The Lake

FIFTY-TWO

“I’d best be getting on home. Mom’ll be worried. I called to say I’d be back by ten.”

Warren glanced at his watch. Ten-fifteen.

“I’ll drive you,” he said, adding, “I’d be happier that way.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

They stepped into the darkness. It was cooler now. And quiet—except for the breeze stirring the leaves around them. Deana thought about the funeral car and shivered.

Inside the Porsche, she said, “Mom worries about me these days. Since… it all happened. I guess I should really be home, keeping her company.”

“Y’know, that’s what I love about you, Deana. You’re so nice to your mom.”

“Oh yeah? How about all that poetic stuff? Skin like milk, eyes like deep pools, etcetera, etcetera.”

“Oh, so you want Dark Lady of the Sonnets?”

“Mmmm, Shakespeare. Now you’re talking—although I’ll have you know, Warren Hastings, my reputation is whiter than white. Compared to the Dark Lady’s, that is!”

An excited tingle began in her stomach. Warren hadn’t mentioned the word “love” before. Allan had, when they talked about the Friday the 13th movie, the night he got killed. “I love the way you squeal and cover your eyes… and peek through your fingers,” he’d said.

But when Warren said “love” in that quiet, sincere way, the word took on a whole new meaning. He said it as if he really meant it.

As she stole a glance at him, her excitement mounted. She hardly dared breathe. He slid the key in the ignition and started the car. Reaching the end of the driveway, he made a right and slowed down. He brought it to a halt.

Turning to her, he said softly, “Y’know, I do care about you, Deana. I care a lot.”

He’s gonna kiss me, I know it…

She swallowed hard, and whispered, “And I like you, Warren. You’ve been great this last coupla weeks or so.” Then, as an afterthought: “And Mom likes you, too.”

She cringed inside, and made a face.

And Mom likes you, too!

What a dork! As sweet nothings go, Deana West, that sure takes the biscuit!

She gave a wry grin.

“Great,” he said, winking at her. “A guy always likes to know he has parental approval!”

She grew embarrassed. “Why d’you always make a joke of everything?”

“Nerves. When things get serious, I resort to humor. Which, I might add, doesn’t mean I’m any the less serious about you—if you get my meaning?”

“Sure I do, Warren. That’s why I like you. You’re so…”

“Mature?”

“Well, yeah, that’s the word—now you’re joking again!”

Their eyes met. She caught a ragged breath. Her heart pounded. Deliciously aware of his proximity, she reached over and gave his knee a tentative squeeze. Looking deep into her eyes, he began tracing a fingertip down her cheek.

She shivered, pressing her thighs together, feeling the sharp tingly buzz between them.

He stopped stroking, pulled her forward, and kissed her softly on the lips.

Her breath quickened and she leaned into him, her breasts crushing against his chest. Her nipples stiffened. Her heart raced. It was like they’d been searching for each other all of their lives.

She squirmed and wriggled closer. His hand caressed her knee, then slid along her thigh, kneading the firm, naked flesh.

Deana sighed and reached down to touch him, smiling softly as his hard-on jerked under her hand. Hesitating a moment, she found his zipper, peeled it down, and reached inside. Her hand closed around his erection. It felt strong and hard. Her fingers traveled its length, caressing the tip. It was smooth, warm, moist. Their lips met again, his tongue found hers, and he sucked with long hard strokes. Still holding him, she moaned into his mouth, her hand jerking in a steady rhythm.

This is so fantastic, she thought. I don’t want it to stop. Ever.

Good thing I’m wearing my wrapover… and left off my bra.

His hand slipped inside her blouse; it felt warm against her breasts. Massaging them gently, feeling their weight, running his fingertips over her nipples.

Her lips found his again; she was gasping, wanting him so much. He came away, found her breasts, and freed them from her soft jersey top. She pushed a nipple into his mouth. He nuzzled hungrily. Her eyes closed…

Then snapped open.

A rap on the windshield, Deana’s side of the car, caught them off guard.

They heard a high, simpering giggle.

Deana bolted upright, taut, alert. Dragging her top across her breasts, she pulled away from Warren.

Who the hell?

Mommy Dearest…

In a trilby hat, set at a rakish angle. Wearing a dark, tailored jacket, a floppy handkerchief flowing from its breast pocket. Her hands, in shabby white gloves, poked through the open side window.

With a gasp, Deana drew back.

“Christ!” Warren muttered, staring at the apparition. “What’s she doing here?”

The hag’s eyes narrowed.

They looked different tonight. Ringed with smudgy mascara, they reminded Deana of black hairy spiders. “My God,” she breathed. “Nightmare City made flesh…”

Better say something.

Anything.

Like what?

Howdy. How’re the old folks back home?

She managed, “Where’s Harry?”

The whiskery chin jiggled at them.

“Harry died. Little runt went tits up on me. Weren’t nothin’ I could do.”

“Oh. Sorry to hear that. You must miss him.”

Jesus Christ! What am I, stupid? Sitting here talking to this maniac? I should be grabbing my cell phone, calling the cops…

Mommy Dearest batted her lashes in a grotesque wink.

“Caught ya at a bad time, did I, dearie?”

“You asshole!” Deana exploded. “Y’know I could report you for abduction? Serve ya right, too. And y’know the cops could get ya for keeping those old broads locked away like that? They almost ate me alive back there… How come the authorities let you run a home, anyhow? You’re a mad, sick old fuck and should be locked away yourself!”

Mommy’s head came forward, her eyes glaring. They leveled with Deana’s. The hat slipped, tilting to one side. She looked weird, scary—like she was about to tear open the car door and drag Deana away.

Back to her abominable brood…

Deana shrank into her seat.

Warren touched the remote. The window whirred up.

Grinning like an animated zombie, the fag-hag from hell pressed her skinny nose to the glass. Quickly, Warren turned the key, revved the engine. The car leapt forward. A little way down the street, he peered into the rearview mirror.

The fag-hag was gone.

“So Harry popped his clogs.”

“ ’Bout the size of it. Smart move. Wherever he is, he’s gotta be in a better place than in that weirdo’s freaky rest home!”

Warren shot Deana a quizzical glance. He guessed all this had something to do with her experience the night she invited him to dinner. He decided not to ask.

She gave him a weak smile. “Wearing that stupid hat, she looked like that gay English guy, Quentin Crisp… God, what a hoot!”

“You’re not kidding!”

“Well, that’s Mommy Dearest,” she said faintly. “Or should I say, Daddy Dearest? What a freak! No idea she was a transvestite.” Remembering the hag’s strong, scrawny arms tight around her, Deana murmured, “What d’ya reckon? Is it a ‘she’—or a ‘he’?”

Warren gave a thin smile. “Who cares? Just make sure we avoid her in future, that’s all.”

“Agreed. Apart from that, she did interrupt something rather special. Don’t you think?”

“Mmmm. You’re right there. We started…”

“Started what, Warren?”

“We started something I’d rather like to finish later. How ’bout you?”

“Yeah,” she said softly. “Me, too.”

Deana went quiet for a moment. Then tears welled up. Slowly, they fell down her cheeks.

Warren stopped the car.

“What is it, Deana? Not something I did, I hope?”

“No. Nothing like that. What we did was all so… wonderful. It’s just that everything seems to be happening, is all. One thing after another. Especially tonight, coming face-to-face with that freaky old witch again. And then there’s Mace… I don’t know, I’m so scared of him. And of what he’s doing to Mom.”

She almost said, “And how he came to my room…” but stopped herself, reluctant to spoil things by discussing Mace tonight.

Warren drew her to him and kissed the tip of her nose.

Looking into his eyes, she said quietly, “You’re all right, Warren. Y’know that?”

“You, too,” he replied. “And don’t forget, whatever happens, I’ll always be here for you.”

Leigh met Deana at the door.

“What’s up, Mom? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I just did, honey. Nelson.”

Deana’s jaw dropped. She stopped in her tracks.

Oh my God. Not Nelson!

What the hell is happening to us?