. “I'm sorry. You scared me, Ma.” His face screwed up into a helpless pre-tears spasm and Catherine's heart did flip flops.

  How could I have played such a cruel trick on my boy?

  A painful wave of guilt washed through Catherine. “It's not your fault, Larry- Sweetie. It was supposed to be a joke you know... a practical joke sort of thing. Well... ” She gave a sheepish chortle that came out sounding panicky. “So much for that idea!”

  Larry moved toward her quickly, too quickly. He bent down, reached out to her and she flinched. She put a hand up as if to ward off...what? Pressing her back hard against the wall, Catherine couldn't believe she was reacting this way. Unbidden, Emma's story about Jack Carney growing horns sprang into her mind, and she hastily closed her eyes. Then she looked up at him. He was smiling down at her. It was that old I'm-your-little- boy-and-you-love-me smile.

  “Ma!” he said, chiding her. “It's just me--chrissake! Me.” He put a strong hand under her arm and hauled Catherine up onto her feet. “Don't you be sneakin' up on a fellah that way again, you hea
r me?” He chuckled fondly and guided her over to her bed. Sitting her down, he carefully untied her robe and pushed it back from her shoulders, down off her arms. She had on a frilly night gown underneath. He gently pushed her body back, lifted her legs up onto the bed, and pulled the robe from under her.

  Catherine allowed all this as if she were an invalid. Indeed, that was exactly how she felt. “Larry?” she whispered up at him while the overhead light beat down on them unmercifully. His thick, glossy hair gleamed under it. He pulled the flannel sheet and bed spread up over her covering the sheer gown all the way to her chin.

  “Yeah, Ma?” Such a beatific smile he had--almost holy.

  “The light...please turn off that light, Son.” For the life of her, Catherine couldn't think of anything else to say.

  “Of course, Ma,” Larry said kindly as he brushed her forehead with his lips. He turned off the light and quietly closed the door behind him.

  The darkness was comforting and Catherine wanted to simply drift off into it. Some not so comforting thoughts came to her, however. This...incident had been alarming but she knew it would assume its proper place in the scheme of things after some healing rest. Boys will be boys after all, and Catherine knew her Larry was not so special that he didn't succumb every once in a while to behavior that was certainly less than gentlemanly.

  Odd, Catherine mused, how one's child could surprise a mother even after years of caring togetherness. He had actually frightened her. She wouldn't have believed that possible! She closed her eyes, but they fluttered open again as she saw his wrathful face, his fist drawn back.

  With a start, she realized that Larry had never told her why he needed the car in the middle of the night, or where he had gone earlier. She reached for her purse and shoved her fingers into the outside pocket. Ah. He had returned the keys.

  Shivering beneath the sheet and spread, Catherine vowed she would say no more about this peculiar and unsettling night. Why open a can of worms? Or, perhaps the phrase she was searching for was: 'let sleeping dogs lie.'

  Saturday, October 14th

  Steven woke and remembered last night, the wonderful sex he and Jeannie had enjoyed. For a moment at least, Steven felt refreshed and full of the vigor of a new day. At last he and Jeannie had come together and it had been so very good.

  It faded quickly though. His profound sense of weakness returned as he considered the day ahead. It was insidious, this malady of his, an ongoing impairment. He couldn't seem to do his work. The due date on the Jansen work was approaching rapidly and so little had been done. Could he work today? A Saturday and Sunday free, all that time...

  Lately he found such an expanse of available work time almost alarming. So often it turned into time without work, a leak of professional endeavor he couldn't seem to staunch. He turned on his side and gazed at Jeannie, his love. He knew she believed he was working again, and he hated to let her down.

  A drink. He knew a drink would help. It had in the recent past; why not today? After all it was a Saturday, a weekend; why not give the weekend a little shove?

  He eased himself out of bed so as not to awaken Jeannie. He dressed quickly and quietly. A couple of Bloody Marys with pancakes and syrup and Steven might just be able to work. Maybe fill a thermos and take it up to his studio where he could get started before the pancakes.

  He found the thermos, some tomato juice in the fridge and a bottle of icy vodka in the freezer. Steven poured the mixture into the thermos and added a healthy dose of cayenne pepper. He poured a generous amount into a glass and took a sample swallow. Cold going down and a comforting warmth when it settled. Then the heat came--a healing heat. This was the answer, at least for today.

  “Hey Stevo.” Jeannie's warm, husky voice behind him.

  He froze. He hadn't heard her at all. Her warm arms were quickly around his waist, her body pressed up against his. She moved a little to one side, her face nuzzling his shoulder.

  “Last night,” she began and then was suddenly still.

  He knew she had seen the vodka bottle. The glass and the thermos. His first thought was, 'Oh Christ,' followed immediately by 'so what? Gotta be cool.'

  “Vodka? Dear God, Steven; it's barely nine!”

  “Yeah, nine on a Saturday morning,” he said as calmly as possible. “It is the weekend you know.”

  She looked up at him, an arm still around his waist. “Do you realize how much you're drinking these days? And it's the hard stuff too.”

  “I'm fine.” He was also slightly pissed, even though he knew she had something of a point. Steven took a gulp of the Bloody Mary and smiled at her. He had to take the edge off this situation. “I was hoping you'd join me. We do have something to celebrate you know.”

  She didn't return his smile. “I don't think you're fine, Steven. Is this your first drink?” She withdrew her arm from his waist.

  He clenched his jaw and felt his face flush with heat. “You counting my drinks now?”

  “Yes, I am. Someone should.”

  He put the thermos in the fridge and picked up his drink. “I made a drink for you too. It's in the thermos.” He looked at his wife, standing with her hands on her hips. She looked ready to fight, and Steven wanted none of it. “I'll be in the studio if you need me,” he said and strode toward the doorway. “Again Jeannie, I'm fine,” he said over his shoulder as he walked out.

  “You're not fine, Steven,” he heard her say softly.

  Sunday, October 15th

  Every one except Kevin sits at the table picking at their food. It isn't the most exciting menu, I have to admit. Meat loaf, potatoes, salad and peas--apparently not a winner. Even Larry seems unusually tense and is merely playing with his food. He has dark circles under his eyes as if he's been up all night. I watch Steven pour another two inches of Merlot into his glass. He slides the bottle toward me with a questioning look and I shake my head.

  Kevin is going on and on about Halloween and how he wants to go trick or treating with Larry--can he please, pretty please? Like I'm going to let that happen! I'm thinking how best to say 'no' when the phone rings. Steven slides his chair back and leaves the table--he seems grateful for the diversion.

  “Hey Bertie,” he says. He listens for a moment and turns to us at the table. “She wants to talk to my bride.” Bertie likes to refer to me as Steven's bride or the current Mrs. Conner. I leave the table and go to the phone; I stand just out of the dining room, still within earshot of the dining table.

  “Hey Jeannie, how are you doing?” Bertie's boundless energy comes on strong in her voice, and I try to force at least a modicum of friendly good will into mine.

  “I'm okay, Luv, how are you?” I listen then as Bertie launches into a really weird story about some damage in her gazebo. I watch Steven pour more wine into his glass. “Incredible,” I murmur as she goes into detail. I see Larry look over at me. Bertie tells me Larry was supposed to keep an eye on the McQueen property while she and Leo were gone. “I'll ask him about it; he's right here.” Larry stops poking his food around and looks down at his plate. “I'll get back to you about this, Bertie,” I say and hang up. I come back to the table. I stand, watching Larry begin to fiddle with his peas.

  “Larry,” I begin,”Bertie says--”

  “Jeannie, Sweetheart,” Steven interrupts, “would you supervise Kevin's bath tonight? I'm bushed. I'd like to just finish up dinner here and kick back with a brandy.”

  “But what about the trick-or-treating?” Kevin wails. “Can I go with Larry?”

  “Of course you can, Sport,” Steven says, and I wince as he continues to call Kevin, 'Sport.' Steven stands and scoops Kevin up into his arms. “Sounds like a fine time.” He gives his son a noisy kiss and passes him to me.

  I am furious. “We haven't decided yet about the trick-or-treating,” I say to Kevin as I take him into my arms.

  “Ah, we were wondering... ”Larry mutters, and Kevin chimes in happily, “Yeah! We were wondering if Larry could stay with me Halloween night--like
in the Lion King tent? A sleep-over!” He squirms happily in my arms. It's all I can do to keep from shouting 'no', and slapping my hand over his mouth.

  I am stunned then to see Steven laugh as he reaches over and gives Larry a friendly whack on the back. ”Hey, that's a great--”

  “No, no. That's not a good idea,” I say, too loudly.

  “Mom...” Kevin begins.

  “Hush,” I say into Kevin's ear. “We'll talk about this later.”

  What's happened to our agreement, Steven? The one about 'discussion'? The one where we talk things over and present a united parental front?

  “Steven, before you kick back with a brandy, I think you and Larry should know,” I say with exaggerated clarity, “that Jordan Kennedy is missing.”

  “Missing what?” Steven asks with a smile, and I realize he's drunk.

  “Her purse for one thing. What happened in the gazebo, Larry; Bertie told me you were supposed to keep an eye on the place.”

  Larry looks at me, his eyes wide. “What d'ya mean?”

  “When were you there last?”

  “Well, let's see...I did the back lawn about a week ago, I guess.”

  “Jeannie,” Steven says, “how about cutting the kid some slack and telling him why the interrogation?”

  I sit down, holding a very unhappy Kevin in my lap. “When Bertie and Leo got home from LA yesterday they found the gazebo in a shambles. Their glass table was broken. Glass everywhere and the pillows tossed around--the place looked like there had been some kind of fight.”

  “Wow,” Steven says.

  “Kevin-Honey, run upstairs and get ready for your bath. I'll be up in a minute and we'll talk about Halloween then.” He frowns, but slides off my lap and goes to the stairs.

  “In one of the corners, jammed down between the floor and an outside edge of the gazebo, Bertie found a tote that belongs to Jordan. So Bertie called Mrs. Kennedy and learned that Jordan has been reported missing.”