Down in the Zero

The kid got up, reaching in his pocket for the keys. 'I'll drive,' he said.

He pulled over just before the highway, Clarence right behind. We stood together in the dark.

'Be cool, Sonny,' Clarence told him.

'I will.'

The Prof gave him a light punch on the shoulder, waved at me, and climbed into the Rover.

In a minute, their taillights vanished.

'Burke?'

'What?'

'Is it okay…I mean, are you going to go to sleep?'

'I don't know. Why?'

'Well, I thought…if it was okay I'd go over and see Wendy.'

'It's almost four in the morning, Sonny.'

He blinked a few times at his new name, found his voice. 'She doesn't sleep. At night, I mean. That's when I go over. Around the back. I toss some dirt against her window and she comes out.'

'Go for it,' I told him.

I took a quick shower, changed my clothes, and headed the Lexus toward Fancy's. Halfway there, I reached for the car phone— tossing some dirt against a girl's window, you can do that when you're young— when you still believe in things.

'Hello.' Her voice was thick with sleep.

'It's me. I wanted to be sure you were awake.'

'I…guess I wasn't. I didn't think you were coming.'

'I said I was.'

'I'm sorry.

'Don't be sorry for your thoughts. See you soon.'

All three cottages were dark. Lights on in the main house, different dots of brightness in the blackness. Like a constellation.

Fancy's NSX was parked in the long driveway, carelessly sprawled, like it was abandoned. I didn't see a white Rolls–Royce anywhere. I walked past the fender of the Lexus, pulled the pistol free, slipped it into my jacket pocket.

Fancy opened the door, her face scrubbed clean of makeup, hair tousled. She was barefoot, dressed in a short blue nightie. The only light was a soft spill from somewhere in the back of the house…maybe the bathroom door standing open? I took off my jacket, draped it over the back of the couch. She walked over, reached for it.

'Don't touch that,' I told her. 'Just leave it where it is.'

'Yes sir.'

'Fancy…'

'Tell me what to do.'

Christ. I was tired. In my body, in my heart. Tired of games. Guessing games. 'Turn around,' I said.

She did it, her back to me, head slightly bowed. I found an amber glass ashtray standing on one of the broad arms of the couch— it hadn't been there the last time. I picked it up, looked around. In one corner, a bright red steamer trunk with two heavy straps wrapped around it, a thick pillow on top, like a gym mat. In the opposite corner, a four–legged, round–top wooden stool.

All set up.

I put the ashtray on top of the stool, picked them both up and carried them over to the side of the only easy chair in the room. I took out my cigarettes and a box of wooden matches, put them next to the ashtray.

I sat down in the chair, stretched my legs out. So tired.

Fancy was still standing, back to me. 'Come here, girl,' I said.

She walked over slowly, head down, hands clasped in front of her. When she got close enough, I reached up, took her left hand and pulled her down. As she tumbled forward, I kept pulling, turning her around so she spun into my lap. She made a purring noise as I put both hands on her hips, shifting her weight so she was sideways, her face in my neck. I patted her hip with my right hand, settling her in.

'Should I— ?'

'Ssshh,' I soothed her. 'Just be still.' I reached for the cigarette, got it lit, lay back, Fancy's springy girl– weight spread across me, sweetly balanced. I blew some tension out with the smoke.

Closed my eyes.

Fancy wiggled her bottom, just a mild tremor.

'Burke?'

'What?'