IT'S - Chapter 6

"Washington, Wet and Wild" - (Diane Reese)

Washington, D.C., is a sad place when it's raining. The streets are wide and dreary, the people focus on the pavement ahead of their faces and on the briefcases swinging at their sides. They all have a mission, they're all out to save something, even if it's only their own patronage jobs. The rain washes the umbrellas of the tourists, the ages of grime from the monuments, and the tears from the wireframe glasses of Delores Darryl Lauder, hurrying to her office through the gloom.

Monday mornings were the worst; she'd busied herself in so many productions at Cedar Lane Stage since David had left that she hardly noticed the passing of the weekends. But Monday mornings dawned empty and hollow. She always ate the same breakfast now: Peter Max LOVE cereal with plain yogurt stirred in and a cup of grain beverage instead of coffee; David had loved the smell of fresh-roasted coffee. She had hoped that improving her diet would give her something else to concentrate on; so far, it reminded her only of what she'd lost.

Her office building perched on the fringes of one of Washington's hipper residential districts, just far enough downtown to be "downtown," but far enough out that you could ignore the political maneuverings and pretend you were somewhere else. Which is what Delores was doing on this dreary morning. Pretending she was in Fanwood, New Jersey; Dallas, Texas; Boulder, Colorado; anywhere but on the D.C. Metro, anywhere but crossing Connecticut Avenue, anywhere but waiting for this elevator on the third consecutive rainy Monday morning this month.

The empty elevator arrived and she stepped in. Just as the doors were sliding closed, a small, dark figure darted in from the rain-dampened lobby. He carefully flicked a few droplets from his pencil-thin umbrella and lovingly adjusted the linen handkerchief in the pocket of his grey Armani suit jacket and the part in his meticulously styled dark hair.

"He doesn't need those Vuarnet shades today," Delores thought, eyeing him from the other side of the elevator, and as he removed them with a smooth gesture, Delores sucked in her breath.

"Oh, my God! It can't be!" her brain pounded: She'd know that awful face anywhere. . .

* * * * *

"Hey, Mikey, check it out! Here comes FlatChester!"

"Yeah, Roger, give her a raspberry! Phhhhhht!! Heh heh heh!"

There they were again, the scourges of Dee's existence: Roger Morris, John Coulter, and Mikey Cohen, posted in their usual morning positions at the side door of Terrill Junior High School. It was bad enough that she'd had to move all the way across the country just at the start of seventh grade. But why did they have to make fun of her for being smart, for being skinny, for being shy? If there were any way to get to school without taking this path, she surely would have done it.

"What's that you got on, OmeletEggHead, a purple potato sack?"

"Hey, cat gotcher tongue? Eeyew, who'd want HER tongue? Heh heh heh!"

They always delighted in embarrassing her, in making her the butt of their jokes and taunts. And out here on the path, there was no one to take her side. Oh, how she wanted to be back in Boulder again! If wishes could come true, one of The Winners Club would be dashing around the corner of the school building right now, running over to grab hands just as they did when they fought The Menace together, and they'd race up the steps into Mr. Koch's history class, and . . . THUMP! THUD! WHAM!

"Hey, FourEyes, how many books you think you can carry at one time, huh?" Her armload of books, her only solace in this unfriendly New Jersey world, crashed to the pavement and her poems scattered to the wind.

"Whadya say we use some of this here paper for spitballs, huh, guys?"

Mikey's face was pressed close to hers; she was trying not to let him see her crying, but his eyes caught hers and a look of disgust came over his face.

"Aw, let's get outta here, youse guys. Twiggy ain't no fun, anyway. Hear them cowbells? Mooo! Mooooo! Heh heh heh!"

Mikey batted at her necklace and the three boys sauntered off, laughing with each other and tearing her papers into spitball-sized shreds. She collected herself and her textbooks, wiping her eyes on the sleeve of the day-glo cullotte dress her mom had just made for her. She had been proud of its epaulets and the beads and bells she'd finally gotten up the courage to wear; now she was ashamed of how she looked. Mikey and his boys were the arbiters of taste at Terrill Junior High, and now she was marked as a fashion pariah, as well. Maybe if she failed the spelling test in Mrs. Jackson's Language Arts class today, the other kids would think she was one of the gang and start to like her. As she remembered Mikey's grinning face, she wished she were back in Boulder with her friends again, despite all the troubles they'd been through together . . . or maybe because of them. She tried valiantly to keep the tears from streaking her face; there was another schoolday ahead.

* * * * *

As she snapped back into the present, Delores shook her head as if to push the old thoughts from her mind and was surprised to hear herself saying aloud, "Mikey Cohen."

Her elevator companion turned with a start and exclaimed, "What? Yeah, I'm Mike Cohen, do we know each other? I don't think. . . we've. . . ever. . ." and his words slowed to a halt as he eyed Delores carefully, quizzically.

"Delores Lauder. We went to Terrill Junior High together."

A flash of recognition lit up his face. "Wow, ain't that a real coincidence! So what are you doin' here, Dee-Dee Babe? I lobby for the Tobacco Institute on the 12th floor, how 'bout you?"

His false smile, outstretched hand, and sloppy speech told Delores all she needed to know: Mikey hadn't changed a bit. She shook his hand reluctantly and told him she worked for the regional planning agency on 14.

"Hey, we gotta get together sometime, talk about old times, y'know?" He grinned and saluted as he sauntered off the elevator. Delores tried to put the incident out of her mind as she shifted her focus to the busy day ahead.

Eleven hours later, Delores's thoughts were on the algorithm she was trying to fit into her sewage system simulation model, and she didn't notice her companion on the elevator.

"Hey, what a weird thing, twice in one day, huh? I guess we was both working late. Yuppies unite! Heh heh heh."

That ugly laugh again.

As they left the building, Delores tried to shake him off. "Yes, it is a strange coincidence, isn't it? Well, it's been nice to see you again, but I have to catch the Metro."

"No kiddin'! Me, too! You take the red line from Dupont Circle? So do I!"

The rain had stopped, but everything was damp and glistened from the lights in the shops on Connecticut Avenue. The walk to the station was interminable: Mikey wouldn't stop telling her about his job. They rounded the corner to the escalator leading to the Dupont Circle Metro. The long, dark, antiseptic tunnel down to the station felt even eerier than usual.

"You know the routine, I talk to foils, but it usually is a mute point. I have a real good focus on how the nucular family in America feels about the rights of they that choose to smoke, and I leave no stone undone in my endless efforts to secure his rights."

It was all Delores could do to suppress an urge to vomit. Why did she have to put up with listening to this drivel?

"Let myself decide what to do, smoking-wise, that's what I say. I'm anxious to get this heart-rendering message to every legislator in the U. S. of A., and I'll try and accomplish this in a year from now, if I'm lucky in that arena." He slid closer to her on the escalator step.

Down below in the dark, at the bottom of the lengthy escalator, two pinpoints of yellow light glowed faintly. There must be some track work going on below, Delores thought absently.

"So I says to my boss, 'Hank, if you would of gave that assignment to Bob and I, we could solution it.' He's such a cut-up, same like Roger Morris, remember him? Him and I were buddies through thick and thin, irregardless of anything!" and he threw his arm over Dee's shoulder, pulling her into his side on the escalator step and breathing down her neck. Delores didn't notice that the yellow lights had begun to pulse at the foot of the escalator.

She tried to squirm out of his grasp. "Take that arm away! NOW!!"

An explosive golden flash broke the darkness on the escalator as swiftly as a bursting balloon. A deep scream from Mikey's throat pierced the thick night air, but a rush of wind from the approaching subway muffled its impact. Delores felt herself whirling at the bottom of the escalator, but looked up to see Mikey's right arm spinning like a red and grey pinwheel on the floor near the farecard machine and the rest of his body hovering in the air above her. As Mikey's face passed in front of Delores, his terrified expression changed suddenly. In the blink of an eye, the face of each member of The Winners Club flashed across Mikey's face: Angus, Bob, Evelyn, Len, Dan, Dave, Warwick, John -- even Dee! She saw her own face melt into Mikey's tortured scream as his body flew across the empty station and into the tunnel, trailing an arc of blood and bits of grey wool.

A hissing sound filled the turnstile area as the train followed Mikey's twisted body into the tunnel. Was it possible someone whispered, "Mrs. Jackson gave him a 'D'. Her evaluation was correct." Dee's heart was pounding and her mouth fell open as she gasped for breath, when suddenly a hand rested on her shoulder. She leaped and turned, and was startled to see another familiar face from her past.

"Dee? What a surprise! Hey, is something wrong?"

Could it be? "Dan! Oh, my God! What on earth... ? Why--? Oh, you wouldn't believe what just happened! I can't -- but... oh, Danny!" She fell into his arms and they embraced with a strength that erased the many years that had passed since they were friends together in Boulder, since that wonderful summer weekend at SHARE in Chicago three years ago.

"Calm down! I'm in town for a writers' conference and was on the way back to my hotel. Are you okay? Gee, it's great to see you again!"

"Wait, look at this, a terrible thing has just happened, and I--." She turned to point at the farecard machines, but the arm was gone. A bunch of brightly colored balloons, long and thin and curved like apostrophes, were tied to the corner farecard machine with blood-red ribbons curling beneath them. A pair of Vuarnet sunglasses dangled among the ribbons. "Oh, Dan, I just don't understand this at all!"

"You obviously need to talk. Come back with me to the hotel."

He glanced at the balloons thoughtfully as he led her up the escalator and around the corner to the Black Horse Inn.

The Inn was really a well-kept row house on a residential street near the Circle. Its eight guest rooms were each small suites, decorated in antiques and featuring fireplaces set with fires each evening by the conscientious staff. The windows weren't often drafty, but the tidy blaze ensured comfort on any night of the year. Dan's third-floor room was comfortably warm as he turned the key and they moved inside, their arms interlocked around each other's waists. They shed their raincoats quickly and sank into the chintz loveseat. Delores continued her explanation.

"--and I'm sure there was a whistling sound, and something that sounded like speaking, but it was all over so fast. And it's been years since I've seen some of The Winners Club; why would I imagine their faces at that moment? I honestly think there's a chance that she could be... back." She shivered and leaned closer into his shoulder.

"Dee, stop, don't talk like that! You know we all decided years ago that if she ever returned, we'd all know. And we'd do what had to be done. Now, let's make up for some of those lost years since Chicago, hmmm? You're even more beautiful than that last time we met, you know."

He leaned over to sweep a curl from her forehead and kissed her ear gently. They both felt their pulses quicken.

"Danny, you know how much I've always cared for you. But it's difficult for me to relax now, after what just happened. . . although that's exactly the right spot to rub on my neck. Mmmmm. . ."

His fingers plied her muscles, smoothing out the tension and bringing her closer to him. The fire crackled and gleamed in the corner, and for a brief moment, they were young lovers again in their memories, entwining and caressing in the heat of the midday Chicago sun, their bodies sliding and glistening, their embraces salty and fiery. The passion they'd felt in Chicago was unlike anything either of them had known before or since, and they both felt a driving compulsion to recapture and prolong it there in the shadow of the fireplace at the Inn.

Their kisses were deep and strong, their hands were everywhere, remembering every contour of the other's face and body, just as if it had been yesterday. Their clothing began to slip away as they pressed closer to each other, as the heat from the fireplace and their own passions became more intense. Their lips touched again, hungrily, the flames in their hearts pressed into their throats, and as they slipped together onto the braided rug, there was a sudden -- SNAP! CRANGG!!

"Damn! Dee, look out!" They both sprang up, avoiding the embers that had leapt out of the grate and onto the loveseat. Dan grabbed his sweater and smothered the spot. "Jeez, I'm sure that grate was closed when we came in. I checked it! We could have been burned!"

They curled back up on the rug slowly, folding themselves together in an afghan pulled from the loveseat and breathing more normally.

"Dan, don't you see? It's part of the same pattern as before." Between phrases, Delores outlined Dan's face with warm, tender kisses and traced his hairline around the side of his neck. "I mean, think about what just happened to me in the Metro. One minute, Mikey was wrapping his slimy arm around my shoulders and the next minute his whole arm was gone."

"Like my arm is wrapped around you now?" Dan asked, leaning over to accept another kiss, but as the words came from his mouth, a thin burning log arose from the fireplace with a loud hissing sound, whirled around the room, and carved the characters "A S!" into the draperies. Its whistling backdraft blew open several books on the coffeetable and a disembodied female voice harrumphed, "The Winners Club, indeed!" before the log crashed back into the fireplace in a shower of cinders.

Delores and Dan watched the log in awe and stared at the draperies, speechless, then looked deeply into each other's eyes. "It's back."

"Jeez, let's put this fire out right away! Where's the fire bucket?" An old coal bucket on the mantle was filled with sand, and Dan went to work dousing the fire.

"Look at this, Dan!" Delores inspected one of the coffeetable books, an atlas. "It's opened to the map of Colorado -- and some of the cinders have fallen on it, right where Boulder is! And didn't you hear what she said? I think we have to face it: The Winners Club has to regroup! And I think we both know where."

"Yeah, let's get to Boulder, fast. We can get a flight tomorrow morning... that is, if you'll come with me?" Dan looked up expectantly as he stirred the last embers of the dying fire.

"Danny, I'll go anywhere with you. We're stronger if we fight this together: We're The Winners Club, remember?"

"We're stronger when we do anything together, Darling." He moved towards the desk, reaching to turn on the light. "I have all of their phone numbers in my briefcase--."

"Wait, Dan." Dee's hand rested on his arm as she stood near him in the darkened room, the afghan thrown over her shoulders. "I think there's time enough for that tomorrow, don't you? You and I have some things to catch up on tonight." She turned him towards her face and smiled, bringing him close to her skin.

"Yes, we do, at that." They moved together towards the inner room. "I'll contact the others when we get back to Boulder."

"Who knows, My Dear, some of them may be in Boulder already," Delores said, but their minds were drifting already to other states and other pleasures...

Table of Contents - Chapter 5 - Top of Page - Chapter 7 -
Off The Wall - Callahan's Saloon