by Gloria Dank
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
Snooky glanced at him uncomfortably. “What are the chances that there’s another one of those letters there?”
Bernard drummed his fingers on the table. “Almost a certainty.”
“I agree. That’s why I want you to come with me. I don’t want Weezy to have to be there when we get it.”
Bernard sat thoughtfully for a few minutes. Then he nodded, drained his coffee and pushed back his chair. Misty grumbled at his feet. “All right. Let’s go now.”
“Now? Right now?”
“Yes.”
“Nothing if not a man of action,” Snooky said approvingly.
When they reached the local post office Snooky did most of the talking while Bernard, after saying hello, lapsed into silence. The postmaster put up only a minimum amount of resistance. Ridgewood was a small town and Bernard was a well-known figure at the post office, coming in from time to time to mail off his manuscripts and galley proofs. After a brief argument, the postmaster nodded. “There’s a lot of it, though,” he said over his shoulder, going into the back. “A lot.”
He re-emerged with a large cardboard box filled with letters and magazines. “Here you go, Mr. Woodruff.”
“Thank you very much.”
They drove back to Weezy’s house. It seemed strange and still and airless inside, like a buried time capsule. Snooky threw open all the windows and let the summer breeze come in. Then he and Bernard sat down in the living room and began to sort through the mail.
“Here’s one,” Snooky said almost immediately. He turned it over and glanced at the postmark. “July sixteenth.”
“And here’s another one,” Bernard said a little while later. “Postmarked August tenth.”
“Nearly one a month since we’ve been away.”
“Yes.”
Snooky opened the first letter and read it, his face impassive. Then he tossed it across the coffee table. “Take a look.”
Bernard picked it up.
I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU
He turned the page over. That was the entire message. “More succinct than the others.”
“Uh-huh. Distilled to the essence. What’s the other one say?”
Bernard tore it open and removed the page inside. His heart was beating fast. The letters were repellent, and yet he felt a great curiosity to find out what they said. It seemed incredible that someone like Weezy could be the focus of such hatred.
YOURE NOT SUCH A GREAT ARTIST YOUR PAINTINGS ARE NO BIG DEAL IM JUST AS GOOD AS YOU JUST AS GOOD
“Hmmm,” said Bernard. He showed it to Snooky. “What do you think?”
“Redundant.”
“Yes. The same message over and over. Trying to drive the point home, apparently.” He watched as Snooky put the letters back in their envelopes and stuck them in his pocket. “Are you going to show them to her?”
“Yes. I don’t want to, but she’s already told me if there are any, she wants to see them. I just wanted to be the first line of defense, that’s all.”
“I hate to see her upset.”
“Me, too. Bernard … do you think she’s in any danger?”
“I don’t know.”
“I hate this,” Snooky said vehemently. “I feel so helpless, I don’t know what to do. Maybe I should hire her a real bodyguard.” He looked dejected at this thought.
“Maybe you should.”
“Do you think so?”
“I don’t know what to think,” said Bernard. “None of it seems to make any sense.”
“That’s what Weezy’s said all along. She said she never bragged about her career or pushed herself forward. She can’t imagine who could hate her so much.”
“If she’s in some kind of danger and we didn’t do anything, I’d never forgive myself.”
“Yes. If this person feels so tortured, maybe they think that killing her would be the answer.”
Bernard nodded.
Snooky opened the drawer of a small cabinet and took out the telephone book. He opened it and began to thumb through the yellow pages.
“Where do I look? Under B for bodyguard?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“M for muscleman? T for thug?”
“Try S for security. How do you survive in the world, Snooky? Don’t you know anything at all? How do you function?”
“Not very well, apparently,” said Snooky in a bitter tone, drawing the phone towards him and starting to dial.
“I don’t want a bodyguard,” said Weezy. She looked down at the letters in her lap. “I don’t want a bodyguard.”
Snooky took her hands in his, covering them with his warm, comforting grip. “I know you don’t, sweetheart. But you have to. Look at those letters, it’s getting more personal now. Even worse than before.”
She nodded slowly. “But I don’t want a bodyguard.”
“I know, sweetheart. I don’t want you to have one, either.”
“This is so creepy. I’m afraid to go outdoors. My whole life has stopped.” She leaned against him, and he put his arms around her. She had borrowed Maya’s car to come and see her house, and he had shown her the letters. Bernard stood uncomfortably, a frozen statue, in the background.
“I know, I know,” murmured Snooky.
“Can’t we just go away again? Why can’t we just go away?”
“We can, if you want to. Of course we can. It’s not a bad idea.”
“I was happy when we were away.”
“Yes. Me, too.”
“Let’s go away again. Why can’t we just live away? You do that, don’t you? You never stay anywhere for long. Can’t I go with you?”
He held her in a fierce embrace. “You can go anywhere with me. You know that. I’m not leaving without you.”
“We could go back to St. Martin. I was happy there, Snooky. We could go back to the islands and I could paint like Gauguin. I’ve never wanted to paint like Gauguin, but you know what I mean. Island scenes, stuff like that.”
“Okay. Whatever you want. I’ll call Peter and Nancy tonight.”
“Oh, no, no, no,” said Weezy, suddenly irritable. “We can’t impose on them again. I gave the housekeeper the key, I can’t ask for it back. Don’t you have any other friends?”
“I have lots of friends. Millions of friends. We’ll go somewhere else. How does Majorca sound to you?”
“Majorca,” Weezy said dreamily. “Yes. Majorca. You know somebody there?”
“Oh, yes. They love me in Majorca. We’ll leave tomorrow.”
“You’re wonderful,” said Weezy, and gave him a long, lingering kiss. In the background, Bernard twiddled in an agonized manner with the leaves of a large plant. He cleared his throat uncomfortably. “If I may say something …”
Weezy looked up. “Yes?”
“It’s not a bad idea, going away for a while. Things might change while you’re away.”
“Wait a minute. I can’t go. The baby’s coming next month. Snooky, we can’t go.”
“There’s plenty of time to see the baby,” Snooky said. “Majorca is a great idea. It would be better if it were winter here, but never mind, it’ll be winter soon. We’ll stay away for a nice long time.”
“Your friends won’t mind? Wait a minute, why do I even ask? Your friends never seem to mind. I don’t know where you find them.”
“Oh, here and there, here and there. When you travel a lot, you find people who don’t mind unexpected visitors. You’ll love Diane and Frank, they’re great. They’ve got two kids and these gigantic dogs that look like ponies. I don’t know what they’re called.”
“Scottish deerhounds?”
“No.”
“Irish wolfhounds?”
He shook his head. “Some exotic name. Unpronounceable.”
“But anyway, what about the baby? I can’t leave before the baby’s born,” she said fretfully, turning to Bernard. “What should I do? Maya will kill me. Stop playing with that philodendron, please, you’
re going to bruise it.”
Bernard let go of a leaf. “Maya will understand. I think, if you don’t mind my saying so …”
“Yes?”
“I think it’s more important that you go away right now. We’ll all be here when you get back.”
Weezy nodded. She picked up the letters and crumpled them savagely, then threw them on the floor. “Can I ever come home, do you think?”
“This won’t go on forever,” said Bernard.
“Oh, really? Why not? What’s going to stop it?”
Bernard had no answer to this. He remained silent. Weezy gave a brittle laugh.
“Woman without a country,” she said.
That night Bernard had trouble falling asleep. He tossed and turned in bed, pulling the covers this way and that. He muttered to himself, dozing off fitfully and awakening a few minutes later. Maya, who barely slept at all anymore, switched on the light and regarded him kindly.
“Having trouble falling asleep?”
“Yes.”
“Good,” she said, switching the lamp off. “Misery loves company.”
When he turned he woke her, and when she turned she woke him. They snarled and hissed at each other like cats in the night. Finally Maya fell asleep, her stomach propped up on two pillows, a pillow between her legs, a pillow behind her back and two more pillows under her head. She sighed as she slept, murmuring to herself.
Bernard lay awake, staring angrily into the darkness. He hated not being able to sleep. He could tell already that it was going to be a long night. He felt that sleep was far away, a land he had been to once but for some reason was not permitted to visit again. He wondered how he had ever been able to fall asleep, it seemed impossible. He turned over cautiously, rearranging the blankets, trying not to disturb Maya. She spoke suddenly, in a loud, interested tone.
“Didja?” she said. “Didja really?”
Bernard’s heart nearly stopped, it was so unexpected, but she was sound asleep. She burrowed deeper into her pillows and her breathing became calm and regular again.
There was something bothering him. Something Snooky had said today had triggered off that memory in the back of his mind again, and now it was jumping up and down, screaming at him. Something Snooky had said … something almost inconsequential, something Bernard knew already, something everyone knew, but they didn’t realize how important it was …
He pulled up the covers and grumbled to himself under his breath. “What? What is it?”
The darkness did not answer. He felt disgusted with himself. What was it? Why couldn’t he remember? He squeezed his eyes shut in an effort to recall. It was something so … so obvious.
At last Bernard dozed, a shallow sleep filled with nightmares. He was wandering in the woods … he was looking for a baby, but at every turn it eluded him … he knew the baby was his responsibility and he shouldn’t have lost it, but it was getting away, fleeing farther and farther into the distance. He woke up with a jerk, snuffling and snorting miserably. With a trembling breath, he lay down again. Next to him Maya, for once, was sleeping peacefully. Bernard thought with some bitterness that he seemed to have absorbed all the insomnia and bad dreams from her, and tonight it was his turn. He was almost afraid to fall asleep again, but when he did dream, the images had changed. He was sitting at a table and eating … eating and drinking, but what was being served to him was something noxious, something thick and creamy and poisonous. He knew he shouldn’t keep eating it, but he couldn’t help himself, he ate and ate and ate, all the while knowing that he was poisoning himself, eating wildly with tears in his eyes. He consumed unbelievable amounts, amounts that in real life would have killed him. At last, with a snuffle, he awoke with real tears in his eyes.
Bernard loved food and he hated having bad dreams about it. Food was one of his greatest pleasures in life. He shook himself all over in disgust and then lay still, listening to Maya’s calm breathing.
At last, around five-thirty in the morning, when the sky was getting light and the birds were starting to sing, it came to him. He smiled. There was no one to see him, but he smiled anyway. The writer of those letters had made one mistake. It was a natural mistake, one that would not mean anything if Weezy had been a different type of person, but it showed that the person behind those letters did not know Weezy well at all. Bernard thought of her, asleep in Snooky’s bedroom upstairs, and a contented feeling spread throughout his body. He turned over with a happy grunt and fell asleep.
At breakfast, Weezy and Snooky had an animated discussion concerning their plans for Majorca. Bernard listened silently. At last he put down his coffee cup with a loud clatter. “Weezy.”
“Uh-huh?”
“Remember you said once that none of your students ever took much of an interest in your exhibit?”
“Yes? What of it?”
“Well,” said Bernard, “I was wondering something last night. Did you ever tell any of them the name of the gallery where it was going to be held?”
She gazed at him, her mouth open. “No. No, I didn’t. I never said anything about it, other than that I was going to have an exhibit. Nobody … well, nobody asked me.”
“Did the gallery advertise?”
“No,” she said slowly, “it was too early for that. The show wasn’t going to be held for months.”
“Then how did that person know which gallery to call?”
“I … I don’t know,” she stammered. “Word gets around … they could have heard from somebody … they could have called around the different galleries …”
Bernard shook his head. “There must be hundreds of galleries in New York. They’d have to be very lucky to hit the right one. Don’t you think so?”
“I … I guess so … but if someone really wanted to find out, I’m sure they could do it somehow …”
“How?” Bernard asked patiently.
She was silent for a minute. “I don’t know. I’m not sure.”
“Did you tell anybody in your class? How about Elmo?”
“Oh no, Elmo didn’t care. We never talked about it. We just argue about his work, that’s all we do.”
“Yes. You’re not like most people, Weezy, you don’t brag about yourself. You never talked about the exhibit. Snooky reminded me of that yesterday, and it made me think. Now listen to me. Was there anybody that you told about the show? Anybody you told the details to?”
Weezy’s eyes widened. She glanced over at Snooky.
“Oh, my God,” she said. “That day in New York. I couldn’t help myself.”
Snooky was nodding. His eyes looked very hard and bright, like a snake’s.
“Harold,” he said. “And Harold’s girlfriend.”
EIGHT
SNOOKY AND WEEZY were quiet most of the way into New York. They held hands and Weezy looked out the window of the train.
“How did she sound when you called her?” Snooky asked at one point.
“Surprised,” Weezy said briefly.
“You’re sure it’s her and not him?”
“Yes.” Weezy looked up at him. “Say what you want about Harold, he’s not the psychotic poison-pen type. Not the shiny gold letters, no, that’s not his style. And he’s perfectly thrilled being a doctor, he doesn’t need to tear me down.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, yes, yes. Harold may be a slimy disgusting toad who left me for somebody else, but he’s not a canvas-slasher. He’d be too afraid that some paint might get on his very expensive Italian shoes.”
“Okay, then. The gallery owner said he hadn’t gotten any other calls about your exhibit?”
“Uh-huh.”
“And the other galleries you called said they hadn’t gotten any inquiries at all?”
She nodded.
“Which galleries were those?”
She rattled off ten names, most of which were unknown to him. “They’re the obvious ones,” she said.
“Okay.” He squeezed her hand. “How’re you doing?”
/> “Okay.”
They got a cab outside of Grand Central and directed the driver uptown. Gabriela Loeser lived in a fancy co-op on East Seventy-third street, a tall building constructed of shiny dark glass. The doorman buzzed them up and she met them at the door of her apartment.
She was smiling. She wore a red silk dress with a black leather belt. She looked relaxed and perfectly put together, every blonde hair in place. “Weezy, how nice to see you.”
Weezy made an odd, noncommittal sound. “I think you know my friend, Arthur Randolph.”
“Yes, we met in the restaurant.” She nodded to him and led the way indoors.
Her apartment looked like a photo essay from Architectural Digest. Hardwood floors, Oriental carpets, lace draperies framing the windows, and overstuffed sofas in a floral pattern. A vase of fresh flowers stood on a Mission Oak cabinet in the corner. Everything was beautiful and discreet and very, very rich, thought Snooky. She didn’t buy and furnish this place on her salary from People magazine, he thought; whoever she was, she came from money. Lots and lots of money.
Gabriela indicated a place for them on one of the sofas. “Would you like coffee or tea?”
“No, thanks,” said Weezy.
Snooky shook his head.
Gabriela seated herself in an armchair opposite. The chair was covered in a Turkish kilim fabric, and in her red silk dress, with her pale skin and her deep red lipstick, she made quite a striking picture. She leaned forward confidentially.
“I’m sorry about how long the article is taking. There’s always a certain lag time, of course, but in this case it’s taking me longer than I thought to complete it. I hope you don’t mind, I think it’s going to be wonderful once it’s done.”
Weezy gave her a hard stare. “I didn’t come here about the article.”
“Oh. Well. When you called, I kind of assumed …?”
“I came here because I wanted to find out why you’ve been persecuting me. Why you trashed my studio and wrote me these letters.” Weezy reached into her handbag and took out the four letters, tossing them angrily on the table between them.