Her face lit up with excitement. "Jim, I want you to help me move a piano."
"A piano? What piano?"
"A rosewood grand from Steinway's on Fifty-seventh Street. I'm dying to have it in my place. The living room is just crying for it."
"Oh, you mean you're furnishing, huh?"
"Yes, but I want to play after dinner, too. You can't listen to records all the time. I've got it all planned; books on how to play, and books on how to tune a piano … I've been able to figure everything except how to move the piano in."
"Yeah, but … but there's apartments all over this town with pianos in them," he objected. "There must be hundreds, at least. Stands to reason. Why don't you live in one of them?"
"Never! I love my place. I've spent five years decorating it, and it's beautiful. Besides, there's the problem of water."
He nodded. "Water's always a headache. How do you handle it?"
"I'm living in the house in Central Park where they used to keep the model yachts. It faces the boat pond. It's a darling place, and I've got it all fixed up. We could get the piano in together, Jim. It wouldn't be hard."
"Well, I don't know, Lena …"
"Linda."
"Excuse me, Linda. I—"
"You look strong enough. What'd you do, before?"
"I used to be a pro rassler."
"There! I knew you were strong."
"Oh, I'm not a rassler anymore. I became a bartender and went into the restaurant business. I opened The Body Slam up in New Haven. Maybe you heard of it?"
"I'm sorry."
"It was sort of famous with the sports crowd. What'd you do before?"
"I was a researcher for BBDO."
"What's that?"
"An advertising agency," she explained impatiently. "We can talk about that later, if you'll stick around. And I'll teach you how to drive, and we can move in the piano, and there're a few other things that I—but that can wait. Afterward you can drive south."
"Gee, Linda, I don't know …"
She took Mayo's hands. "Come on, Jim, be a sport. You can stay with me. I'm a wonderful cook, and I've got a lovely guest room …"
"What for? I mean, thinking you was the last man on earth."
"That's a silly question. A proper house has to have a guest room. You'll love my place. I turned the lawns into a farm and gardens, and you can swim in the pond, and we'll get you a new Jag … I know where there's a beauty up on blocks."
"I think I'd rather have a Caddy."
"You can have anything you like. So what do you say, Jim? Is it a deal?"
"All right, Linda," he muttered reluctantly. "You've a deal."
It was indeed a lovely house with its pagoda roof of copper weathered to verdigris green, fieldstone walls, and deep recessed windows. The oval pond before it glittered blue in the soft June sunlight, and mallard ducks paddled and quacked busily. The sloping lawns that formed a bowl around the pond were terraced and cultivated. The house faced west, and Central Park stretched out beyond like an unkempt estate.
Mayo looked at the pond wistfully. "It ought to have boats."
"The house was full of them when I moved in," Linda said.
"I always wanted a model boat when I was a kid. Once I even—" Mayo broke off. A penetrating pounding sounded somewhere; an irregular sequence of heavy knocks that sounded like the dint of stones under water. It stopped as suddenly as it had begun. "What was that?" Mayo asked.
Linda shrugged. "I don't know for sure. I think it's the city falling apart. You'll see buildings coming down every now and then. You get used to it." Her enthusiasm rekindled. "Now come inside. I want to show you everything."
She was bursting with pride and overflowing with decorating details that bewildered Mayo, but he was impressed by her Victorian living room. Empire bedroom, and country kitchen with a working kerosene cooking stove. The colonial guest room, with four-poster bed, hooked rug, and tole lamps, worried him.
"This is kind of girlie-girlie, huh?"
"Naturally, I'm a girl."
"Yeah. Sure. I mean …" Mayo looked around doubtfully. "Well, a guy is used to stuff that ain't so delicate. No offense."
"Don't worry, that bed's strong enough. Now remember, Jim, no feet on the spread, and remove it at night. If your shoes are dirty, take them off before you come in. I got that rug from the museum, and I don't want it messed up. Have you got a change of clothes?"
"Only what I got on."
"We'll have to get you new things tomorrow. What you're wearing is so filthy it's not worth laundering."
"Listen," he said desperately, "I think maybe I better camp out in the park."
"Why on earth?"
"Well, I'm like more used to it than houses. But you don't have to worry, Linda. I'll be around in case you need me."
"Why should I need you?"
"All you have to do is holler."
"Nonsense," Linda said firmly. "You're my guest and you're staying here. Now get cleaned up; I'm going to start dinner. Oh damn! I forgot to pick up the lobster bisque."
She gave him a dinner cleverly contrived from canned goods and served on exquisite Fornasetti china with Danish silver flatware. It was a typical girl's meal, and Mayo was still hungry when it was finished, but too polite to mention it. He was too tired to fabricate an excuse to go out and forage for something substantial. He lurched off to bed, remembering to remove his shoes but forgetting all about the spread.
He was awakened next morning by a loud honking and clattering of wings. He rolled out of bed and went to the windows just in time to see the mallards dispossessed from the pond by what appeared to be a red balloon. When he got his eyes working properly, he saw that it was a bathing cap. He wandered out to the pond, stretching and groaning. Linda yelled cheerfully and swam toward him. She heaved herself up out of the pond onto the curbing. The bathing cap was all that she wore. Mayo backed away from the splash and spatter.
"Good morning," Linda said. "Sleep well?"
"Good morning," Mayo said. "I don't know. The bed put kinks in my back. Gee, that water must be cold. You're all gooseflesh."
"No, it's marvelous." She pulled off the cap and shook her hair down. "Where's that towel? Oh, here. Go on in, Jim. You'll feel wonderful."
"I don't like it when it's cold."
"Don't be a sissy."
A crack of thunder split the quiet morning. Mayo looked up at the clear sky in astonishment. "What the hell was that?" he exclaimed.
"Watch," Linda ordered.
"It sounded like a sonic boom."
"There!" she cried, pointing west. "See?"
One of the West Side skyscrapers crumbled majestically, sinking into itself like a collapsible cup and raining masses of cornice and brick. The flayed girders twisted and contorted. Moments later they could hear the roar of the collapse.
"Man, that's a sight," Mayo muttered in awe.
"The decline and fall of the Empire City. You get used to it. Now take a dip, Jim. I'll get you a towel."
She ran into the house. He dropped his shorts and took off his socks but was still standing on the curb, unhappily dipping his toe into the water when she returned with a huge bath towel.
"It's awful cold, Linda," he complained.
"Didn't you take cold showers when you were a wrestler?"
"Not me. Boiling hot."
"Jim, if you just stand there, you'll never go in. Look at you, you're starting to shiver. Is that a tattoo around your waist?"
"What? Oh, yea. It's a python, in five colors. It goes all the way around. See?" He revolved proudly. "Got it when I was with the Army in Saigon back in '64. It's a Oriental-type python. Elegant, huh?"
"Did it hurt?"
"To tell the truth, no. Some guys try to make out like it's Chinese torture to get tattooed, but they're just showin' off. It itches more than anything else."
"You were a soldier in '64?"
"That's right."
"How old were you?"
"Twenty."
>
"You're thirty-seven now?"
"Thirty-six going on thirty-seven."
"Then you're prematurely gray?"
"I guess so."
She contemplated him thoughtfully. "I tell you what, if you do go in, don't get your head wet."
She ran back into the house. Mayo, ashamed of his vacillation, forced himself to jump feet first into the pond. He was standing, chest deep, splashing his face and shoulders with water when Linda returned. She carried a stool, a pair of scissors, and a comb.
"Doesn't it feel wonderful?" she called
"No."
She laughed. "Well, come out. I'm going to give you a haircut."
He climbed out of the pond, dried himself, and obediently sat on the stool while she cut his hair. "The beard, too," Linda insisted. "I want to see what you really look like." She trimmed him close enough for shaving, inspected him, and nodded with satisfaction. "Very handsome."
"Aw, go on," he blushed.
"There's a bucket of hot water on the stove. Go and shave. Don't bother to dress. We're going to get you new clothes after breakfast, and then … the piano."
"I couldn't walk around the streets naked," he said, shocked.
"Don't be silly. Who's to see? Now hurry."
They drove down to Abercrombie & Fitch on Madison and 45th Street, Mayo wrapped modestly in his towel. Linda told him she'd been a customer for years and showed him the pile of sales slips she had accumulated. Mayo examined them curiously while she took his measurements and went off in search of clothes. He was almost indignant when she returned with her arms laden.
"Jim, I've got some lovely elk moccasins, and a safari suit, and wool socks, and shipboard shirts, and—"
"Listen," he interrupted, "do you know what your whole tab comes to? Nearly fourteen hundred dollars."
"Really? Put on the shorts first. They're drip-dry."
"You must have been out of your mind, Linda. What'd you want all that junk for?"
"Are the socks big enough? What junk? I needed everything."
"Yeah? Like …" He shuffled the signed sales slips. "Like one Underwater Viewer with Plexiglas Lens, nine ninety-five? What for?"
"So I could see to clean the bottom of the pond."
"What about this Stainless Steel Service for Four, thirty-nine fifty?"
"For when I'm lazy and don't feel like heating water. You can wash stainless steel in cold water." She admired him. "Oh, Jim, come look in the mirror. You're real romantic, like the big-game hunter in that Hemingway story."
He shook his head. "I don't see how you're ever going to get out of hock. You got to watch your spending, Linda. Maybe we better forget about that piano, huh?"
"Never," Linda said adamantly. "I don't care how much it costs. A piano is a lifetime investment, and it's worth it."
She was frantic with excitement as they drove uptown to the Steinway showroom, and helpful and underfoot by turns. After a long afternoon of muscle-cracking and critical engineering involving makeshift gantries and an agonizing dolly-haul up Fifth Avenue, they had the piano in place in Linda's living room. Mayo gave it one last shake to make sure it was firmly on its legs and then sank down, exhausted. "Je-zuz!" he groaned. "Hiking south would've been easier."
"Jim!" Linda ran to him and threw herself on him with a fervent hug. "Jim, you're an angel. Are you all right?"
"I'm okay." He grunted. "Get off me, Linda. I can't breathe."
"I just can't thank you enough. I've been dreaming about this for ages. I don't know what I can do to repay you. Anything you want, just name it."
"Aw," he said, "you already cut my hair."
"I'm serious."
"Ain't you teaching me how to drive?"
"Of course. As quickly as possible. That's the least I can do." Linda backed to a chair and sat down, her eyes fixed on the piano.
"Don't make such a fuss over nothing," he said, climbing to his feet. He sat down before the keyboard, shot an embarrassed grin at her over his shoulder, then reached out and began stumbling through the Minuet in G.
Linda gasped and sat bolt upright. "You play," she whispered.
"Naw. I took piano when I was a kid."
"Can you read music?"
"I used to."
"Could you teach me?"
"I guess so; it's kind of hard. Hey, here's another piece I had to take." He began mutilating "The Rustle of Spring." What with the piano out of tune and his mistakes, it was ghastly.
"Beautiful," Linda breathed. "Just beautiful!" She stared at his back while an expression of decision and determination stole across her face. She arose, slowly crossed to Mayo, and put her hands on his shoulders.
He glanced up. "Something?" he asked.
"Nothing," she answered. "You practice the piano. I'll get dinner."
But she was so preoccupied for the rest of the evening that she made Mayo nervous. He stole off to bed early.
It wasn't until three o'clock the following afternoon that they finally got a car working, and it wasn't a Caddy, but a Chevy—a hardtop because Mayo didn't like the idea of being exposed to the weather in a convertible. They drove out of the Tenth Avenue garage and back to the East Side, where Linda felt more at home. She confessed that the boundaries of her world were from Fifth Avenue to Third, and from 42nd Street to 86th. She was uncomfortable outside this pale.
She turned the wheel over to Mayo and let him creep up and down Fifth and Madison, practicing starts and stops. He sideswiped five wrecks, stalled eleven times, and reversed through a storefront which, fortunately, was devoid of glass. He was trembling with nervousness.
"It's real hard," he complained.
"It's just a question of practice," she reassured him. "Don't worry. I promise you'll be an expert if it takes us a month."
"A whole month!"
"You said you were a slow learner, didn't you? Don't blame me. Stop here a minute."
He jolted the Chevy to a halt. Linda got out.
"Wait for me."
"What's up?"
"A surprise."
She ran into a shop and was gone for half an hour. When she reappeared she was wearing a pencil-thin black sheath, pearls, and high-heeled opera pumps. She had twisted her hair into a coronet. Mayo regarded her with amazement as she got into the car.
"What's all this?" he asked.
"Part of the surprise. Turn east on Fifty-second Street."
He labored, started the car, and drove east. "Why'd you get all dressed up in an evening gown?"
"It's a cocktail dress."
"What for?"
"So I'll be dressed for where we're going. Watch out, Jim!" Linda wrenched the wheel and sheared off the stern of a shattered sanitation truck. "I'm taking you to a famous restaurant."
"To eat?"
"No, silly, for drinks. You're my visiting fireman, and I have to entertain you. That's it on the left. See if you can park somewhere."
He parked abominably. As they got out of the car, Mayo stopped and began to sniff curiously.
"Smell that?" he asked.
"Smell what?"
"That sort of sweet smell."
"It's my perfume."
"No, it's something in the air, kind of sweet and choky. I know that smell from somewhere, but I can't remember."
"Never mind. Come inside." She led him into the restaurant. "You ought to be wearing a tie," she whispered, "but maybe we can get away with it."
Mayo was not impressed by the restaurant decor, but was fascinated by the portraits of celebrities hung in the bar. He spent rapt minutes burning his fingers with matches, gazing at Mel Allen, Red Barber, Casey Stengel, Frank Gifford, and Rocky Marciano. When Linda finally came back from the kitchen with a lighted candle, he turned to her eagerly.
"You ever see any of them TV stars in here?" he asked.
"I suppose so. How about a drink?"
"Sure. Sure. But I want to talk more about them TV stars."
He escorted her to a bar stool, blew the dust off, and helped h
er up most gallantly. Then he vaulted over the bar, whipped out his handkerchief, and polished the mahogany professionally. "This is my specialty," he grinned. He assumed the impersonally friendly attitude of the bartender. "Evening, ma'am. Nice night. What's your pleasure?"
"God, I had a rough day in the shop! Dry martini on the rocks. Better make it a double."
"Certainly, ma'am. Twist or olive?"
"Onion."
"Double-dry Gibson on the rocks. Right." Mayo searched behind the bar and finally produced whiskey, gin, and several bottles of soda, as yet only partially evaporated through their sealed caps. "Afraid we're fresh out of martinis, ma'am. What's you second pleasure?"
"Oh, I like that. Scotch, please."
"This soda'll be flat," he warned, "and there's no ice."
"Never mind."
He rinsed a glass with soda and poured her a drink.
"Thank you. Have one on me, bartender. What's your name?"
"They call me Jim, ma'am. No thanks. Never drink on duty."
"Then come off duty and join me."
"Never drink off duty, ma'am."
"You can call me Linda."
"Thank you, Miss Linda."
"Are you serious about never drinking, Jim?"
"Yeah."
"Well, happy days."
"And long nights."
"I like that, too. Is it your own?"
"Gee, I don't know. It's sort of the usual bartender's routine, a specially with guys. You know? Suggestive. No offense."
"None taken."
"Bees!" Mayo burst out.
Linda was startled. "Bees what?"
"That smell. Like inside beehives."
"Oh? I wouldn't know," she said indifferently. "I'll have another, please."
"Coming right up. Now listen, about them TV celebrities, you actually saw them here? In person?"
"Why, of course. Happy days, Jim."
"May they all be Saturdays."
Linda pondered. "Why Saturdays?"
"Day off."
"Oh."
"Which TV stars did you see?"
"You name 'em, I saw 'em." She laughed. "You remind me of the kid next door. I always had to tell him the celebrities I'd seen. One day I told him I saw Jean Arthur in here, and he said, 'With his horse?' "
Mayo couldn't see the point, but was wounded nevertheless. Just as Linda was about to soothe his feelings, the bar began a gentle quivering, and at the same time a faint subterranean rumbling commenced. It came from a distance, seemed to approach slowly, and then faded away. The vibration stopped. Mayo stared at Linda.
Sci Fiction Classics Volume 4 Page 26