The Lake

THREE

“If I were the suspicious type,” Deana said, “I might think that car is following us.”

“But you’re not,” Allan said.

“A little bit, maybe.” She looked over her shoulder. The other car was still beyond the last curve, its beams dim and barely visible through the narrow rear window of Allan’s Mustang. Seconds later, the headlights appeared. One was out of alignment, throwing its beam crooked and high. Deana didn’t like the cross-eyed look. It made the car seem a bit demented.

“How about turning around,” Allan suggested. “You’re making me nervous.”

“It’s making me nervous.”

“Probably just some guy on his way to Stinson Beach. Once you’re on this road, you’re on it for keeps.”

Deana faced the front. Her hands were sweaty. She wiped them on her kilt. “Maybe you should slow down and let him pass.”

“You’ve seen too many Friday the 13th movies.”

“You dragged me to some of them.”

“I love the way you squeal and cover your eyes… and peek through your fingers.”

“Maybe we should have gone to a movie,” Deana said.

“Losing your nerve?”

“It’s awfully dark out here.”

“It’s supposed to be.”

“How soon’s the turnoff?” Deana asked.

“It’s coming up.”

“Well, if he makes the turn, too, I say we forget it.”

Allan turned his head toward her. She couldn’t see his expression in the darkness, but he obviously wasn’t thrilled by the idea of forgetting it. She couldn’t blame him. He had suffered through the dinner with Deana’s mother and grandparents, which must’ve been quite a drag for him, probably able to keep his spirits up only by reminding himself of what was planned for afterward.

“One more thing,” she had told him on the telephone before the party.

He had responded with an “Uh-oh.”

“This isn’t an ‘uh-oh,’ pal, this is an ‘ah-ha.’ Once dinner’s over, you and I will be free to amscray. I was thinking of somewhere very dark and very secluded, perhaps in the vicinity of Mount Tamalpias. You might want to bring a blanket.”

Maybe dinner hadn’t been such a drag for him, after all, Deana thought. If the nervous, excited looks he gave her were any indication, he was too busy imagining sex in the woods to be bored with the family gathering. She’d had a difficult time, herself, keeping her mind on the festivities. By the time they were clearing off the dishes, she was such a wreck that Mom asked whether she was upset about something.

Well, see, Mom, it’s like this. Allan and I aren’t actually going to a double feature. We thought we’d find a place over by Mt. Tam where we’ll have a little privacy; we’ve only done this kind of thing once before, and we were both a little loaded then, so this will almost be like the first time, and I’m a little tense.

Just a little tense, that’s all.

The clicking sound of Allan’s turn signal brought her back to the present. She realized she was gripping her thighs and trembling. Calm down, she told herself. This is nothing to be scared about.

“It went right on by,” Allan said after making the turn. For a moment, Deana didn’t know what he was talking about. Then she remembered—the car that had been behind them.

“Well,” she said in a shaky voice, “I guess we’re in luck.”

Allan downshifted, the car growling like a determined animal as it started to climb the steep road, headbeams pushing into the darkness. Deana felt herself sink deeper into the bucket seat.

“Wouldn’t a breakdown be fun about now?” Allan asked.

“A laugh riot.”

Maybe this area is a little too secluded, she thought. And too dark—and scary. She found herself thinking about last night. Nightmare on Del Mar, starring, ta-dah… Mr. Hatchet Man. Uhhh…

She turned her eyes to the safe, familiar green glow of the dashboard instruments.

“We should’ve gone to a Holiday Inn,” she muttered.

“I thought you were against motels.”

“Yeah, well, I might be changing my mind.”

“Man, I wish you’d changed your mind half an hour ago. Want me to turn around?”

“No, that’s okay. We’re already here.”

“I don’t mind. A bed. A shower. Heyyy.”

“Maybe some other time.”

“Is that a promise?”

“It’s a thought. We’ll think about it, okay? It still seems kind of… I don’t know… tawdry.”

“Tawdry?”

“Look it up.”

“You’re definitely weird, you know that? It’s all right to fool around in a car or in the woods someplace, but you do the same thing in a motel room and it’s tawdry. Does that make sense?”

“It must,” Deana said, “or why would I feel that way?”

“Because you’re nuts?” Allan suggested.

At the top of a rise, the road leveled out. Ahead was a wide, moonlit clearing—the parking area for the outdoor theater. When they’d been here last month for a production of Othello, the lot had been packed with cars.

Now it was deserted.

“Looks like we’ve got the place to ourselves,” Allan

said.

“I figured we might.”

Allan drove to the far end of the lot. He stopped at its edge near the start of the footpath leading through the trees to the theater. He turned off the engine. “Well, here we are,” he said, sounding a little nervous himself. He killed the headlights. Darkness closed over the car. He took the key from the ignition, pushed the key case into a front pocket of his corduroy pants, and rubbed his hands on his legs. Twisting around, he reached between the seat backs and brought the blanket through the gap.

Outside, the night breeze chilled Deana’s legs and seeped like cool water through her sweater. Shivering, she gritted her teeth. She wrapped her arms across her chest. Allan joined her in front of the car. “Cold?” he asked.

“A little.”

He fluttered open the blanket and draped it over her shoulders like a cape.

“There’s room for two,” she said, holding out one side.

He huddled in close against her, drawing the blanket across his back and slipping an arm around her. They walked slowly toward the path. The blanket felt warm and good. So did his hand stroking her side. They were just a few steps along the path before his hand found its way beneath her sweater. She moaned as it moved over her bare skin. It roamed higher.

“Hmmm?” A surprised, questioning sound.

“Fooled you,” she said.

“You were wearing one at dinner.”

“My last stop in the john before we left. It went in the hamper.”

With a sigh, he reached and caressed her breast.

“God,” he whispered. He drew her around to face him. She lost her end of the blanket, but let it fall as Allan hugged her tightly, both hands now under her sweater and rubbing her back, his mouth open and urgent against hers. Breathless, Deana tugged out his shirttails. She sucked his tongue. She stroked his bare back. His hardness was a stiff bulge against her belly, the feel of it stirring a warm, moist tremor deep inside her.

He eased Deana away and lifted her sweater. Her skin, bare to the night breeze, crawled with goose bumps. Her nipples, already erect, grew so hard they ached, and then his hands were on them. Warm. Enclosing her breasts. Squeezing. The heat in her breasts was almost like pain, and she threw back her head, squirming.

His hands loosened as if he feared he might be hurting her.

“Toss anything else in the hamper?” he asked in a husky voice.

“Could be.”

He reached for Deana’s hips, but she danced backward, out of range. She pulled her sweater down. “Not here,” she said.

“Where?”

She shrugged. “We’re too close to the parking lot.” She waved a hand in that direction. She could see moonlight on the windshield of Allan’s Mustang. “Let’s go in farther.”

“Over by the theater?”

“Yeah.”

“How about on the stage?”

She flung out her arms. “All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely—”

“Props,” Allan put in.

“The bard you’re not.”

“Can you see it? There we are, right in the middle of the theater, surrounded on every side…”

“You’re being redundant.”

“Surrounded by all those high rows of seats, empty seats, while we…”

“Make the beast with two backs.”

“Screw our heads off,” he said, curling a hand over the back of Deana’s neck.

“Yeah,” she sighed.

“And as we lie there,” he whispered, “our naked bodies sweaty and tangled…”

“Gleaming in the moonlight…”

“…from off in the distance, high up in the seats, comes…” He took his hand off Deana’s neck and slowly clapped.

She stared through the darkness at him. He kept on clapping. “Christ,” she muttered.

He clapped again and again.

“Cut it out, you’re scaring me.”

He stopped. He laughed softly.

“Let’s go back to the car,” Deana said.

“You’re kidding.”

“No I’m not.”

“Deana, it was a joke.”

She turned away. He caught her from behind and wrapped his arms around her belly. She settled back against his warmth.

“I want to get out of here, Allan. It was a rotten idea in the first place.”

“Man, that’s the last time I’ll tell you a story.”

“Yeah, well, somebody could be around here. How do we know?”

“We don’t.” His hands moved up to her breasts.

She stroked the backs of his hands as they caressed her through the sweater. “We’ll go someplace else, okay?”

“Like where?”

“Someplace that isn’t…” Allan gently pinched her nipple, and she caught a ragged breath. “…isn’t so dark,” she said in a shaky voice. “A street near home.”

“In the backseat?” She nodded.

“Wouldn’t it be better…” His voice stopped. His fingers spread out, hands still holding her breasts but motionless.

“Allan?”

“Shhh.”

“What?”

Then Deana heard it, too. “It’s just the wind,” she whispered.

“It’s a car.”

Deana’s insides went soft and loose. She tightened herself.

If it was a car, where were its headlights? Allan took a hand off her breast. The warmth went away. He pointed. At first, Deana saw only strips of moonlit parking lot in the spaces between the trees. Then a dark shape crossed one of the strips. More like a chunk of shadow than a car.

“It’s probably someone like us,” Allan whispered.

“What do you mean?”

“A couple. You know. Looking for a good place to mess around.”

“God, I hope so.”

“Let’s get back to the car.” He picked up the blanket. Deana stayed close to his side as he walked along the path. She still heard the car, but she couldn’t see it. Just before the end of the path, Allan crossed to a tree. She followed. Ducking behind its trunk, they looked out at the parking area.

The Mustang was only a few yards away. The other car was directly behind it, motionless near the middle of the lot. Its headlights were off. Its engine idled. The glare of the moonlight on the windshield prevented Deana from seeing inside.

“What do you think?” she whispered.

“I don’t like the way it’s just sitting here.”

“Do you think he can see us?”

“I doubt it.”

For a while, they watched the car in silence.

“This is crazy,” Deana finally said. “Why doesn’t he go away?”

“Maybe it is somebody making out.”

“With the engine going?”

“It’s like he’s waiting,” Allan said.

“Yeah. For us.”

“Don’t worry. Nothing can happen as long as he stays in the car and we stay here.”

“What if he gets out?”

“Comes looking for us?”

“Yeah.”

“It’d be easy to hide from him. He wouldn’t know where to start looking. Maybe we could even double back to my car.”

“Maybe we should just go to your car. Right now.”

“You think so?” Allan asked.

Her heart pounded so hard, it made her chest ache.

“At least we’d get it over with. We can’t wait around all night. And we don’t really know what he’s doing in there.”

“Maybe just enjoying the scenery,” Allan suggested in a nervous whisper. “You want to give it a try?”

“I don’t know.”

“It was your idea.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not so sure about it.”

“It’s either that or we try to wait him out.” Allan looked over his shoulder at Deana. “Maybe we should go ahead with our original plan.”

“I’m glad you haven’t lost your sense of humor.”

“He might be gone by the time we get back.”

“And if he isn’t and he nails us,” Deana said, “at least we’ll have shared a few moments of bliss.”

“Bliss?”

“Shit,” she muttered.

“Ditto.”

“We’re going to feel like a couple of prize idiots after we stroll out to the car and drive off and he’s still sitting there.”

“Does that mean you want to do it?” Allan asked.

“No, I don’t want to do it, goddamn it, I’m scared shitless, but what sort of choice do we have?”

“We’d only be out in the open for a few seconds.”

“Yeah. What’s he going to do, spray us with lead?”

Allan pushed himself away from the tree trunk and stood up straight. He took a deep, loud breath and blew it out. He had the wadded blanket under his left arm. He dug his right hand into the pocket of his cords, took out his keys, and picked through them until he found the car key.

“Did you lock your side?” he whispered.

“Yeah. I always do.”

“Okay, you take the keys. Once you’re in, reach across and unlock my door.”

“Don’t give me this ‘ladies first’ stuff. You’re quicker than me.”

“Deana.” He sounded ready to argue, but paused. He was silent for a few seconds. “I know what we’ll do,” he said. “You wait here. I’ll go out to the car and bring it right up to here. Sideways, so it’ll shield you. Then you just jump in, and off we go.”

“Don’t be a…” She shook her head. That’s right, she thought, snap at him for offering to take all the risk. Leaning closer, she kissed him softly on the mouth. “You’re all right,” she whispered.

“You too.”

She stroked his cheek. She almost said that she loved him, but decided it would sound too sappy and melodramatic. This is it. End of the road. I love you. Violins. Hand in hand, the lovers stride toward their rendezvous with death.

An hour from now, we’ll be laughing about this.

Sure. Maybe in a week.

“We go out together,” she said.

“I really think…”

“You and me, pardner. Butch and Sundance.”

“Please. Not Butch and Sundance.”

“Let’s get it over with.” She took the blanket from him. He didn’t put up a fuss, apparently realizing that they would have to rely on his quickness if something went wrong. She held his hand. It felt wet and cold.

They stepped out from behind the tree and walked through the high grass, straight toward the front of his Mustang.

The headlights of the other car came on. Deana’s stomach gave a cold lurch. One of the beams was high. It crossed the other. She moaned.

“Just act normal,” Allan said.

A foot in front of the bumper, they parted hands and split up, Deana walking to the passenger door while Allan stepped to the driver’s door. She gripped the handle, thumb on the latch button, ready. Forcing her eyes away from the other car, she looked across the Mustang’s low roof and watched Allan bend over. She heard the rasp of his key entering the lock, the quiet thump of the button popping up. Allan swung his door open.

The other car sprang forward, roaring. Allan’s head snapped toward it. He was bright in the glare of its headlights, hunched over, mouth wide.

“Get in!” Deana yelled. Dropping the blanket, she ducked and peered through the door window. The ceiling light was on. Allan dived at the driver’s seat. The car got his legs, yanked him out. Deana lurched back, numb, as the speeding car ripped off the driver’s door.

It was slow motion.

It was impossible.

It was the door flipping upward, twisting, skidding across the hood of the Mustang with a trail of sparks and the car rushing past with Allan in front, hooked over the bumper, out of sight from his waist down, the rest of him draped across the side of the car, arms flapping loosely overhead.

Brakes screaming, the car had too much speed to stop before the edge of the lot. It bumped over the grass and smashed into a tree. The tree caught Allan in the rump. He was thrown backward from the waist, hair flying, arms flinging out.

The backup lights came on. The car shot backward. Allan rolled loose, hung in the air for a moment in front of the one working headlight, then dropped and tumbled.

Deana was numb, frozen. But there was a lucid corner of her mind that somehow took control. She peered through the window of the passenger door as the other car shot backward. Allan’s keys lay on the seat where they must have fallen when he was hit. Though she knew her door was locked, she thumbed the latch button anyway and jerked. The door stayed shut. The other car had stopped slightly ahead of the Mustang. Its door opened.

Deana ran.

She ran for the woods, not looking back.