Slide by Gerald A Browne Read Free Book Online Page A

rain.
    â€œStupid cunt,” Elliot said aloud, with sibilance on the first word and a hard coughlike start on the second. She probably wants to sign autographs, he thought. He’d better go in and get her.

5
    Gloria Rand was seated on a large, inflated plastic cushion outside the front door to her apartment. A white telephone on a long cord from inside was within easy reach. She always brought the phone out whenever she swam or sat by the pool. It was the only way when a phone rang for her to know for sure whether or not it was hers.
    Along the covered walkway the doors to most of the other apartments were also open. It was that sort of place. Down the way a couple of hibachis were smouldering, and, as usual, at least a half-dozen stereos were competing to underscore the moment. One seemed to dominate with a piece of Lou Rawls’ soul.
    In a few minutes it would be four o’clock. Gloria was watching Stuart and a married fellow named Murph as they flipped a Day-Glo red regulation-size Frisbee back and forth. Swift, skimming throws, frequent remarkable catches against the backdrop of rain beyond the covered area.
    Stuart had on a pair of shorts, jeans, actually, cut off into shorts. They were frayed and nicely faded and they hung precariously low on the studs of his hipbones. He was twenty-two, six feet exactly, with a taut, sinewy sort of swimmer’s physique. Stuart didn’t live there at the apartment complex. That is, he was not actually a tenant, although since meeting Gloria four months ago he had stayed over and been around about as much as those who did pay rent. Prior to Stuart another good-looking young man had enjoyed the same setup for several months. And before him, another.
    Stuart leaped high.
    He made an amazing fingertip grab of the red Frisbee. His smile congratulated himself. He glanced over to Gloria.
    She responded with: “Dynamite!”
    Gloria appeared older than Stuart. About thirty, perhaps, maybe another year or two.
    She had auburn hair, straight falling, long, worn middleparted to form an arch that nicely contained her face. Her face could scarcely be improved. Narrow nose, ideally tipped, eyes wide set, deep and brown. Her complexion flawless and pale — creamy pale, not sickly. Perhaps it was the paleness that gave the impression that she was pampered, that she overcared for herself. She conveyed that no matter how casual her attitude or dress — such as now, sitting with her legs drawn up, hugging her legs, wearing pleated, straight-legged jeans, espadrilles and a light cotton shirt unbuttoned three down to show she wasn’t wearing, didn’t need to wear, a bra.
    The telephone rang.
    Gloria answered it, got up and carried the phone inside.
    â€œShall I come there? … If you need me I’ll come … Are you sure? I could catch a plane tonight … I suppose you’re right … I’m fine,” she said, changing to sound as though that were so. “I’m just fine. If only we’d get some sun here … No, I don’t, but still it’s nice to have sunshine … Day before yesterday, it occurred to me that the sun is up there going across the sky same as always and all this rainy mess is just in between and it seemed such a ridiculous idea, something I’d never thought about before, that it seemed I’d made it up. But then I realized that’s how it really is.” She paused. “I’m babbling … No, it’s not okay, I shouldn’t babble. It’s a giveaway.”
    Stuart appeared just outside the front door, having to retrieve a bad throw of the Frisbee. He asked Gloria whom she was talking to.
    Gloria covered the mouthpiece while she told him it was long distance, her younger, married sister Pam from Richmond, Virginia. Pam’s eight-year-old, Daniel, was in the hospital with a concussion, a fall from a bike.
    Stuart didn’t hear the last part. He disappeared from the doorway like a