4.1.2008
Love with the Proper Killer
And you knew when you grew up that love would find you and it would be wonderful and change your life. And then it doesn't happen. Even when you wait and wait and everything seems right. Take Jerry Martin. This year's flavor? I don't know. Six months ago when those deep blue eyes looked over at me across a crowded seminar, music started playing. "You have a kind face," he said when he came over at coffee break. And you're a hunk, I thought. "Looking for kindness?" I raised an eyebrow. "Well, I missed the morning session and I was looking for someone to fill me in. The rest of this afternoon is pretty familiar stuff." "I did it last year." "Really?" A wave of thick dark hair fell over his forehead and he brushed it away with a gesture that made my heart jump. "Say, there's a quiet place around the corner where we could talk." "Lead the way." I grabbed my little attache case and pointed my size fives in his direction. I think he was after more than kindness. We talked till dinner and then ordered wine with the sole and salad. After that, it was dinner and drinks whenever we happened to be in town at the same time. Turned out his office is fairly near mine in the financial district. He's an auditor for a chain of retail stores. I'm a sales rep for a publishing company. It was nice having someone who looked like that to dream about, someone gentle but not a wimp. There was something about Jerry that made you want to listen to him. At least I did. Lately the single state hasn't seemed all that terrific. Chalk it up to a schedule that doesn't give me much social life. And to the fear that has been stalking my apartment complex. Someone has been doing break and enters but it isn't just property he's after. Women have been attacked. He was waiting when they came home from work. Times like this the coupled condition has a certain attraction. Even without the romance. And I've got to admit, Jerry was romantic. Little by little he became the only one I was seeing. Then one day he called. I always got a little thrill when I heard his voice on the phone. "I think it's time you met the most important person in my life," he says. Oh, oh. I phoned, Lou Ann, my best friend. "He wants me to meet his mother." "His mother? You two that far already? I think he's a real dreamy guy and all that. In fact, if I wasn't all involved with Laurence, and of course, if Jerry wasn't yours, I could really go for him. Nice looking, on his way up, non-smoker. A girl could do worse." "Jerry's great. But maybe he's jumping the gun. I don't know if I'm ready for anything serious..." "Why don't you give me his number? Laurence will understand." "Now hold on, Lou Ann. Do I horn in on your relationships?" "What relationships? Laurence? You can have him." "I'm happy with Jerry, thanks. And I've got to get ready." "Call me with details." I hung up, wondering. You know all those stories people tell about their best friend and their boyfriend? Oh, nuts. I could trust Lou Ann, couldn't I? I got out the dress I use for weddings and funerals. Sort of a purply-mauve with a little scarf. The finishing touch is the expensive matching pumps I bought on a quickie tour of Italy. "Hi. You look terrific," Jerry said, when he rang the doorbell at eight. "Don't you look swell, Donna," Mrs. Patrickson next door was just limping in from her senior's foot clinic on the arm of her nephew, Mac. "This is Jerry Martin," I said. Mac gave me a friendly smile. He was tall, blonde and good-looking. Mrs. Patrickson often said she hoped Mac and I would become romantically involved but our schedules never seemed to work out. Now, seeing me with Jerry, Mac would probably give up trying. "Have a nice time, you two," Mrs. Patrickson said. "Glad to meet you both," Jerry said, shaking hands. He seemed oblivious to Mac's attractions. Was I with the wrong guy? "Don't look so worried. He'll love you," Jerry said as he opened the door to his late model Caddy. 'He'? Guess it wouldn't be his mother I'd be meeting tonight. My heart sank. Jerry was going to tell me he was gay and he'd tried one last time to see if he could be straight and I was it and he couldn't, so now we'd have drinks with his lover and he'd say we could still be friends... I didn't say much on the drive over. We pulled into the underground parking for his building and took the elevator to the tenth floor. Jerry turned his key in the lock of 1003. I had just decided on a gracious approach to whoever he introduced as his lover. "This is Fitzhugh," Jerry said, throwing the door open with one hand as though there would be trumpets blowing somewhere and Clinton or maybe even Newt Gingrich would come out. I stepped forward, set my purse down on a table beside the door and held out my hand. But there was no one in the room. It was a pleasant enough apartment; a long bank of windows along one wall, some plants and comfortable furniture in greens and browns. So I'd guessed wrong again. Jerry didn't want me to meet his mother and he wasn't gay; he was crazy. Fitzhugh was a hallucination, like that rabbit, Harvey, in that old Jimmy Stewart movie. Jerry had lured me up here to meet his imaginary friend who would find fault with me and they would find my lifeless body several days later in the park behind some bushes... At least Mac and his aunt had gotten a look at him, I told myself, sidling back towards the door. He won't get away with it. Jerry didn't seem the killer type but then that's what all the girlfriends and neighbours say on the tabloid shows after some maniac's been arrested. Even serial killers have a social life... "This is my cat, Fitzhugh," Jerry was repeating politely. I looked down. A feline monstrosity stared up at me. It was a lustrous black with glittery gold eyes, big enough to operate a can opener all by itself. "I can tell he likes you," Jerry said. "He's fussy about his friends." Yeah, sure, I thought. I have a theory about people who are too close to their cats. Not a normal relationship. "See how good we look together?" He indicated the mirror in front of us. There we were, Jerry's dark good looks, my slim blonde self and what looked like a furry demon glowering on the floor between us. That old saying about three's a crowd sure applied here. Jerry moved closer and drew me into his arms. I lifted my lips to be kissed, closing my eyes and feeling the rough tweed of his jacket against my cheek. 'Oh Jerry,' I thought, 'why couldn't it have been your mother?' Something raked my ankles as I kissed him back. I looked down. My pantyhose fell in shreds over my pumps. Fitzhugh was just taking a large bite out of my left heel. Then he stalked away to whatever dark places he inhabited in that apartment. "Donna?" Jerry moved and knocked my purse to the floor. "Sorry." He picked it up and jammed the contents back any old way. "Am I jumping the gun here? I mean, I don't want you to think I'm a date rapist or something. I haven't brought a woman up here in a long time." And he wouldn't again, if Fitzhugh has anything to say about it, I thought. I was still staring at the gouge in my heel. The cat had scratched the suede off the right pump. I'd have to toss the shoes. Jerry looked down. "Ohmigod, did Fitzhugh do that?" "Oh, no. I came over here with my pantyhose down around my ankles, cat scratches and gouges in my shoes." "You don't need to be sarcastic. I'm sure it was an accident. Fitzhugh probably smelled another cat on you." "I haven't been around any cats. Ever." "Maybe that next door neighbour, Mrs. Patrickson, has cats. She seems like a cat person." "You're home early." Mac was just getting into the elevator when I stepped out. "Not soon enough." I started to brush past him. "I was thinking, well, maybe this isn't a good time," Mac hesitated. "I was just going down to the diner on the corner for a burger. But I suppose you've eaten?" "I'd love to," I made a quick decision and it wasn't till we were sitting in a back booth over coffee that I realized how I must look with my pantyhose flapping around my ankles. Mac hadn't even snickered. He was good company. Mac worked as a property manager, he said. Our building was on his list. I had to admit it was well-kept up. He didn't have any pets, a real plus and he did have a lot of funny stories about tenants who had them, that kept me laughing. "This large woman sat on her Chihuahua ..." he began and I watched the corners of his eyes crinkle like Mrs. Patrickson's did. He was wearing a yellow sweater over a white shirt, very collegiate. Our waitress came and he joked with her and left a big tip. I'd almost forgotten about the horrible start to the evening when Mac walked me back to the lobby. "I'll be fine," I told him when it looked as though he was going to come on up. "You sure? See you again soon, then. It's been... terrific." When I reached my apartment there were no keys in my purse. I thought back to the bag falling open in Jerry's apartment. Oh well. I ran down the stairs to Mr. Masterson, the superintendent. Mac was still there, talking. "I can let you in. Just take a minute." Mac took a ring of master keys from a hook near the door. "No, its fine. Mr. Masterson has had to do this lots of times". "I wouldn't take losing your keys lightly, Donna," Mac frowned. "With all these attacks on women in this area, lately. I think we'd better have your locks changed. In the meantime, you can borrow the master." Jerry called at the end of the week to say how much he missed me. "It was my fault," he said. "I should have prepared you for meeting him. Fitzhugh was mistreated as a kitten so it's hard for him to trust." "Me too," I said. "I thought he'd be familiar with you by now. I've taken him on all our dates." "What?? You and me and Fitzhugh?" "He's been in the backseat. In his cat carrier," he said hastily. "It gets lonely in the apartment and I don't like to leave him overnight. I take him with me everywhere. So I thought he'd sort of know you already. I'm sorry. Please let me pay for having your shoes repaired." "No need," I lied, looking at the toe of one pump protruding from the trash I'd been about to take to the incinerator when he called. "Show you forgive me and let me take you to dinner tomorrow. It's Valentine's Day, after all," he said with a plea in his voice. He named a restaurant I'd been dying to try but not alone. "At seven?" "All right," I said, hating myself for being weak. There was something about the man. "By the way, Jerry, did you find a set of keys after I left?" "No," he said. He sounded truthful. "Were they important?" "Nothing special. See you tomorrow." "Canaries. She hates cats." "Perhaps you hate Fitzhugh too?" "Darn right I do," I said. I grabbed my purse and stomped out feeling the draft around my ankles. Cat: 1, Girlfriend: 0. Next morning they came to change the locks. It was Valentine's Day. Shop windows were full of cupids and chocolates. Love was in the air but the man I had chosen had a cat that came first in his heart. We would never make it together. Dinner tonight would be our last date, I promised myself. Why go on making us both miserable? At noon a dozen red roses came to the office. The card inside said, "Thanks for giving us another chance." It was signed by Jerry but there was a pawprint underneath. I fussed around till five, then cleared my desk and called Lou Ann. "Could you doubledate at such short notice? " "On such a romantic evening? Of course. Laurence probably doesn't even know what day it is. And who knows? Maybe Jerry will fall for me. You saw 'When Harry Met Sally', didn't you?" "Jerry and I are probably finished," I said, "but until I let you know, hands off." "Bringing another couple along isn't going to help, you know," Lou Ann said. "It'll keep us from having an unpleasant memory on Valentine's Day. Which we will, if you don't come." "We'll be there, don't worry." I pulled my little blue corvette out into rush hour traffic and turned the radio on. "An elderly woman was attacked and killed today in her apartment at Main and Charles..." My apartment was at Main and Charles. I braked for a yellow light and turned the sound up. "Police believe Mrs. Gilroy Patrickson, 75, was another victim in a series of assaults that have terrorized this South side community..." How awful for Mac, I thought, as tears ran down my face. How awful for us all. The carpet outside my door looked as though many pairs of dirty boots had been trampling it. There was yellow police tape criss-crossed outside Mrs. Patrickson's door, with an official notice forbidding entry. I felt tears in my eyes as I looked at it. The elevator opened behind me. I turned and Mac stepped off. "Oh, I'm so sorry," I opened my arms and Mac fell into them. I patted him awkwardly on the shoulder. "Did they catch the man who did it?" He shook his head and stepped back. "I'd just left. He must've been watching for me to go. If only I'd stayed a little longer..." "Don't think about it. Will you need any help with the arrangements?" "No. My mom's taking care of the... funeral and all that. But thanks for offering. I just came from police headquarters. I thought maybe if I came back I'd see something they'd overlooked but..." "I'd just leave it to the police. They'll will find him, sooner or later." "I guess you're right. She was very fond of you, you know." I nodded. It was hard to talk. Mac punched the ground floor button and held my hand till the elevator came. My apartment seemed very vulnerable when I opened the door. I stood in the doorway, looking around. Whoever had killed Mrs. Patrickson could crawl in any of the windows. We were only on the third floor. Terrorized. The radio had it right. "Bad news, Donna," Mr. Jaspers, the retired plumber across the hall, opened his door. "Fine lady." "Yes, she was. " "Some guy came around looking for you, right before." "This morning?" "Said so, didn't I? Had your keys." He started to close his door. "Wait! Mr. Jaspers." He eyed me suspiciously. "What?" "Tell me what he looked like. Please?" "Tall. Dark hair. Tweed coat." His door closed firmly. Cat hairs, I added, mentally. Keys? Mrs. Patrickson's spare key had been on that ring. What if--? No. It couldn't have been Jerry. Besides he wouldn't know what key opened what. He could have tried them, a small voice in my head said. He might've tried your door and then hers and she wouldn't've thought anything, supposing it was just Mac coming back, till it was too late... I crossed the hall and pounded on Jasper's door. "Go away." He was looking through the peep hole. "Mr. Jaspers. Did you tell the police?" "None of my business." Oh great. So it was up to me to let them know that possibly I was dating Mrs. Patrickson's killer and then they'd want to wire me up for our date to get some incriminating evidence on Jerry. And then they'd arrest him but his lawyer would get him off and he'd come looking for me... But I didn't call the police either. It couldn't have been Jerry. He was too nice, too honest. But he'd lied about not having the keys, a little voice said. He probably wouldn't have mentioned them at all if Mr. Jaspers hadn't surprised him holding them, in the act of breaking in. What other explanation could he have given? Perhaps he was planning to let himself in and wait for me, like he had for all those other women. When he found my locks were changed, he settled for my neighbour... But how could he know Mr. Jaspers wouldn't tell the police? That was easy. Anyone talking to the old curmudgeon for two minutes would know he didn't give up anything voluntarily. It was only by chance he'd told me. I'd talk it over with Mac. Maybe he could decide if I was just imagining things. I went downstairs and got his number from Masterson. "Anything I can take care of, Donna?" the old fellow said. "No need to bother the boss with every little thing." "This is personal, thanks." I went home and punched in his number. "Mac Patrickson." "Mac, I--" There was a little beep as his answering machine came on. "Call me," I said and gave my number. The doorbell rang. Oh, no. Jerry was here before I'd decided what to do. How could I go out with him with these suspicions crowding into my mind? And if he suspected I knew, what then? I'd been thinking I'd just call the whole thing off, but here he was. I opened the door. "Donna, you look great, as always." "Just my office clothes. I haven't had a chance to change yet." "Come just as you are. You always look wonderful to me." Jerry looked deep into my eyes. I stepped back and reached for my coat. Well, I had to eat. Lou Ann and Laurence were coming along, anyway. They'd wonder where we were if we didn't show up. I could decide what to do at dinner. Maybe I could slip out and call the police before we left. There was valet parking at the fine Italian restaurant. Jerry handed over the keys to the Caddy calmly. I was sure he had the cat along. I refused to look in the back, just in case. Inside, Lou Ann and Laurence waved to us from a table. "Won't you join us?" Laurence asked, just as though I hadn't set the whole thing up. "Delighted." Jerry gave me a bemused look. "Shall we?" "Fine," I said, feeling miffed that he didn't want me all to himself. What was the matter with me? Did I want to be alone with what was probably a psychotic killer on Valentine's Day? While not terminally brain-dead, I still felt a twinge of regret as he pulled out the heavy dark chair with the velvet seat for me and his long, slender fingers ruffled a tendril of hair on my neck. Stringed instruments were playing love songs through the ages. Candles were flickering, voices were soft and intimate. It could have been a wonderful evening with the right man. Maybe Mac next year, if I survived the evening. But something wistful in me still cried, 'Jerry, Jerry, Jerry'. I forced myself to study the wine list. Jerry was murmuring something in French to the maitre 'd, looking suave, competent and throughly adorable. I kicked Lou Ann under the table, to stop her from drooling. When I straightened up, Jerry seemed to have gone suddenly berserk. He leaped to his feet, overturning the thick crystal goblets of water onto the snowy white linen cloth. "That's my car!" he yelled. Under the bright lights that lit the entryway, his Caddy was coming slowly around the circular drive, blocked in for a moment by a driver who was backing up. I'd heard that sometimes parking attendants take these little joy rides when they think the patron's safely inside for an hour or so. Jerry was already on his feet and running for the door with a sea of fascinated diners staring after him. "Hey!" I could hear him bellow as he swung the door open. Several things happened at once. The driver in the front seat saw him through the rear view window, attempted to reverse, floored it and drove into Jerry and the side of the building with a resounding crash, just as Jerry was crossing behind the car. Then he leaped from the driver's side and ran away into the darkness. "Somebody call an ambulance!" I heard the maitre d' shout as I hurried towards Jerry. Laurence beat me to the scene. "Just lie still," I heard him saying. He took off his jacket and threw it over Jerry while he tried to keep him quiet. "There's an ambulance coming." "Fitzhugh," Jerry said weakly. "I'm sure he's all right. Don't worry. I'll take care of him," I promised like a fool. Although the car looked like a write-off, the cat carrier had unfortunately survived intact. It lay upside down in the front seat with a very angry occupant. The ambulance came screaming up. I watched as they loaded his now unconscious body onto the stretcher. What a Valentine's Day. First Mrs. Patrickson. Now Jerry. More like a Valentine Massacre. "I'll just go along home, if you don't mind, Lou Ann," I said. "Thanks for all you've done." "Call me," she said, pressing my hand. She looked genuinely sorry for me. I got into the Corvette with Fitzhugh in the cat carrier. As I drove out I saw them going back to the restaurant, peppered with questions from fascinated diners who were standing around watching. Oh, Jerry, who are you? I thought and felt weepy for no reason. After all, I reminded myself, he probably tried to kill me, psychopath that he was, and got Mrs. Patrickson instead. As I stepped off the elevator, the cat carrier bumped against my legs. The police tape and notice on Mrs. Patrickson's door seemed like a warning. Be careful. Watch out. I went bravely into my apartment, set the carrier down and opened its door. Fitzhugh stayed where he was, glaring. "See if I care," I told him, feeling an emptiness inside which I told myself was missing dinner. I turned toward the kitchen. "But I care," a voice said from behind me. Before I could move a hand was clamped over my mouth. Another grabbed my arm and twisted it behind me. "So you figured it out, did you?," the voice continued. "I thought you'd blame that fancy boyfriend of yours but when you called, I knew you hadn't. Too bad, baby. We could've been good together." "Mac? I mumbled through his fingers squeezing my lips. "Your own aunt?" "My own very rich aunt. Owns a string of buildings like this but she just kept living on and on with those damn canaries and she treated me like an errand boy. That Jerry you're so fond of just happened by at the right time. Once I get the guy across the hall to I.D. him, I'm home free." I tried to break free. Mac's fingers dug into my lips. I tasted blood. His other hand twisted my arm till I thought I could hear the bones crack. I bit down as hard as I could on the hand around my mouth. He jerked away and I screamed. "Now you'll get it like all the others, bitch!" Mac shouted. Still holding my arm, he reared back to belt me. At that moment something large, furry and furious with all the commotion and noise, leaped onto his head like one of those alien creatures that eat your brain. It was Mac's turn to scream and he did while lethal paws scratched at his eyeballs, dug into his scalp and took great strips of skin off his back. I rushed to the door and yanked it open, gasping. Mr. Jaspers was standing in the hall. "Wild party, huh? You got a cat in there?" "What I've got is Mrs. Patrickson's killer. Call the police." Leaving his door open, Mr. Jaspers went back towards the phone. I stood in the hall, listening to the screaming. Poor Fitzhugh, I thought. I hoped he didn't get any nasty disease from biting Mac. Mac was staggering around, cursing and tripping over furniture, blood running down his face, when the police arrived with their sirens blaring. All the tenants on my floor crowded into the hall to watch Mac led out in handcuffs. Fitzhugh washed his face and looked smug. It was the first time I felt favorably towards a cat. Next day I went to the hospital. Jerry was sitting up in bed, one leg in a cast. "Donna," he said huskily, taking my hand in both of his. "I was afraid I'd lost you." "Whatever gave you that idea?" He looked pale but great, the dark hair mussed, five o'clock shadow on the strong, firm jaw. I told him about Mac. "The police think he's the one who's been attacking all those women, using his role as a property manager." I waited for him to ask about his cat. "Oh my love. Did he hurt you? Are you all right?" He was stroking my hair and suddenly I was sobbing in his arms. "I'm an idiot," he was saying. "I hope you aren't going to let a little thing like a cat come between us." He kissed my neck, my cheek, my lips. "I could give him to my mother." "Oh, no. We've reached an understanding. I think I could learn to like him," I murmured, "given the right teacher." I would never tell him how close we had come to losing each other, due to my overactive imagination. Cupid may have been a day late this year, but the way I see it, Jerry and I still have forever. "See if I care," I told him, feeling an emptiness inside which I told myself was missing dinner. I turned toward the kitchen. "But I care," a voice said from behind me. Before I could move a hand was clamped over my mouth. Another grabbed my arm and twisted it behind me. "So you figured it out, did you?," the voice continued. "I thought you'd blame that fancy boyfriend of yours but when you called, I knew you hadn't. Too bad, baby. We could've been good together." "Mac? I mumbled through his fingers squeezing my lips. "Your own aunt?" "My own very rich aunt. Owns a string of buildings like this but she just kept living on and on with those damn canaries and she treated me like an errand boy. That Jerry you're so fond of just happened by at the right time. Once I get the guy across the hall to I.D. him, I'm home free." I tried to break free. Mac's fingers dug into my lips. I tasted blood. His other hand twisted my arm till I thought I could hear the bones crack. I bit down as hard as I could on the hand around my mouth. He jerked away and I screamed. "Now you'll get it like all the others, bitch!" Mac shouted. Still holding my arm, he reared back to belt me. At that moment something large, furry and furious with all the commotion and noise, leaped onto his head like one of those alien creatures that eat your brain. It was Mac's turn to scream and he did while lethal paws scratched at his eyeballs, dug into his scalp and took great strips of skin off his back. I rushed to the door and yanked it open, gasping. Mr. Jaspers was standing in the hall. "Wild party, huh? You got a cat in there?" "What I've got is Mrs. Patrickson's killer. Call the police." Leaving his door open, Mr. Jaspers went back towards the phone. I stood in the hall, listening to the screaming. Poor Fitzhugh, I thought. I hoped he didn't get any nasty disease from biting Mac. Mac was staggering around, cursing and tripping over furniture, blood running down his face, when the police arrived with their sirens blaring. All the tenants on my floor crowded into the hall to watch Mac led out in handcuffs. Fitzhugh washed his face and looked smug. It was the first time I felt favorably towards a cat. Next day I went to the hospital. Jerry was sitting up in bed, one leg in a cast. "Donna," he said huskily, taking my hand in both of his. "I was afraid I'd lost you." "Whatever gave you that idea?" He looked pale but great, the dark hair mussed, five o'clock shadow on the strong, firm jaw. I told him about Mac. "The police think he's the one who's been attacking all those women, using his role as a property manager." I waited for him to ask about his cat. "Oh my love. Did he hurt you? Are you all right?" He was stroking my hair and suddenly I was sobbing in his arms. "I'm an idiot," he was saying. "I hope you aren't going to let a little thing like a cat come between us." He kissed my neck, my cheek, my lips. "I could give him to my mother." "Oh, no. We've reached an understanding. I think I could learn to like him," I murmured, "given the right teacher." I would never tell him how close we had come to losing each other, due to my overactive imagination. Cupid may have been a day late this year, but the way I see it, Jerry and I still have forever.
Love with the Proper Killer
by Rose Deshaw
http://www.netsaga.is/media/files/happi.mp3