What was she going to do, that was the big question. What was she
going to do?
Primo took a five-dollar bill from his pocket, rolled it into a tight
cone and attempted to poke it down Louise's cleavage.
She slapped his hand away, glaring at him. "What the hell you think
you're doing?"
"Giving you one helluva tip."
"Hey, mister-you can take your tip and stick it up your-" She caught
Harlan watching them. "Ah, forget it."
Primo got up and lumbered to the door. Harlan grabbed a few stray
french fries from the basket on the counter and followed him out to the
van.
"You saw that bitch in there," Primo said sourly. "Women-mark what I
say-they're all whores. You don't want nothin' t'do with any of em.
Remember that." He sprung open a can of beer and took a couple of
hearty swigs, then passed the can to the boy. "Try it," he
commanded.
"Don't wanna," Harlan replied, kicking the asphalt.
"Try it!" Primo repeated. "Be a goddamn man.
Gingerly Harlan took the can and managed a few sips, almost choking.
Primo laughed, grabbing the can back.
He felt like action.
He felt like doing something.
He felt like getting laid.
"It's not your fault, Eloise," Phil Roberts kept on assuring her.
Eloise, dressed and pink-cheeked, sat on the office couch sobbing into
a dainty lace handkerchief. "She'll tell your wife, I know she
will."
"Not if I get to her first," Phil said, attempting to calm her. "I can
explain what happened. Lauren's a good girl-she'll understand."
"What is there to understand?" Eloise raised her voice. "What we had
together was special and now it's . it's dirty."
"It's not dirty," Phil objected.
"Yes, it is," Eloise insisted, continuing to sob. "Everything's
ruined."
He didn't know how to cope with her. "Go home," he urged. "Let me
take care of this. By tomorrow it'll all be forgotten."
Eloise shook her head. "Your wife will destroy my reputation."
Prudently, Phil had not told her that Jane already knew about their
affair. "Go home, Eloise," he repeated firmly. "I have to find
Lauren.
I have to find her before she gets to Jane and opens up her mouth.
By the time the bus reached the stop nearest the trailer site it had
started to rain-huge wet droplets. And yet the sun was still shining
and the air remained muggy.
Lauren had visited Nick's trailer only once, but she was certain she
could find her way from the bus stop. She walked quickly down the
country lane, trying not to think about her father anymore. Nick would
solve all her problems. Nick would make everything all right.
It was a strange day, what with the heat and the rain-there seemed to
be a stillness in the air, everything was so quiet. A van roared past
her. She kept her head down and continued walking.
Eventually she spotted the trailer site up ahead and quickened her
pace. A pack of dogs foraged by the overflowing piles of garbage. How
could Nick live here? How could he put up with such a slum?
She recognized his trailer and hurried toward it. A big man was
getting out of the van parked outside, a small black boy by his side.
The man glanced up. "Looking' for someone?"
"Yes . . . Nick Angelo. Do you know if he's home?"
"Nick's my boy."
"I beg your pardon?"
"My boy, my son. Who're you?"
"Are you Mr. Angelo?"
"Yeah-that's me, all right. I'm the good-lookin' one in the family."
He roared at his own humor, and patted her on the arm.
So this was Nick's father, this big untidy lout with a can of beer
clutched in his right hand and a smarmy gap-toothed smile. Perhaps
this wasn't the right time to be visiting.
"I . . . I don't want to disturb anyone," she said unsurely. "Maybe I
should come back another time."
"Disturb? What's to disturb? Come on in," Primo said, flinging open
the door of the trailer.
Harlan attempted to attract her attention. "If you're lookin' for
Nick-" Primo pushed him roughly aside. "Come in," he insisted.
"Nick'll be here soon. You can wait, I'll enjoy the company."
Reluctantly she entered the cramped trailer and almost gaggedthe stench
of stale beer and sweat was overwhelming.
Harlan tried to follow them, but Primo shoved him out, kicking the door
shut. He gestured expansively. "Take a seat, anywhere'll do.
Want a beer?"
"No . . . no, thank you. Is Nick here?"
"The kid'll find him."
Primo checked her out. She was a pretty girl, a very pretty girl.
More than likely Nick had been slipping her a slice of the old Angelo
magic. Like father, like son. Yeah, the Angelo men-real studs.
Lauren felt extremely uncomfortable as she hovered nervously near the
door wishing Nick would appear.
"Will ya sit down," Primo insisted. "He'll be here soon. So "He
leered at her. "You two are old friends, is that it?"
"We go to school together. That is, we did-until Nick. . . uh .
left."
Primo snapped to attention. "Whaddaya mean, left?"
She hesitated; evidently Nick hadn't told his father about getting
expelled. She corrected herself quickly. "Oh . . . I mean when he
leaves . . . to go to his job, you know?"
"Yeah, yeah-his weekend job down at the gas station." Primo ran his
tongue across his teeth. "Didja try there?"
"They told me he'd quit." She knew as soon as she said it that she
shouldn't have.
He squinted at her. "Whaddaya mean, quit?"
"Uh, for the day. He quit for the day."
"Oh." Primo sprang open another can of beer. "Wanna swig?"
"I really have to be going, Mr. Angelo, my parents are expecting me.
He moved over to her, so close she could smell his foul breath.
"Pretty girl like you, bet there's always someone waitin'."
Now she felt more than uneasy. His huge physical presence was
threatening. Very carefully she began to edge toward the door.
With one fast move he blocked her. "Where ya going'?"
"I . . . I told you, I must get home."
His voice turned to a lewd whisper. "You an' Nick doin' it? You an'
my boy getting' it on?"
Her stomach turned, and she tried to move. He lunged forward, grabbing
her breast.
"Don't touch me! Don't you dare touch me!" she yelled, shrinking away
from him.
Primo chuckled. "Hey-feisty little chickie, huh? If Nick's doin' it
to ya, why can't I?"
Her eyes flashed angrily. "You'd better let me out of here or I'll
scream," she said, trying not to panic.
"Who's gonna hear ya, girlie? Ya think anyone around here cares?"
Out of the corner of her eye she noticed a kitchen knife lying on the
side of the sink. Slowly she backed toward it.
Primo was enjoying himself. "C'mon, chickie, loosen up. Ya fucked the
boy, don'tcha wanna fuck the man?" he said, leering lecherously as he
moved closer.
Her back was up against the sink. Carefully she maneuvered one hand
behind her, groping for the knife.
"I said let me out of here," she
repeated in a low angry voice, managing to get a firm grip on the
knife.
"When I'm ready," Primo replied, fiddling with his belt buckle.
"When I'm good an' ready."
Outside the sky suddenly darkened and lightning flashed across the
window, followed by heavy peals of thunder.
She clutched the knife tightly. "You'd better let me go on" He
guffawed. "Or what, princess?"
The lightning flashed again, once more followed by huge rumbles of
thunder. Outside the sky turned even darker, and the light rain
swelled to a heavy downpour.
Primo took no notice, so intent was he on getting what he wanted.
She decided that if this man touched her one more time she would stab
him.
Outside Harlan started hammering on the door. "Lemme in!" he
shouted.
"Lemme in!"
"Get lost!" Primo shouted back, unzipping his fly. "Get the fuck
outta here!"
Harlan continued to yell and hammer on the door. He sounded
desperate.
A strong wind howled eerily outside the trailer and the rain turned
into pelting hailstones.
"C'mere, girlie," Primo said, pulling at her as she tried once again to
dodge past him.
"Don't!" she warned.
He was in no mood to listen to her objections. He grabbed herforcing
his fleshy lips down on hers.
At school she'd learned self-defense and she put it to good usebringing
her knee up hard and sharp, catching him in the groin.
He let out a grunt of pain, but managed to hold on to her-bending her
backward until she could feel his disgusting hardness pressing up
against her, and she knew she had to do something drastic. Gripping
the knife behind her back she readied herself for action.
Primo pulled at her skirt, pushing it up and tearing at her panties.
"C'mon, y'hot little bitch, you're gonna love this," he muttered,
dropping his pants.
She lunged with the knife, blindly striking out as the trailer began to
rock in the wind and there was a frighteningly loud roaring sound.
Tornadthe thought flashed through her mind. Oh, God, it's a tornado!
ane Roberts was driving toward Main Street when the sky suddenly turned
ominously black and from out of nowhere giant hailstones began pounding
the windshield.
She pulled over to the side of the street, petrified, and waited for
the ferocious rain to stop, prayed for it to subside-for she had lived
in the Midwest all her life and knew what this kind of weather could
bring.
Louise peered out the wide front window of the drugstore and yelled to
Dave, "Honey, you'd better come on out here right now an' get a load of
this weather. It's raining hailstones bigger than golf balls."
Dave had hardly taken one step forward when in the distance they heard
a thunderous roar, getting louder by the second.
"Shit!" Dave said, running to the window.
"What?" Louise asked, catching his note of alarm.
"Sounds like a twister to me. Jesus! Can you see it out there?"
Indeed she could. A writhing gray funnel of death and destruction.
And it was heading in their direction.
Eloise was at the door of Phil's office, ready to leave, when the
sudden loud howling wind forced her to stand still. She turned to
Phil.
"What's that?" she asked, her voice quavering with fear.
He looked concerned. "I. . . I don't know. Put on the radio."
Eloise ran to the portable radio on her desk and switched it on.
A country-and-western singer twanged about her man doing her wrong.
The howling wind was getting louder by the second, and outside the sun
vanished and the sky turned black.
"Find the news," Phil snapped.
"I'm trying," Eloise said, frantically searching for the right
station.
"Try harder. I think we're in trouble."
Stock and Mack were in the middle of football practice on an open
field, while Meg was nearby rehearsing a new routine with the
and began yelling, "Everybody inside! Everybody into the gym!
Hurry! Go now! Hurry!"
Stock and Mack looked at each other. The sky was darkening, but they
hadn't thought a little bit of rain would interfere with football
practice.
Stock started to say, "What's his problem-" when Mack spotted the
powerful cone bearing down on them.
"Holy shit!" he said hoarsely. "We'd better move."
Mr. Lucas ran out of the main building. "Inside!" he yelled.
"Everyone get under cover. Run!"
Mack dashed over and grabbed Meg by the hand. She wished it was
Stock.
"What's the matter?" she asked. "What's all the panic?"
"We gotta get inside," Mack said. "Can't you see? There's a tornado
on the way.
Aretha Mae hurried to the side exit of the factory, looked outside and
shuddered. There, only miles away and moving fast, was an enormous,
howling, writhing funnel of gray dust bearing down in their direction,
destroying everything it passed.
Aretha Mae had never been a religious woman, but now she crossed
herself and fell to her knees. "Save Harlan, God," she whispered.
"Please, God-save my little boy." "Mop the floor."
"I wasn't hired to mop the floor."
"Fuckin' do it. I got health inspectors up my ass."
Q.J. was the boss. Rat-faced, with long greasy hair, an aquiline nose
and slit eyes. He wore a grubby white suit, cheap black shirt and
bright green tie. He wasn't very tall and he walked with a limp and
smoked thin cheroots. He hadn't reached forty yet, but was well on the
way if he didn't get knocked off first. Q.J. had plenty of enemies.
Nick grabbed a mop and went to work. He'd only been there a few hours
and was already thinking of quitting.
"Where'd ya find this bozo?" Q.J. demanded of Len, the so-called
chef.
Len looked down his long thin nose. "He walked in off the street. I
hired him on a temporary basis."
"Tell him I don't expect no lip."
"Yeah, yeah, I'll tell him."
They spoke about him as if he didn't exist. Surely they realized they
were fortunate to get anyone to work in such a crummy place?
The tired-looking stripper he'd caught a glimpse of earlier strolled
into the kitchen wearing nothing but a short kimono and a bright yellow
hairband.
"Hiya, Q.J."
"Hiya, doll."
"Lousy business."
"It's that time of year."
She opened the big industrial refrigerator, reached for the milk, drank
from the carton and put it back.
"That's a filthy habit, Erna," Q.J grumbled. "Some poor schnook's
gonna get your spit in his coffee."
"They should be so lucky." Erna yawned, reaching inside her kimono for
a vigorous scratch. "Who's the kid, Len?"
"We're tryin' him out," Len replied. "If he can break less than zero
he's got himself a job."
"He's cute," Erna remarked, with a little wink in Nick's direction.
"Put him out front-make him a busboy."
"Excuse me," Q.J. interjected. "I'm runnin' this place."
"Just a suggestion," Erna said, throwing Nick another wink.
"Maybe the ladies wanna look at something' for a change."
"Shit," Q.J. said, shaking his head at Len. "Now I gotta listen to
hirin' crap from your wife."
Len ignored him, he was busy pulling the innards from a chicken.
Nick wondered how Joey and Cyndra were doing. Before the night shift
began he wanted to get back to the hotel and check in. He took a quick