Duplicate Keys

by Jane Smiley

  “I’m sorry, I—”

  “There hasn’t been anything about it out here, and nothing in the Times that I could find, either. Who did it? Did they find anyone?”

  “It just happened this morning. It was awful. There was blood everywhere, in fact there still is. I haven’t even had a chance to take off my dress, can I—”

  “Alice, what are you talking about? The murder was two weeks ago.”

  “Oh, that! I’m sorry—”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I found Ray beat up on my doorstep this morning. They punctured his eardrum on purpose, over and over. The doctors are afraid—”

  “Who punctured his eardrum?”

  “He hasn’t been able to talk. I’m not sure. There was this weird guy he was hanging around with earlier this week. No affect. That’s where he got the coke, I’m sure, but I haven’t talked to Ray. He was unconscious. I’m not exactly sure what is going on.” Her voice petered out. She could hear Jim smoking. Finally he said, “Don’t hang up, but go change your clothes and get yourself something to drink, whatever you have.”

  “There’s some brandy.”

  “Good, get that. I’ll hold. Take your time.”

  Alice put down the phone and did as she was told. Five minutes later, she came back to it and sat down with a cup of the bitter, vaporous liquor. When she picked up the phone, Jim said, “Now take two deep breaths and tell me what’s been going on.”

  “The other thing is that they arrested Noah.”

  “Noah!”

  “Yes.”

  “Noah Mast actually killed Denny and Craig, actually killed Craig? Did that have to do with cocaine, too? What is going on there?”

  “Craig was sleeping with Rya.”

  “Bitch!”

  “Well, it’s not exactly clear how voluntary it was on her part. You know Craig. Sometimes it was easier to do what he wanted than what you wanted.”

  “But it doesn’t make sense that he killed Denny, too. And how does Ray fit in?”

  “I don’t know if he does. He’s the only one with an alibi, but also the only one with a real motive. He got the guys some cocaine. Ten thousand dollars’ worth. It wasn’t paid for, as far as we know.”

  “Where is it?”

  “That’s the sixty-four-dollar question. At least, I’m sure that Ray doesn’t know, and I don’t know. And Susan doesn’t know.”

  “What the fuck is going on back there? What’s happened to everyone?”

  “I wish I knew. I’m fully aware of how bizarre it all is, believe me.” She was waiting for him to ask how Susan fit in, but he did not, rather to her relief. He said, “How do you feel?”

  “I don’t know. Swirling. Like I’ve been spinning around and around and am going to fall down and break my neck. I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Susan—”

  “How are you?”

  “Me?” he barked.

  “You! Your family! Mariana!” She said it easily, without even the ghost of a stammer.

  “Oh, fine. We’re fine. I’ve just been terribly concerned. That city is a hole, you know. You don’t realize it until you get away from it. I told Craig—”

  “I don’t know. We’ve had beautiful weather, and there are flowers everywhere.”

  “You should have—”

  “Nothing bizarre ever happens in California, right?”

  “That’s beside the point. When you get away, you can see things in perspective.”

  “Perspective! Perspective is thinking that parallel lines meet!”

  “Why are you mad?”

  “You’re a snot! You haven’t been here, you don’t know what’s going on, and you’ve still got loads of opinions about it—”

  “Alice—”

  “And why do you always say my name in that patronizing affectionate way, as if I had to be led gently back to my senses?”

  “Let’s not argue right now.”

  “Let’s do argue! There’s nothing we can do about Ray or Denny or Craig. I think we’d better argue.”

  “I’m sorry about the tone of my voice, but whenever I talk to you, I feel like I have to be careful.”

  “Or what?”

  “Or something will happen.”

  “What could happen? Really, what could happen? It’s already happened. Our relationship was severed two years ago.”

  “That’s not what I mean.”

  “Well, what do you mean? That I would go crazy or commit suicide or something?”

  “I think we should leave this discussion for a more appropriate time.”

  Alice imagined Jim and Mariana worrying about her. His evasion told her that they had, that they had titillated themselves with worry about her. If she did commit suicide, then their marriage would attain real dramatic grandeur. She said, “I never once thought of committing suicide, even the very day you disappeared without a word. It didn’t make me want to kill myself.”

  “I’m sure—”

  “You know, George Sand was always afraid some lover was going to die in her arms, actually die from delight at being her lover.”

  “You have to admit that you’ve always acted very—”

  “Very what?”

  He weighed his words. “Very obsessed. You were very dependent.”

  “Yes, I was.”

  The sun behind Alice cast her shadow over the yellow and green tablecloth. She wondered what would be said next and who would say it. She heard Jim eat something. After that he sighed a couple of times. Alice said, “Did you love me? This time I’ll believe you.” And was Mariana listening now?

  Jim said, “Yes, very much.” He said it dully, truthfully. She believed him, possibly for the first time in her life.

  “Why didn’t our marriage last, then?”

  “I think because I felt like I was throwing it into a bottomless pit. You didn’t appreciate it.”

  “I appreciated you.”

  “But you were also the great lover and giver. The only one.”

  Alice winced. “That’s what Susan said. We talked about you last night.”

  “Susan—”

  “Well, how is Mariana? You didn’t answer me.”

  “Actually, she’s pregnant again. She’s at the church.”

  Alice’s eyebrows lifted at the notion of religion in the life of James Calvin Ellis but she only said, “When’s the baby due?”

  “Middle of January.”

  “Is she really at church?” Alice laughed.

  “Why is that funny?”

  “Well, it’s Saturday, for one thing. And I’ve always thought she was listening whenever we talked. I’ve never called you or talked to you without imagining her on the extension, being very quiet.”

  “I don’t think she’s ever been here when we’ve talked, except the last time when you called to tell me about the guys.”

  “Will you forgive me for imagining it?”

  “Will you forgive me for worrying that you might commit suicide?”

  “Do you think they’re equal insults?”

  “Do they have to be?”

  “I guess not.”

  “I forgive.”

  “Me, too.” Then she said, “Can I say something else possibly insulting?”

  “Why not?”

  “I can’t imagine you two as parents, only as participants in a grand passion, or as California sybarites.”

  “We’re very domestic. I’m actually reminded rather often of your parents. More than of mine.”

  “What kind of baby do you want?”

  “A healthy one.”

  “Was it awful with the other one?”

  “Very.”

  “I was really sorry about that, though I didn’t know how to tell you.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Do you want to get off now?”

  “Do you?”

  “I should.” Alice looked at her watch. “I should make some calls. Everything is a mess here.”


  “Let me know about Ray. Are you in danger?”

  “Of course not. None of this really concerns me, except as an unlucky bystander. The detective thinks I should get my locks changed, but I can’t see—”

  “Do it. Pay attention to him. Get a twenty-four-hour guy and I’ll send you the money.”

  “It isn’t that. Do you really think I should? No one has my key except—”

  “Do it anyway.”

  “Okay.” Alice hung up with a pleasant feeling of mutual affection. Across the street, Henry’s windows were shadowed and blank.

  THE locksmith said that he would be there about two. At four-thirty he rang the buzzer, awakening Alice from a deep, blank, timeless sleep. When she leaned against the wall and tried to gather herself together, he said, “Hey, the locksmith, man. I came to change your locks.”

  “Okay.” But it took her an age with the locks she had. Her thick fingers seemed to slide off them without effecting any movement. She put her face in her hands and rested. Then he was there, behind the door, knocking. Alice bit her lip, and at last opened the door. “I was taking a nap,” she told him. All he needed to complete his costume as the last derelict hippy was a mongrel dog on a piece of string. Alice estimated that he had not washed his hair in three months and not combed it in six. He picked up his tool box and she stepped back to let him at the door.

  “You have a robbery or something?” he said, squatting and unscrewing things.

  “Not exactly. Some people have keys.”

  “Bad shit,” he replied.

  “Yes, that’s what I understand.”

  “You want me just to change the tumblers in this one, or you want something new? I got these French babies. They go more toward the middle of the door, and are kind of ugly, but they never get broken into, how about that?”

  “How much is that?”

  “A hundred, regularly, but I got a special deal on the last order. Eighty-nine fifty.”

  “That seems like a lot.”

  “Hey, you got a glass of water or something? I’m dying.”

  “Sure.”

  When she came back with the water, he was sitting on the couch, his feet on the window sill. “Shit,” he said, “that’s great. New York’s got the greatest water, you know. There was this guy that was selling it. Fuck, I’ve been working. Guess how long I’ve been working.”

  “I couldn’t imagine.”

  “I am beat. I started work yesterday about noon, and I haven’t been to bed since. This is a great gig, you know. You could do this all day and all night if you had the right substances. First the junkies break in, then the cops come, then us. And junkies never sleep.”

  “I’m sure they don’t.”

  “Some guys charge extra for late night deals, but not me. I charge extra during business hours. That’s when I like to sleep.”

  “One of those French locks would probably be good, but I would have to give you a check.”

  “No checks. You kidding, man?”

  “I don’t have that much cash.”

  “Sorry, lady.”

  “Well, how much would it cost to change the tumblers?”

  “About twenty, but I won’t do that. This lock is about fifty years old. It’s not going to stand up to that.”

  “Is there anything else?”

  “I can put another lock of this type in. It won’t be all that safe, compared to other stuff I got, but you could put in a good second bolt.”

  “How much would that be?”

  “Fifty, sixty.”

  “You really won’t take a check?” “You want to make it out to the IRS for me?”

  “Why don’t you do the work, and I’ll go out and get the cash for you.”

  He looked reluctant, then shrugged. “Yeah—”

  “No, forget it. Thanks for coming by. I’m going to think about it some more.”

  “Look, lady. I’ll take a check, all right?”

  But the more willing he became, the more determined Alice became not to do it. “No. I don’t want to do this. I don’t see how I’m going to keep that person from having my key again, anyway, so it won’t do any good. It’s a waste of money. We’ll just leave it like it is, okay?”

  “It’s up to you, man.”

  “That’s right.” She held out her hand for his glass and he stood up. “I’ve got ten dollars. Will you take ten dollars to put the screws back in?”

  “Yeah, why not.”

  “Will it be just like it was?”

  “Hey, lady. It’s fifty years old!”

  “Okay, forget it.” She handed him ten dollars, and he put back the screws. After he left she went into the kitchen and looked for something to eat. There didn’t seem to be anything.

  AROUND dinner time, Alice went to Susan’s, taking an Entenmann’s chocolate chip cake. She was fully determined to broach the topic of possibly changing her locks, but said, “Did you get to see Ray?” instead.

  Susan shook her head. “They’re keeping him sedated today, but they thought tomorrow would be better. Honey was there when I got there, but I don’t know if he talked to Ray or not.”

  “I think he thinks we got into all of this by being careless. He gave me a big lecture this morning.”

  “He was polite to me.” Susan shrugged. “It’s always tempting to think that he doesn’t know what he’s doing.”

  Alice thought, Thank God for that, and said, “What do you want for dinner?”

  “Cake.”

  “I feel like popcorn.”

  “And a six-pack of Coke.”

  “Sounds delicious.” She sat down at the table. “Really, Susan, do you think Ray’s going to be all right? I never did even see this Dr. Lee, much less get to talk to him.”

  “That must be the Oriental guy. I did talk to him, as a matter of fact. I told him Ray was my brother.”

  “I told the hospital he had insurance up the wazoo.”

  “They think there’s going to be substantial hearing loss in that ear. There was no damage to the other one, though.”

  “No more perfect pitch.”

  “I forgot to ask about that. I don’t know. I don’t think it’s like eyes. I don’t think you have to have two to do it together.”

  “Still, his ears are his living.”

  “I’m sure whoever did it was perfectly cognizant of that fact.”

  “Are you scared?”

  “No.”

  “I’m having my—” But Alice couldn’t go on. She would mention it later, when she had figured out a way not to imply a lack of trust. She said, “Jim called today, too. He thinks we’re all nuts.”

  “How was it otherwise?”

  “Well, the phone didn’t glow or vibrate. He sounded sort of dull. I even started remembering when he used to come home from class and give me the blow by blow—how Deedee in the front row objected to the use of ellipses and Mark over by the wall wanted to re-write the entire poem in seven-syllable lines. Talk about boring.” She lifted her eyes to Susan’s. “I like you better than him now, anyway, and you’re here and he’s there.”

  “And?”

  “And you were right, he said loving me was like throwing it into a bottomless pit.”

  “I do think that you never saw the truth, that Jim was a little reserved, or even shy about expressing affection, whereas that sort of thing comes very easily to you.”

  “I guess.”

  “Let’s have some cake.” This is how they would go on, Alice was tempted to think, certainly for the rest of the evening and maybe for years, maintaining separate residences, perhaps, but living as close together as a pair of shoes. Soon, sometime in the next ten minutes, the night’s conversation would take root. First, two or three topics would be begun and discarded as boring or worn out. This would happen automatically, a result of the cake or the newspaper open on the floor or the view of a neighbor passing across the street. Inevitably, though, something would take root, then grow and branch and exfoliate into a whole evening’s
talk. Susan rolled over and reached under the coffeetable for the Arts and Leisure section of last Sunday’s paper. Alice smiled and wandered over to the chair across from her. Weren’t they set for life, with steady jobs, enough money, no commitments, couldn’t this last for years, in a way that marriage could never last, without effort, without swings in desire, or mistakes in translation, or the balancing of needs that marriages always demanded? People stayed home for passion and went out for companionship, when actually the reverse would work much better. Alice picked up the book review and glanced over the poetry reviews. Susan said, “There’s a free concert of medieval consort music at the Cloisters. Eight o’clock.”

  “That would be nice.”

  “Long ride on the bus.”

  “That’s true.” As if on cue they settled themselves more deeply into their chairs.

  “My favorite time to go to the Cloisters is Christmas, anyway.” And here they would be at Christmas, Alice thought, crossing her fingers, except with the windows closed and slacks and sweaters on. Between now and then, what a wealth of time! She sat forward and threw down the paper. “Don’t you think time passes differently now than it did three or four years ago?”

  “How do you mean?” Susan’s eyes continued to scan the Calendar of Events.

  “Well, I remember being really impressed when we moved here that four whole years had gone by since college, and five for Noah. Now I’ve lived in my apartment for the same length of time that I lived in Minneapolis, but the two experiences aren’t equal at all. This, in spite of everything, has a much smoother quality to it.”

  “I know what you mean. It used to be that every season broke over you like a big wave at the beach. The passage of time itself sort of bowled you over and changed you. You’re right, it’s not like that now. I could see turning around in thirty years and wondering where it all went.”

  “It feels different. It doesn’t seem to be going anywhere. There’s a woman at the library who had a baby a few years ago. Sometimes she brings him in. It seems almost odd, because he’s obviously growing up, learning to walk and talk, wearing little oxfords and shorts with flies, but she seems permanent. Even her hair doesn’t grow in any visible way.”

  “Maybe that’s being an adult.” Susan sat up. “Maybe that’s the only truth about being an adult, that in some basic, visceral way, time stops.”