Needful Things - Stephen King [222]
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?
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 seems 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 getting ready to break up; it had been an unusually short meeting.
Thank God 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-Prick 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-Prick Pratt, and what a lovely change that would be! Yes, indeed! Yes, indWhat 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 what I did, she thought. In fact, I hope it's something really mean. He deserves a mean trick, looking like Mr.
Weatherbee but having all those disgusting magazines. I hope he chokes when he walks into his office.
"Yes, I hope he fucking 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.
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 space 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." 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