The Other Typist

by Rindell, Suzanne

  Why did I like Odalie so much? I am still, even now, trying to formulate an answer to this question. When I found myself abandoned at a party, I never accused Odalie of being a bad girl-friend, though I might have been well within my rights to do so. Instead, I was quite the cool customer, if I do say so myself. By that time, I knew enough about Odalie’s personality to understand it was imperative that I not be clingy, that I not make demands, or she would pull away from me permanently. And so I developed a routine. Whenever I realized Odalie had disappeared—one minute by my side, the next minute vanishing into a cloud of music, smoke, and shrieks of laughter—and it had become apparent she would not be reappearing anytime soon, I usually went home for the evening (alone, of course) and made a cup of tea. However, on one surprising evening as I was preparing to slip out and make my departure after finding myself once again sans Odalie, I became aware of a face watching me from a distance. The sight of it stopped me dead in my tracks. The familiar apparition crossed the room and came toward me.

  “Fancy meeting you here.”

  “Lieutenant . . .” My voice trailed off. I was stunned.

  “Given our surroundings, I really think it’s best to consider abandoning your standing policy of austerity and call me Frank. At least for now,” he said with a smile, throwing a cautious glance first over his left shoulder and then his right, making certain no one had heard.

  But he needn’t have bothered. No one was paying particular attention to us. The crowd was engaged in its usual revelry. A bevy of girls appareled in dresses made entirely out of swinging strings of beads were shimmying atop a nearby table and attracting a great deal of attention. The beaded dresses were so reflective and bright, the girls’ bodies shimmered with a watery mystique, like the opalescent scales of freshly caught trout. The room was dense with people, and I found myself at eye level with the Lieutenant Detective’s chest as the crowd crushed us closer to each other. On instinct, I scanned the sea of faces for Gib, nervous as to how he might react to the Lieutenant Detective’s presence. But he was otherwise occupied, frowning skeptically at a man doing amateur magic tricks for a small crowd that had gathered at one corner of the room. Near Gib’s elbow I could make out the short, trilby-hatted shape of Redmond, waiting attentively for his boss’s next batch of drink orders. For the moment, the Lieutenant Detective and I were adrift among the masses and utterly unobserved.

  “Have you been following us?” I asked, recalling the strange sensation I’d felt while strolling around the city during the weeks previous. I’d noticed something had been amiss lately, some strange inkling causing me to cast a glance behind us as Odalie and I went about the town. It had felt like something was perpetually just out of sight—the flash of a familiar shape refracted in a shop window here and there, only to vaporize as soon as I tried to determine its location.

  “Why would I do that?” It was a response, but hardly an answer, and I said so. He ignored my reproach, and after some minutes leaned in closer and touched my elbow in a confidential manner. “Listen,” he said in a low voice. “I think it’s best if you got out of here, and right away.”

  I didn’t tell him I had been on the verge of making my departure for the evening only some minutes before. His admonition had struck up something within me, something rough and stubborn and flinty. Suddenly I had the urge to stay. I caught Redmond’s eye and waved him over. The dwarf toddled in our direction, surprisingly deft at making his way through the milling crowd. Soon enough he was at my side, his friendly, beady pupils glinting up brightly from the dark purple shadows that perpetually ringed his eyes.

  “’Lo, Miss Rose,” Redmond said. “You look lovely tonight.” I appreciated the comment but did not let it go to my head; Redmond was, rather like myself, always a creature of good manners.

  “Why, thank you, Redmond,” I said, borrowing Odalie’s signature lilt with the inflection of my voice. “I think I could use another champagne cocktail, seeing as how the night is still young.”

  “Course.” Redmond threw a look in the Lieutenant Detective’s direction, but stopped just short of asking him if he also wanted a drink. He waited a few moments for me to deliver an introduction or friendly word, but when he read in my expression my utter lack of welcome toward the Lieutenant Detective, Redmond shrugged and turned to go. When it came to the mysteries of human behavior, Redmond was clever and had that particular blend of insight and indifference that only those who are condescended to on a regular basis possess.

  “I’m not playing a game,” the Lieutenant Detective said once Redmond was out of earshot. “I really think you ought to get out of here as soon as possible.”

  “Why? Because this is not a place for a nice girl to be?” I was haughty now, indignant. “I bet . . . ,” I began, but demurred, suddenly intimidated by what I had the urge to say. Then there was a surge of spite and I decided to go ahead and finish the sentence. “I bet you wouldn’t mind bumping into Odalie here. You’ll be sorry to hear, but she’s already departed for the evening. And the gentleman who escorted her away for the evening appeared very entertaining.” The Lieutenant Detective looked surprised, but not offended or displeased. He studied me briefly with a curious expression on his face.

  “No, Rose, you don’t understand.” He put an arm around me, pulled me to his side, and pivoted my body so we were both looking in the direction of the entrance. “There’s going to be a raid tonight, and I think it’s best if you weren’t here,” he said in a low voice, as if to encourage me to concentrate on what was happening before me. My eyes began to focus on a handful of sour-faced men gathering there, the scattered group of them trying to appear nonchalant as they surveyed the room. All at once I took in the Lieutenant Detective’s meaning. “We’ve dallied too much already; they’re getting ready to close off the door and they’re going to give the signal any minute. We’ve got to get you out of here.”

  We? Why was he helping me? I would’ve thought he’d have preferred to let them throw me in the clink and gloat at me behind the bars. But before I knew what was happening, the Lieutenant Detective had hold of my upper arm and was steering me through the room. My head jerked wildly about; I was trying to catch a glimpse of Gib or Redmond to see if they had detected the undercover policemen who were now positioning themselves in strategic corners of the speakeasy. As we drew near the entrance, I realized the Lieutenant Detective was going to have to explain about me.

  “Wait,” I said. I remembered something Odalie had shown me the last time we’d attended a speakeasy in this particular building. “There’s a better way out.” The Lieutenant Detective stopped and nodded. His grip on my arm loosened but did not relinquish altogether, and he allowed me to lead him in the direction of a tiny room in the back.

  Once inside the back room, the Lieutenant Detective shot me a look of instant dismay. It was a small, claustrophobic room with shelves running along every wall, from floor to ceiling. The shelves were filled with unmarked bottles.

  “Jesus, Rose, what is this? We don’t have time for this.”

  “Hold on.” I walked to one wall of bottles and looked for the empty one Odalie had shown me. I lifted one and looked behind it: nothing. I lifted another.

  “Rose—”

  “Ah!” Behind the last bottle I lifted was the handle I’d been searching for. I reached in and pulled it, but it was stubborn. A small shiver of panic ran through me. I gave it a stronger yank and suddenly felt its release. The bottle-laden shelf swung open on a pair of heavy-duty hinges as though it weighed nothing. I turned to the Lieutenant Detective. Through the dark I made out his eyes, wide and saucerlike as he took in the fact of the new exit that had materialized before him.

  “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.” He shook himself and shifted back into command. “C’mon, let’s go.” Taking my elbow again he made to enter the passageway.

  “I’m not entirely sure where it goes.”

  �
�Anywhere but here would do right now.”

  I was wearing a dress from Odalie that ended in a short pleated sailor’s skirt with a gossamer overlay, and as the shelf of bottles swung shut behind us the gossamer floated up and got caught in the closing threshold. Too late, I tried to push back against the door. I heard the latch deploy with a heavy thunk.

  “My skirt!” I said into the dark. The Lieutenant Detective produced a lighter from his jacket pocket, flicked it on over his head, and inspected the situation. Together we looked for a way to reopen the passageway door, but no opposing handle or latch could be perceived.

  “All right. Hmm. Well.” He took a breath and glanced up from my skirt to look me in the eye. “I’m awfully sorry about this,” the Lieutenant Detective said, reaching into his back pocket.

  “Sorry about what?”

  Without answering, he produced a collapsible Opinel knife and flipped it open with one fluid snap of his wrist. At the sight of the blade, I involuntarily cringed and shrunk back.

  “Take it easy.” The Lieutenant Detective reached down to my skirt, gathered the cloth where it was now tethered to the doorway, and with one fast, hard slice, cut the fabric. I intuited the knife was very sharp, for the gossamer came away as though it were simply a piece of paper being torn in two. I was free. The remainder of my skirt drifted down, the freshly cut patch an awkward tuft that barely covered my derriere. “A shame,” the Lieutenant Detective said, his mouth twisting into a strange variety of smile I had never before seen on his face. “It was a nice dress.”

  “I don’t own it. It belongs to Odalie,” I blurted awkwardly.

  “Ah. Well, shall we?”

  We walked the remainder of the tunnel in silence, the flame from the Lieutenant Detective’s lighter guiding us along, casting the creepy elongated shapes of our own shadows on the tunnel walls as we progressed. At long last, we reached a wooden door. The Lieutenant Detective undid a series of bolts, locks that were only accessible from our side of the door, and suddenly we were met by a wet, humid blast of the hot summer night. We stepped out of the passageway and into a very nondescript alley. I realized I had no idea where I was.

  “Clever,” the Lieutenant Detective commented, still inspecting the door we had just exited. “All the doors lock from the inside. You can leave but never enter. Perfect for getaways.”

  “You sound admiring.”

  “I am.”

  “Did you organize the raid tonight?” I asked.

  The Lieutenant Detective looked at me and held my gaze for several seconds. There was a full moon out and I could see the cold, clear blue of his eyes and the waxy-smooth skin of the scar on his forehead glistening in the silvery light.

  “No,” he said finally. He shrugged. “I don’t disapprove of places like . . . like this.” I didn’t answer, and he continued, abruptly stumbling forward in a jittery voice. “Actually, I have a theory.” His eyebrows shot up in a nervous gesture, as though he were about to commit high treason and was somewhat exhilarated at his own boldness. “See, my theory is society needs places like these. Places to let the steam off, you know? Prohibition isn’t practical. It simply turns more citizens into criminals.” A long silence followed, and the shoulders that had been hunched with excitement as he’d chattered now sagged. I believe he knew what my next question was going to be before I asked it.

  “Then why—”

  “Why did I agree to come along on the raid tonight?”

  I nodded.

  He shrugged and looked distantly toward the end of the alley. “I dunno.” He returned his gaze to me and hesitated, as if weighing what he was about to say next. Then he gave a guilty grin and waved one hand in the direction of my snipped skirt. “I suppose you never know when you might come to the aid of a damsel in distress.”

  It was a line. But I had no idea why the Lieutenant Detective would try a line on me and found myself a little shocked. More shocking still was how, once he’d said it, the Lieutenant Detective looked down at the pavement and shuffled his feet awkwardly. I couldn’t believe he might be in earnest. The ladylike reaction would be to feel sympathy for his awkward overtures, no matter how gauche they might be, but I didn’t. Perhaps it is telling that my natural reaction to the Lieutenant Detective’s confession was that of a cat reacting to the discovery of a wounded field mouse.

  “Of course. I forgot to thank you for making a shambles of my dress.” It came out of my mouth with even more of a sarcastic bite than I’d intended. But instead of apologizing, I found myself rubbing it in further with a bitter, mocking little curtsy.

  “Odalie’s dress,” he corrected me with an equally belligerent air. I glared at him midcurtsy, and he glared back. Our eyes locked once again, but this time by a sudden feral flash of white-hot anger. We remained like that for several minutes, as though the silvery light of the moon had petrified us and transformed us into two stone statues caught midsnarl. But curiously, the clenched musculature of our two faces suddenly, and in simultaneous synchronicity, began to loosen and slide into a pair of mirrored grins. I was surprised to hear my own voice laughing along with the Lieutenant Detective’s.

  When our laughter had subsided, I was very aware that the Lieutenant Detective had inched a few steps closer. On instinct, I leaned away. “I ought to be getting back to our apartment. You know, to deliver the bad news to Odalie about her dress.” I was suddenly very eager to make my farewells and get away, not only because the increasing proximity of the Lieutenant Detective made me uncomfortable, but because I was nervous he might attempt to see me home. By then everyone at the precinct was aware of the fact Odalie and I had become room-mates, but I had been careful to keep the location and luxury of the apartment a secret. I didn’t want to slip up and botch things simply because the silly young detective before me fancied himself a gentleman.

  “I thought you said she’d already found a suitable . . . ahem, diversion for the evening.”

  “She’s likely at home already,” I lied in a haughty voice. The Lieutenant Detective ceded two steps of the borderland between us. “She’s probably wondering where I am.”

  “Then we ought to get you home.” He began pacing in the direction of the alley entrance and gave a heavy sigh. I knew I couldn’t let him see Odalie’s apartment, but when he put down my protests with a surprisingly concise, forceful air, I realized he was going to escort me either way, and I elected to save my protests for another time. And when we heard the long, plaintive WAHHHH of police sirens moving in the direction of the speakeasy’s innocuous entrance, I was secretly glad for the respectable company.

  13

  Upon turning the key in the lock, I was shocked to find Odalie actually home. I hadn’t really expected her to be. She was swathed in a bathrobe made out of several layers of sheer, sapphire-blue material, and her lanky, catlike body was stretched out at length on the emerald-and-white striped upholstery of the divan. The heat of the day still lingered in the room and Odalie had thrown open the windows to let in the night air. The gauzy white curtains hanging in the window sashes somehow enhanced the overall feline impression of the scene by lifting on the breeze and giving an intermittent, syncopated flick—very much in the tempo of an annoyed housecat idling her tail. In contrast to the inky night sky that loomed in the windowpanes behind her, Odalie looked very vivid and bright where she reclined on the divan in a study of jewel tones.

  She was reading a magazine and eating chocolate-covered cherry cordials from a silken confectioner’s box. Odalie had a peculiar way of eating sweets. It differed vastly from Helen’s method. Helen ate her penny candies with a guilty, surreptitious air that put you in mind of a paranoid squirrel desperate to secure a nut before some bird or larger animal came along and forced it to share. In an opposite manner, Odalie ate her chocolates languidly, haphazardly. Sometimes she ate with an indifferent, distracted demeanor, holding whatever treat was in her hand with a slack wrist,
a thing already forgotten as she squinted more closely at the latest hats from Paris. Other times she put her whole body into it. She was not afraid to mmm and ohh when she judged something particularly tasty. With Helen, the candy itself seemed like the valuable thing, whereas on the other hand with Odalie, the valuable thing seemed like her reaction to the candy. Perhaps these differences are emblematic of yet another class difference to which I was uninitiated. After all, Helen was stingy with her candies because they were in limited supply. Odalie, however, could afford to be generous and perhaps even a little wasteful. Over the months we lived together, I’d retrieved numerous half-eaten boxes of chocolates from under Odalie’s bed, only to cluck my tongue and deposit them in the waste bin because they had grown a furry whitish-green mantle of mold due to exposure and neglect.

  “Oh!” she said when she looked up and saw us. I could tell she was very surprised to discover a man standing in her foyer. She was especially startled that it was the Lieutenant Detective, but I think she would have been at least a little surprised by any man at all. I had never brought a gentleman to the apartment before, and I was still smarting from the sting of humiliation brought on by the countless smirks and raised eyebrows of the hotel staff who witnessed our entry as we’d made our way through the lobby and into the elevator. Despite my repeated protests, the Lieutenant Detective had insisted on seeing me all the way to the front door. Now he stood loitering in the foyer, staring into the sitting room with his mouth slightly agape. I believe he was a little stunned by the trip upstairs and was still deciding what to make of the plush lobby, the golden elevators, and the fashionably decorated apartment in which he currently found himself. Odalie shot me a look of reproach; I understood by allowing the Lieutenant Detective to escort me home I had violated my oath to keep her living situation a secret. She was clearly not at all pleased with this development. But just as soon as her features stiffened with anger, she regained herself and they melted back into a repose of welcoming ease. She rose lithely to greet us.