Warm and Willing - Lawrence Block [32]
She dreamed for the first time in weeks. Not the usual dream, the dream of being chased. This was a gentler dream and one which did not wake her, although she remembered it quite clearly in the morning.
In the dream, she was standing upon the peak of a small hill with rolling lawn stretching out in all directions as far as she could see. The sun was high in the sky, the grass flawlessly green. She was dressed in a formal gown and had a rose in her hair. And then, slowly but surely her clothes began to melt away, stitch by stitch and layer by layer. The gown went, and then her slip and her shoes, and her bra and panties and stocking until she stood nude on the top of the hill. And then flesh began to melt away in the same fashion, slowly dreamily, and then her bones, until she had gradually vanished and only the rose from her hair remained, floating a few feet in space above the crest of the hill.
It was not a frightening dream. The melting process had nothing fearsome in it. It was quite gentle. But when she thought about the dream the next day it bothered her. She wondered what it meant and decided it might best not to think about it. She never mentioned it to Megan.
“You’re a hard girl to get hold of,” someone said. She spun around and looked up at the man who had spoken. It was Ed Vance.
“I tried calling you,” he said. “Your number’s not listed. Then I tried to reach you at work but I didn’t remember the name of the shop, just where it was.” He grinned. “So I decided to take a long lunch hour and make another pilgrimage to the Village. Come have lunch with me and my labors will be rewarded.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not? When’s your lunch hour?”
“In a few minutes. But—”
“Then what’s the problem?”
The problem was that she did not want to see him. He was pushy and she felt threatened when he was with him. As far as he was concerned, she was a manless woman who would be a relatively easy mark. And Tom had probably said something about her, something to the effect that she was frigid, a piece of ice. A man like him would take that as a challenge, anxious to prove himself as a man by melting the ice with her.
“I’m meeting someone for lunch.”
“Someone?”
“Yes.”
“Anyone I know?”
“I don’t think so.”
He looked at her. She turned away, avoiding his eyes. The store was empty now. If a customer had come in she would have had an excuse to slip away from Ed and make herself look busy, but customers only came when she didn’t want them around.
“So you’re meeting someone,” he said.
“That’s right.”
“Well that’s what happens when a guy doesn’t call. I figured you might be free for lunch. And here it’s the other way around. You’re tied up for lunch, and if I had a dinner open and asked for that you probably would have been able to go, but I went and asked you for lunch. That’s the way it goes.”
She didn’t say anything.
“You don’t have a dinner date, though. Do you?”
“Well no, but—”
“Good.” A quick, predatory flash of smile. “I’ll pick you up here at five-thirty. Don’t forget, Rhoda.”
He was gone before she could think of anything to say.
There was one way to get him out of her hair for good, she thought. All she had to do was tell him the truth. He might have visions of himself bringing a heretofore frigid girl to Nirvana, but once she told him she was a lesbian he would stay away from her.
But how? Just blurt it out? She couldn’t quite see herself doing that. It wasn’t that she was ashamed of what she was but the idea of putting it into words for him didn’t set right. There had to be a way. But she couldn’t see it, not yet.
She could she have dinner with him. At four-thirty she told Mr. Yamatari