Abilene turned to Helen. The girl’s head hung as she slid a bar of soap over one breast.
She wasn’t a striking, regal knockout. She wasn’t wholesome and athletic. She wasn’t even plain but cute. She was homely, fat and dumpy.
Abilene knew she must be feeling like hell.
‘Have you got any of your father’s books?’ Vivian asked.
‘Not with me.’
‘Does the student bookstore carry them?’
‘No, but the Save-More Drugstore has a bunch.’ She felt as if she were ignoring Helen. But maybe the girl preferred it that way.
‘What’s his name?’
‘Alex Randolph.’
‘Good. I’ll pick up something next time I’m in there.’ She squirted shampoo into her palm and started rubbing it into her hair. ‘So. Helen. What do you think of McMasters?’
‘He’s okay,’ Helen murmured, soaping herself and keeping her head down.
‘I hear he was a drill instructor in the Marines.’
‘He’s a bastard,’ Cora said.
‘We’re all in his eight o’clock,’ Vivian told Abilene. She was scrubbing her sudsy hair, froth rolling down the sides of her face. ‘How’d you luck out?’
‘I’ll be taking his course next semester.’
‘He’s a real bastard,’ Cora repeated.
Vivian turned her head. ‘He might leave you alone if you’d get there on time.’
‘Fat chance.’
Vivian laughed. ‘He’s decent enough to me and Helen.’
‘That’s because Helen’s got brains and you’ve got him flustered.’ Cora leaned forward and looked at Abilene. ‘You should see it. The guy blushes every time he lays his eyes on Viv.’
‘He hankers after me,’ Vivian said.
Helen burst out laughing, raised her head and turned toward the others. Her mouth was stretched into a wide smile. The laughter shook her shoulders, made her breasts bob and shake.
‘Well, he does!’ Vivian insisted.
‘Hankers!’ Helen squealed.
‘Don’t split a gut,’ Cora advised.
‘I’m… sorry. Oh Jesus! He hankers after her!’
And Finley came into the shower room.
At that time, Abilene didn’t know her name. If she had known her name, she wouldn’t have recognized her anyway; a gorilla mask covered her entire head.
Finley wore a tank top, shorts, and tennis shoes.
At her face, viewfinder to the gorilla’s eyehole, rested a portable video camera.
She came bounding into the mist and pranced sideways, sweeping the camera across Helen and Abilene and Vivian and Cora as she rushed by.
At first, Abilene was too surprised and perplexed to realize what was happening. By the time she figured out that the strange apparition was taping them, it was too late to cover herself. Vivian blurted, ‘What the hell?’ and whirled toward the wall. Cora lunged at Finley, reaching out. But Finley, in her tennies, had better traction and sprang clear. Cora skidded. Her feet flew up and she landed on her rump.
Finley backstepped, getting the fall on tape.
‘Thanks, hon,’ she said in a cheery, muffled voice.
She scampered sideways. Vivian presented her with nothing but her back, hands trying to hide her rear.
Abilene rushed forward. Bent at the waist, arms and legs spread wide like a basketball guard, she blocked Finley’s retreat. The girl slipped to a halt. The big lens of the camera shifted from side to side — from breast to breast — and down.
‘You bitch!’
‘Time to go!’ She feinted to the left. Abilene lurched that way to grab her. She saw her mistake as Finley ducked to the right, but the slick floor didn’t allow a quick change of direction.
Sliding and turning, she watched the girl run for the exit and straight into Helen’s fist.
Helen, waiting in the middle of the entryway, threw a haymaker that knocked the gorilla head sideways. The camera flew, striking Abilene’s right thigh as Finley’s back slammed the floor. The girl skidded toward her.
Abilene rubbed her leg. She bent down and picked up the camera.
Then they all gathered around Finley. Helen planted a foot on her belly. Cora pulled off the gorilla head.
The girl grimaced up at them. ‘Greetings,’ she said. ‘Finley’s the name. Pleased to make your acquaintance, ladies.’
CHAPTER THREE
The Wagoneer stopped in front of Abilene and Finley. The others climbed out.
Helen’s head tilted back and rolled as she surveyed the lodge. Her eyes were wide. Her mouth hung open. She might have been standing for the first time at the feet of the Statue of Liberty, gazing up at the monument with awe and delight.
‘Why don’t we leave everything in the car,’ Cora suggested, ‘until we’ve looked the place over?’
Vivian, nose wrinkled, said, ‘Why don’t we not look the place over and drive back to Burlington instead?’
‘Where’s your sense of adventure?’ Abilene asked.
‘It lost out to my sense of self-preservation.’
‘No risk, no thrill,’ Cora said.
Helen, still gaping at the lodge, said, ‘Isn’t this place just fabulously eerie?'
‘I just hope it’s fabulously unoccupied,’ Abilene said. ‘God only knows who might’ve decided to take up residence in a place like this.’
Helen grinned. ‘Yeah.’ She sounded tickled by the possibility of encountering a hermit or axe-murderer inside the ruin. ‘Let’s go in and check it out.’
She hurried up the porch stairs, Cora at her side, Vivian following. Before stepping through the doorway, Vivian looked over her shoulder. ‘Coming?’
‘I wouldn’t miss it,’ Finley said and shouldered her camera. ‘Go on ahead,’ she told Abilene.
Abilene climbed the stairs and strode across the porch. The boards wobbled and squeaked. Even though they’d been strong enough to support Helen, she feared breaking through and was glad to reach the safety of the foyer’s marble floor.
The others hadn’t ventured off the marble. They stood at its far edge as if the foyer were an island and they weren’t ready to get their feet wet. Nobody spoke. Only their heads moved as they looked around. Abilene supposed they were listening, wondering whether the lodge was truly deserted. She halted beside Vivian.
‘Bitchin’ joint!’ Finley yelled.
Abilene flinched. Vivian gasped. Helen twisted around, scowling, pressing a finger to her heavy lips and letting out a long ‘Shhhhhhhh.’
A grin spread across Finley’s face. Obviously, she had meant to startle them and was pleased by her success. ‘Okay,’ she mouthed, not making a sound. She came forward ever so slowly on tiptoes, lifting her knees high, setting her feet down gingerly, her lips pursed — a parody of silent sneaking.
She stopped next to Abilene. She turned slowly, panning the room with her camera. Its automatic focus made quiet humming sounds as it adjusted to changing distances. Then she lowered the camera to her side and stood motionless.
All five women looked around and listened.
Other than the quick pounding of her own heartbeat, Abilene heard nothing but sounds from outside: birds chirping and squawking, the sigh of leaves stirred by breezes.
Enough daylight came in for her to see the staircase to her left, an open room beyond it, and the lobby and lounge area to her right. Except for the L-shaped registration desk and the numbered cubby-holes behind it, the huge room was bare.
She supposed that its dark, panelled walls had once been decorated with the heads of deer, with mounted fish and paintings of rustic scenes. There had probably been stuffed raccoons, and such, perched atop the broad wooden rafters. And furniture scattered about. Easy chairs, lamp tables. Maybe even sofas and a rug in front of the broad, stone fireplace. The fireplace, she noticed, was still equipped with andirons, a screen, and a set of fire irons.