.”
“Yeah,” he said, wishing she would go away.
“I’d love to learn to surf,” she said. “I like the sea. Summers, I
take two weeks in Atlantic City, lay around on the beach and get real
brown. I tan well. I have this very skimpy bikini that browns me all
over.” She laughed with false modesty. “Well . . .
Almost all over. They don’t approve of bikinis that small in Atlantic
City.”
Leland looked at her over the rim of his coffee cup.
She met his eyes and held them until he looked down again.
“Burg and fries!” the cook called from the serving window which
connected the restaurant to the kitchen.
“Yours,” she said quietly. She went and got the food, put it down
before him. “Anything else? ”
“No,” he said.
She leaned against the counter again, talking while he ate. She worked
hard at her ingenuousness. She giggled, did a lot of blinking and
practiced blushing. He decided she was five years older than he had
first thought.
“Could I have another cup of coffee?” he asked at last, just to be rid
of her for a few moments.
“Sure,” she said, picking up his empty cup and walking back toward the
tall chrome brewer.
Watching her, Leland felt an odd vibration pass through him-and then he
was seeing her without her clothes, just as he had before. He was not
just imagining what she would look like when she was nude. He actually
saw her as clearly as he saw the normal features of the diner around
her. Her long legs and round buttocks were taut as she stood on her
toes to check the filter in the top of the huge pot. When she turned,
her breasts swayed, nipples swelling even as he watched.
Closing his eyes, Leland tried desperately to erase the vision.
Opening them, he saw that it remained. And second by second, the longer
it remained, the stranger he felt.
He closed his hand around the knife she had given him. He lifted the
knife and held it before his face and looked at the bright serrated
edge. Then the blade softened, diffused, as he looked beyond it to the
nude girl walking slowly toward him, walking toward him as if through
syrup, her bare breasts moving sensuously with each step . . . He
thought of putting the knife between her ribs, deep between them, then
twisting it back and forth until she stopped screaming and gave him a
rictus of welcome . . .
Then, when she was almost up to him, the overfilled coffee cup balanced
carefully in both her slim hands, Leland realized that someone was
watching him. He turned slightly on his stool and looked at the
middle-aged couple in the booth by the door. The man had a mouthful of
food, but he was not chewing it. Cheeks bulging, he was watching
Leland, watching the tight expression on Leland’s face and the knife
held up like a torch in the engineer’s big right hand. In the second
booth, the policeman had also stopped eating to watch Leland. He was
frowning, as if he didn’t quite know what to make of the knife.
Leland put the knife down and slid off the stool just as the waitress
arrived with the coffee. He fumbled for his wallet and threw two
dollars on the counter.
“You aren’t leaving, are you”‘ she asked. Her voice was faraway and
so icy that it made Leland shiver.
He did not answer her. He walked quickly to the door and went outside.
The day seemed fiercely bright as he hurried to the van.
Sitting behind the wheel of the Chevrolet, he heard his heart pounding
relentlessly against the walls of his chest. He drew breath in great
racking sobs and shuddered like a cold, wet dog.
Though she was not in sight now, and though he held his eyes tightly
shut, Leland could see the young waitress: her supple body, long bare
legs, widely spaced breasts . . . He could see himself leaning into her
with the blade, her fair skin parting, could see himself clambering over
the counter and taking her right there on the floor. No one would have