The Pumpkin Man Page 8

  Jennica felt heat rise in her cheeks. He was kinda cute. His hair was brown and cropped, and his eyes looked warm and kind even from across the room. She liked the strong set of his chin, and she had to look away before he caught her staring.

  “Okay, so now what?” she asked.

  “Give him a smile and look away. Then give him another one in a minute or two. He’ll come over. ’Course, that leaves me up a creek. Or . . . Never mind. Looks like he’s got a friend!”

  A dark-haired guy had appeared with a pitcher of beer, and he sat next to the man watching Jenn. Kirstin shifted on her seat enough so that her cleavage jutted forward. Then she made a show of sipping her drink and looking in their direction.

  Jenn snorted. “Why don’t you just take off your top and be done with it?”

  Kirstin laughed and shook her head. “So gauche. I’ve just given them the universal sign: breasts and a nearly empty drink. My bet’s on a refill shortly.”

  “You can’t be serious.” But Jenn knew she was. And before she’d shaken her head in disbelief—or disgust—a shadow fell across them.

  “Hi,” said the dark-haired guy. “I’m Brian.” He out held his hand. Kirstin took it. She held it a moment too long, Jenn thought.

  “My friend Nick and I are just hanging out tonight on our own, and we wondered if we could buy you girls a drink.”

  Kirstin blinked innocently. “I’m almost empty. How about you, Jenn? I’m Kirstin, by the way,” she said.

  “Do you want to join us?” Brian asked. He pointed. “We have a table.”

  It was an easy decision. Moments later they were all squeezed around the table and Jenn and Kirstin had full drinks. Nick and Brian poured from the pitcher.

  “You here for The Colorful Mission?” Nick asked. His voice was quiet, but still he could be heard above the noise. He pointed to the band playing on the small stage just past the bar.

  Jenn pointed to Kirstin, who was giving Brian wide eyes and every trick in the world to make it clear she was interested. Jenn wanted to barf. “She saw the listing in the Chronicle.”

  “Yeah.” Nick rolled his eyes. “I read the article, too, but they picked a dog this time.”

  She agreed. With its angular rhythms and mix of horns, synths and guitars, the band wanted to be Oingo Boingo but seemed to be having a hard time staying in key. She was happy to tune them out.

  Somehow, two vodkas bled into four, and then the band finally stopped caterwauling and tore down. A DJ took their place, spinning a nostalgic This is the ’80s set. He ran through Nick Heyward, Duran Duran, The Cure and then Romeo Void. “Never Say Never” had Kirstin leaning on Brian as she slurred, “I might like you better if we slept together . . .” Then the entire bar began a sing-along to the Violent Femmes anthem “Blister in the Sun.” There was definitely a feeling of love spreading through the small space; brotherly, sisterly and otherly.

  When last call came, Jenn was seeing trails whenever she ran her gaze past the Christmas light strands wreathing the bar. “I don’t think I can drive,” she told Kirstin.

  Her roommate giggled. “Yeah, me neither!” She promptly batted her eyes at Brian.

  He grinned. “You can stay with us. We’re not far from here. We’ll get your car in the morning.”

  “Are you sure about this?” Jenn whispered as the two guys stood up. She struggled to keep her words from slurring. “We don’t really know them.”

  “They’re good,” Kirstin promised. “And . . . there’s no way we’re driving an hour and a half home like this.”

  They piled into Brian’s car and traveled a few blocks to an old apartment building just off the expressway. Flipping the lights on, Brian announced, “Well, we have two beds and a couch. So I guess one of us could take the bathtub, or . . .”

  Kirstin laughed and took him by the hand. “Come on and show me your room, silly boy.”

  They disappeared behind a closed door. Jenn found herself uncomfortably alone with Nick.

  “I’ll take the couch,” she said, slumping into it almost before she finished talking.

  He smiled. “Hang on.” A minute later, he came back with a pillow and blanket.

  “Thanks,” she said, lying back and making herself comfortable. But when he turned out the light and said good night, Jenn suddenly felt an overwhelming urge to say, “Wait.”

  He sat down near her feet on the couch. His voice was low, almost nervous. “What’s up?”

  “Would you mind . . . just staying here with me a little bit?” she asked. “I’m a little weirded out, being here in a strange place.”

  “No problem,” he replied.

  Jenn wasn’t sure what would happen next, but she felt the weight of him along her back. The couch was deep, so he slid in easily behind her. Sharing her pillow, he slipped his arm across her waist, and with his warmth, an ease fell over her, an ease she hadn’t felt in a long time. Between the alcohol and the feeling of being protected, she drifted quickly to sleep.

  “I would have thought your bed might be more comfortable,” Brian said.

  Jenn groggily opened one eye. The room was bright with morning light, and her back was hot from the sun.

  “Yeah, well, we just kinda crashed here,” said a voice behind her ear. Nick.

  Jenn’s internal eyebrows raised. WTF? She’d spent the night on the couch with a guy she’d only met hours before?

  Kirstin appeared, clad only in a San Francisco Giants T-shirt. Jenn had never seen it before. Her friend stretched, nipples clearly evident through the fabric. Brian rested his arm on her shoulder, and she smiled at him.

  Oh gawd, Jenn thought.

  “Brian said we could go to the beach today,” Kirstin announced.

  “I’m not sure I can get off this couch,” Jenn said, lifting her head and feeling the hangover.

  Nick lifted his arm, and suddenly Jenn felt cold. Exposed. She wanted him back.

  “Beach?” he said, struggling to push himself upright.

  “Baker Beach,” Kirstin enthused. “It’s by the Golden Gate Bridge.”

  “Mmm-hmmm,” Nick said.

  “Just one problem,” Jenn pointed out, at the same time pressing a palm to her forehead. It felt hot, too. “We don’t have our swimsuits.”

  “Not a problem,” Brian said. “Baker Beach is partially nude. You don’t need suits.”

  “Um, I don’t know—” Jenn started to say, but Kirstin cut her off.

  “There’s nothing better for a hangover than sun and sand.”

  Jenn laid her head back. To be honest, at the moment she didn’t care if the whole world saw her naked. She just didn’t care. Jenn closed her eyes.

  CHAPTER

  THIRTEEN

  The beach was crowded. It was a rare eighty-five-degree day in San Francisco, and the sand showed it. There was barely an open spot to lay a towel.

  “Baker 2.0 is this way,” Brian said, pointing toward the looming orange struts of the Golden Gate.

  “I don’t know if we really need to go all the way,” Jenn began.

  Kirstin rolled her eyes. “You need to live a little, girl. Twenty years from now, you probably won’t be able to take that skin to a nude beach, but right now you have nothing to hide.”

  Jenn laughed. “I have a lot to hide.”

  Nick spoke up. “Come on, you guys. If Jenn’s uncomfortable going all the way down Baker, we can find a spot here. It’s crowded but there’s space.”

  Brian took Kirstin’s hand and pulled. “We’re going,” he taunted.

  Nick looked at Jenn. “What do you want to do? I’m cool if you want to stay here.”

  Jenn wanted to stay on the clothed beach. Hell, she wanted to be back in the apartment on the couch under a blanket. Her head still felt like mush. Maybe it was because Nick was there, but she was not going to let Kirstin show her up. Not today. Not now. “Let’s just go,” she said.

  As it turned out, the girls had less of a problem than the guys, at least in terms of people ogling
them. As they walked, towels slowly began to take up less of the beach, and suddenly they found themselves walking among men lying belly up and cock free. There were some women, most of whom were frolicking thigh-deep in the surf, but within a few yards it was clear there were more male nudists than female. And Jenn noticed an awful lot of the guys had towels very close to one another.

  “Welcome to Gayville,” she laughed. “I hope you two are up for it.”

  The foursome tossed their towels down near the water, and Kirstin wasted very little time in pulling off her borrowed T-shirt. Her borrowed shorts followed. She grinned, putting a hand on one bare hip and grinning.

  “Let’s hit the waves!”

  Jenn couldn’t help but be envious of her friend’s jutting breasts and taut belly. Then Kirstin was running toward the ocean.

  “Fuck it,” Jenn said, in disbelief though she was actually doing it. She pulled off her shirt, almost shaking from nervousness, but also felt raw and excited and free for the first time in who knew how long. She had no job, no family, no life at the moment. What did she have to lose?

  As she kicked off shorts she’d borrowed from Nick, she looked up at the two men and said, “Well, are you guys pussies or what?”

  It was totally unlike her, but it felt good. Then she was following Kirstin, naked as the day she was born and feeling amazingly, wonderfully free.

  For a few moments, it was the most exhilarating experience of her life. Then the cold surf splashed her thighs and she questioned the entire exercise. Damn, that was cold! Numbing, skin-deadening cold.

  “Fuck, this is freezing,” Kirstin complained.

  “Uh, yeah,” Jenn answered.

  Behind them, the two guys dropped their shorts and ran to the water with the obvious intent to submerge before being seen. Jenn watched Nick dashing to the surf, and she saw what she hadn’t the night before. And she liked it.

  It warmed her just a little bit. It was even better when Nick actually ran through the waist-high saltwater to join her.

  “Hi,” he said, clearly a little embarrassed. He cautiously slipped an arm around her shoulder.

  “Hey,” she answered, smiling at him to let him know it was all right. She had never stood naked in public next to another naked person but she found that strangely she was okay with it. “Thanks,” she added.

  “For what?” He looked surprised.

  “For showing me this. I love it.”

  Rampant male nudity aside, the view from Baker Beach was amazing. The orange-red struts of the Golden Gate loomed seemingly meters away, and the bay stretched out before them in a blue wash of possibility.

  “It’s beautiful,” she pronounced.

  “You’re beautiful,” he said.

  She grinned and put her arms around his neck. “Thank you,” she said again, and leaned up to kiss him.

  He held her close to him and pulled them low in the water so that only their heads jutted above the surface. But she felt him below the waves, and the press of his body made her smile.

  After the beach, the boys took them to Fisherman’s Wharf for a late lunch. “You can’t be a tourist in San Francisco without stopping at the wharf,” Brian said. He acted very comfortable playing tour guide.

  Nick, on the other hand, generally hung back. But this time, he laughed. “Generally tourists don’t start at the nude beach!”

  “We’re not tourists,” Kirstin pouted. “We live near here now.”

  “Okay, then we’ll just drive by really fast and make fun of it,” Brian said.

  “I could go for some crab cakes,” Jennica protested. “Do you think they’d have them at the wharf?”

  Brian laughed. “The wharf is crab mecca. Fried, breaded, cold, boiled, fancy restaurant, walk-up vendor off the sidewalk—I think we can find you some crab.”

  They walked along the strip near the water where jugglers and street performers staked out spaces. “I’ve never seen a guy tap-dance to hip-hop,” Kirstin noted, as they passed an old guy in purple baggy pants and a green button-down shirt dancing up a storm.

  “There’s a guy here who hides behind palm fronds and then jumps out at you and says ‘Boo’—and expects a tip for it,” Nick said. “They call him the Bush Man.”

  “Nice!”

  “Hot crab, cold beer,” called out an older Asian man in a white but well-stained apron. They were walking past a strip of outdoor food vendors, all of which featured crabmeat. Most bordered sit-down restaurants, but the stands were crowded with people buying crabmeat by the cup or fish and chips by the paper plate.

  “Let’s just eat out here,” Kirstin suggested, and in minutes they were all licking slippery fingers.

  Jenn picked up a morsel and bit through the deep-fried shell into the diced crabmeat within. She could barely finish chewing before she had to exclaim, “Wow. Now that is a crab cake!”

  “See, I said you would like it here,” Kirstin said.

  “I think I know something else you might like,” Nick offered, pointing at a large corrugated shed just beyond the seaside restaurants. A red banner hung from the metal face that read MUSEE MECHANIQUE.

  “What is it?” Jennica asked.

  Nick put his arm around her and began walking. “It’s a museum of old arcade machines. You know, kind of like Coney Island stuff. And it’s free admission. Definitely worth a look since we’re here.”

  Inside was like stepping back a century. The room was filled with old wooden-framed machines to “Stretch a Penny” and “Tell your Fortune.” Many were simply machines that had monkeys and dolls moving through various settings, like circus or farm. You could put a quarter or two in to bring any of them to animated life.

  Nick shot at moving tin squirrel squares with a BB gun. Clearly he’d spent some time in an arcade; he nailed virtually every target. Meanwhile Brian toyed with a machine that displayed a short animated dance sequence using a revolving wheel of pictures of a woman reflected in a mirror. Kirstin moved ahead and found a quarter machine that promised to “Show the Forbidden. Adults Only.”

  She laughed and called, “C’mon, Brian, let’s see what’s so naughty.”

  He produced a quarter, and they took turns at the viewfinder. A series of 3-D sepia photos of 1920s-era women showed bounteous breasts through see-through silks.

  Jenn picked a tall, thin machine called The Executioner and put in a quarter. The lights went on in a model building, and then the front door opened to reveal a man doll hung from the neck by a rope. The trapdoor opened below him, and the tiny body fell through and disappeared.

  “Eww,” she said just as the door closed again.

  Someone started up an old player piano, and the hall was filled for a minute with classic ragtime. Jenn kept expecting to look up and find everything had turned to sepia tones, because it was just like they’d fallen into an old-time movie.

  “Hey, Jenn—let’s do your fortune!” Kirstin called. She stood before the kind of boardwalk device that Tom Hanks had run afoul of in the movie Big. The old wooden machine that had a mannequin figure inside. LET GRANDMA TELL YOUR FORTUNE the sign above it said.

  “These things are crap,” Nick laughed.

  Jenn stared at the ivory jowls of the wooden figure behind the glass. “I think they’re kind of creepy.”

  “My treat,” Kirstin said, holding up a quarter. “Put your hands on the wood, like it says, so she can feel you.”

  Jenn put her hands on the worn spots in the wood and stared up at the red-painted lips of the fortune-teller. The lights flashed behind the glass, and whirring machinery rattled the wood. Then, from the right-hand side of the machine, a slip of paper dropped into a wooden holder. She reached down and unfurled it.

  “‘There is happiness afoot but darkness on the horizon. Beware the night and embrace the light.’ Well, that’s uplifting,” she said, showing the other three what she’d read.

  They peered over her shoulder, and Nick announced, “I believe there’s a misprint. ‘Light’ should be ‘Ni
ck.’”

  Jenn smiled and reached out to hug him. “Okay, so I guess if you’re wrong and it really meant ‘light,’ I’m screwed?”

  Nick winked. “Either way,” he said.

  The foursome left the museum and walked back along the wharf to stare at the myriad white sails dotting the waves. The island of Alcatraz broke the horizon. Nick ultimately was the one to say, “I hate to end things, but do you all want to get on the road and out of the city before it starts getting too dark?”

  Jenn’s face dropped but she nodded. “Probably a good idea. We’ve had a great day, though.” It had ended too soon.

  Kirstin shrugged and kissed Brian without warning. “I had a blast,” she announced. Her voice was even higher than usual.

  “We’d love to get together with you girls again,” Nick offered.

  “Hell, we’d even drive up if you wanted,” Brian said.

  The girls were excited to hear that. By the time they’d walked back to their parked cars, they had made a date to cook dinner for the boys the next weekend up at the house in River’s End. They traded cell phone numbers; then both couples were kissing, oblivious of the other.

  “Can’t wait to see you again,” Jenn whispered when Nick’s lips briefly left hers.

  He grinned and said, “Ditto,” before their mouths met again.

  It took a while before they were back on the road.

  Meredith Perenais’s Journal

  February 12, 1985

  I know that he still loves me; I can see it behind the stillness in his eyes. But something has changed in him. He’s locked inside himself. With every carving, he goes further away from me. And yet, he can’t stop. It’s his passion. His secret heart.

  The knives have stolen his soul. I gave him the gift that made him the Pumpkin Man, but in releasing those shapes, he loses himself. Sometimes the power goes in directions you can never imagine or control. My gift may not have been a gift at all, but a curse.

  I can’t reach him anymore. Maybe we’re both lost.

  CHAPTER

  FOURTEEN

  The murder made the front page of the River Times. Hell, it was the only real news River’s End had. The headline read THE PUMPKIN MAN KILLER RETURNS. Beneath that was the description of Simon Tobler’s beheading and the pumpkin shards left behind. The story filled three columns. A subheading read, Another in a series of murders that have haunted River’s End this decade and last.