“No.”
“What do you mean, no?”
“I mean no. I like it here.”
“But this is my house. You can’t just walk in and make yourself at home.”
“Sure I can. You never lock the back door. The dog’s usually in the back yard. He barks, but he can’t get over the fence. Your neighbors are gone all day, or watching TV. Either they don’t see me or they don’t care. Or maybe they’re used to me by now.”
Carol stared at him. Replies came to her mind so fast that she couldn’t sort them out sensibly. “But what do you want? Why are you here?” Her throat was tightening up again.
“Well, geez, lady, it’s cold out. I want someplace I can sit down that’s not on the ground. I want to watch a little Donahue, wash a load of clothes, take a shower. I wish you’d get some dandruff shampoo instead of that extra-body stuff, you know? Sometimes I make a little lunch, fry an egg, see what kind of leftovers there are. What do you think I want? I can use the phone. When it works. But I don’t make no long distance calls, you know.” He waited a moment, as if he expected her gratefully to acknowledge his restraint. When she failed to do so, he shrugged and opened the magazine again. “It’s not like you’re using the space. An’ I don’t take nothing you can’t spare,” he said in a miffed tone. He scooted lower on the couch and resumed reading.
Carol realized that her gesturing and stomping had loosened her bathrobe and it was threatening to open. She turn back into the kitchen to close it better and pull the belt into a tighter half knot. She leaned back against the broom closet door and closed her eyes. He’s making me feel like a bad hostess, and I don’t even want him here! What am I going to do? I can’t let him just stay there, but how am I going to get rid of him? She heard claws clicking on the linoleum floor. Mimi walked over and touched Carol’s calf with her wet nose, whined once. Carol ignored the urge to reach down and wipe her skin dry. She looked down at the dog, who looked back up at her. “I don’t know, Mimi.”
She took a deep breath and walked back around the corner to the edge of the living room rug. She tensed herself to speak. “Look, you have to leave. I don’t want you here. I don’t have anything worth stealing. No jewelry, no silver, not even a stereo. Well, okay, the TV. So take it; it’s yours if you’ll just go away. Please. Now.”
“I don’t want your crummy old black and white TV, lady. I just come here to kill time. Besides, I got to wait for the mail to come, so I can get my unemployment check. They always come on Thursday. Sometimes Friday. So just leave me alone, okay? You ain’t big enough to make me leave anyway. Don’t be dumb.” He sounded as if he was talking to a creepy kid sister.
The fear she felt surprised her. Of course he was right. She was not a bouncer capable of chucking him out. She was only average-sized for a woman, and she didn’t know any karate tricks or anything like that. She was certain that he was stronger than she was.
For the first time, the possibility of rape occurred to her. That frightened her more than his scoffing tone, and she felt foolish and naive not to have thought of it sooner. True, he had made no move to attack her, only to invade her territory, but she was alone, and weak, and words were definitely not working against him. She turned, stumbled over Mimi, and walked with a rush back through the kitchen, out the other end into the short hallway, and into her bedroom. She held the door open for a moment to let Mimi follow her in, then shut it and threw the puny brass bolt.
She pushed aside the loose blankets on the bed and sat down facing her reflection in the dresser mirror. Mimi hopped up beside her and squeezed in under Carol’s right elbow. Carol rested her arm on the dog’s back and began scratching the curls behind Mimi’s ears. She never looked directly at the dog, only watched their reflection in the mirror. Mimi whined and tried to lick Carol’s face. Carol pulled back out of range, without being fully aware of the reflex. She pulled the dog completely up onto her lap and embraced the mongrel with both arms. She put her cheek down on the soft curly back, still watching the reflection. Mimi’s whining became continuous and sounded more upset. The dog wiggled to reach Carol’s face with her tongue, still unsuccessfully.
“Mimi, I don’t know what to do. I’ve got to make him go away.” She was breathing deeply and her ribs felt tight. She was frightened and cold. “I don’t have a gun, not even a toy gun to scare him with, and even if I did have one I’d probably shoot myself in the foot with it. And he wouldn’t even be scared of it. I don’t think he would. He’d just take it away from me and shoot me instead. Oh, Jesus, Mimi, there must be something I can do.”
A minute later, she heard footsteps in the hall. Frozen, she stared at the bedroom door. But the man went into the bathroom and closed the door. Through the wall she heard a trickle of water, then the toilet flushed. The sound released her. Dumping Mimi, who jumped to the floor, she pulled jeans off the dresser and put them on under her bathrobe. She took a thick navy blue sweater from the bottom dresser drawer, pulled loose the belt of her robe and shrugged it onto the floor, then pulled the sweater over her head. The high turtleneck warmed her throat. From the closet she got rough leather hiking boots with thick black rubber soles and laced them tightly, without bothering to find socks.
She put one hand on the doorknob, the other on the bolt. Mimi stood with her nose at the crack, her tail held out stiffly. Carol held her breath and listened. She heard a television commercial for bleach. She moved her hands and a single click came from the bolt and doorknob together. She listened again at the handspan opening. The channel changed to an ad for men’s underwear.
So he was still there.
She pulled the door wide and stepped into the hall. She took four steps and then stopped. Mimi stood at her heels. Carol was not cold any more. Moisture filmed her forehead and palms, and made her sockless boots feel clammy. Straight ahead was the living room. To the left was the kitchen. She stood breathing shallowly, listening. Geraldo Rivera said something about elementary school kids carrying pistols. The man must still be sitting on Carol’s sofa. She could see the end of it in the doorway. He was only a few feet from her, barely hidden by the wall. She wasn’t ready to face him yet. She turned.
In the kitchen she silently lifted her largest knife from the clutter on the stove top. The teakettle of cold water was still on the stove and she never had made tea, she realized. She held the knife in her left hand and squeezed the handle hard. The weathered wood felt cool and dry in her hand. The knife was heavy, with a long, rigid blade of black steel.
She moved to the broom closet and opened it carefully. It was impossible to be silent, and she was almost grateful for the noise of the television. She was very much aware of the sound of Mimi’s nails clicking on the floor. She reached for the broom, but it wasn’t there. She had a moment of panic, then saw the broom in the far corner, behind the dining room table. She looked down at Mimi and mouthed the word “sit,” while jerking her extended index finger down. The “s” hissed only a little, but Mimi sat, ears alert. Carol took three steps, made a long sideways stretch across the table, and grabbed the broom. She lifted it above the table and stepped back into the kitchen. She listened closely. Could he have seen the moving broom from where he sat? Was he reacting? Was he coming for her?
She didn’t hear anything but the television.
Setting the bristle end on the floor, she slid her hand down the broom. Lifting, she found the balance point about eight inches above the bristles. She held the broom in her right hand and turned it so that her thumb rested on top of the handle and the bristles were tucked under her elbow.