and stare at the sky.
“You outta here?” she called over, now. She wore Ray-Ban Wayfarers that sat askew on her face.
“Yeah,” he said.
“Job?”
“That’s right,” he called back. “New job.”
“Where at?”
“Tucson.” He felt Bernice kicking him and telling him he was an idiot. There was no point in leaving a big trail of clues behind.
“Where’s she ?”
Landis finished tying up a contractor bag of garbage, stood it up, and walked over to her. He didn’t feel like shouting his business, and he thought he probably ought to be polite and act normal, just in case some Columbo-type ever came around asking questions about him.
“We broke up,” he said.
“Really?” The woman yanked her glasses down her nose just enough to peek over them in what she probably thought was a sexy way, but Landis couldn’t help comparing her thighs, which were pale and dimpled, coming out of a pair of white shorts, to Bernice’s. Landis loved Bernice’s body, found it almost inconceivable luck that at his age he got to sleep with her. “You guys have a fight?”
“Not a fight. Things just kind of ran their course. You know how it is.”
“Oh, yeah, I know. That’s my life in a nutshell. Want a beer?”
Landis looked up at the sun—it wasn’t yet noon. “No, I believe I’ll hold off,” he said. “I get started now, the day’ll be over before I get anything done.”
“I don’t plan on getting anything done,” she said. “That makes life a hell of a lot easier.” She ground out one cigarette and extracted another from her pack of Winstons. “It’s a shame we never really got to talk much, and now here you are leaving.”
“Well,” he said, but could think of nothing to follow it with.
“None of my business, I know, but that’s probably for the best. I never thought you two were right for each other. You seem more or less normal, but her—” she brought a red lighter to the end of her cigarette, lit the end, inhaled deeply, then dropped the lighter back on the plastic table and exhaled. “She just didn’t seem right. Nervous.”
“She’s a little high strung. She’s from back east.” He’d learned that in the West this information could be used to explain a remarkable
number of personality failures. He didn’t add that he, too, was from back east, originally.
“I know about that. I meet lots of types doing what I do. I’m a nanny.”
“How come you’re out here all the time, then?”
She blew more smoke. “I’m between jobs.”
“Well,” he said again.
“That’s a deep subject.” She laughed. “Get it?”
“Ho ho,” said Landis.
“I just hope they’re as normal as you.”
“Who?”
“Whoever moves in next. Before you was a half-breed or a Mex, I never could tell. Spooky quiet. I believe he moved up to South Park someplace. I wouldn’t be surprised if he killed someone, or was a terrorist, even. I keep waiting to see his face on the evening news.” Her skinny, black-and-white cat pushed its way out the screen door behind her and started rubbing up against her leg. “Hey, Blaster,” she said.
“Well, I can’t say,” said Landis. “It’s not up to me.” He’d rented the place through an ad in the paper, sent his checks to something called TNC Development at a PO box in Denver.
“You got any eight-track tapes in there?”
“No.”
“I got a player, but I only got four tapes for it, and one of them doesn’t work, and one of them is by Chicago and I can’t stand it. Got it at a flea market—I figure it’s a collector’s item, or will be.”
“Can I check that out?” Landis motioned to her copy of the Gazette .
She held it out to him. “Keep it,” she said. “I already did the puzzle.”
Landis took the paper back to his own stoop, sat down. There was a story about how the United States had accidentally bombed an
Afghan wedding party, another about the fire in Woodland Park. He turned to the Local section. Nothing, just more about
“You outta here?” she called over, now. She wore Ray-Ban Wayfarers that sat askew on her face.
“Yeah,” he said.
“Job?”
“That’s right,” he called back. “New job.”
“Where at?”
“Tucson.” He felt Bernice kicking him and telling him he was an idiot. There was no point in leaving a big trail of clues behind.
“Where’s she ?”
Landis finished tying up a contractor bag of garbage, stood it up, and walked over to her. He didn’t feel like shouting his business, and he thought he probably ought to be polite and act normal, just in case some Columbo-type ever came around asking questions about him.
“We broke up,” he said.
“Really?” The woman yanked her glasses down her nose just enough to peek over them in what she probably thought was a sexy way, but Landis couldn’t help comparing her thighs, which were pale and dimpled, coming out of a pair of white shorts, to Bernice’s. Landis loved Bernice’s body, found it almost inconceivable luck that at his age he got to sleep with her. “You guys have a fight?”
“Not a fight. Things just kind of ran their course. You know how it is.”
“Oh, yeah, I know. That’s my life in a nutshell. Want a beer?”
Landis looked up at the sun—it wasn’t yet noon. “No, I believe I’ll hold off,” he said. “I get started now, the day’ll be over before I get anything done.”
“I don’t plan on getting anything done,” she said. “That makes life a hell of a lot easier.” She ground out one cigarette and extracted another from her pack of Winstons. “It’s a shame we never really got to talk much, and now here you are leaving.”
“Well,” he said, but could think of nothing to follow it with.
“None of my business, I know, but that’s probably for the best. I never thought you two were right for each other. You seem more or less normal, but her—” she brought a red lighter to the end of her cigarette, lit the end, inhaled deeply, then dropped the lighter back on the plastic table and exhaled. “She just didn’t seem right. Nervous.”
“She’s a little high strung. She’s from back east.” He’d learned that in the West this information could be used to explain a remarkable
number of personality failures. He didn’t add that he, too, was from back east, originally.
“I know about that. I meet lots of types doing what I do. I’m a nanny.”
“How come you’re out here all the time, then?”
She blew more smoke. “I’m between jobs.”
“Well,” he said again.
“That’s a deep subject.” She laughed. “Get it?”
“Ho ho,” said Landis.
“I just hope they’re as normal as you.”
“Who?”
“Whoever moves in next. Before you was a half-breed or a Mex, I never could tell. Spooky quiet. I believe he moved up to South Park someplace. I wouldn’t be surprised if he killed someone, or was a terrorist, even. I keep waiting to see his face on the evening news.” Her skinny, black-and-white cat pushed its way out the screen door behind her and started rubbing up against her leg. “Hey, Blaster,” she said.
“Well, I can’t say,” said Landis. “It’s not up to me.” He’d rented the place through an ad in the paper, sent his checks to something called TNC Development at a PO box in Denver.
“You got any eight-track tapes in there?”
“No.”
“I got a player, but I only got four tapes for it, and one of them doesn’t work, and one of them is by Chicago and I can’t stand it. Got it at a flea market—I figure it’s a collector’s item, or will be.”
“Can I check that out?” Landis motioned to her copy of the Gazette .
She held it out to him. “Keep it,” she said. “I already did the puzzle.”
Landis took the paper back to his own stoop, sat down. There was a story about how the United States had accidentally bombed an
Afghan wedding party, another about the fire in Woodland Park. He turned to the Local section. Nothing, just more about
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