by John Lutz
Molly hadn’t finished her scheduled work when it was time to pick up Michael from Small Business. It had happened before and she’d made arrangements. “He’s still upstairs at Bernice’s. She was watching him while I got some work done.” Bernice was a young woman employed irregularly as an office temp. Molly and David trusted her and often used her as a baby-sitter. Bernice was almost on a level with Julia in Michael’s affections.
“Why don’t you call and see if she’ll keep him another couple of hours?” David asked. “We can go to Ching’s and have a quiet supper.”
Molly didn’t have to think long on the suggestion. She’d been working hard, and she’d finally reached the point where she could stop for the day without guilt. And David had calmed her turmoil of suspicion. He was right. Even if the woman she’d seen was Deirdre, she’d soon have to return to her life far away. Deirdre had a job, connections in another city. If she was jealous of the life David had built since leaving her, she should be pitied. Maybe, Molly thought, in Deirdre’s position, she’d be curious enough to act the same way, to succumb to voyeurism.
“Wait a few minutes while I comb my hair,” she said, forcing a smile, testing his reaction.
He smiled back and the tension seemed to rush from the room.
“A gorilla suit, huh?” Molly said.
The next morning in the park, Molly was halfway through her run, breathing hard but jogging easily, when a woman wearing red shorts and a gray sweatshirt emerged from a group of people walking near the woods and veered onto the trail about a hundred yards ahead of her. She didn’t seem to have been part of the group near the woods; most of them acted surprised by her sudden appearance. The women glanced at each other while the men watched the jogger who’d materialized so suddenly.
Molly momentarily broke stride. She knew immediately who the woman was. Though she was wearing her blue Yankees cap on backward, she still had on the mirror-lens sunglasses, and there was something unmistakable about the way she moved, quickly yet at the same time with an almost lazy, long-limbed insolence. At the same speed as Molly, she was running with seeming lack of effort, her tanned legs measuring out regular strides. She hadn’t looked in Molly’s direction before turning onto the trail, nor did she look behind her now.
Surprise and anger added to Molly’s energy and speed. A sharp ache in her right side threatened to become a debilitating stitch that would sear through her ribs with each breath. And she was off her pace and wouldn’t make the distance if she continued pushing herself so hard.
Then she got mad at herself and decided to end the uncertainty. If the woman was Deirdre and had some sort of psychological problem, or was simply out to antagonize, it was time to confront her. Molly forgot about making the distance to her starting point and lengthened her stride, determined to catch up with the woman.
Anger still bubbled in her at the thought of the woman invading her life and her mind, deliberately appearing before her, wearing the same baseball cap and glasses so Molly would know she was being watched, taunted.
Molly closed to half the distance separating them, and the woman picked up the pace. It was almost imperceptible. Her arms swung in longer arcs, and the white soles of her shoes flashed higher and more vividly. Other than that, there was no change in her motion. Yet the distance between her and Molly began to widen.
Breathing through her nose so she wouldn’t become winded, Molly ran even faster. Still without glancing back, the woman increased her own speed and continued to pull away. Apparently she was fresh, and Molly, who’d already run over three miles, was at a disadvantage. Each breath sent pain burning through her right side, as if a hot wire were probing between her ribs, and she knew she wouldn’t be able to run for much distance.
If only she could get close enough to catch a glimpse of the woman’s face! About two hundred feet separated them now and Molly was still falling back.
She decided to try getting the woman to turn around.
“Hey!” she yelled, but not loud enough. It was difficult to muster a forceful expulsion of air, winded as she was and running fast. She deliberately broke stride, sucking in a long breath then tightening her muscles, tensing to hurl javelins of sound. “Hey! Wait up, you! Turn around, dammit!” Better. Louder.
The woman seemed not to have heard and was running even faster, gaining ground. Soon she was almost out of sight around a curve in the trail, pulling away rapidly, a bright splash of red, her white soles still flashing, her arms swinging.
Then she was beyond the trees and out of sight.
Molly slowed down, kicked angrily at a pebble, then began to walk. Two men jogged past her, chatting casually but breathlessly about the economy, their voices wavering with each stride. A squirrel scurried across the trail ahead of her and scampered in a spiral up a tree to disappear among low branches.
Molly walked slowly, listening to the low, oceanlike roar of traffic outside the park, and the sharper, closer chattering of a jay. The bird sounded frightened and furious, as if it might be protecting its young.
When she neared the starting point of her run, she began jogging again to work off some of her frustration.
Farther along the trail, the woman slowed her pace and fell into an easy jog that was barely faster than a walk. She peeled off the mirror-lens glasses and grinned. Ahead of her, leaning against the trunk of a huge oak tree, Deirdre stood waiting.
Deirdre stood up straight, then began jogging toward her, but she stayed on the grass and at an angle to the trail, in case the winded Molly would begin running again and happen along and see them.
Deirdre kept her eyes fixed on Darlene and smiled, then began to laugh out loud, uncontrollably, as she jogged. The laughter bubbled from her continuously like cold, clear water from a spring. Several people stared at her. A young man and a child stopped and gaped at her peculiar behavior. She didn’t care. They didn’t understand her. Even people who thought they knew her didn’t understand her.
Weren’t they usually surprised?
Deirdre slowed down. Darlene met her and walked beside her, breathing hard from her run but by no means exhausted. Even though Darlene had assured her she was up to the task, Deirdre was surprised that such a frail-looking woman could summon so much stamina.
“I did what you said,” Darlene told her, “stayed ahead of her so she couldn’t quite catch up, played with her.”
“You must be in terrific condition,” Deirdre said.
“I am. I dance.”
“Seriously?”
“I’m in ballet. That’s as serious as dance gets. If I had to, I could run another five miles right now.” She crossed her slender arms as she walked and glanced over at Deirdre. “You think it was right, to play a joke like that on Molly?”
“Why not? She’s married to David.”
Darlene stared at her in a funny way, as if taking a fresh look. “That’s hardly a good reason, Deirdre.”
“It’s reason enough for me.” Deirdre lowered her voice to make it clear that there was no room for argument. “I’d like to come see you dance sometime.”
“Sure,” Darlene said. She sounded pleased. “I’ll let you know.”
They were well away from the trail now. Deirdre slowed her pace. Darlene’s breathing was perfectly normal now, and the glisten of perspiration was gone from her long, tanned legs.
A man who’d been feeding pigeons rose from a bench in the shade and wandered off. Deirdre walked toward the unoccupied bench, scattering the pigeons as she approached, and the two women sat down. They were in the shade, out of sight of Molly if she happened to jog past on the trail.
Deirdre remembered when she’d first seen Darlene in New York, sitting on a suitcase in the bus terminal, looking at the rack of magazines in a nearby kiosk. She didn’t look lonely, but she seemed vulnerable. Deirdre had found herself drifting toward the magazine rack, knowing it wasn’t magazines that drew her. But it was Darlene who struck up a conversation, asking Deirdre if she was new to the city. A
s if Darlene couldn’t tell.
“Molly yelled something at me when I started to pull away from her,” Darlene said, bringing Deirdre back to the present.
“Was it my name?”
“I don’t think so.” Darlene gave her that funny look again. “I thought you two hadn’t met. Why would she think I was you?”
“She saw me once. She knows what I look like, more or less, wearing the cap and sunglasses I asked you to put on.”
“Then that’s why she was trying so hard to catch up with me. You didn’t explain that part of the joke.”
Deirdre watched a pigeon peck persistently at the hard earth, somehow knowing there was something beneath the surface worth getting at. “It wasn’t exactly a joke that we played on Molly.”
“No, I guess not.” Darlene, too, was studying the pigeon. “I think what we did to her was cruel, Deirdre.”
“You agreed to it.”
“But I didn’t know then why you wanted to taunt her. Just because she’s married to David, that’s no way for you to behave. No way for you to win David back.”
“David will never know about it.”
“Yes he will. Molly will tell him.”
“He won’t believe her. I can make sure of that.”
“Is that your plan?” Darlene asked. “To drive a wedge between them?”
“I hadn’t thought about it, but that wouldn’t be a bad plan.”
“I disagree,” Darlene said. “Why don’t you face up to the fact that your relationship with David is over and get on with your life?”
“That phrase about people getting on with their lives is the worst kind of psychobabble,” Deirdre said. “Unless we decide to commit suicide, none of us has any choice other than to get on with our life.”
“It’s how we get on with life that’s important, Deirdre. We can accept fate and be content, or we can fight it and be miserable.”
“It isn’t that simple!”
Darlene looked around, embarrassed. “Shh. You’re raising your voice.”
“You’re the one talking too loud,” Deirdre said. “People are staring.”
“They’re staring at you, not me.” Darlene stood up from the bench. “I’m going now.”
Deirdre suddenly felt guilty, unworthy. Darlene was one of those people who could do that to her. It was something she hadn’t counted on. “I suppose you’re mad at me now.”
Darlene looked down at her, smiled, and shook her head. “No, it isn’t that. If I don’t leave, I’ll be late for dance class.”
“You’re always dashing away somewhere so you won’t be late.”
“I lead a busy life.”
“Busier than mine.”
“It doesn’t have to be that way, Deirdre. You’ll meet people, have fun. You’ll see.”
“I’m not even sure that’s what I want.”
“What do you want?” Darlene suddenly raised a forefinger to her lips. “No! Never mind, don’t tell me. There’s no time.” She began walking backward, grinning at Deirdre. “We’ll get together soon.”
“When?”
Without answering, Darlene lifted her arm in a wave, then spun gracefully to face the direction she was going.
Deirdre sat and watched her walk away. After about fifty feet, Darlene began to jog. She ran with beautiful long strides and perfect balance, her head held high and not bouncing at all. All that ballet, Deirdre thought, as Darlene passed from sight.
Deirdre continued staring after her. There was something about Darlene she didn’t like, she decided.
And she knew what it was.
Darlene was beginning to treat her the way other people often did. As if there might be something wrong with her.
Didn’t she know that could be dangerous?
9
Silver’s Gym in midtown Manhattan was crowded that evening. All of the Nautilus equipment was in use, and four exhausted-looking women were riding the stationary bicycles side by side. Two men were waiting for David to finish his bench presses with the free weights so they could use them. Herb Mindle, a psychiatrist whose office was nearby, was spotting for David, as David, on his back on the padded bench, struggled to raise the heavy barbell for the fourth time and set it in its supports. He was doing three sets of four with the weights near his maximum capacity, trying to build bulk.
“You’re there!” Mindle said, staying back but ready to jump in and support the weight if David’s strength failed.
David let out a long whoosh! of air as he let the barbell drop into the cradle of the bench’s vertical supports.
“Want to use this thing?” he asked as he sat up and wiped his face with a towel.
“No thanks,” Mindle said. “I’ll spot for these guys.”
David got up and walked toward the locker room, noticing that the clock over the door read seven-fifteen. Molly was expecting him at eight.
He showered, dressed, packed his workout clothes in his small blue nylon duffle bag, then left the gym. Mindle, just standing up from having done his sets of bench presses, waved to him as he went out the door. The women on the stationary bicycles were still at it.
He was three blocks away from the gym, walking along the crowded sidewalk toward his subway stop, when he heard Deirdre’s voice.
“David! Again! My God, I don’t believe it!”
He couldn’t hold down his pleasure at seeing her, but he knew this seemingly chance meeting had to have been planned. “Listen, Deirdre, this is more than coinci-”
He stopped talking as he noticed the man who was obviously with Deirdre. He was tall, balding, a businessman of some sort, apparently, with his muted checked gray suit and conservative tie. He was slender through the chest and shoulders but had put on weight around the middle so that his stomach bulged noticeably over his belt beneath his unbuttoned suit coat. His face was bland and amiable, and he wore thick glasses without frames that made his eyes look immense and strangely innocent.
“David!” Deirdre almost squealed with pleasure. “I was sure we’d never meet again!”
Before he could move, she’d leaned forward and pecked him on the cheek. Her red hair looked particularly wild and attractive in the summer breeze, and she was wearing a simple but low-cut beige linen dress and matching pumps. When she moved in close to kiss him, a disturbing and not unpleasant scent of perfume and perspiration came to him.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“Subway station, then home.” He’d sounded curt, surlier than he’d intended. The man glanced at him.
“Oh!” Deirdre said, stepping back. “This is my very good friend Craig Chumley. Craig, meet David Jones, my ex.”
Chumley looked surprised. “As in ex-husband?”
“Uh-huh! He sure is.” She seemed oddly proud of David. She squeezed Chumley’s arm. “Well, what’d you think, my ex would be old and bald as a cucumber?”
Chumley laughed, a bit ill at ease, perhaps because he was one of those men who tried to disguise baldness with long strands of hair plastered sideways across their heads, like loosely thatched lids at the mercy of the wind. He had yellowed teeth and oversized bicuspids that gave him a faintly canine look when he laughed.
“Craig and I were on our way to dinner,” she said. “He promised to show me the Rainbow Room. Ever been to the famous Rainbow Room, David?”
“No.”
“You really oughta take Molly there sometime. Hey, why not tonight? You want to join us? Four’s company.”
David smiled. He was feeling better every second. Maybe it was Chumley’s presence, but today Deirdre seemed not at all threatening to his libido.
“Four’s more likely to be a crowd,” he said, looking at Chumley, who was rocking back and forth on the heels of his huge wingtip shoes, like a man testing the precariousness of his situation.
“Well, maybe some other time. Maybe I’ll call you.” Deirdre lowered her voice, as if trading a confidence. “You know, David, I wrote a note and a phone number where I could be
reached in New York and slipped it in your jacket pocket when we met the other day. Did you find it?”
“No,” he lied, “I hardly ever use my suit coat pockets.”
“I knew at the deli you’d refuse to call if I suggested it, so I thought I’d let you think on it. I hoped you’d make the first call and we could talk. The past isn’t so threatening that we need to be afraid of it, David. We definitely should be friends.”
“The past doesn’t seem so terrible or threatening to me,” he said.
“Why, David!” she said with a dazzling smile, pretending, or perhaps actually believing, he’d complimented her.
Chumley glanced at his wristwatch, caught David looking at him, and shrugged as if in apology for being ill-mannered.
“We have reservations,” he explained, a helpless victim of time.
“So have I,” David said, looking directly at Deirdre.
“We’d better get on to the restaurant,” Deirdre said, “or they’ll give our table to some celebrity.” She took Chumley’s long arm. “You call me, David, hear? Friendship is olden and golden and shouldn’t be tossed on the trash mound.”
He didn’t answer.
“Nice meeting you, Dave,” Chumley said, and held out a long, pale hand toward David.
David shook hands with him. “Enjoy the Rainbow Room.”
“Oh, we will!” Deirdre said.
She surprised David by kissing Chumley full on the mouth. Seemed to surprise Chumley, too.
They were holding hands as they walked away toward East Fifty-fourth Street.
David watched them until they’d disappeared in the throng of heat-weary people who had dropped in elevators from one plane of their lives to another and, like him, were wending their way from work to home. Chumley was definitely a welcome addition to the Deirdre equation. Whatever temptation she might be to David, whatever wiles she might have worked, any involvement was less likely now. David felt safe from her. From himself.
Twenty minutes later he was on the subway, roaring through darkness toward Molly and Michael.
Molly was sitting quietly in the apartment living room, the back of her head resting against the sofa’s thick upholstery. The room was eclectically and comfortably furnished: overstuffed sofa, well-stocked bookcases, framed museum prints on the walls. A console TV with a VCR on top sat against the wall opposite the sofa. Near the double-window was Molly’s desk with a green-shaded banker’s lamp, reference books, a ceramic coffee mug stuffed with pencils next to the architectural manuscript.