Seducer

by Flora, Fletcher

  “I kept thinking I might run off and try things on my own, but I never did. Finally, when I was nineteen, we were in this little town where my father had something going, and all of sudden he died. Fortunately we had had a fairly long run of good luck, and he had quite a lot of money — about five thousand dollars — that became mine.

  “There was a little college in this town that wasn’t too strict about letting you in, and I didn’t have anything else to do, or anywhere in particular to go, so I thought I’d try it for a while. As it happened, I liked it. Not the studying, or anything like that, but just the general conditions.

  “As I said, there are advantages to going to college. You can always find decent places to live for not much money, for it seems to be understood that college students don’t have much to pay, and you can eat well at the cafeteria or one of the places around the campus for less than you could eat elsewhere.”

  “Are you saying that you’ve been going to college since you were nineteen?” Brad asked, incredulous.

  “Not regularly,” she replied seriously, her fair features pretty and serene. “Off and on. I’d get tired of it and try something else for a while. But I always came back to it. I never carried a full load of classes, and so I didn’t get ahead very fast. Besides I was forever losing credits by moving from one college to another. That doesn’t matter, however, for I don’t particularly want a degree. I can’t see the value of it.”

  “You certainly haven’t lived all this time, since you were nineteen, on about five thousand dollars,” Brad hastened to point out, his surprise and bewilderment growing apace.

  “Oh, no. I didn’t say I had. There are always ways you can pick up money if you need it. You become quite good at it if you are forced to learn by circumstances. Besides, there is almost always someone who is willing to help if you approach him in the right way.”

  Brad started to ask her how she had picked up the money and solicited the help, but then decided it wouldn’t be advisable. Watching her with a strange sense of fantasy, he assured himself that she was real, flesh and bones and the breath of life, but he found it incredible. It crossed his mind that she might be a constitutional liar.

  Standing, he said, “It’s chilly sitting here. I must get back to the party, and I think you had better leave before you get into trouble.”

  “Would you like to walk with me a way? I’d be pleased if you would.”

  “I’d like to, but I won’t.”

  “Why? Because you wife might miss you?” She asked, staring up at him.

  “Not only that. There are others reasons.”

  “I can’t think what they would be. You’re only making excuses.”

  “Not at all. As you put it a few minutes ago, it might be unwise in view of what we may decide to do later.”

  This was something he had not intended to say, and he wondered afterward why he had said it. On her face in the shadows, he thought, there was an odd little smile of satisfaction, as though he had said, intentionally or not, exactly what she had anticipated.

  “Well,” she said, “You go on back, then. Never mind me. I’ll sit here a little longer, I think, before I leave. Do you mind? If I were to leave this minute, I’d have the feeling of being sent, and I wouldn’t like it. Perhaps it’s unreasonable, but I have the strongest feeling against being sent away from anywhere.”

  She sat on the bench with her hands folded in her lap, smiling and not moving, and so there was nothing left for him to do graciously except say good night and rejoin the party, which he did.

  When he looked behind the juniper a quarter of an hour later, she was gone. He felt, seeing the empty stone bench, a ridiculous urge to cry out her name and call her back.

  10

  WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON after classes, unable to delay any longer a second attempt to shed Cornelia, Brad went to see her in the small office behind her classroom.

  This time he was compelled to accomplish, amicably or otherwise, what he had failed to accomplish by the abortive effort in her hotel room, for it was, of course, imperative to cancel the tryst for Friday next, and for all Fridays following.

  He had chosen to see her in her office because he thought that the environment would impose restraints that had been lacking before. Surely, he reasoned, the bare and ascetic room would help to sustain a rational atmosphere that would be favorable to the renunciation of a mistress without excessive fuss and bother.

  He found her, as he had half hoped he wouldn’t, sitting behind her desk in the pale light of a late sun that found entrance through a west window. She appeared tired and somehow apprehensive, the sunlight exposing pitilessly a fine pattern of wrinkles at the corners of her eyes and mouth. He had never visited her here before, and she was obviously surprised and grateful that he had come now.

  Rising, she moved around her desk toward him, and he was afraid for a moment that she was going to be demonstrative and make things doubly difficult, but then she thought better of it, if she actually intended it, stopping instead and supporting herself against the desk in a position that was neither standing nor sitting and seemed a part of her vague apprehension.

  “Why, Brad,” she said with a kind of mock brightness, “what a delightful indiscretion! What on earth has brought you here?”

  “There’s something I must tell you plainly,” he said. “It’s urgent.”

  “Oh?” Her mouth grew slack for an instant in lines of ugly bitterness and then resumed the shape of her terrible, bright smile. “What is so urgent that it couldn’t wait until Friday?”

  “That’s what you must understand. We can’t meet on Friday. Not this week or any other week.”

  “Is that so? How kind of you to let me know. Is this something you have decided all by yourself without considering me at all?”

  “I didn’t simply decide, Cornelia. The decision was imposed on me. I had no alternative.”

  “Imposed? Imposed by whom?”

  “By Madelaine. She knows all about our meetings. She’s known for some time.”

  “You’re lying. You’re only saying that to justify deserting me.”

  “It’s the truth. I swear it is,” he declared, his voice rising.

  “How could it be? How could she know?”

  “She hired a private detective to keep me under observation. He’s been reporting to her weekly. All the details.”

  “All? Not quite all. I’m sure of that.”

  “Oh, well. You know what I mean. Enough to be conclusive.”

  “I don’t believe you. I don’t believe there has been a detective at all.”

  “Damn it, there has! What can I say to convince you?”

  “Nothing, probably. If Madelaine has known about us for some time, why hasn’t she said or done anything before?”

  “Madelaine has her own way of doing things. You’d have to know her better to understand.”

  “It’s a singularly odd way,” Cornelia observed. She was quite pleasant to me Saturday night at the party. Do you expect me to believe that she knew about us then?”

  “She did. I tell you, you just don’t understand Madelaine. If you did, you might be more concerned.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “She’s dangerous. She wouldn’t hesitate to ruin us both if we pushed her to it.”

  “I’m not afraid of Madelaine, even if you are. If she knows about us, all right. I’m rather glad. We can be free of pretense from now on.”

  “You don’t know what you’re saying.” Panic flickered briefly inside Brad. “Have you lost your mind?”

  “I haven’t lost my mind, but I think I’ve lost my lover. That’s what you’re really saying, isn’t it? That you’re tired of me and don’t want me any longer?”

  “All right! All right, by God! I had hoped that we could be reasonable and remain friends, but I see that we can’t. I’ve told you the truth, but you can believe anything you please.”

  Cornelia didn’t respond immediately. She seemed, in fa
ct, not even to have heard. It was obvious to him now that there would be no repetition of Friday night’s emotional eruption. This should have been a vast relief, but it wasn’t. The terrible smile remained fixed on her lips, and the feverish brightness was in her eyes.

  “Go away,” she said. “Go away at once.”

  He made a small gesture, a slight supplication. “We’re adults, Cornelia. We can be friends.”

  “You are not my friend. You have never been. I’ll decide for myself what you are, and I may make you sorry for it, whatever it is. Perhaps it will be I, not Madelaine, who will ruin you.”

  “If you do anything foolish, you’ll hurt yourself as much as me.”

  “Will I? There may be a way to avoid that. I’ll consider it.”

  Brad was frightened by her smile and her bright eyes. It would have been preferable, after all, if she had screamed or cursed or wept. Turning away from her, unable to stand the sight of her any longer, he went out through the empty classroom and out of the building.

  In his car, he left the campus, driving slowly along a residential street. He was merely driving, escaping to nowhere in particular, and it was entirely by chance that the street was the same one on which Maggie McCall happened at the time to be walking.

  Seeing her on the sidewalk, he thought that she was exactly the odd and intriguing diversion that he desperately needed at the moment. Accordingly, without thinking again, he stopped and called to her. Crossing the parking strip between sidewalk and curb, she got in beside him and settled herself comfortably before saying a word.

  “Hello,” she said. “Were you looking for me?”

  “No, but I’m glad I found you. May I take you somewhere?”

  “I was going home, to my apartment, but I’d just as soon go somewhere else if you prefer.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t have time for a preference. Where do you live?”

  “You keep right on going down this street for three more blocks beyond the next corner, and then you turn right and go four blocks that way, and there it is.”

  “You live quite a distance off campus, don’t you?” he inquired, feeling a little awkward with her now.

  “Yes, I do. I’ve discovered that living quite a distance off campus has many advantages.”

  “I’m surprised that you’re allowed to live off campus at all. Isn’t there some sort of rule about it?”

  “I suppose there is. There’s some sort of rule about practically everything. However, as I told you, I’m a sort of special student, which makes me an exception.” She smiled sweetly at him.

  “You’re an exception, all right.”

  She had slumped into the seat beside him as if it were a familiar place where she had often been before, her body from hips to head a relaxed arc supported in its position by the back of her neck and a small area of contact near the base of her spine. Rolling her head on the back of the seat, she looked at him gravely while she considered what he had said.

  “I’m not sure how you meant that,” she said. “How did you?”

  “As a compliment.”

  “That’s all right, then. Thank you.”

  “No thanks necessary. I merely acknowledged a fact. Is this the corner?”

  “Yes. Turn here and drive four blocks.”

  He turned the corner and drove the four blocks. The building in which she lived turned out to be a brick structure that had been converted into apartments from something else. It was two stories high, and he judged that there were two small apartments on each floor, but there were actually three smaller ones instead.

  He parked at the curb in front of the building, remaining behind the wheel while she opened the door on her side and swung around on the pivot of her stern. Pausing on her pivot, her feet on the sidewalk, she issued an invitation over her shoulder.

  “Will you come up for a few minutes?” she said. “I’d be pleased if you would.”

  “I don’t think so. Thanks just the same.”

  “Why not? Don’t you want to?”

  “I want to, but I don’t think I should.”

  “Oh, come on. Once won’t matter. Besides, no one pays any attention around here to what anyone else does.”

  “That’s reassuring, at least. I’m not so sure, however, that once won’t matter. Are you?” He gave her a level, inquiring glance.

  “No, I’m not, to tell the truth, and I’d like to find out. Please come up.”

  She got out onto the sidewalk and turned, waiting. He knew very well what he should do — the only sane and sensible thing — and he knew also that he wouldn’t do it.

  He knew that he should drive away quickly, while there was still time, and the knowledge was an uneasiness in his brain all the while he was getting out of the car and crossing the sidewalk and climbing beside her up the stairs.

  “The place is a mess,” she said, opening her door. “I’m not very neat.”

  He followed her inside. The bed was still down from the wall, unmade. Glasses, ash trays and magazines and items of clothing and incidental junk made a vast litter on the floor, the bed and the table, wherever she had left whatever she had used and might or might not use again.

  Her portable television set was at the foot of her bed on its wheeled stand. On a table beside the bed, within easy reach of an incumbent, was a pack of cigarettes, a dirty glass, and a quart bottle half full of dark port wine.

  Ordinarily a fastidious man, he was not offended by all the clutter. He accepted it as a diametrical expression of herself. If the room was dirty, she was not. If it was littered, her mind wasn’t. Indifference to incidentals and tedious distractions made it possible for her to remain consistently what she was. Not that he knew what she was exactly.

  It may have been, if he had, that he would still have gone away, as he should have gone before and hadn’t. But perhaps he wouldn’t have gone in any event, in spite of all knowledge. For the first time in his life, although he wasn’t fully aware of this yet either, he had met someone he would never want to leave or lose or live without.

  “For God’s sake,” he said, “don’t you ever pick anything up?”

  “Sometimes I do if it seems necessary. It seldom does, however. I rather like things left around. Does it disturb you?”

  “Strangely enough, it doesn’t.”

  “If it does, I’ll pick up immediately,” she offered.

  “Thank you. I have an idea that’s quite a concession. Never mind, though. I’m afraid it would take far too long.”

  “Won’t you take off your coat and sit down? You’ll have to clear a chair, I guess. There doesn’t appear to be one without something on it. Will you have a glass of wine? It’s all I have.”

  “No, thanks. No wine.”

  “Oh, have a glass. It’s cheap but quite good. It comes from California, I think. It’s port.”

  “A small glass, then, just to be congenial.”

  He took off his coat and cleared a chair and sat down. After removing her own coat, Maggie disappeared for several seconds into a closet-like kitchen, returning with two glasses which she filled from the bottle on the bedside table. Leaving one glass on the table, she carried the other across to him.

  “See if you don’t think that’s quite good to be so cheap,” she said. “It costs less than a dollar a bottle if you buy it by the case. Buddy bought a case and left it. Most of it’s still in the kitchen.”

  “That was generous of Buddy, I’m sure. Does he come here often to help you drink it?”

  “He would if I’d let him, but I won’t. I’ve given him up. He came last night and wanted in, but I wouldn’t open the door. After making quite a fuss about it, he went away. Go on and try the wine. Don’t you think you’ll like it?”

  The wine was bad, but he said that it was good, and she was exorbitantly pleased. Returning to the bed, she sat down and drank a little from her own glass, then began to remove her shoes and stockings.

  “What are you doing?” he said.

  “G
etting barefooted,” she said. “Do you mind?”

  “Do you always go barefooted in your apartment?”

  “I usually go bare entirely, feet and all, but I thought you might object to that on such short acquaintance.”

  “I see. You go bare entirely only with friends.”

  She looked at him gravely, stretching her legs and flexing her toes. “Are you making fun of me? I think you are.”

  “Not at all. I’m only trying to understand you. You must realize that your attitudes are a bit confusing at first.”

  “Do you think so? I don’t see why,” she countered.

  “Because they are different from those generally encountered in young ladies,” he told her.

  “Well, I don’t know much about young ladies, and I don’t particularly pretend to be one. Anyhow, I’m not so young, either, when you come to that. I told you I’m twenty-eight.”

  “I’m beginning to suspect that you may be infinitely older than that.”

  “Oh?” She cocked her head, peering at him. “That’s supposed to mean something special, I think, but I don’t know what.”

  “I mean you have a kind of ageless quality.”

  “Is that bad?”

  “On the contrary, it’s intriguing.”

  “I suspect it’s a result of the way I grew up. Some things I never learned at all. Other things I was forced to learn almost from the beginning.”

  “A remarkable combination of ignorance and incredible shrewdness.”

  “I don’t think you should criticize me for being ignorant. It isn’t fair.” Her eyes clouded with annoyance.

  “Excuse me. I didn’t mean it critically.”

  “Oh, well, it’s true. I admit it. I don’t suppose someone like you would particularly care to become the friend of someone like me.”

  “It would definitely have some attractive features.”

  “What? Oh, yes. What we were just talking about.”

  She began to laugh softly, the wicked little sound he remembered from before, her eyes shining at him over the rim of the glass which she had raised to her lips.