The Lake

My God, I gotta get outa here!

She turned, made for the door, but with viselike fingers Mommy grabbed her again.

She was incredibly strong.

A hag at the back of the crowd elbowed her way to the front. She stroked Deana’s free arm, then plucked at her sweatshirt sleeve.

“Nice top you got there, young’un. Hey, Martha. Come an’ take a peek at this sweater. Sure ain’t Neiman Marcus, but it’s better’n the one you’re wearin’!”

Martha toddled over, her head shaking with every step. “Why, yes,” she said in a trembly voice. “You’re right there, Betty-Lou. Think I’ll have me this one. Jest my color, too.”

Betty-Lou shrieked with laughter. “Black? You aimin’ to wear it to ya funeral, Martha?”

Deana gasped. They’d take my sweater?

The bastards.

And there’d been a moment back there when I felt sorry for them!

Betty-Lou snatched at her sleeve.

She tore it down.

Exposing Deana’s bare shoulder.

Mommy Dearest hung on to her other arm.

There were whistles. Hoots of laughter. Hands tugged at the flapping black cloth. Deana’s left breast suddenly burst free.

She panicked, tearing herself away from Mommy’s iron grip. “Lemme GO!” she yelled. “HELP!!!”

“Whassamatter, dearie? Don’t ya like it here?”

The hags hadn’t enjoyed themselves so much in ages. Betty-Lou couldn’t stop cackling.

“Remember that time in Vegas, Martha? The night the lights went out at The Sands…”

Tearing herself free, kicking, shoving, knocking Mommy out of the way, Deana charged for the door.

With a triumphant yelp, she reached it, flung it open, and raced out into the night.

“Y’ain’t bein’ very friendly,” Mommy Dearest croaked after her. “Gals here only want a li’l ol’ chat. They get lonesome sometimes…”

“Hey. You like Tyrone Power?” yelled the raucous one. Her voice got carried away on the wind. Deana caught the words “He’s my favorite y’know. Did ya see The Mark of Zorro? Well, did ya?”

“Dear God,” Deana muttered as she ran. “What a madhouse. They plan to eat me alive, or talk me to death—they’ll have to catch me first!”

Way behind, she heard the inmates pile out of the house. They sounded bewildered. Confused. Gabbling to each other in high, tetchy voices. Going quiet as they hit the cool night air…

Deana didn’t stop till she was outside the gates. Only then did she draw to a halt, panting hard, trying to steady her breath.

Wow. I’m outa there.

Goddamn bitch!

Luring me in…

She grimaced.

Resident fuckin’ entertainer at the Zimmer City Rest Home?

Oh yeah?

Eat shit and die, you crazy old bitch!

Deana started to run uphill.

Toward Warren’s house.

THIRTY-NINE

A low growl brought her skidding to a halt.

Her heart lurched.

Sabre.

And Warren, holding Sabre’s lead, being yanked along as the dog rushed forward to greet her.

“Why, if it’s not the midnight runner! Good to see you, Deana.”

“Great to see you, too, Warren. And Sabre—how ya doin’, big boy?” She smoothed Sabre’s forehead. He got excited, danced back, then bounded forward, nudging his wet nose into her hand.

“Sure looks like he’s glad to see you again.”

“Yeah.”

His eyes were curious.

He looked at her torn sweater, at the left side of her bra gleaming white in the lamplight.

She seemed awfully upset.

He took off his fraternity warm-up and draped it around her shoulders.

“What happened to you back there?”

Deana gave a cracked sort of laugh. “Happened? Tell you what happened, Warren. Nearly finished up as entertainer of the year, that’s what happened.”

He frowned, wanting to know more but not asking.

Laughing shakily, she held on to his arm.

“Remind me to tell you about it sometime.”

He guided her to his place, his arm around her waist. She liked the way it felt. His arms around her. His jacket around her. Making her feel warm and safe.

Most of all, safe.

Sabre trotted by Warren’s side, eyes eager and bright, his ears held high.

Guess he is glad to see me, she thought. Could have done with him when I visited the old folks’ home. He’d have come in real handy…

“Anyway, Warren,” she said, quietly, pushing the vision of distressed gentlefolk out of her mind. “Are you glad to see me?”

He stared at her quizzically, a broad smile spreading across his features. “Yes,” he said simply. “I’m very glad to see you again.”

“Came to ask if you’d like to have dinner with Mom and me sometime.” Adding, “Mom would really like to meet you.”

“Think I’d pass the grade?”

“What’s up, Warren? Running scared? You did say you’d like to see me again. And I said I might be out one night and that we could arrange something?”

He scratched his head. “Yep. I believe I do recall something along those lines…”

“Warren—are you coming to dinner at my house, or what?”

“It’ll be my pleasure, Deana. But why not use the phone? Would’ve been easier than running up here in the dark… getting…”

Mauled by Mommy Dearest’s buncha geriatric weirdos? You’re not kidding…

“’Cause I like running. Especially at night. Developed quite a taste for it, as it happens.”

“Deana. Does your mom know you’re out?”

“Get to the point, why don’t you, Warren? Matter of fact, she doesn’t. It’s just that it seems so exciting for us to meet in secret like this.”

“Mmmm,” he said, his eyes twinkling. “Guess I feel a hot chocolate coming on. How ’bout you?”

“You bet,” she said, and smiled.