Part 8 (2/2)
In the living room was a battered suitcase, plunked down in the middle of the floor; from the kitchen came the clinking and rattling of bags being unloaded. Syd rounded the corner to find Nora lit from the open refrigerator, a package wrapped in b.l.o.o.d.y butcher's paper still in hand. Eggs and fresh produce graced the interior shelves; on the kitchen counter were two more bottles of Southern Comfort, plus some tequila and a couple of bottles of wine. From the looks of it, she'd taken the State Store and the farmer's market by storm.
Syd watched her work, his tracking still a little sluggish.
He asked how she'd gotten around. Nora gestured to the window. Syd peeked outside; there was a frisky-looking little Camaro with Louisiana plates parked out front. He nodded, then asked how she'd gotten out to pick it up. She said it wasn't real hard to get people to take you where you want to go, if you just knew how to ask.
Nora went back to unloading groceries and Syd watched her, not knowing exactly how he felt. On the one hand, there was a Play Misty for Me kind of presumptuousness to her sudden domesticity that took him more than a little off-guard. On the other hand, there was the sight of her naked backside as she leaned into his fridge. He thought about it, tried to phrase the next question as neutrally as possible.
”So are you just pa.s.sing through, then,” he said, ”or will you be hanging around for a while?”
”I'm gonna have to keep moving,” she said over her shoulder, ”sometime in the next couple of days or so.”
”Oh,” he said, instantly disappointed. It was not the answer he wanted to hear; he wondered what was. Syd moved over to the kitchen table, picked up his cigarettes.
Nora stood and closed the door; suddenly they were illuminated only by the streetlight's blue-white glow. As she turned, her eyes locked on his, and Syd felt his heart begin to free fall. He lit a smoke and leaned against the table, trying to keep his voice steady, feigning nonchalance, failing utterly.
”So, um,” he began. ”So while you're in town . . .”
”. . . I'd like to stay here with you,” she finished the thought for him. ”If that's okay.”
”Not a problem,” he said. Nora closed the refrigerator door and stood. She was naked and magnificent and two feet away. That was two feet too many. Nora beamed, looking quite pleased, if not entirely surprised. She closed the narrowing distance between them, enfolded Syd in a steamy embrace. They kissed again, long and sweet, tapping very deliberately into each other's soul-fire.
”You know,” he said, when the kiss finally broke, ”you're welcome to stay a little longer. If you like.”
”Mmmm,” she murmured. ”On the other hand, you could come with me.”
Syd just stood there for a second, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Nora's gaze upon him remained fixed and steady. His heart's free fall lurched to a shuddering halt, hovered uneasily in midair.
”Yeah, right,” he said.
”Yeah,” she said. ”Right.”
There was a pause. ”You're serious,” he said. She nodded her head. Either it was true, or that shoe was taking an incredibly long time.
”I couldn't do that-”
”Why not?”
”Well, for one thing . . .” he began. And then he stopped.
And it dawned on Syd that he couldn't think of a single good reason. And that surprised the h.e.l.l out of him. It was as though his entire internal map had spun one hundred and eighty degrees in a heartbeat, showed him a possibility he'd never really considered before.
”I just couldn't,” he reiterated.
”Why couldn't you?”
”Well,” he said, turning away from her, starting to pace now. She watched him. ”Umm.” Running this new equation through his head. ”Well, let me see.” Still wary. ”Are you going anywhere in particular?” She shook her head. ”But you've got to get there right away.” She nodded, emphatic. ”Right. So I guess we're talking a Jack Kerouac, Easy Rider-kinda thing.”
Nora let a cryptic little half-smile slip out, gave a little hand-wiggling gesture. Sorta kinda. Close enough.
”I don't know,” he said, slipping into his best young Jack Nicholson, ”I was never really a drop-out-and-find-America kinda guy.” He laughed. She smiled. ”I mean, I read Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance when I was fourteen, but that's about the extent of it.”
She watched, said nothing.
”I've kinda got roots here.”
”I noticed.”
”And, to be real honest, we barely even know each other.”
”This is true.”
”And I've got some questions about how you live without a steady job . . .”
”You mean how I live?” The invisible walls came up, for the first time since the bar.
”No, no. I mean how a person lives.” It was amazing how quickly the sweat glands responded to tension. ”Like how anyone lives. Like how I would, for instance.”
He realized that he had stepped near a tripwire, logged it, couldn't help but wonder what it meant. She just stared at him, abruptly intense, her vulnerability a thing of the past. Suddenly, his own extreme nakedness disturbed him; he realized it was because it no longer felt safe. He'd gone straight from relaxed to extremely uncomfortable in the time it took to generate a bead of sweat.
”I don't know . . .” Trying to talk his way through it. ”. . . I've always had kind of a wild streak. But it always comes slamming back into my practical side. The part that wants to know how everything works, and needs to know that everything's taken care of.” He looked at her again. Her face remained unchanged, but her body untensed minutely.
”You still haven't answered my question,” she said. Syd paused, laughed nervously. ”This is crazy . . .” he said.
She nodded, said nothing.
”I mean, I just met you. We don't even know each other. You know what I'm saying?”
”What are you saying?”
She was still looking at him, unraveling his defenses with the directness of her gaze. He was beginning to feel a little like something in a Petri dish. ”What am I saying? I don't know! I mean, I hate my job-f.u.c.k, I have no job, when you get right down to it. And I really have no home, either. But I'm kinda settled in anyway . . .” She just looked at him, giving away nothing. ”. . . and this is where I am.
”At least until I go somewhere else.”
He finished up, waited for her reaction shot. She was cool, no doubt about it, but there were a few c.h.i.n.ks in her ego armor. When her eyes flashed at the word home, Syd caught a glimpse of her need.
It was every bit as great as his own.
He could tell that she knew that he knew. He could also tell that she hated having slipped, even a little.
”I guess I'm gonna have to think about it,” he said. ”I gotta admit, though, you kinda caught me by surprise.”
”Get used to it.” She smiled ruefully. The walls inched down.
”Believe me . . .” Taking a step toward her. ”. . . there are a couple of things around here that I'd very much like to get used to.”
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