Chapter 16
Peter came in a few minutes before five a.m., drunk, his clothes disheveled. He smelled of sex and piss, and his trousers were stained with dried semen.
"Where's Elvira?" Hamp asked.
"She's going to ride with the gang for a while," Peter replied in a slurred voice. "She really digs being fucked by those motorcycle cats, man. Pistons and cylinders.. .all that shit."
Peter flopped down on his cot and immediately fell asleep, snoring in drunken exhaustion. Wiffie and Hamp, who were lying on the bed but had not slept, held each other a little tighter and were thankful that Elvira hadn't returned. Finally the two of them fell asleep, snuggled up for warmth and safety beneath the blanket.
Hamp awoke first, and as he stirred, his motions caused Wiffie to wake up too.
"What time is it?" she asked in a whisper. He looked at his watch. "About seven-thirty."
"Let's go."
"What?" Hamp wasn't sure he'd heard her correctly.
"I want to leave, Hamp," she said quietly. "I want to get away from here for good. I just don't think I can take it; not after last night."
"What about Peter?"
"You saw how he liked it. Didn't you notice how he looked when Horse was murdering that poor St. Bernard? And didn't you see how he fell right into that gang's orgy, letting himself be.. .sucked by that girl while a.. .pervert was beating you up and raping me."
"I see what you mean." Pain shot through Hamp's gut and caused his facial wound to ache as he thought of what had happened behind the shack.
"Let's go, Hamp. We don't have to take much with us. If we're quiet, Peter won't wake up."
They got off the bed and dressed quickly. Then they went to the apartment's single closet and began to pack their clothing.
Wiffie jumped when she heard Peter stir.
"What's happening?" the artist mumbled, half opening his eyes and trying to make sense of what Hamp and Wiffie were doing.
"Nothing, Peter. You just go back to sleep." Hamp braced himself for the possibility of a fight.
"You going somewhere? What's going on?" Peter was more fully awake now, and had pushed himself into a half sitting position on the cot.
"Just go back to sleep, Peter," Hamp said in a tense voice.
Wiffie put a hand over Hamp's mouth and turned to Peter. "That's right; go to sleep. While you were sleeping a telegram came. My mother's sick, and I have to go home. Hamp's going with me."
"Why?"
"Because I don't want to face my parents alone."
Peter frowned and rubbed his eyes. "Hell, I'll come along too, then. That should make it even easier for you."
Wiffie shook her head. "I don't think that would be a good idea. A threesome would look a little strange, don't you think?"
Peter thought about it for a moment. "Yeah, I suppose so."
"All right, then. You just go back to sleep. We'll be back by Thursday or Friday at the latest." She went over and kissed Peter on the cheek, hoping afterward that he hadn't seen the distaste in her face.
They left the apartment as soon as Peter had flopped back down on his cot.
They didn't know where to go, at first, but finally took the subway to the Port Authority Bus Terminal. It was warm there, and not too heavily peopled by perverts at eight in the morning, and after putting their bags in a locker, they had breakfast in the coffee shop and talked things over.
"Let's get an apartment in Queens," Hamp said. "It's supposed to be fairly decent out there, with trees and even squirrels if you get into the right neighborhood, and if you look hard enough you can find a furnished place for not too much. You can get a job as a secretary or something until I find something that pays better."
Wiffie thought about it for a moment, then grasped Hamp's hand. She pressed his fingers between her own and looked him in the eye as she spoke. "Let's go somewhere else," she said. "Where the air is really clean, and where there aren't any motorcycle gangs or perverts. Someplace away from New York."
"But we haven't got any money!" Hamp told her.
"You've saved a little, haven't you?" she asked. "Well, maybe seventy-five or a hundred dollars, at most."
"Good. And I had some of those bonds left over. You know; the ones my aunt gave me? I said there was only four hundred dollars, but I was lying, I'm afraid. I was saving the rest for a real emergency-like getting out of town if my parents or the Home found out that I'd tried to get an abortion. Hamp, I have three hundred and fifty dollars in my purse, all in traveler's checks."
Hamp was stunned but pleased. "Three hundred fifty and ... Wiffie, I'll bet we have close to five hundred dollars, if you count my next paycheck! I'll quit my job and...."
Wiffie interrupted, putting a finger to his lips. "Tell them by mail," she said. "They can mail you the money, and so can your bank. Let's leave today. This morning, Hamp!"
"But where will we go?"
"How about New Hampshire? Or Vermont! I've always wanted to live in a little cottage in Vermont."
Forty-seven minutes later, they were sitting side by side in an air-conditioned bus, moving through the streets of Manhattan. Wiffie leaned on Hamp's shoulder and held his hand, and both of them entertained visions of the green, clean Vermont countryside in which they would soon reside.
Peter awoke for a second time, this time with a hangover. He stumbled to the bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet, intending to take a couple of Wiffie's aspirin. They weren't there. Neither were her toothbrush, hand lotion, shampoo ... Everything was gone except Peter's own toothbrush and razor. Why had she taken so much if she intended to be gone only a few days?
When he looked in the closet, he saw that all but her least attractive clothes-the ones she never bothered to wear-had disappeared. How had she packed everything in so short a time? And why? Most of Hamp's stuff was gone, too; even his fall suit, which he wouldn't have needed at this time of year. Something was very wrong.
Peter went back to his cot and lay down, covering his eyes to shield them from the light which tortured his retinas, causing his aching head to throb all the more.
He moped about the apartment for the rest of the week. He clung to the hope that his suspicions were groundless; that Wiffie and Hamp would come back. But when they hadn't returned by Saturday, he knew they wouldn't be returning. The missing items from the medicine cabinet, the clothes they'd taken, and the fact that they hadn't even called ... Well, it was a depressing scene.
Sunday evening, Peter got cleaned up and packed his toothbrush and razor in a battered toilet kit. He tossed the kit, his few clothes and a box of brushes and paints into his old tin suitcase, and looked around the apartment. It was good-bye to the old place now; the rent was due on Monday, and he didn't have enough to pay it. He had assumed that Hamp would be around to help out.
Anyway-and this was his real reason for leaving-there was nothing to hold him there any more; nothing but the loneliness and the painful memories and the sadness that had come with the departure of Wiffie and Hamp. Peter headed for Jersey City, and Mugsy's Bar.
There were only three or four cycles in front of the place. Sunday was a quiet evening, he supposed; everyone was probably still hung-over from Saturday night. But when he went inside, he found Horse, fucking a chick who was sitting in his lap. And Elvira-blessed Elvira-was leaning against the bar.
"Peter!" she cried.
"Hi, Elvira. Do you know of anyone who's got a spare seat on the back of his cycle?"
"I'll steal a cycle for us, Peter baby. Hell, I'll even teach you how to ride!"
Peter patted her on the ass, and nodded to Mugsy, who smiled as he took a stein from the rack and filled it with cold, fresh beer.