Alien Upstairs

by Pamela Sargent

  "I don't know. I suppose I don't, really. I asked him why his apartment was so warm when I was helping him clear the table. He just laughed and said, oh, my, heat's no problem with my little doo-hickey.” Sarah fluttered her hands, aping Raf. “I suppose he meant that thing near the sofa, on the end table."

  "Heat rises,” Gerard said. “I wish I knew where his money comes from."

  Kathy shook her head. “He's probably somebody's rich son, and he's slumming. Unlike those of us who have to work, he can afford to let his delusions flower. Maybe his father's in oil or coal, and that doo-hickey is one of those new developments they're supposedly sitting on until things get really bad. I looked at it, though, and it looks like an old stereo component. He probably keeps it there for effect. Have you decided what to tell Epstein, Sarah?"

  "Not yet."

  "Well, let me know when you do. I'm taking the ownership option. Of course, it's useless for getting a loan—I already asked my bank about that, and it's strictly enclave houses only as far as loans go—but I don't want Epstein evicting me."

  "He wouldn't do that."

  "You never know. If he gets a few more rich clowns like Raf willing to rent, and we don't have signed leases, even nice Mr. Epstein might give us all the heave-ho."

  Three

  Sarah counted out her silver coins and put them in Mr. Epstein's palm. The old man seemed tired. “Thank you, dear.” He gave her a receipt. “Tell me, have you decided about the apartment yet?"

  "We'll take it,” she said. “I mean, we'll take ownership."

  "We?"

  "Both of us. I mean, it's silly for me to keep it just in my name. You can draw up the papers for both of us.” She had not yet told Gerard about that decision. She supposed he would be happy about having part ownership, and, she thought, he could share the problems if his ideas about owning it turned out to be wrong.

  "I'm pleased. I think there's a good chance we'll get those collectors in before winter. Nice hot water again, and maybe we'll save a bit on wood, too. The pipes will give you a little extra heat.” Mr. Epstein sighed. “Things have been hard. The Guard's pulled out of Euclid Street, you know, and the police, too. I'm probably going to have to abandon my building there."

  "I didn't know.” Euclid Street was just across the river, on the south side. “Where will they all go?"

  Mr. Epstein stared at the floor. “Oh, some will stay, and live as best they can. Some of the young men and women will join the National Guard, as always. Some will go west, and get work on farms. I filed a protest. It won't help. I wouldn't take their rent for the month; they'll need it to resettle.” He paused. “I don't even know how much longer I can keep my own house, as it is. You may see me in this building yet, as a resident.” He cast his eyes heavenward. “Mrs. Ritter can't last forever, I'm afraid, especially if this winter is as bad as last year's."

  Sarah decided not to point out that Mr. Epstein was almost as old as Mrs. Ritter. She now understood the extra luxury of hot water; Epstein was preparing his retreat.

  "Well, I must go. I'll see you next month, maybe sooner, with the papers.” The old man opened the door and stepped into the hall, where his bodyguard was waiting. As he left the building, Clarisse Anthony entered with a small paper bag. She handed it to Sarah.

  Sarah peered into the bag. “Is that all? These potatoes are kind of small."

  "That's it for this year. If you want more next year, spend more time in the neighborhood garden."

  "I don't have time."

  "You could get Gerard to do some work."

  "He hates gardening."

  "It's your loss. If you want to throw your money away, you're welcome.” The young woman lowered her voice. “You have some weird guy in this place."

  "What?"

  Clarisse pulled up the collar of her spotted trench coat. “The guy who just moved in. I heard stories. I don't like him."

  "You don't even know him."

  "I don't like him. Strange people mean trouble.” Clarisse narrowed her eyes. “I like to see stable people live near me. You get one weird guy, pretty soon the Guard asks questions and then they pull extra duty and then they say the hell with it, close the street. You got to care about the neighborhood, you know."

  Clarisse left. Sarah went back inside and stashed the potatoes in the kitchen. She could not, on her diet, eat them anyway. She leaned against the sink, knowing she would have only one more day off until the fashion show was over; so far, she had wasted this one. She found herself wondering if Raf Courn was home.

  Entering the hall, she locked her door carefully behind her. As she climbed the stairs, she pondered the new neighbor. By the time she reached the third floor, she was no longer certain she wanted to see such an odd person by herself. She turned to go back down.

  Raf's door was suddenly flung open. “Miss Jaynes. What a lovely surprise.” Raf wore a white cashmere sweater and a pair of brown corduroy slacks. “I thought I heard someone on the stairs. Please do come in.” She entered, feeling trapped. “Aren't you working today?"

  "It's my day off.” She stood awkwardly in the door as he closed it.

  "I was just about to have lunch. Please join me.” He ushered her toward the table. She sat down while he got out another plate and glass. “Nothing fattening, don't worry. Just a chef's salad.” He served her and poured her some white wine before seating himself. “I do so dislike eating alone."

  Sarah inspected the glass that held her wine; the goblet seemed to be made of crystal. She picked at her salad. “This is very nice of you, Mr. Courn."

  "Call me Raf. As I said, I dislike eating alone. You're favoring me with your presence.” He sighed. “I only wish the others here were as friendly. Somehow I feel they're avoiding me."

  "We're all pretty busy. Except Mrs. Ritter, of course. And I think Larry and Martin are having problems. Martin seems a bit discontented.” Sarah chewed some salad. The lettuce was crisp, and she wondered where he had found it.

  "My, my. Somehow I don't think that's it, Miss Jaynes. They avoid me even when they're not busy."

  "Call me Sarah.” She paused, worrying about how frank she could be with Raf. She decided to chance it. “I think you might have put people off with that story of yours. You know, the one about—well, you know what I mean.” He was watching her calmly. “The one you told at your dinner party last week,” she finished.

  "Oh. But it's true, Sarah.” He put his elbows on the table. His lashes fluttered over his dark eyes. He squinted, and his mouth was very straight for a moment. “I am an alien. Be honest, wouldn't you admit that I'm—well, a little different?"

  "Not that different."

  "My goodness. Well, I'm very humanlike, obviously, or I could hardly have come calling here without kicking up a ruckus."

  "How did you get a card? What's your Social Security number?"

  He laughed and tilted his head to one side. “Oh, come now. If one can cross space with no trouble, acquiring a credit card and Social Security number hardly presents a problem.” She recalled that he had not used a card at Warwick and Baum's. “You are suspicious, aren't you? Well, I suppose I would be in your place."

  She studied him. He seemed perfectly sane, and that was more disturbing than obvious irrationality. The eyes gazing upon her were clear, the olive-skinned face composed, the body still. “You speak English well,” she said at last.

  "Well, of course I do. How else could I communicate? It was easy to learn, too. Consider how many broadcasts of various kinds there are in English. And this country was the obvious place to try my wings, so to speak. There are so many different sorts of people here. I would have been quite conspicuous in certain lands."

  "And you decided to come to a fourth-rate apartment building in a third-rate city."

  "And why not?"

  "You could have gone to Washington, or New York, or Los Angeles. You could have seen important people."

  He shrugged. “Why do that? Such people are atypical. I seek the ordina
ry. One learns more that way."

  "You're here because you're a fraud."

  He smiled. It was a game with him. She could raise objection after objection, and he would have an answer for them all. His delusional system was well developed; it rested on one premise she could neither dislodge nor refute.

  "If you wish to believe I'm a fraud, you may."

  "Or else you're mad. You seem too steady to be really crazy, but then I'm no judge."

  "I have my doo-hickey over there.” He motioned with one arm. “Doesn't that constitute proof of a sort?” He pointed languidly at the silver console.

  "Oh, come on, Raf, that's probably an old component you picked up somewhere."

  He got up and disappeared into his bedroom, returning with a pair of earphones. He gestured at her and she rose; he moved her chair closer to the console and seated her again; then handed her the earphones. “Put these on and close your eyes."

  Sarah stared at him, stunned. Did he expect her to support his insanity, or was he waiting for another objection so that he could offer yet another clever answer? She did not know how he would react; he might be dangerous. She fumbled for words. “These are earphones, Raf."

  "Well, of course. You don't expect me to have things about which look odd, do you? I must disguise them."

  "I thought that thing heated your room."

  "That's only one of the things it does. Put them on and close your eyes."

  She wanted to throw the earphones to the floor and leave. She put them on, closed her eyes cautiously and waited.

  —She was suddenly adrift in blackness. Mists of red and violet shimmered in the dark. A voice whispered to her from the center of her brain, but she could not understand its words. A dead rocky world was beneath her; a red globe swelled behind it. She dropped toward the rock. A tall thin latticework of metal jutted out of the rock. She dropped more quickly. She was falling—

  She tore off the earphones, jumped up, and crumpled toward the floor. Arms caught her. She steadied herself and pulled away.

  "You hypnotized me,” she cried. Raf was silent. She went toward the windows and looked out. The sun was lower in its arc; she had come up at noon. She rested her hands on the back of the sofa. “You hypnotized me."

  Raf was unplugging the earphones. He crossed the room and stood at her side. “Perhaps I did."

  She glanced at him. He put one hand between her shoulders and began to trace her spine. She shivered, but did not draw away. He pulled her to him. She seemed to be watching herself. Her mind raced as she thought, Now I'll find out, now I'll know. Then she stopped thinking.

  Sarah stood on the stairs. She thrust her right hand into her sweater pocket; Raf had given her an envelope before she left. She shook her head, feeling disoriented. The afternoon had become scattered images and sensations of lips and hands and thrustings; she could not remember exactly what she had done. Something was wrong. Her memories of sex were usually so sharp that they would cause her to gasp involuntarily. She had been hypnotized. No, she thought, that was only her excuse, her rationalization.

  Gerard would be home. She lingered guiltily on the staircase. The door to Larry's apartment opened and Gerard stepped out. He muttered something to Larry and the door closed. He looked up and saw her. “What are you doing?"

  She did not answer.

  "Come on down.” He went into their apartment. She hurried down the stairs and went inside, closing the door behind her. Gerard was sitting on the sofa, elbows on knees, head in hands.

  "I hope Larry wasn't flirting,” she said lightly. Gerard was still. She sat down next to him and put a hand around his shoulders. He was going to tell her something bad, she knew it. She was going to be punished, as she deserved to be. She tried to tell herself that she and Gerard had never agreed to be faithful, and dismissed the thought; some things did not have to be spoken. “What is it, Gerry?"

  "Larry told me some bad news. All private cars are going to be inspected in the next few months. If you don't pass the inspection, no more gas coupons."

  "But that's nothing new. You always got that crate through inspections before."

  He leaned back, resting his head against the back of the sofa. “This is a different inspection. Larry told me the specs. Nothing will get through except a car in perfect working order. I'd have to spend a fortune to get the Toyota through it."

  "But they can't."

  "They're going to. They want to get more cars off the road, and make a dent in the black market besides. Those coupons were our margin, Sarah, we're in debt as it is. I don't know what we're going to do."

  "No.” She shook her head. “No.” Her voice caught on the word. “I can't stand it. One thing after another, and it just goes on.” She choked and tried to swallow.

  "I don't know how we can take the apartment now,” he went on. “We may need the extra cash."

  "I already told Mr. Epstein we would. I told him we wanted joint ownership."

  He stared at her, then looked away. “That was kind of you.” She leaned against him, holding him. “Maybe there's another way. I've got some time, I'll think about it. We'll figure something out. I don't want you worrying about it."

  She remembered the envelope in her pocket. “I was visiting with Raf Courn today.” She raced over the words. “He gave me this.” She pulled out the envelope and opened it, realizing abruptly that it might contain something incriminating. It was too late. Gerard took the envelope from her and read the note inside.

  He handed it to her. Written in italics, it was an invitation to a party to be given next week.

  "We might as well go,” Gerard said. “Maybe it'll take our minds off things. He might be crazy, but he served good grub at his last get-together.” He sighed.

  She could not look at him. She had betrayed him, probably at the very moment Larry had been giving him the bad news about the inspection. No, she thought; neither of the men would have been home that early. She wondered if she was having a nervous breakdown, if that was why she had forgotten what she had done. She could not afford a nervous breakdown; unable to pay for private care, she would be sent to a state facility, where heavy doses of pacifiers combined with occupational therapy in the fields of nearby farms were the favored mode of treatment.

  She drew away from Gerard. It was his fault; if she had been happy with him, she would never have turned to Raf. That was yet another unworthy thought.

  "It's my fault, in a way,” he said, and she tensed at the words, then shook her head. He couldn't know. “I had my chance, right after I left school,” he went on. She had heard the story before, but he obviously needed to tell it again. “Terry Bloom wanted to open that bookstore with me. He'd put up the money, and I would have managed it. I could have done that. But I didn't want to give up a sure thing with Warwick and Baum's."

  "You told me Terry's store went out of business."

  "That's because he decided to run it alone, and he didn't know a goddamn thing about books. You have to work pretty hard to fail at a rare book business, but he did it, he overpriced everything and stocked junk and paid too much for a lot of things. He was the kind of guy who thought that if a book looked nice and clean and had a pretty cover, it was worth a lot, and if it was old and beat-up, it wasn't. It didn't matter what was inside. I wouldn't have done it that way, it would have worked with me, and I'd have had a share in the business by now, and maybe my own collection."

  "It doesn't matter now."

  "I guess it doesn't. I'll figure out something before the inspection. Hell, maybe I can do some plumbing for people on the sly, get some extra money that way."

  "Don't. If the plumbers’ guild finds out, you're finished.” She rubbed his back. There was not much else she could do.

  Four

  Raf's room was crowded with people. He was in a brown velvet suit, greeting people at the door. Sarah eyed the throng. A tight-lipped old man sat in a corner, eyes blank. Two young black women stood near him, giggling. Raf certainly had a lot of frie
nds.

  Gerard struggled toward the food while Sarah lingered near Raf. “Mrs. Denham,” Raf said. “So delighted you could come."

  A thin red-haired woman was peering at Raf. “Have you received the message yet?” she asked him.

  "No, I'm afraid I haven't."

  "Has the Lord of the Forty Worlds revealed himself to you?"

  "I'm afraid I've not had the pleasure of his acquaintance."

  The woman looked at Sarah. “He's an imposter,” she said. “I've seen those on the higher frequencies, and he's not one of them. I would know, for they sent me here.” She fingered her necklace. “They taught me their science, a mental science far in advance of ours.” She shifted her eyes to Raf again. “You're naughty, pretending like you do. I hope I can intercede with the Lord of the Worlds on your behalf, or you will never be ready for the higher plane."

  "Well, hello.” Sarah turned to face a portly middle-aged man in pinstripes. He drew her toward the center of the room. “Odd place Raf has now, don't you think?"

  Sarah mumbled a few noncommittal syllables. The man looked down at her feet, then at her breasts. “Never can tell what he'll do, I guess."

  She said, “He thinks he's an alien."

  "Oh, everyone knows that. It's his little eccentricity, don't you know. It damn well put me off at first, I can tell you. But what the hell, if he wants to play his little game, he can play it. He came to me for some business advice, but I can tell you he gave me better advice than he got.” He raised his eyes to her face. “I don't suppose you'd be free after the party."

  "I don't suppose I would."

  "Too bad.” He wandered away. The room hummed with voices. Raf was at the door speaking to an old woman; Sarah recognized Mrs. Ritter. She was probably complaining about the noise. Raf leaned over her and then, astonishingly, wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Mrs. Ritter smiled. Sarah made her way to the door.

  Mrs. Ritter was gone by the time she reached Raf. “What did you say to her?"