Needful Things Part 49

"Is it about Nettie?"

"It's about Wilma Jerzyck... but if my hunch is right, Nettie comes into it, yes. If I find anything out, I'll tell you later. In the meantime, will you do something for me?"

"Alan, I'm buying it! They're not your hands!"

"No, I expect you to buy it. I want you to pay him by check, that's all. There's no reason why he shouldn't take one-if he's a reputable businessman, that is. You live in town and you bank right across the street. But if something shakes out funny, you've got a few days to put a stop on payment." he's a reputable businessman, that is. You live in town and you bank right across the street. But if something shakes out funny, you've got a few days to put a stop on payment."

"I see," Polly said. Her voice was calm, but Alan realized with a sinking feeling that he had finally missed his footing on one of those slippery stepping-stones and fallen headlong into the stream. "You think he's a crook, don't you, Alan? You think he's going to take the gullible little lady's money, fold his tent, and steal off into the night."

"I don't know," Alan said evenly. "What I do do know is that he's only been doing business here in town for a week. So a check seems like a reasonable precaution to take." know is that he's only been doing business here in town for a week. So a check seems like a reasonable precaution to take."

Yes, he was being reasonable. Polly recognized that. It was that very reasonableness, that stubborn rationality in the face of what seemed to her to be an authentic miracle cure, that was now driving her anger. She fought an urge to begin snapping her fingers in his face, shouting Do you SEE that, Alan? Are you BLIND? Do you SEE that, Alan? Are you BLIND? as she did so. The fact that Alan was right, that Mr. Gaunt should have no problem at all with her check if he was on the up-and-up, only made her angrier. as she did so. The fact that Alan was right, that Mr. Gaunt should have no problem at all with her check if he was on the up-and-up, only made her angrier.

Be careful, a voice whispered. Be careful, don't be hasty, turn on brain before throwing mouth in gear. Remember that you love this man.

But another voice answered, a colder voice, one she barely recognized as her own: Do I? Do I really?

"All right," she said, tight-lipped, and slid across the seat and away from him. "Thank you for looking after my best interests, Alan. Sometimes I forget how badly I need someone to do that, you see. I'll be sure to write him a check."

"Polly-"

"No, Alan. No more talk now. I can't not be mad at you any longer today." She opened the door and got out in one lithe gesture. The jumper rode up, revealing a momentary heart-stopping length of thigh.

He started to get out on his own side, wanting to catch her, talk to her, smooth it over, make her see that he had only voiced his doubts because he cared about her. Then he looked at his watch again. It was nine minutes of three. Even if he pushed it, he might miss Brian Rusk.

"I'll talk to you tonight," he called out the window.

"Fine," she said. "You do that, Alan." She went directly to the door beneath the canopy without turning around. Before he put the station wagon in reverse and backed out into the street, Alan heard the tinkle of a small silver bell.

5.

"Ms. Chalmers!" Mr. Gaunt cried cheerfully, and made a small check-mark on the sheet beside the cash register. He was nearing the bottom of it now: Polly's was the last name but one.

"Please... Polly," she said.

"Excuse me." His smile widened. "Polly." "Polly."

She smiled back at him, but the smile was forced. Now that she was in here, she felt a keen sorrow at the angry way she and Alan had parted. Suddenly she found herself struggling just to keep from bursting into tears.

"Ms. Chalmers? Polly? Are you feeling unwell?" Mr. Gaunt came around the counter. "You look a trifle pale." His face was furrowed with genuine concern. This is the man Alan thinks is a crook, Polly thought. If he could only see him now- "It's the sun, I think," she said in a voice that was not quite even. "It's so warm outside."

"But cool in here," he said soothingly. "Come, Polly. Come and sit down."

He led her, his hand near but not quite touching the small of her back, to one of the red velvet chairs. She sat upon it, knees together.

"I happened to be looking out the window," he said, sitting in the chair next to hers and folding his long hands into his lap. "It looked to me as if you and the Sheriff might be arguing."

"It's nothing," she said, but then a single large tear overspilled the corner of her left eye and rolled down her cheek.

"On the contrary," he said. "It means a great deal."

She looked up at him, surprised... and Mr. Gaunt's hazel eyes captured hers. Had they been hazel before? She couldn't remember, not for certain. All she knew was that as she looked into them, she felt all the day's misery-poor Nettie's funeral, then the stupid fight she'd had with Alan-begin to dissolve.

"It... it does?"

"Polly," he said softly, "I think everything is going to turn out just fine. If you trust me. Do you? Do you trust me?"

"Yes," Polly said, although something inside, something far and faint, cried out a desperate warning. "I do-no matter what Alan says, I trust you with all my heart."

"Well, that's fine," Mr. Gaunt said. He reached out and took one of Polly's hands. Her face wrinkled in disgust for a moment, and then relaxed into its former blank and dreaming expression. "That's just fine. And your friend the Sheriff needn't have worried, you know; your personal check is just as good as gold with me."

6.

Alan saw he was going to be late unless he turned on the flasher-bubble and stuck it on the roof. He didn't want to do that. He didn't want Brian Rusk to see a police car; he wanted him to see a slightly down-at-the-heels station wagon, just like the kind his own dad probably drove.

It was too late to make it to the school before it let out for the day. Alan parked at the intersection of Main and School streets instead. This was the most logical way for Brian to come; he would just have to hope that logic would work somewhere along the line today.

Alan got out, leaned against the station wagon's b.u.mper, and felt in his pocket for a stick of chewing gum. He was unwrapping it when he heard the three o'clock bell at the Middle School, dreamy and distant in the warm air.

He decided to talk to Mr. Leland Gaunt of Akron, Ohio, as soon as he finished with Brian Rusk, appointment or no appointment... and just as abruptly changed his mind. He'd call the Attorney General's Office in Augusta first, have them check Gaunt's name against the con file. If there was nothing there, they could send the name on to the LAWS R & I computer in Was.h.i.+ngton-LAWS, in Alan's opinion, was one of the few good things the Nixon administration had ever done.

The first kids were coming down the street now, yelling, skipping, laughing. A sudden idea struck Alan, and he opened the driver's door of the station wagon. He reached across the seat, opened the glove compartment, and pawed through the stuff inside. Todd's joke can of nuts fell out onto the floor as he did so.

Alan was about to give up when he found what he wanted. He took it, slammed the glove compartment shut, and backed out of the car. He was holding a small cardboard envelope with a sticker on it that said: The Folding Flower Trick Blackstone Magic Co.

19 Greer St.

Paterson, N.J.

From this packet Alan slipped an even smaller square-a thick block of multicolored tissue-paper. He slipped it beneath his watch-band. All magicians have a number of "palming wells" on their persons and about their clothes, and each has his own favorite well. Under the watchband was Alan's.

With the famous Folding Flowers taken care of, Alan went back to watching for Brian Rusk. He saw a boy on a bike, cutting jazzily in and out through the clots of pint-sized pedestrians, and was alert at once. Then he saw it was one of the Hanlon twins, and allowed himself to relax again.

"Slow down or I'll give you a ticket," Alan growled as the boy shot past. Jay Hanlon looked at him, startled, and almost ran into a tree. He pedaled on at a much more sedate speed.

Alan watched him for a moment, amused, then turned back in the direction of the school and resumed his watch for Brian Rusk.

7.

Sally Ratcliffe climbed the stairs from her little speech therapy room to the first floor of the Middle School five minutes after the three o'clock bell and walked down the main hall toward the office. The hall was clearing rapidly, as it always did on days when the weather was fair and warm. Outside, droves of kids were shouting their way across the lawn to where the #2 and #3 buses idled sleepily at the curb. Sally's low heels clicked and clacked. She was holding a manila envelope in one hand. The name on this envelope, Frank Jewett, was turned in against her gently rounded breast.

She paused at Room 6, one door down from the office, and looked in through the wire-reinforced gla.s.s. Inside, Mr. Jewett was talking to the half-dozen teachers who were involved in coaching fall and winter sports. Frank Jewett was a pudgy little man who always reminded Sally of Mr. Weatherbee, the princ.i.p.al in the Archie comics. Like Mr. Weatherbee's, his gla.s.ses were always sliding down on his nose.

Sitting to his right was Alice Tanner, the school secretary. She appeared to be taking notes.

Mr. Jewett glanced to his left, saw Sally looking in the window, and gave her one of his prissy little smiles. She raised one hand in a wave and made herself smile back. She could remember the days when smiling had come naturally to her; next to praying, smiling had been the most natural thing in the world.

Some of the other teachers looked over to see who their fearless leader was looking at. So did Alice Tanner. Alice waggled her fingers coyly at Sally, smiling with saccharine sweetness.

They know, Sally thought. Every one of them knows that Lester and I are history. Irene was so sweet last night... so sympathetic... and so anxious to spill her guts. That little b.i.t.c.h.

Sally waggled her fingers right back, feeling her own coy-and totally bogus-smile stretch her lips. I hope you get hit by a dump-truck on your way home, you whory-looking thing, she thought, and then walked on, her sensible low heels clicking and clacking.

When Mr. Gaunt had called her during her free period and told her it was time to finish paying for the wonderful splinter, Sally had reacted with enthusiasm and a sour kind of pleasure. She sensed that the "little joke" she had promised to play on Mr. Jewett was a mean one, and that was all right with her. She felt mean today.

She put her hand on the office door... then paused.

What's the matter with you? she wondered suddenly. You have the splinter... the wonderful, holy splinter with the wonderful, holy vision caught inside it. Aren't things like that supposed to make a person feel better? Calmer? More in touch with G.o.d the Father Almighty? You You don't feel calmer and more in touch with anyone. You feel like someone filled your head up with barbed wire. don't feel calmer and more in touch with anyone. You feel like someone filled your head up with barbed wire.

"Yes, but that's not my fault, or the splinter's fault," Sally muttered. "That's Lester's fault. Mr. Lester Big-p.r.i.c.k Pratt."

A short girl wearing gla.s.ses and heavy braces turned from the Pep Club poster she'd been studying and glanced curiously at Sally.

"What are you you looking at, Irvina?" Sally asked. looking at, Irvina?" Sally asked.

Irvina blinked. "Nuffink, Miz Rat-Cliff."

"Then go look at it someplace else," Sally snapped. "School is out, you know."

Irvina hurried down the hall, throwing an occasional distrustful glance back over her shoulder.

Sally opened the door to the office and went in. The envelope she carried had been right where Mr. Gaunt had told her it would be, behind the garbage cans outside the cafeteria doors. She had written Mr. Jewett's name on it herself.

She took one more quick glance over her shoulder to make sure that little wh.o.r.e Alice Tanner wasn't coming in. Then she opened the door to the inner office, hurried across the room, and laid the manila envelope on Frank Jewett's desk. Now there was the other thing.

She opened the top desk drawer and removed a pair of heavy scissors. She bent and yanked on the lower left-hand drawer. It was locked. Mr. Gaunt had told her that would probably be the case. Sally glanced into the outer office, saw it was still empty, the door to the hallway still shut. Good. Great. She jammed the tips of the scissors into the crack at the top of the locked drawer and levered them up, hard. Wood splintered, and Sally felt her nipples grow strangely, pleasantly hard. This was sort of fun. Scary, but fun.

She re-seated the scissors-the points went in farther this time-and levered them up again. The lock snapped and the drawer rolled open on its casters, revealing what was inside. Sally's mouth dropped open in shocked surprise. Then she began to giggle-breathy, stifled sounds that were really closer to screams than to laughter.

"Oh Mr. Jewett! What a naughty boy you are!"

There was a stack of digest-sized magazines inside the drawer, and Naughty Boy Naughty Boy was, in fact, the name of the one on top. The blurry picture on the cover showed a boy of about nine. He was wearing a '50's-style motorcycle cap and nothing else. was, in fact, the name of the one on top. The blurry picture on the cover showed a boy of about nine. He was wearing a '50's-style motorcycle cap and nothing else.

Sally reached into the drawer and pulled out the magazines-there were a dozen of them, maybe more. Happy Kids. Nude Cuties. Blowing in the Wind. Bobby's Farm World. Happy Kids. Nude Cuties. Blowing in the Wind. Bobby's Farm World. She looked into one and could barely believe what she was seeing. Where did things like this come from? They surely didn't sell them down at the drugstore, not even on the top rack Rev. Rose sometimes preached about in church, the one with the sign that said ONLY EYES 18 YRS AND OLDER PLEASE. She looked into one and could barely believe what she was seeing. Where did things like this come from? They surely didn't sell them down at the drugstore, not even on the top rack Rev. Rose sometimes preached about in church, the one with the sign that said ONLY EYES 18 YRS AND OLDER PLEASE.

A voice she knew very well suddenly spoke up in her head. Hurry, Sally. The meeting's almost over, and you don't want to be caught in here, do you? Hurry, Sally. The meeting's almost over, and you don't want to be caught in here, do you?

And then there was another voice as well, a woman's voice, one Sally could almost put a name to. Hearing this second voice was like being on the telephone with someone while someone else spoke in the background on the other end of the line.

More than fair, this second voice said. It this second voice said. It seems seems divine. divine.

Sally tuned the voice out and did what Mr. Gaunt had told her to do: she scattered the dirty magazines all over Mr. Jewett's office. Then she replaced the scissors and left the room quickly, pulling the door shut behind her. She opened the door of the outer office and peeked out. No one there... but the voices from Room 6 were louder now, and people were laughing. They were were getting ready to break up; it had been an unusually short meeting. getting ready to break up; it had been an unusually short meeting.

Thank G.o.d for Mr. Gaunt! she thought, and slipped out into the hall. She had almost reached the front doors when she heard them coming out of Room 6 behind her. Sally didn't look around. It occurred to her that she hadn't thought of Mr. Lester Big-p.r.i.c.k Pratt for the last five minutes, and that was really fine. She thought she might go home and draw herself a nice bubble-bath and get into it with her wonderful splinter and spend the next two hours not thinking about Mr. Lester Big-p.r.i.c.k Pratt, and what a lovely change that that would be! Yes, indeed! Yes, ind- would be! Yes, indeed! Yes, ind- What did you do in there? What was in that envelope? Who put it there, outside the cafeteria? When? And, most important of all, Sally, what are you starting?

She stood still for a moment, feeling little beads of sweat form on her forehead and in the hollows of her temples. Her eyes went wide and startled, like the eyes of a frightened doe. Then they narrowed and she began to walk again. She was wearing slacks, and they chafed at her in a strangely pleasant way that made her think of her frequent necking sessions with Lester.

I don't care care what I did, she thought. In fact, I hope it's something really mean. He what I did, she thought. In fact, I hope it's something really mean. He deserves deserves a mean trick, looking like Mr. Weatherbee but having all those disgusting magazines. I hope he a mean trick, looking like Mr. Weatherbee but having all those disgusting magazines. I hope he chokes chokes when he walks into his office. when he walks into his office.

"Yes, I hope he f.u.c.king chokes," chokes," she whispered. It was the first time in her life she had actually said the f-word out loud, and her nipples tightened and began to tingle again. Sally began to walk faster, thinking in some vague way that there might be something else she could do in the bathtub. It suddenly seemed to her that she had a need or two of her own. She wasn't sure exactly how to satisfy them... but she had an idea she could find out. she whispered. It was the first time in her life she had actually said the f-word out loud, and her nipples tightened and began to tingle again. Sally began to walk faster, thinking in some vague way that there might be something else she could do in the bathtub. It suddenly seemed to her that she had a need or two of her own. She wasn't sure exactly how to satisfy them... but she had an idea she could find out.

The Lord, after all, helped those who helped themselves.

8.

"Does that seem like a fair price?" Mr. Gaunt asked Polly.

Polly started to reply, then paused. Mr. Gaunt's attention suddenly seemed to be diverted; he was gazing off into s.p.a.ce and his lips were moving soundlessly, as if in prayer.

"Mr. Gaunt?"

He started slightly. Then his eyes returned to her and he smiled. "Pardon me, Polly. My mind wanders sometimes."

"The price seems more than fair," Polly told him. "It seems divine." divine." She took her checkbook from her purse and began to write. Every now and then she would wonder vaguely just what she was up to here, and then she would feel Mr. Gaunt's eyes call hers. When she looked up and met them, the questions and doubts subsided again. She took her checkbook from her purse and began to write. Every now and then she would wonder vaguely just what she was up to here, and then she would feel Mr. Gaunt's eyes call hers. When she looked up and met them, the questions and doubts subsided again.

The check she handed to him was drawn in the amount of forty-six dollars. Mr. Gaunt folded it neatly and tucked it into the lapel pocket of his sport-jacket.

"Be sure to fill out the counterfoil," Mr. Gaunt said. "Your snoopy friend will undoubtedly want to see it."

"He's coming to see you," Polly said, doing exactly as Mr. Gaunt had suggested. "He thinks you're a confidence man."

"He's got lots of thoughts and lots of plans," Mr. Gaunt said, "but his plans are going to change and his thoughts are going to blow away like fog on a windy morning. Take my word for it."

"You... you're not going to hurt him, are you?"