Nemesis

Larry felt a little piqued. He looked at the girl again and he realized that once she had been quite lovely. She was about thirty-five now, he guessed, and she was still all right. Her features were finely chiseled and she wore enough make-up to make her look interesting but not cheap.

Her clothes looked like money. The steel gray suit she wore was a hundred dollar model and it fitted her slim body as if it enjoyed the job. She wore nylons and ankle strap sandals and her legs were the kind that would have looked good in anything. Even hip boots.

He felt unreasonably annoyed that she didn’t consider him worth more than a brief, uninterested glance, so he moved the next stool beside her and tapped her on the arm.

She looked at him and said, “Yes?”

“Look,” he said, “I don’t chase young children or have coughing fits. My hair lip is practically unnoticeable and I have a pound of butter in my back pocket. So I’m really a nice guy and you should be nice to me. Or don’t you think so?”

She looked at him for a moment with a puzzled expression and then she smiled. “You win,” she said. “You’re a nice guy. For a pound of butter I’d write mash notes to Rasputin.”

“That’s better. Can I buy you a drink?”

She shrugged. “We still have one, but you can buy another if you like.”

Larry waved to the bartender. “Two more of the same.”

“Fine,” he grinned. “I knew you two people would get along.”

They finished the drink and then had the next one. And that was when Larry realized he was getting a little tight.

His face felt hot and when he lit a cigarette it took him a long time to find the end of the cigarette with the lighted end of the match. He laughed about that and he wondered who was making all the noise.

When the girl told him to be quiet he realized that he had been listening to himself.

A little while later the girl suggested that he come home with her. He didn’t even know her name and that struck him as funny. Here he was being propositioned by an absolute stranger. Ridiculous.

He couldn’t go home with her, of course. He tried to explain very logically that it was simply impossible. Fran was getting dinner for him and he had to be there to tell her how much he enjoyed it. She didn’t understand. She told him to stop mumbling and finish his drink.

There was another drink in front of him and he didn’t know where it came from. He put it to his lips, but he couldn’t force it down. He wasn’t feeling so well now. He had to go home. Dinner was ready and Fran wouldn’t like it if he stayed out all night.

He felt cold wind on his face and he knew he was outside. His top coat was over his arm and someone had put his hat on his head at a crazy angle. The blonde was standing beside him, holding his free arm.

He didn’t remember getting into the cab, but its lurching motion almost made him sick. He leaned forward and tried to tell the driver to take him home, but the blonde pulled him back beside her.

“Just put your head on my shoulder,” she murmured. “We’ll be home in a little while.”

He tried to tell her he couldn’t go home with her, but he had trouble with the words. They choked up in his throat and stuck there like tennis balls.

He put his head on her shoulder and he knew he was going to pass out. His head was spinning and his body felt numb.

He made a last attempt to tell the blonde that Fran was waiting for him and then he gave up. He sank back against her and that was all he remembered.

Chapter II

He woke up by degrees. For a long interval he hung in a limbo that wasn’t sleeping or waking. Just a hazy in-between state.

Then his mind started to work. He had no physical sensation at all. All he had was disconnected thoughts that came out of white space.

He remembered things in strange sequence. There was Fran and a blonde. Drinks that made him sick and a wonderful dinner. A wise looking cab driver and a little brunette dice girl that liked his looks.

His first physical sensation was of lying down. On his left side with a pillow under his head. That meant he was in bed.

He tried to open his eyes and he couldn’t. He was becoming aware of pain in his head. A splitting pain that stretched across his forehead.

Finally he managed to get his eyes open but it didn’t help much. The room was almost dark. It smelled of liquor and stale smoke.

There was someone lying beside him. There was enough light for him to identify a head of silvery blonde hair and a finely chiseled profile. His right arm was flung across her chest.

More sensations were coming back. He raised himself on one elbow and the physical effort brought a black siege of nausea. When it passed he looked down at the girl.

She did not look pretty. Her lean features were twisted in a smile. But the smile had no humor in it. It was set and stiff and it wasn’t a smile at all.

Her face looked like cold wax. Her eyes were open, staring blandly at the ceiling.