Chapter 7

The next few weeks at school went uneventfully, until just three days before Christmas Vacation. Then all hell broke loose. Vanessa was right in the middle of it. She had showed up for Professor Dalton's last class before the vacation, but Dalton had not been there. That was very strange. The class waited almost the entire period, talking and wondering what had happened. Then Vanessa left and went to Hal's room.

When she got there, the place was in chaos. Hal was standing in the middle of a mass of photographs strewn everywhere.

"What the hell happened?" asked Vanessa.

"Somebody broke in," Hal said wearily.

"When?"

"About a half hour ago, while I was in a philosophy class. It must have been someone who knew my schedule. The dorm was practically empty. Everybody has classes that hour, just about."

"What's missing?"

"They didn't get into the safe. But I was doing some work in the dark room, and that's gone. One of the pictures was a blowup of a shot of Shirley Dalton."

"Oh my god," said Vanessa, She sat down heavily. "Jesus Christ. That could really blow it."

"Yeah," said Hal. "If somebody's into blackmail, that picture could really do it."

Suddenly Vanessa's brain cleared. "Oh, shit," she said.

"What?" asked Hal, catching the note of alarm in her voice.

"Dalton didn't show up for class today. It was that hour. Last hour. He wasn't there. There was no note or anything. He just didn't show up."

"Oh, fuck," Hal breathed. "That's it. That's got to be it. Somehow that bastard got suspicious, and he came up here, and broke down my fucking door, and ransacked the place. And now he has one of those fucking pictures. I'd better call Shirley." He picked up the phone and dialed Shirley's office. There was no answer.

"Hal," said Vanessa, "I think you'd better get out of here. You never know what Dalton's going to do."

"Shit," said Hal, "you're right. What a fucking pisser. The thing is Shirley. I have no idea what he's going to do to her."

"I'll take care of that," Vanessa offered. "I can find her a hell of a lot more safely than you can, and I can do as much as you can."

"I have a fucking urge to be a hero," said Hal, "and stick around. But I know damn well you're right, and I can trust you."

"Can you drive Paul's bike?" Vanessa asked.

"Hell yeah," Hal said. "Driven it plenty of times."

"Okay," Vanessa said, taking charge. "I know where he keeps an extra set of keys. You take the bike and go to that hotel where we had that-that event. I'll call you there as soon as I hear anything. Do you have money?"

"Ten bucks," said Hal.

"Here," said Vanessa, cleaning out her wallet. "Here's thirty more. Come on,"

They went across the hall. Paul's door was locked, and their knocking brought no response.

"This is no time for formalities," Vanessa said. She was wearing boots. She kicked at the door twice with her heel, and the lock gave way. She fished Paul's extra keys out of his top drawer. In seconds, Hal was gone. With relief, Vanessa heard the bike cranking up outside. It took off out the front entrance to the college.

Then there was the roaring of another engine. It was a car. She looked down the driveway in the other direction. It was Dalton's car and it was moving like hell. It tore out after Hal, tires squealing.

Vanessa, hysterical now, tore down the stairs. She ran straight into Paul.

"What the fuck's going on?" Paul asked. "I heard my bike..."

"Yeah," Vanessa stammered, "Dalton found out that Hal took some pictures of his wife, and he's after him in his car."

From far away, over the quiet countryside, there was a sharp "crack."

Paul tensed.

"That's a gunshot," he said.

"Oh my god, are you sure?"

Paul was grave but self-possessed. "Yes."

"What the hell can we do?"

"I don't know," said Paul. If we call the cops, the whole thing's blown. That could have been a hunter or something. It's the season. But I've never heard them hunting around here before. Look. I'm gonna borrow Jake Mandrin's Harley, and we're gonna go see what the hell's going on. There isn't an ambulance within thirty miles of here anyhow. If Hal's in trouble, well get to him before anyone else could."

Peggy came running up. "What the hell's all the..."

Vanessa told her while Paul ran off. Seconds later the roar of an immense bike engine cut the stillness. Vanessa jumped on behind Paul, and they were gone.

"What the hell happens if Dalton starts shooting at us?" Vanessa asked, thinking of it for the first time.

Paul shook his head. "There's gonna be a gunfight," he said.

"What do you mean?"

"Mandrin's a crazy fucker. He-likes guns. There just happens to be a .22 pistol in the left saddle bag. He was taking some target practice yesterday... It's empty now, but I've got a box of shells in my pocket."

"Oh, Jesus," Vanessa said.

"You want to get off?"

"No. I think if I'm here Dalton'll be less-likely to do anything crazy. Besides, I have to see Hal. I have to see if he's all right."

They were roaring down the highway. "Any minute now," Paul said, gunning the Harley to a hundred miles an hour on the straightaway. They leaned into the curve and hurtled around it like a rocket The speedometer read ninety.

Vanessa's mind, which had reacted well in the crisis, was now beginning to crumble as the thought of what had happened penetrated to her suddenly. She realized that the world was not all love and understanding, and that in their carefree lifestyles they had been playing with immensely powerful emotional forces with no idea of the possible consequences. Oddly, she did not blame Dalton. She blamed Hal, herself, Peggy, John, Shirley-everybody who had become so caught in their own little world that they had forgotten that there was a much bigger world outside, and that it might come crashing in on them at any moment.

"Give me that gun," Paul said as he throttled the bike down to seventy on a long straightaway and took one hand off the handlebars. Vanessa reached down and pulled the gun out of the saddlebag.

Paul took it and opened the breach. "You're going to have to load it," he said. "Put in five shells. Point it down, and off to the side. Don't touch the trigger. Shove them into the little holes there."

Vanessa had seen enough cowboy movies to know what to do, although the whole situation was so unreal, with the roar of the engine, and Paul's voice shouting above it, and the wind, and the speed, that it seemed completely surreal. She had literally been torn out of reality, and was now embarked on a strange and horrifying nightmare.

"Leave an empty chamber underneath the firing pin," Paul yelled. Clutching him with her knees, she rotated the black metal cylinder slowly, deliberately. A few short minutes ago, everything she did was inconsequential. Her biggest decisions had been which pen to use for a test, whether to have cottage cheese or a chefs salad for lunch. Now the positioning of a simple cylinder of metal could mean the difference between life and death.

"I've got it," she finally said. Paul took the gun from her. He was wearing his leather jacket He shoved the weapon into one of its big zipper pockets and zipped it closed.

"Jesus Christ," Paul yelled, as they rounded one last curve. "There's Dalton's car."

The blue Plymouth had gone off the road and was stuck, with one wheel in a ditch. The driver's door was open, and the car was empty. Paul raced the Harley down next to it. They leapt off and ran to the car. There was nothing there but a few footprints in the mud of the ditch. They headed off into the woods.

"Quiet," said Paul. From far away-seemingly In the woods-there was the roar of an engine.

"That's my bike," Paul said.

"Are you sure?"

"Damn right," he said. "That's my bike."

They ran down the road another hundred feet. Thick tire tracks from a cycle led off the road. There was a deep furrow in the mud on the other side of the ditch, and then the tracks led off into the woods toward a slim path.

Paul followed the tracks twenty or thirty yards. "He jumped that fucking ditch," Paul said. "That was a nice piece of riding on that fucking hog of a chopper. There's no blood anywhere. The tire tracks don't wobble. He was really moving out here." There was dirt scattered everywhere from the force of the bike tires. "He's all right"

"Are you sure?"

"He was all right when he got here," Paul said. "And Dalton's on foot. You don't catch a bike on foot. And Hal's still moving." Every once in a while, the wind carried the sounds of the fleeing bike out of the woods to them.

"I don't know where the hell that trail goes," Paul said. "But Hal's okay for now. Dalton must have missed."

"Hey," said Vanessa, "there's someone in the woods."

"Oh, shit," said Paul. "It must be Dalton coming back. Let's get our ass out of here."

"We can't," Vanessa said. "If he gets that damn car out of the ditch, he'll be looking for Hal on every damned road in the county all goddamned day. Even if we call the cops-would they find him before he found Hal?"

"You're right," said Paul. "Okay. Get down behind the car."

The noises of someone running through the woods were getting louder now. Vanessa crouched behind the car. Soon Dalton's form emerged through the foliage. He was running like a madman, carrying a rifle in his right hand. Paul just stood there, with his hand on the gun in his pocket.

Dalton saw him immediately.

"You fucking bastard," Dalton screamed, "are you in on this too, you motherfucking perverted little prick?" Vanessa thought he would tear his guts out, he was screaming so violently. She couldn't imagine that this was the same man who had stood with such detached calm-coldness, almost-before her class so many rimes.

Paul went toward Dalton. Vanessa couldn't understand why. Then she realized. The range of accuracy of the rifle was greater than that of Paul's pistol. Paul had to get close enough to even up the odds.

"Drop the gun," Paul said, "and let's talk about it." His voice was amazingly calm-at least on the surface.

"Fuck you," Dalton screamed, although he made no move to raise the gun, which he held by the barrel "Get out of my way before I blow your goddamned head off. I'll splatter your guts all over creation,"

By this time Paul had closed to within twenty yards of Dalton. Vanessa peeked through the windows of the car.

"Look," Paul lied, "I don't know what the hell this is about, but I do. know that you're trying to kill somebody, and I know that if you do, you'll regret it."

"Bullshit," Dalton screamed back at him. He made a move to raise his gun. Paul jerked the pistol out of his pocket and pointed it at Dalton's head. "Drop it," he said, "or I'll cut your fucking ass to pieces."

Dalton's eyes grew wide. His jaw dropped. Paul pointed the gun away from him and clicked the trigger. "There was one empty chamber," he said. "That was it. The next one's for real. Drop that fucking gun before I count to three or so help me, I'll blow you away. One. Two." He was counting fast. Vanessa shook.

The gun slipped from Dalton's hand.

"Now back up," Paul ordered.

Dalton staggered backward.

"Vanessa," Paul called. "Get that gun."

Vanessa scampered out and scooped up the weapon.

"Point it straight up in the air and pull the trigger till it stops firing," Paul said.

Vanessa fired off three rounds, and then there were only empty clicks.

"Whew," Paul said. He lowered the pistol, opened the breech, poured the shells out into his hand. Then he slipped the gun into his pocket and walked toward Dalton.

"Look," he said, "you may think something terrible's been done to you."

Dalton was almost in a trance.

"We'll get it straightened out," Paul said.

No response.

A car drove up on the road behind them. Peggy and John jumped out.

Paul turned to Dalton. "Did you hit Hal?"

"No," he said.

"All right. Listen. John, you and Peggy and Vanessa take the professor back in your car. Give him a drink or something. Don't let him out of your sight."

Peggy came over and whispered something in Paul's ear.

"Good," Paul said. He turned to Dalton. "Your wife is gone. We've told her what happened. She's waiting for a phone call. She wants to know whether or not you're a murderer."

Paul took the rifle from Vanessa, and shoved it into the saddleback of the Harley. For the first time, Professor Dalton's face began to show some emotion other than pure rage. "She wants to know whether I'm a murderer?" he almost whispered. "And what is she?"

Paul looked back at him. "She's a woman," Paul said. "And she's still your wife. She's scared to death. But I know she wants you." He cranked up the Harley. There was a roar, and he was gone.

Vanessa went to Dalton and took his arm. "Come on," she said gently. "Let's go back."

Peggy and Vanessa stayed with him all afternoon, and into the night. At first he was completely irrational. There was nothing for the girls to do but explain everything. Sometimes Dalton seemed to understand.

"What does the fact that Hal-who is a professional, who does beautiful work-took a few pictures of your wife, have to do with your relationship to her?"

"They're filthy pictures," he said.

"They're not. They're beautiful."

Vanessa left and went to Hal's room. She came back with a sheaf of his pictures and some of his photography books.

"Look at these," she said, shoving still life's and studies of faces under his nose. "Now look at these in this book. They're done by some of the greatest photographers in the world. Which ones are better?"

Vanessa could see she was, slowly and excruciatingly, getting him at least to think. For some reason, he had to answer her-and when he did, he had to tell the truth.

"So he's an artist," Dalton said. "He's also an adulterer. I know my wife made love to him. Do you know what that does to me? Do you have any idea?"

"What is making love?" Vanessa asked calmly.

"Oh, for Christ's sake," he cried, "it's when you strip somebody naked and shove your cock into their cunt."

"Is that right," Vanessa asked.

"You're goddamned right it's right."

She thought for a second. "What would you say if I told you we were making love right now?"

"Bullshit," he said.

"Making love is when you open yourself completely to someone. It's when you make an emotional investment. It's when you communicate with another person. There's lots of sex that isn't making love, and there's lots of making love that isn't sex. Just because two people happen to have genital contact doesn't mean they're making love. Look at me."

Vanessa felt very strange. Somehow, she was taking control of the situation. Peggy looked on in awe.

"You are wide open to me," Vanessa said, "right now. I can see through you. I know everything that is going on in your mind. I can tell why it's there. I haven't been listening to you talking about poetry for a whole term without learning a few things about you." She decided to take a long shot. "I think you're holding back. I think you want to write poetry-not analyze it. I think you've labeled yourself a failure, and you're trying to hold onto what you have. You're trying to hold onto your wife, who could be a model or an actress, and your job, and your apartment. You're just trying to get through life without having anybody tell you that you're a failure. That's not too hard. You're a very smart man. Maybe you're a genius. I don't know. So you can be a success. But not on your terms. On someone else's. That way, they can't call you a failure. That only leaves yourself."

Once in a while Dalton seemed about to speak. But the thoughts were swirling so fast in his confused mind that he barely opened his lips before the thought had changed. He remained silent.

"Let me ask you something," Vanessa continued. "Do you know when Hal took those pictures?"

"No."

"It was three months ago. Three months. Have you talked to your wife in those three months?"

Dalton showed signs of anger. "Of course I've talked to her," he said.

"What did you say?"

"You want me to remember every god damned word I said to my wife over three months? Shirley and I talk a lot. We're very close. Or-we were." He put his head between his hands.

"You've been close in the last three months?"

"As close as we've ever been-I thought. Until today. Today I found out that the whole thing's been a lie."

"You didn't notice any change in Shirley's attitude toward you?"

"No. She must be a good liar."

"Maybe it didn't change," Vanessa said. "Maybe that day with Hal-and it was only one day-didn't take anything away from you. Maybe it only added something to her Life. Did you ever think of it that way? Maybe the only thing it brought out was that there were certain things she couldn't tell you-because she knew how you'd react. I don't know. Maybe she shouldn't have done it. But the fact is that her desire for something else, or someone else, is something that she just couldn't talk to you about. And that was something that was missing in your relationship long before Hal came along with his cameras."

Dalton was exhausted. Vanessa looked at a clock. She was shocked to see that it was three in the morning. None of them had had anything to eat.

"Peggy," Vanessa said, "can I talk to you for a minute?"

They went out into the kitchen.

"Can you do me a favor?"

"Sure."

"Find some food somewhere. Cook something. Something nice, if there's anything around. See if they have any wine or anything."

"I have a bottle in the room," she said, "I've been saving it. I'll bring it down."

"okay yean," said Vanessa, remembering. Then-leave us alone. I think we may get somewhere."

Peggy looked at Vanessa with unconcealed admiration. "You're really something," she said. "I never knew you thought all those things you've been saying for the past-how many hours? I never knew you could talk that way."

"We've got a long way to go," Vanessa said simply.

"I'll get going," Peggy said.

Vanessa returned to the living room.

Dalton was stretched out on the sofa. He was wide awake; although his body was close to collapse, his mind would not stop running its endless cycles of thought and emotion...

They began to talk again.

"You're trying to convince me of something," Dalton said. "You're trying to sell me something. What is it?"

"I'm not trying to sell you anything," Vanessa said, aware that it was not completely true. But what followed was true. "I'm trying to give something away."

Dalton glanced at her, his eyes weary. "What?"

"At the risk of sounding corny," she smiled, "I might say it was love."

"And what about my wife?"

"What about her? Maybe I am trying to sell you something. An idea. The idea that love of one person doesn't necessarily rule out love of somebody else- on a very deep level. I know that a husband and wife have a kind of love that's necessarily different. But in the last few weeks I've found that in the context of that relationship, a lot of other things are possible. A marriage should open up new possibilities, not cut them off. It should mean trust and security and openness. Sure, there are some things a marriage can't withstand. But I don't think that one of the partners having a relationship with someone else is one of them. Shirley and Hal have a very good relationship. But they both know that she's married to you, and she's going to stay that way, and they wouldn't want to do anything to change that. And that's the truth."

Vanessa and Dalton talked for another half an hour. Then Peggy came in. "Dinner is served," she said, "and I'm going to bed. Goodnight"

Dalton looked up, surprised. "My God," he said, "I didn't even realize we hadn't eaten."

"I did," said Vanessa. "I'm about to starve to death."

For the first time in the long night, Dalton smiled. He followed her into the dining room.

Vanessa gasped when she saw what Peggy had done. An immense steak lay sizzling on a platter. A bowl of Bearnaise sauce was beside it. There was broccoli, baked potatoes with sour cream, and strawberry shortcake for desert.

"Where did she get all this stuff?" Dalton asked. "I swear none of it was in the house."

"Friends, I guess," said Vanessa. "Look at this." She produced Peggy's bottle of wine. Dalton stared at it "I know something about wines," he said. "That's a very good bottle. I'm not sure I'm in condition to enjoy it."

"Well, see if you can get in condition," Vanessa said. She sat across the table from him. Her hair shone in the light of the candles that Peggy had placed on the table.

The meal took an hour. When they were finished, it was threatening to get light outside. A little food and some good wine, and Vanessa's company, had pacified Dalton to a great extent. He was turning the things she had said over in his mind.

"I have to sleep," he said, after they were done eating.

"I'm going to stay with you," Vanessa said.

"What do you mean?"

"I want to make sure you don't have any bad dreams. Shirley's coming back tomorrow afternoon. Peggy talked to her on the phone, and told her we'd been talking. She's not scared, and she wants to talk to you. But she made Peggy promise that somebody would stay with you tonight. She doesn't want you to be lonely."

"I don't know what to say," Dalton said, "except that I'm too tired to argue. You can sleep on the sofa."

"Okay," Vanessa said.

Dalton got up and wandered toward the bedroom. Vanessa followed him. When he got to the door, he turned, but said nothing. She gave him a wry smile, put her hands on his shoulders, and kissed him lightly. "I'll tuck you in," she said.

Dalton was puzzled. "Are you trying to seduce me?"

"Not right now," she said. Tin too tired."

Tm too confused," he said. "You've been fantastic. Really. I don't know whether I agree with anything you've said-but you've been straight and honest, and very gentle-especially with someone who was going to kill somebody only a few hours ago."

"Spoken like a professor," Vanessa said. "Let's go to bed."