Skinflick by Joseph Hansen

trying to see in the poor light from the kitchen and from the building across the way whether a garden hose was coiled somewhere among the broken hibachis, splintered surfboards, and bent lawn furniture beneath the hanging vines. Delgado’s stomach spasms eased off. He wiped a sleeve across his mouth.
    “I warned you,” he groaned. “You had to feed me. You just had to feed me.”
    “Come get some coffee,” Dave said.
    “You think I’d take anything from you now?” Delgado staggered to his feet. He spat. “Knowing what you think?”
    “Is what I think any uglier than what you think? Come on. Forget it.” He led Delgado back into the kitchen. He stood him at the sink. “Wash your face.” Delgado splashed water with hands that hadn’t seen any for a long time. Dave handed him a supermarket dishtowel. He picked up the fallen mug and poured coffee into it again. “Drink this. Take the shower. Sleep it off.”
    Silently, sullenly, Delgado did as he was told. Dave led him across to the room with the fencing masks. He lifted folded jeans and the promised sweatshirt out of a carton on the floor. He steered Delgado to the bathroom where grit crunched on the white tiles. He shut the door on Delgado, and while the shower splashed, he set up the steel frame, lowered onto it the box spring that had been leaning against the wall, the mattress. He lifted sheets and blankets from other cartons and made up the bed. The shower ceased.
    “Don’t try to shave tonight,” Dave said. “Tomorrow.”
    He took a blanket for himself, left the building, closed the door behind him. He unlocked the big front building, threw the blanket inside, clicked light switches until somewhere outdoors around a corner a glow came from untrimmed brush. He went out again. Someplace he’d seen a garden hose. He went toward the light, shoes crackling dried oak leaves and eucalyptus seed pods. The smell of the eucalyptus was strong in the night heat. He found the hose. He prowled for a connection. He screwed the hose to it and turned the tap handle and got a lot of hard spray in his face. He dragged the hose around the house corner and reached the mess Delgado had made and, using his thumb to increase the force of the water, washed the vomit off the tiles into the Uttered earth under the shrubs.
    “The midnight gardener,” somebody said.
    Dave turned. He knew the figure—slight, trim, the overgrown grounds-light behind him haloing gray hair. It was Doug, whom he’d lived with for three years and didn’t live with anymore. “Right around to your left,” he said, “is the turn-off. Turn it off for me?”
    Doug stepped into shadow. He gave a yelp that said the leaky connection had doused him. The hose quit running and Dave dropped it Doug came to him. He wore a safari jacket of crash linen with the cuffs turned back. He was brushing water off it. Dave asked, “What brings you here? Did Christian fling himself into a volcano?”
    “I wanted to see if you were all right,” Doug said.
    The door of the building where the fencing masks hung opened. Delgado stood there in the fresh clothes. The light behind him shone off his wet hair. “Listen,” he said, “I want to thank you. I feel a hell of a lot better.”
    “You sound better,” Dave said. “There’s a carton of medicine-chest stuff on the bathroom floor. Take some aspirin. It might ward off a headache in the morning.”
    “I hate taking your bed.” Delgado saw Doug and jerked. “Oh, hell. Who’s that?”
    “Never mind me,” Doug said. “Just carry on as if I hadn’t come. Obviously, I shouldn’t have.”
    “Ah, Christ,” Delgado said. “Dave, I’m sorry.”
    “Nothing to be sorry for,” Dave said. “Sleep well.”
    Delgado hesitated, then turned, slump-shouldered, went back inside, and shut the door.
    “You can still surprise me,” Doug said.
    “You want some coffee?” Dave said.

9
    T APPING WOKE HIM. HE flinched at the brightness of the big empty room and thought