Red Rain

The aroma of barbecued chicken floated out from B. Smith’s kitchen, and Cora made a face. “Don’t take me near a barbecue place. Sometimes after I’ve been at work in the restaurant, I have to shampoo three times to get the smoke out of my hair. Dogs follow me home because I smell like pulled pork.”

Andy laughed. She had a good sense of humor about herself.

“You and Cora should hit it off,” Vince had said the night before. “You’re both in-tell-ect-u-als.” That’s how he said it, pronouncing every syllable. Was he being sarcastic? Probably.

Andy had told him he liked to read mystery novels and police procedurals, and Vince had teased him ever since, calling him Sherlock and telling him he should smoke a pipe.

Vince wasn’t a Neanderthal, but he pretended to be. He thought it was part of his role as a small-town desk cop.

Cora seemed to think she had to tell everything there was to know about her before they got to the theater. Maybe she just had a thing about silences. Andy knew he wasn’t keeping up his end, but it was hard to get a word in, and he was getting to like her soft schoolgirl voice.

She’d had a long affair with a guy in Bath she met at the barbecue restaurant. He said he was in the music business and seemed to know a lot about music clubs and new acts. But it turned out he sold jukeboxes and pinball machines, and he was married.

After she broke it off with him, he stalked her for a while, sitting outside the restaurant in his car and phoning her again and again, leaving threatening messages and muttering obscenities. When she changed her phone number, he finally went away.

“Did you call the police on him?”

She shook her head. “I didn’t think they’d do anything. Usually, the police don’t do anything in stalker cases till the woman is raped or stabbed in the chest.”

“Usually,” Andy agreed. “But sometimes a couple of cops can go to the guy’s house and-you know-reason with him a little.” Andy waved a fist.

Cora stopped outside the theater. “Have you ever done that?”

Andy stared at her. “Well, no. But I saw it on Law amp; Order.”

They both laughed.

The play was called Whodunnit? Cora accused him of only having one interest in life. “Do you only go to plays about cops and crime?”

“I don’t go to many plays.”

The play wasn’t great. It was supposed to be a comedy, but people weren’t laughing. The mystery was impossible to solve. The murderer could have been any one of the six people onstage.

Andy hated stories like that where you didn’t stand a chance of figuring it out. The culprit could even be the nearsighted police inspector hamming it up on the old-fashioned living room set.

Cora seemed to be enjoying it more than he was. She kept squeezing his arm every time something surprising took place. She laughed when the police inspector stepped on his eyeglasses and stumbled blindly over the tea cozy.

At intermission, Andy led Cora through the chattering crowd, out the doors to the walled terrace in front of the theater. Horns honked as traffic rolled by. The air smelled tangy, salty as the sea. He was about to ask if she wanted to skip the second act and go get a bite to eat when he saw Sari walk out of the theater.

Something pinged in his chest. A real physical feeling. Like a hard heart thump. Or an alarm going off.

Cora was saying something, tapping his shoulder, but he didn’t hear her. He heard a rushing sound in his ears like water washing over a steep waterfall. How could Sari still have this effect on him?

She wore a short, white tank dress that clung to her body, showing off her long legs and her trim waist. Her black hair fell loosely behind her shoulders.

And who was the guy she was arm-in-arm with? Was he the guy?

That shrimp. He was at least a head shorter than Sari. Wearing a geeky black-and-white wide-striped shirt like a referee wears and white chinos torn at one knee, and a rope belt. Some kind of gold necklace hanging in front of his chest. And a tennis hat. The fucking guy wore a tennis hat with the name of his store on the front to the theater!

Andy lurched toward them. He saw Cora reach for him with both hands, startled by his sudden escape. But he wasn’t moving on brainpower. This was some kind of weird primitive force propelling him, the rushing waterfall in his ears sweeping him away.

“Andy?” Sari let go of the shrimpy guy, her dark eyes flashing surprise.

Andy nearly knocked over the tall sign announcing Whodunnit? with photos of the cast. He caught his balance and took her by the elbow.

The shrimp peered out from under his tennis cap, eyes wide with surprise. He had freckles and a wide, innocent face. Reminded Andy of someone from an Archie comic book.

“I need to speak to Sari,” Andy explained to him.

He expected more of a reaction. But the guy just shrugged and flicked his eyes toward Sari.

She didn’t resist as Andy pulled her away, to the side of the theater. A few people turned to watch. He glimpsed Cora behind him, arms crossed now, following him with her eyes till he disappeared around the corner.

Sari giggled. “Are you crazy? We have to go back.”

He backed her against the wall. Her skin felt soft and warm. Her eyes glowed even in the darkness here. He felt a rush of feeling, so powerful he had to take a deep breath.

She had hurt him so much the first time. Caused him so many feelings he didn’t know he had.

And now here they were again. Here he was, feeling this insane rush of emotion, leading him. . where?

“Andy, you look funny. What is your problem? You don’t have anything to say to me-do you? We have to-”

“I’m back,” he said.

And then he was kissing her. Kissing her. And she was kissing him back. And he felt the electric tingle of her fingers on the back of his neck. Just that light touch could make his head explode, he realized.

He kissed her harder. She wasn’t resisting.

When the kiss ended, they stared dumbly at each other. Her hands slid off his neck. With a shiver of her shoulders, she slithered out from between him and the wall.

A long silence. Yes, his heart was pounding, and yes, the blood was throbbing, pulsing in his temples. But he didn’t hear it now.

Silence. Silence.

And then she shook her head, sending her hair flying loose. She slowly rubbed a finger over her lips, as if wiping off the kiss. “That didn’t mean anything,” she murmured. “Hear me?”

Then she grabbed his head, pulled his face close, and kissed him again.

18

Andy didn’t hear much of the second act. He was aware of Cora squeezing his arm a few times. Was she trying to snap him back to reality? He didn’t want to go back. He could still smell Sari’s perfume, like oranges, sweet oranges. He could still feel the silvery touch of her fingers on the back of his neck. The whisper of her hair falling over his cheeks.

Cora turned slightly away from him, eyes straight ahead, her lips pursed. She clasped her hands tightly in her lap. She was giving up. The characters moved across the stage, making broad hand gestures, shouting accusations at each other.

After the second kiss, Sari had repeated her warning. “That didn’t mean anything, Andy. Please believe me.” Then she turned away with a funny, short sigh and went running back to the shrimp.

When he saw her grab the guy’s hands and lean down to kiss him on the cheek, Andy had some evil thoughts. Maybe arrest him for being unsightly. Then beat the guy to death with one of those new titanium tennis rackets.