by Packer, Vin
• • •
When he arrived at the Wealdons’, the first thing he noticed was that her car was in the garage. She was home.
He wiped off his glasses a fourth time since being on the street, and then walked to the front door and pushed the bell.
He said, “Mrs. Wealdon?” No answer.
He pushed the doorbell again.
“Mrs. Wealdon, please? Are you home?”
He stood there shuffling his feet, listening to the silence, and though he rang again and again, he was convinced she was not inside. He glanced at his watch. It was two-forty. He knew that Milo’s track meet would be on now and that he would be there at the high school. Mrs. Wealdon was probably just somewhere in the neighborhood.
When he tried the front screen door, it was locked.
Stanley went around to the back door, the one off the garage. He opened it very carefully, and shut it gently behind him without making any noise. He tiptoed across to a kitchen chair and sat down. He took off both his shoes and placed them neatly under the chair. He loosened his tie, and as he did this the idea came to him to take his shirt off. Like Will, in the book.
He had no course of action planned exactly. He unbuttoned his shirt and hung it over the back of the chair. He pulled his belt in another notch, and then wished he could take off his glasses, but he was quite blind without them.
He decided the best idea would be to wait for her in the living room, in the semi-darkness. He could sit in one of the armchairs, and when she came in he could just get up and say, “Hi, there.” In his hand he could have a piece of the candy he had made her, and he could say, “Like a sweet?”
When he heard the car stop in front of the house, he ducked behind a curtain and looked out.
It was Freddy Fulton and Min Stewart was with him.
He decided not to move, but simply to stay there while they rang the doorbell and discovered she was not home. And then another car arrived. Stanley saw Jay Mannerheim behind the wheel.
Instantly, he was afraid. Mannerheim always frightened him a little. He wondered why the doctor was here. To find Min Stewart, of course — but what then? And he thought of the way Jay Mannerheim always used the telephone. He thought of the unlocked door in the kitchen, of his shoes there, and his shirt. As quickly as he could, Stanley ran back and pushed the trigger-lock shut. He took his shirt and his shoes and as he darted back toward the living room with them, his socks slid on the slippery linoleum and he fell. His glasses flew from his ears and were swept across the floor…. Where.
He tried to feel for them with his hands, but it was no good. A part of the bandage on his hand came unraveled, and he tried to tuck the stray piece back inside. It would not stay. He was on all fours when he heard the sharp ding-dong — the front bell.
Min Stewart said, “He doesn’t drive. It’s fortunate that he does not know how to drive or he might have taken one of the cars and beat us here.”
“He could have just as easily gotten a ride,” said Freddy Fulton.
“I don’t think either of you understand Louie’s condition,” said Jay Mannerheim. “I’m not too worried about him where Gloria Wealdon’s concerned.”
“What does nottoo worried about him mean, Jay?” said Min.
The doorbell rang sharply.
Stanley lay flat now. He could not tell how much of him could be seen if someone were to look in the front screen door. He thought he remembered that it was not possible to see beyond the entrance way from the front porch, but without his glasses he could only rely on his memory — and had he remembered right?
“It means that I think we’re being alarmists,” said Jay. “He wouldn’t go after Gloria. It’s too obvious.”
Stanley began to slide on his belly toward the living room, dragging his shoes and shirt. He had to get out of sight; that was the first thing. He had to be somewhere else if Mannerheim were to come around to the back door and look in. At least he had been able to lock it; that was luck.
“What if I just run down and check and see if Virginia’s home?” Freddy Fulton said.
“Mrs. Wealdon obviously isn’t in,” said Mannerheim. “I think we’d better get on the ball and start looking for Louie.”
Someone pushed the doorbell again. “Her car is in, Jay.”
“I know, Min, but she could be anyplace.” “And so could Louie, Jay.” “Well, he’s not here.”
“How do we know? And how do we know he’s not on his way here?”
“We don’t, of course, Min.” Another ring of the doorbell. “But I doubt it.”
“I ought to call Fern and see if Virginia’s back,” said Freddy.
“Couldn’t we useher phone, Jay?” Min Stewart.
“You mean just walk in?”
The sound of the screen door being tried.
“It is an emergency, Jay.”
“Yes, and I could call Fern from here instead of having to go there. If Virginia isn’t there, I’m going to Elbridge.”
Min Stewart said, “I think that’s wise. I think you’ll find her there.”
“Where?” said Mannerheim. “Who?”
“No one,” Min Stewart said. “Just Virginia. Frederick’s upset about her.”
“Well, this door is locked. I suppose I could try the back door, but I don’t feel right about it.”
“Try, Jay. Louie may even have gone to the drug store. I just think we could accomplish so much if we simply had access to a telephone.”
“All right, I’ll go around back.”
Stanley Secora came to what felt like a step leading off the living room. He felt it with his hands; it was the pair of steps leading up to the rest of the house. He remembered now. He eased himself up, pulling more of his bandage loose. He was afraid Mannerheim would force his way in now; he had to find a place to hide — a place away from the living room.
“Don’t say anything to Jay about Elbridge,” said Freddy Fulton at the front door.
Min said, “I am one of the few females in Cayuta who finds the idea of Jay Mannerheim’s being my confessor completely repulsive.”
Freddy Fulton laughed. Then he said, “Oh God, I’m worried, Min.”
“We’re both worried, Frederick. I can’t help thinking Jay could somehow have prevented Louie’s running off that way. And I’m absolutely positive that he must have provoked Louie. Louie never runs away … not unless — ”
“Unless what?”
“Unless he really has been driven too far, as I suspected. Then he’ll be here, you can be sure of that. He’ll come to this houseafter her.”
“Min, we’re both worked up. We’ve got to just keep calm.”
“Do you think Virginia would harm anyone?” “No. I’m almost certain she wouldn’t. She’s not like that.”
“You’ve put her through a great deal, Frederick, for a little girl.”
“I know … but she just wouldn’t do anything violent.”
From the back door came another chime and then Jay Mannerheim’s voice: “Gloria Wealdon? Hel-lo? Anyone home?”
At the front door, Min Stewart said quietly, “You believe your child is incapable of violence, and I’m so sure that mine is thoroughly capable of it. It will be interesting — ”
“Interesting?” Freddy Fulton said in a sick tone. “Oh, God, I just wish she was here. I wish she was where I knew she was safe.”
“You mean Gloria Wealdon?”
“No, Virginia.”
“But Gloria Wealdon’s safety is more important at this moment, when you think about it,” said Min Stewart.
Stanley was easing himself over the top step and sliding on his belly down the hall, when he heard Mannerheim shout to those at the front of the house.
“Okay, I’ll try some windows. The door is locked.”
• • •
Stanley felt along the walls until he came to a room. It would be the bedroom, the master bedroom; he could remember doing the windows — it was the first room on the hall. He crawled inside,
bumping his head against a chair. He dropped his shirt and struggled with his shoes to get them on. He put his shirt on too, and then remembered that he had left his tie behind, probably on the kitchen table. He felt even more afraid; it did not occur to him that it was not very likely that Mannerheim would know a tie of his from a tie of Milo’s. He only thought of his tie there, and Mannerheim’s seeing it; or of a sudden crunching sound, as Mannerheim’s foot came down on his glasses, somewhere on the kitchen floor. Anyone, almost anyone in Cayuta, New York, would know Stanley Secora’s glasses on sight. They were the thickest in Kantogee County. He was positive of that. That was another souvenir from the war, the one he displayed most prominently of all.
• • •
Then he heard Jay Mannerheim’s voice inside, on the lower level. He was walking toward the front door.
“She’ll probably turn us in as housebreakers,” said Jay. “I believe she’d do it. Look, I’m going to alert the police about Louie, Min.”
“Not the police. He is not a criminal yet, Jay.”
“Not to pull him in for anything, just to help us find him, Min. Look, I’m telling you, he’s a very sick boy. He’s cracked up. Does thatmean anything to you? He’s not the way you remember him this morning.”
“Just let me call Fern,” said Freddy Fulton.
“Not the police, Jay,” Min Stewart said.
Stanley heard someone dial a number; and he heard Min Stewart continue to protest to Jay Mannerheim that the police were not to be called. Stanley tried to squint to see where a chair was, where he could sit and wait.
While he carefully eased himself up off the floor, he heard Freddy Fulton say, “She’s not home. Fern’s worried sick.”
“You’d better go to Elbridge, Frederick.”
“Yes, I’d better, hadn’t I?”
“Yes.”
In the background, Jay Mannerheim was on the telephone.
Min Stewart said, “Don’t worry about me. I’ll wait here for Louie. He’ll come here.” “I don’t like to leave you, but — ”
“Hurry along, you poor man,” said Min. “You’re frantic, Frederick. Go along and find her, and don’t feel so badly. We are none of us flawless.”
“Thank you, Min.”
Stanley was on his feet now, feeling his way along the bureau in the master bedroom.
“He’s not at the drug store,” he heard Mannerheim say, “Min, let me call the police.”
“I know my boy. He’ll come here.”
“I know that you know your boy, Min, but please let me point out that Louie isn’t your boy right now — not the boy you know. He’s very ill. He’s not predictable now.”
“It was you who said you weren’t worried about him.”
“I meant I don’t think he’ll come here.”
“Where then?”
“I honestly don’t know.”
“Then hecould come here?”
“Hecould.”
“I’ll wait here, then.”
“As you like, Min, but I have to call the police. This is my responsibility. I’m his doctor.” “Doctor?” Min chuckled.
“Yesdoctor, Min. I’m fully qualified for my work.”
“Do you know the word defensive, Doctor? I believe it’s part of the psychological jargon?”
The doctor was dialing the telephone. Stanley’s hands left the bureau and he came to the long mirror on the back of the closet. He could feel the arm of a chair; he knew that just beyond that there would be the bed. He could crawl under the bed.
As he was reaching for the chair, he heard Fern Fulton’s voice. “That’s what I’d like to know,” she was shouting. “How about it, Min?”
“Fern, there is nothing going on. We are concerned about my son.”
“Where’s Glo?”
“Somewhere. In the neighborhood, I suppose, though she was ill at lunch. It was probably an excuse.”
Stanley passed from one arm of the chair to the other. With his foot, he felt the edge of the bed.
“Was Freddy here?”
“Shhh, the doctor is calling the police.”
“The police? What’s going on around here?”
“Now look,” Jay Mannerheim said, “I can’t talk with you two shouting behind me. Now shut up!”
Stanley smiled. That told them. He began to inch his way toward the bed, his hands flailing the air for the first of the four posts.
He heard Fern Fulton start up again: “Well, there’s Glo’s bag.”
“Yes, the one she had at lunch.”
“Then she’s probably right in the neighborhood.”
“That’s what we think.”
“I wish I knew why Freddy’s so worried about Virginia. She’s only been gone for a short time. She’s taken her bicycle and gone for hours on end and he never — But then there was this note.”
“What note?”
“Oh, it’s all senseless,” said Fern Fulton.
Stanley found the post and clung to it. He eased himself down on the bed.
“All right,” he heard Jay Mannerheim say. “The police are alerted. We’ll have him rounded up in no time.”
“He’s not a cow, Jay.”
“Who?” said Fern Fulton. “Is Louie in trouble?”
It was at this point that Stanley Secora felt her leg. He touched the stocking, and his hand shot back as though he had put it on a hot griddle. Her leg! She was lying on the bed — all this time!
“Fern, now you go home,” Jay Mannerheim was saying. “You’re just confusing everything.”
“She’s not confusing me,” said Min Stewart.
“Thank you, Min.”
“Oh, for the love of God, do any of you realize we have no right inside Gloria Wealdon’s house!”
“Gloria Wealdon’s house,” said Min Stewart. “It’s Milo Wealdon’s house, thank you. He built it and paid for it, and it’s his house.”
“She could build a palace with what she’s made,” said Fern Fulton. “She could build a — whatayoucallit — a villa or something, with all the money she’s made!”
Stanley brought his hand up her leg, up to the knee. She was asleep. He smiled. He felt his way along the side of the bed.
“Fern,” said Jay Mannerheim, “I think you really should go home.”
“I suppose you call this mixing socially, hmmm Jay?” “No, I don’t! It’s just that — ”
“Oh, isn’t he supposed to mix socially with anyone?” Min Stewart.
“Not with a patient,” said Fern Fulton. “Didn’t you know I was having my head shrunk, Min?” “Really?”
“Listen,” Jay Mannerheim said, “I don’t …”
And Stanley Secora was kneeling, his hands were on her throat, his fingers were traveling up toward her mouth, when suddenly he knew. He felt the wet squishiness on his bandages, and he felt the cold. He lifted one of her arms, and its weight was too heavy; and when he brought his hands back to cover the sound about to come from him, he smelled the vomit that was smeared on the bandages. He smelled it, and it was just a sour, ugly odor; but in the dark, there in the Wealdons’ master bedroom, where he could not see, where he was trapped with it, caught there with it like an animal in a cage, it became not just an odor of vomit, but that other odor … that death smell. And the sound came screaming out of his big, shock-struck body, so loud it terrified even him, so high and unlikely it was like a girl’s, and the sound said such a crazy word — just “Harrrrr-verd!”; Harvard was all; just that in such a funny way, like some old she-ghost wailing in the yard at Cambridge.
Sixteen
… and the town sat in the lush hills of the Finger Lakes, sat like an unsightly red pimple on the soft, white back of some sultry and voluptuous woman.
— FROM Population 12,360
PITTS RALEI drove north on Route 2. In an hour he would be in Cayuta. As he drove, he kept remembering the way the book that had made him a rich man began. Like the rest of the book, the opening sentence was doubtless not destined to b
e remembered in the hereafter, but it did promise a quick thrill for those less concerned with immortality. AndPopulation 12,360 lived up to its opening sentence’s promise. It delivered a bitter exposé of a thinly-disguised small town — seasoned generously with sex. It was a very bad book when viewed as literature. In manuscript the grammatical errors, the errors of spelling, and all the other unbelievable errors of fact in place and time were overwhelming, but Pitts Ralei could see beyond them. What he saw was a best seller. The kind of book that would send all the middle-aged women in this country reeling back from their homes to their rental libraries, with their faces flushed from reading it, murmuring what trash it was, pretending to be angry for ever having placed themselves on the waiting list for it; the kind of book that would be made into a movie, that the pocketbook publishers would pay upwards of $100,000 for; the kind of book agents dreamed of one day finding in the slush on their desks. Nine months after he had agreed to represent Gloria Wealdon, the book began to fulfill Ralei’s dreams.
Now, if he could only continue to keep everything under control, the future would be absolutely iridescent.
Pitts was slightly amazed — and terribly amused — by this woman. He did not love her; she was as far from the sort of love object he would choose for himself as her book was from the sort of book he would choose to read, yet the fact remained he had broken his rule about never becoming involved with clients. Shortly after they had met, one night when he had asked her for a before-dinner drink at his apartment, she had literally led him by the hand into his own bedroom and commenced undressing him. The moment was so insane and unlikely that he had found everything about it absolutely intriguing — from the fact that Gloria Wealdon was the only woman he had ever met who had to have a cigarette during love-making, to the fact that afterwards, as she bathed in his tub, she washed her panties in the bathwater along with the rest of her, and draped them over his faucet to dry.
“Tonight,” she had said, “you’re going to have dinner at 21 with a woman who isn’t wearing any underpants.”
During the second course at dinner, she leaned across her black bean soup and said, “Oh, kiddo, I’m still tingling there.”
How on earth had it ever happened?