Body and Soul by InSilva
Disclaimer: Do not own Saul, do not own Rusty.
Chapter Two: Saul's Place
Two hours later and Rusty was wondering how smart the decision really was. It was too late to turn back though. He'd never get to MacAvoy's in time for six and he knew better than to expect a third chance.
Saul had shaken his hand and looked him in the eye and said an unexpected "Thank you". Then he'd led him to an ordinary-looking Dodge and thrown open the trunk for him to drop his bag inside. Reluctantly, he'd done so. It felt like separation. And getting his bag back was now an obstacle. He figured though that the old man deserved some sort of assurance that he wasn't just going to cut and run.
"We're headed for New Jersey," Saul had said as he started the car and Rusty had nodded.
Saul could just as easily have said the moon. New Jersey was just a name. He tried to think of everything he knew about the state. Alphabetically, it was sandwiched in between Nevada and New Mexico. And it was home to Atlantic City: America's playground.
"What sort of music do you like?" the old man had asked.
He hadn't known how to answer that one. Music was snatched songs on radios playing in the street or blaring through the windows of cars that passed. It was found in street performers with guitars and keyboards and occasionally amazing voices. It was the sound of the piano at the upmarket bar on Maple Street which floated out of the door when he passed by.
Saul seemed to sense his awkwardness.
"Try and tune this in to something you want to listen to," he said, indicating the car radio. "Me, I'm not so fussed. A little Sinatra, a little Ella…mostly I try to catch the news and sport."
He'd scanned the stations finally locking on to a local radio show with an overenthusiastic host and light, frothy songs that took the edge off the silence.
The silence wasn't awkward, it just lay there between them. Saul seemed content to concentrate on driving, passing the occasional comment, polite or otherwise at other road users.
"Sleep if you want," he'd offered. "We won't get home much before nine."
Rusty had closed his eyes but he hadn't slept. Instead he'd stared at the back of his eyelids and tried to work through the mix of emotions rushing through him.
This was escape – an escape, he corrected himself – and all the ensuing excitement and adrenaline and fear and anxiety coursed through him. It could be worse, a voice whispered, and he thought of MacAvoy and the familiar and part of him yearned for what he knew, what he could cope with. It could be better, another voice said and he wondered if he really dared to think that.
The car stopped and he opened his eyes to find they'd pulled in to a gas station with a little shop and a phone booth.
"I'm going to fill her up," Saul said. "You want to go and find some food?"
He started to dig into his wallet and Rusty shook his head.
"You gave me money three days ago," he reminded him. "What do you want?"
Saul gave a slight smile. "Sandwich and a coffee'll do fine."
Rusty was busy trying to balance two cans of Coke, two large bags of potato chips, three bars of chocolate, a bag of popcorn, a ham and pickle on rye and the coffee.
Saul came in to pay and he took in Rusty's laden arms. He smiled and Rusty found his mouth turn into an answering grin.
"Out of my way, old man."
Two men in their early twenties shouldered Saul to one side on their way to the cash desk. Rusty frowned but Saul didn't seem to mind. They paid and as they turned to leave, they found an apologetic Saul who danced from one foot to another trying to get out of their way before bumping into one of them.
"Move!" the man snarled and pushed Saul hard enough that he lost his footing and slipped to the floor.
"What are you looking at, kid?" the other asked as automatically, Rusty took a step forward and then stopped.
Not much, was the answer he bit back on.
"Want to get lippy with me? You want to take me on?"
No. No, he didn't. That would not be a sensible move. That would be the equivalent of spending time with Dockside Barrie before he shot up or even after he'd shot up. Back down, back down, you can't take him on. He took a deliberate step back and dropped his gaze.
"That's right, boy. And don't you forget it."
The two men left and Saul advanced to the cash desk.
"Gas on number five," he said. "And whatever this young man is carrying."
Rusty dumped the groceries on the cash desk and scowled at Saul.
"I told you you didn't have to pay," he said in a voice low enough for the cashier not to hear.
Saul looked at him levelly and produced a wallet that wasn't his.
"I'm not," he said just as quietly and Rusty's mouth dropped open.
Saul dropped the wallet minus the cash near the gas station door and they climbed back into the car.
In between handfuls of chips and popcorn and swigs of Coke and bites of chocolate, Rusty stared at Saul. When he'd finished his sandwich, Saul shot him a glance back.
"Horrified? Outraged? Disgusted?"
Rusty shook his head. None of the above. Surprised was probably the closest and the politest word. Surprised at the elegance, the skill, the neatness of the revenge.
"You alright?"
Alright? Yeah…the idea just took a bit of getting used to. He nodded and Saul seemed satisfied.
The streetlights were on as they pulled into the drive of an old, rambling house. A woman in her thirties, brown hair pulled back behind her ears, brown eyes that looked like they laughed often and a face that looked like it smiled a lot, opened the door, wiping her hands on her apron.
"Saul!" she beamed.
"Rusty, this is my wife, Annie. Annie, this is Rusty Ryan. He's come to stay."
Annie looked at Rusty and her face lit up. And she threw her arms around Rusty and hugged him. Awkwardly, he hung in her embrace and stared straight ahead until she let him go.
"Come on through, both of you," Annie said warmly, stepping back into the lighted hall. "I'm making dinner."
Saul showed Rusty up to a room at the back of the house. It was a good size with a single bed that had been made up clean and fresh.
"Called Annie from the gas station," Saul said. "Told her I was bringing someone home."
He turned to Rusty.
"This is your room," he said and Rusty heard the offer and he nodded acceptance.
"You want to unpack," Saul suggested, "then come on down. Annie'll be busy laying the table."
He left Rusty to it and Rusty sat on the edge of the bed and looked round. The walls were painted china blue and the carpet was fawn and the furniture was old pine. There was a dressing table with a mirror and a chest of drawers and a closet. The curtains that hung at the window were cream with some sort of swirly pattern embossed in them. The overhead light was encased in a curved cream lampshade. It was a million miles from MacAvoy's place and it felt safe.
Unpack, Saul had said. Rusty unzipped his bag, opened a drawer and put his change of clothes inside. That hadn't taken long. He fished out his toothbrush and left it on top of the dressing table and then he sat back down again on the bed and tried to stop his heart thumping so hard in his chest.
Saul had been unexpected. And everything he himself had done since that meeting three days ago had been unexpected too. Sitting and listening; not going to MacAvoy; taking Saul at his word… And then Saul lifting the wallet, Annie's welcome… Rusty looked round the room. There must be something at the bottom of this. There had to be.
Dinner was a roast chicken with all the trimmings and Rusty could not take his eyes off the food. The table looked like it was groaning under the weight of the dishes.
Saul sat at the head and Rusty took the empty chair opposite Annie.
"I hope you like chicken, Rusty," she said hesitantly. "You'll have to let me know what you like."
"I like chicken, Mrs Bloom," he assured her and her smile was wide.
"No one calls me Mrs Bloom except the mailman and my doctor," she said. "Please call me Annie."
Rusty nodded and then watched as a plate was piled high with meat and vegetables and passed to him. He looked down at it and then up at Saul and Annie and stared hard at both of them.
"You want me to go to church or Bible classes or something?" he asked wonderingly and Saul gave a roar of laughter.
Annie giggled loudly too and Rusty had felt his lips twitch, felt laughter bubble up inside him and fall out of his mouth. He didn't understand why they were laughing at the question but he liked the sound of it. It was infectious and they weren't laughing at him, they were laughing at something…
"Do you?" he asked again and Saul shook his head.
"No church. No Bible classes. Nothing you don't want to do."
And if Saul had been looking a little more closely at Rusty and a little less closely at the gravy he was pouring, he might have seen the slightest frisson.
He'd offered to do the washing-up but Annie had shooed him away and now he and Saul sat at the table listening to dishes and water and soap suds in another room.
"Something you need to know, Rusty," Saul said. "I'm not going to ask. I'm never going to ask. Any time you want to tell me, that's fine, though. Any time you want to share, you do so."
That seemed fair. Well, while they were laying down how it was going to be, Rusty had a stipulation of his own.
"I'm not going to school."
"OK."
"I can read, I can write and I pick things up real fast."
"I'm sure," Saul smiled.
Saul climbed into bed and found himself holding Annie as she wriggled into his embrace. He kissed the top of her head and she smiled into his shoulder and wrapped an arm around him.
"You mad at me?" he asked, knowing her answer.
"You'd know if I were."
"He's…" Saul tailed off.
"He's beautiful and he was trapped and you did the only thing you could do," Annie finished. "And it's why I love you so very much."
"You're an unusual woman, Annie."
"You're not so ordinary yourself, Saul." She paused and then hesitantly asked, "Was it- was it very awful for him?"
Saul was silent for a moment and thought about what he'd seen and heard in the diner; what Rusty had automatically thought of him; what he'd read in Rusty's eyes.
"I think it was a living hell," he said simply. "The boy's bright enough to know what he was doing. Bright enough to know he was being used and to despise the man responsible. Too desperate to turn the work down and all the while hating himself for letting it happen. And it's happened a lot."
"Oh, Saul…" Annie whispered and she hugged him more tightly.
"Don't think he's known much love, Annie. And there's a lot of pride and hurt and anger wrapped up in him."
"Did I do wrong, Saul?" She spoke so low that he almost didn't catch her words.
"When?"
"When he arrived. When I hugged him. And when I kissed him goodnight. He felt so tense…"
"Doubt anyone's done that to him in a while, Annie. Doesn't mean it's a bad thing." He kissed the top of her head again. "And you just carry on being you."
He lay that night looking up at the ceiling which was mercifully without artex and thinking hard. Nothing you don't want to do, Saul had said and he could hear the same words falling out of MacAvoy's lips. The stream of gushing compliments, the little things to be thankful for and then the easiest and hardest thing in the world to reciprocate. He closed his eyes and squeezed away thoughts of MacAvoy and hoped he was wrong.