by John Lutz
“Not quite, Sam, but I’d like to be. Nice seeing you.”
She moved around him and started up the steps.
Suddenly he had her elbow in a firm grip. Desperation flowed like electricity through him into her. “Allie, listen, please!”
Hedra said, “I’ll just run on upstairs.”
Sam said, “Pleasure meeting you, Hedra. I’m sure we’ll see each other again.”
Allie yanked her elbow free, sending a jolt of pain up her crazy bone. She wasn’t the crazy one here. “I’m going with her, Sam.”
He shuffled in a half-circle and blocked her way. There was an agonized look on his face. “Allie, I only wanna talk.”
“And I don’t.” But she knew she did. Goddamnit, she did! “Wait for me, Hedra.”
Hedra was standing at the top of the steps, a confused expression on her face. In the beige dress and high heels, her legs looked very shapely from the sidewalk. Sam stared at her for a moment, as if he were seeing Allie in the dress. His teeth were clenched and his breath hissed like steam escaping under great pressure. Allie could smell liquor on his breath. Had he seen them in the bar? Beaten them back to the Cody and set up this scene?
No, she decided, it was possible but unlikely.
It began to rain then, slanting under the entrance canopy. Not hard, but steadily enough so another few minutes of standing outside and they’d all be soaked. Windshield wipers on passing cars started their metronome action. Some of them had their headlights on, wary yellow eyes lessening the chance of collision in the lowering gloom. The wet street became opaque glass, reflecting the late-afternoon traffic in muted colors.
A trickle of rainwater broke from Sam’s hair and ran down his forehead. Finally he stood aside and gave Allie room to go up the steps. She moved past, barely brushing his arm.
She took each step with deliberation, keeping the sway of her hips to a minimum, knowing he was watching. Behind her, the swish of tires on wet pavement was like harsh and secret whispering. Hedra reached out a firm hand as if to help her achieve the final push of a climb up a mountain. And maybe that’s what it was—climbing up out of Sam’s influence. Maybe.
She grasped Hedra’s hand, squeezed it as if to say “Thank you,” and pushed ahead of her, through the door into the cool, dry lobby. Sanctuary.
“We’ll talk later, Allie!” Sam called up the steps.
She didn’t answer. A raindrop clung to her eyelash; she brushed it away impatiently with the back of her hand.
As they were rising in the elevator, Hedra said, “An awkward situation, but you handled it fine, Allie.”
Fine? Allie interpreted it differently. “Did I?”
“I mean, you seemed so calm. So in control. More so than I coulda been; that’s for sure.”
“Didn’t seem that way to me, Hedra. I wasn’t so calm on the inside.”
“That doesn’t matter. You’re here, and you and Sam aren’t having the conversation he was demanding. You didn’t let yourself get bullied. That’s the important thing.”
“No, it isn’t,” Allie said. “The important thing is that now Sam’s sure we’re living together.”
“Huh? How could he be? He only saw me in the apartment that one time, and he supposed I was a friend waiting for you to get home.”
“Don’t believe what he says.”
“But what could he prove?”
“I don’t mean he could prove anything,” Allie said. “But he doesn’t have to.”
“What do you mean?”
“If he wanted, he could notify Haller-Davis I have a roommate and get us both evicted.”
“Would they believe him?”
“They’d send someone to look over the apartment, and they’d see there are two people living there. No way you can conceal that from somebody looking for it.”
“What if we didn’t let them in?”
“They’d sneak in with a pass key. Then they’d serve an eviction notice, and it’d be up to me to prove I was living alone. They’d know I couldn’t do that.” Allie wasn’t sure that was exactly how the eviction would go, but she was sure Haller-Davis could and would force her out.
She remembered how Sam had noticed the beige dress, how he’d said he recognized Hedra from when she’d answered the knock on the apartment door. He was letting Allie know that he knew: Hedra was her secret roommate. She didn’t like that at all. There was no way to predict what might happen; divorces, from affairs as well as marriages, could take unexpected bitter turns.
The elevator arrived on their floor and the doors rumbled open, admitting a press of warm air from the hall.
A vision of the countless street people she passed every day invaded Allie’s mind. The ones the rest of the human race avoided thinking about, even avoided seeing, with a convenient selective blindness. She might become one of them. Sam had it in his power to do that to her. A Svengali in jogging shoes. That was what really ate at her, the knowledge that he could do it.
Absurd! she told herself. I’m self-supporting and every bit as capable as Sam. My life’s in my own hands.
Hedra stopped halfway down the hall and stared incredulously at Allie. “Sam wouldn’t really turn you in to the management company, would he?”
“I don’t know,” Allie said. “A month ago I wouldn’t have thought so, but he’s hall of surprises. All men seem to be full of surprises.”
“Not to me.”
Allie smiled. “I know what you mean, Hedra.”
But she didn’t.
In the apartment, the phone rang and Allie absently answered it, still thinking about Sam.
“Allie?” A man’s voice. Not Sam’s.
“Yes?” There was only silence on the line. “Hello?”
A steady buzzing erupted in her ear. Whoever was on the other end of the connection had hung up.
Chapter 12
AT Fortune Fashions, Mayfair sat at his wide desk, before his IBM computer, and went through the routine taught to him by Allie Jones. His fingers pecked at the gray keys with dexterity now, sure of themselves. She’d done an excellent job of setting up the programs. Inventory, payroll, graphics for sales and manufacturing projections, all reduced to relatively simple commands. She was about fifty percent through the project, she’d told Mayfair. Which meant it was time for him to do what he’d intended from the first moment he’d seen Allie Jones. And why not? You were vice president of a company like this, certain perks were implied.
Allie had too much time invested to give up the Fortune Fashions account now, and she stood to lose too much money. Without a doubt she’d be vulnerable to pressure. And she’d recently broken up with whatever guy had been balling her; Sam something, he thought she’d called him. So Mayfair figured she was ripe enough to fall. Ah, timing was so important in life.
Not that he’d explain the facts to her in such crude terms. He was too practiced for that. But in varied and subtle ways, Mayfair would let her know that now he had enough knowledge to call some other programmer in to finish what Allie had started. Even his secretary Elaine must be getting proficient with a computer by now. The basic software systems were on line, so no problem there. Allie had gotten a small amount of money up front. Gradually, over a week or so, he’d make it clear that if she wanted to finish the Fortune Fashions job and see her big payday, he, Mayfair, was part of the arrangement. It wasn’t so unusual; she’d probably done some job-related screwing before. Part of landing accounts, he was sure, a piece of the deal from the beginning, or there wouldn’t have been a deal. An attractive woman didn’t need a computer to figure that one out. Let’s face it, software was software.
The door to the anteroom swung open, allowing traffic noises from the street ten stories below to infiltrate Mayfair’s plush and virtually soundproof office. The thick carpet and drapes, the flocked wallpaper and deeply upholstered furniture, seemed even to absorb sound produced from within the office.
Elaine, tall and gaunt as a model, dressed in a Fashion Fortunes fall
outfit, swished in and gave a perfunctory nod to Mayfair. They had run through a hot and frantic affair five years ago, but they seldom talked about it now. At the time, Elaine had known sleeping with him was a prerequisite for employment. Somewhat the same dilemma that would now face Allie.
Elaine had been married then, but so what? That shouldn’t have caused such a problem. He hadn’t asked her to go off on a guilt spree and spill her guts to her husband, who went crazy and came looking for Mayfair at home. At fucking home with the wife and kids, no less. Jesus, what a scene? What a night!
Mayfair had forgiven Elaine for that error in judgment, and even helped to find her an apartment to begin the single life she still led. So it turned out to be the best thing that ever happened to the bitch. She was having a ball now, dating different guys all the time, accepting gifts from them. Not a hooker, though. A secretary. Mayfair almost smiled.
The scene with Elaine’s husband had hastened his own inevitable divorce. His wife Janice and the kids were living in Buffalo now. Everybody seemed better off. Mayfair was certainly happier. He supposed that indirectly he could thank Elaine for that.
He leaned back in his padded swivel chair and studied her as she bent over a lower file drawer. She still had the wasp waist and trim ass, the nice legs.
Elaine straightened up and smoothed her skirt. Her calf muscle bulged as she swiveled a foot back into one of her high-heeled shoes that had worked halfway off. Sexy. She was holding the file folder she’d been seeking.
She turned around and aimed her heavily made-up eyes at him. “Allie Jones coming in today?”
“She’s scheduled,” Mayfair said. Allie was tutoring Elaine in the use of the computer. Elaine was in the fold and would stay there. Mayfair would point this out to Allie to let her know the company’s need for her expertise had decreased. In fact, she herself wasn’t actually essential at this juncture. But he’d hint that there was no problem; she might increase her value in other ways.
About ten o’clock Allie and Elaine would isolate themselves in a corner of the anteroom, Elaine at her new computer while Allie sat next to her in the red and brown Danish chair pulled over from where it was usually angled against the wall. Patiently, professionally, Allie would explain to her what she was doing right, what she was doing wrong. Tutor and student got along well; both were bright and adaptable people.
He smiled. It wouldn’t be long before they had something else in common.
She was getting ready to leave the apartment and ride the subway downtown to Fashion Fortunes when the phone rang.
Allie put down the earring post she’d been trying to work through her pierced ear, turned away from her dresser, and answered it with an absent “‘Lo.”
Her face became serious. Then bone white. She squared her jaw and slammed down the receiver so violently she pinched a finger between it and its cradle.
A psycho. Whoever had called her had to be a psycho to say the things she’d heard on the phone, to even imagine what he’d said he’d do to her. Go someplace and masturbate, buddy! But leave me alone!
She remembered the phone call she’d received earlier, the man who’d hung up on her. Might both callers have been the same person? It was possible, but she knew the odds didn’t necessarily favor it. The city was full of sick people who regarded telephones as a means of erotic stimulation, Allie told herself. Any single woman in this city could expect that sort of phone call now and then. It was as much a part of life in Manhattan as being approached by panhandlers or getting cursed at by cabbies.
Yet there was a familiarity about both calls that chilled her. The man—or men—had used her name. Casually called her “Allie.” Not “Allison”—“Allie.” Old chums. More than chums.
She grimaced and wiped her hand on her skirt, as if contact with the phone had soiled it.
Jones was such a common surname that she’d used her first name in the phone directory instead of merely her initial, as was the custom of most single women who wanted or needed to be listed. Allie had been uneasy about it at the time, and would have preferred an unlisted number precisely so she could avoid the kind of sick and random call she’d just received. But because of her business she needed to be accessible. An unlisted number might cost her accounts and income. She couldn’t afford it.
Returning to stand before her mirror, she told herself whoever had phoned almost certainly wouldn’t call again. Probably a sicko hunched over a public phone and running his finger down the directory pages, calling whichever female names appealed to his perverted sexuality. Maybe right now he was making the same kinky suggestions to some woman whose name began with K, a woman he’d never met. No need to worry about a sorry individual like that, whose sex life depended on Ma Bell. Allie made herself smile out at the world from the mirror. A philosophical, confident smile.
But as she attempted again to work the earring post through her earlobe, her hand trembled so that it was almost impossible to do.
Chapter 13
OTHER than a massive Hispanic youth in shorts and a black muscle shirt, Allie was the only customer in Goya’s. Apparently the restaurant didn’t do much morning business. On the other hand it was past nine o’clock; she’d slept late, then decided to eat a quick breakfast out before her appointment at Fortune Fashions with Mayfair’s secretary. She’d pushed the obscene phone call as far from her thoughts as possible.
Goya’s was cool. The air conditioner and ceiling fans were toiling away despite the briskness of the morning. The young guy in the shorts and sleeveless shirt ought to be shivering instead of sitting there calmly sipping what looked like a Pepsi and gazing out the window. His leather jacket was slung over the back of the chair next to him.
Graham Knox, the skinny waiter with the jug-ears and bushy black hair, took Allie’s order, then returned a few minutes later with her bagel with cream cheese and coffee. He seemed to be fighting back a grin as he placed the order before her on the table. Good cheer was like pressure beneath the skin of his face.
He began to walk away, hesitated, then turned back. A neat pivot. He said, “I know simply being your neighbor gives me no claim on your time, but … well, I’ve gotten some good news and I guess I just have to share it with somebody. Business is slow and you’re here and we are neighbors, so you’re it, Allie. You mind?”
Allie set the bagel back on its plain white plate. What was this about? Had Graham hit the lottery? “I don’t mind at all. I like hearing good news, even somebody else’s.” She smiled, which Graham took as a signal to put on his lopsided grin. He looked like an amiable puppy when he did that. Allie liked this sincere and friendly man with the protruding ears and intent dark eyes.
He did an embarrassed little dance. “It happens I’m a playwright, and I’ve been working on a script for over a year. Way over a year, actually. And finally it sold. It’s going to be produced.” He waited a beat or two, then he shrugged, as if, on second thought, having a play produced was no big deal and he shouldn’t have mentioned it. “Anyway, that’s my good news.”
“It’s great news!” Allie said. “Congratulations! I mean it.”
“The title’s Dance Through Life. It’ll be onstage at Creative Playhouse down in the Village. Know the place?”
“‘Fraid not. I love live theater, though. Especially off-Broadway.”
He widened his grin. “This is far enough off Broadway you’ll need binoculars and a guide to find it.”
“Don’t be silly. That is a hell of an accomplishment. God, to come to New York and actually have a play produced. You realize how many people try that and fail?”
“Oh, believe me, I do.”
“I’ll go see it when it opens.”
“Really? I’ll make sure you get free tickets—good seats. For you and your—” He suddenly clamped his mouth shut. “I mean—”
Allie knew who he meant. Hedra. But how had he found out about her?
He glanced around like a conspirator in occupied territory. The big Hispanic kid
stared back at him with flat, wary eyes, as if suspecting he was the subject of derision. “It’s all right by me if you have a roommate,” Graham said softly. “What am I, the police? I noticed her in the Cody lately, saw her a few times with you. Then one day I heard you two talking as you got off the elevator, and you or she said something that revealed she was living with you. That’s a major taboo in the Cody. I got out of sight in a hurry so you wouldn’t see me. Didn’t want to let you know that I knew.”
“How long have you known?”
“Oh, a couple of weeks. It’s okay, though, your secret’s safe with me. Honest!”
“I believe it is, Graham.” What choice did she have? “But don’t mention it to anybody else. Please!”
“My word of honor on that, Allie. In this friggin’ city, I never know when I might have to advertise for a roommate myself to share expenses.”
“Not you, Graham. Not a successful playwright.”
She was afraid she’d sounded patronizing, but he didn’t seem to think so.
He wiped his hands together as if drying them on an invisible towel. Blushed. “I wouldn’t say successful. At least not yet. And there’s not that much money in it. Besides, Dance might fold after a week. Maybe after one performance. It happens.”
“Don’t jinx yourself.” Allie spread cream cheese on her bagel, took a bite, and sipped her coffee.
He began to back away, embarrassed. She realized for the first time that he had a crush on her. Well, that was all right. A natural enough phenomenon that happened between men and women. Mature, normal people didn’t let it upset their lives, didn’t act on those low-level emotions and let them develop into more than friendship, into something that seized control.
Then she remembered the obscene phone call.
Graham?
No! Ridiculous. I won’t let life in this city poison me. Graham Knox was the nicest and least threatening male she’d met in months. She wouldn’t let urban paranoia destroy a burgeoning friendship.
He said, “I better get busy or I’ll be fired and have to write like crazy.” He picked up a catsup bottle from the next table, then walked another table down and picked up a second bottle. A third. Where was he going, into the kitchen to water down the stuff so there’d be enough to last through lunch and dinner? “Hey, I mean it about those tickets, Allie.”