Coven

“I’m not cracking up. It’s just that I’ve got something going right now. A quest, a cleansing. Like the Sartre novel.”

Not that Sartre shit again, Wade fretted. The fucker’s been dead ten years and he’s still fucking up people’s lives.

Jervis gulped smoke and continued. “Don’t worry about me. You and Tom are my best friends. Just trust me on this, okay?”

“Sure, Jerv. We’re always around if you want to talk.”

Wade went back to his own room. He didn’t like any of this. It was bad enough to lose a friend to outside forces, but inside forces were worse. They were the ones that tore you apart.

He felt depressed. The whole day had been depressing, cleaning toilets, mopping floors. Being shit on by Officer Prentiss hadn’t exactly livened him up either. He was getting himself a bottle of Adams when he heard footsteps in the hall.

He ducked out and saw Tom disappear into his room.

“Hey! Hey, Tom! Are we…”

Tom’s door closed. Had he been carrying something under his arm? It looked like a briefcase or something.

Wade strode down the hall, pushed open Tom’s door. “You must need a hearing aid. Are we going downtown tonight or what?”

Tom wasn’t in the room. Wade looked around slowly. He was sure he’d seen Tom enter, or at least he thought he was sure. He checked the bathroom, the closet. Tom wasn’t here.

Wade sputtered back to his room. The hall was dark; maybe Tom had gone to the exit stairs at the end of the hall, or maybe it had been someone else, a new student coming on. Or maybe—

Or maybe Lysol fumes are making me see things, he finished.

He had to find something to do tonight—there were only a few more days before classes started. Call up an old flame, he decided. Shit, he had enough old flames to start the Chicago fire. There were lots of girls who’d drop everything this minute to go out with him. He called Melissa over on the Hill, a gal who really knew her stuff. “Melissa, baby! This is Wade. Sorry I didn’t return your call the other day, but you know how it is.”

“No, Wade, I don’t. So tell me. How is it?”

“Well, you know, babe. I’ve been busy.”

“Yeah, I heard. Sorry, I don’t go out with toilet cleaners.”

“I—I—”

Click.

Next number. Wendy. Yeah. Real hot stuff. “Wendy, baby! This is Wade. You want to go out tonight? Dinner, a few drinks, a little cruising around in the Vette?”

“Well,” she said. “How about…no?”

“What do you mean no? We went out a lot last semester.”

“You didn’t clean toilets last semester either. What gall!”

Wade hung up. Don’t get discouraged, he thought slowly.

Wade got discouraged. Quickly.

He tried six more girls and struck out six more times. Nobody wanted to go out with guys who cleaned toilets—they’d all read the paper. In one day he’d gone from status symbol to comedy symbol.

The phone rang, a further mocking shrill. “Toilet Cleaners, Inc.,” he answered. “You flub ’em, we scrub ’em.”

Silence like reluctance stretched across the line. Then a dryly sexy woman’s voice inquired, “Is this Wade St. John?”

“Yes, it is, or what’s left of him.”

A long pause. Then: “This is Lydia Prentiss.”

Now it was Wade’s turn to pause. Hang up! Hang up! his thoughts barked. Don’t talk to the bitch! Hang up!

But he couldn’t. Somehow, he simply…couldn’t.

“You’re lucky you caught me,” he said. “I was just about to go out for some ‘joyriding through life on a silver platter.’ You know, a ‘spoiled rotten rich brat’ like me tends to keep active. Must be all that ‘family money and bullshit’ keeps a guy slick. This is quite a surprise, though. I didn’t know the ‘bottom of the barrel’ had a listing in the phone book. What can I do for you?”

Her voice faltered in snatches. “Mr. St. John, I’m calling to…” She sighed, almost forlornly. “I feel terrible about the things I said to you this morning.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, I really do.” She actually sounded choked up. “I don’t know what got into me. I had a really bad day in the first place. I got in an argument with my boss, then you walked in and I took it all out on you. I’m really sorry.”

“In other words, you’re…apologizing?”

“Yes,” she said.

Hmm. This could be interesting. “Well, it just so happens that I’m a very forgiving kind of guy, and, yes, I accept your apology.”

“Thank you,” she uttered.

“But of course apologies are just rhetoric, just talk, and talk lacks meaning. Don’t you agree?”

“Well—”

“And the best way for you to prove the meaning of your apology is to go out with me. Tonight. So what time do I pick you up?”

Now her pause raced for an exit. “I don’t think that would be a very good idea.”

“Oh, I see,” Wade said. “You’re just apologizing to clear your conscience.”

“It’s not that. It’s—”

“I know. You’d sooner drink your own urine than go out with me. Who writes your stuff, by the way? Rickles?”

“No, please. I…”

“That’s all right, I accept your apology anyway. Good night.”

Wade calmly hung up. He dropped his empty Adams bottle into the trash compactor and got himself another. When the phone rang again, he answered, “Joe’s Used Silver Platters. May I help you?”

“I’ll go out with you,” Lydia Prentiss said.

“Smart girl. Where do you live?”

“I’ll just meet you someplace.”

“All right. The Exham Inn? Nine o’clock?”

“That’s fine,” she said. “I’ll see you then.”

Confidence returned. He busied to get ready. Who knew? Perhaps the day wouldn’t be a complete catastrophe after all.

««—»»

The dark office tingled in the Supremate’s influence. Tom liked that. He liked the dark and its dim silver edge.

Hope this is the right stuff. Botching his first assignment was no way to begin an eternal relationship. Eternal. The word seemed to glow. I give you strength, the Supremate had promised. Wisdom. Eternal life.

Besser hadn’t been pleased with Tom’s methods. “Sloppy,” he complained. “We can’t afford that, not this early.” He grumbled further, flipping through the folders. “Be more careful in the future. At this stage, an influx of police would cause problems.”

Tom didn’t understand. “Who cares about the police? The Supremate has made us immortal.”

“You, yes. But not Winnie and me.”