She took off her wet clothes and put on the jogging suit she usually wore when she expected to stay around the apartment. She fixed a light supper, watched television, tried to read three or four of the magazines on the coffee table, but gave that up when she realized she was looking at the pictures without registering anything about them. She called Eric’s number three times during the evening, but all she heard was the beginning of the same recorded message. She hung up each time as soon as the tape began to play.
She remembered the less than half full bottle of white wine left in the refrigerator a week before when Eric had come for supper. She poured herself a glass of it and took it with her into the bathroom, where she undressed. She was twenty-seven years old and not strikingly beautiful, but she kept herself in shape with aerobics and a reasonable diet. And she knew men were attracted by her dark hair and by a certain quality in her voice.
Two or three times in recent weeks, Eric had seemed on the verge of telling her something. The other morning especially, after he’d come to dinner and stayed the night, he had seemed about to say something, then realized he was going to be late for work.
Harmony finished the glass of wine before getting into the shower.
She hadn’t finished drying herself when the phone rang.
Without giving her a chance to say hello, Eric said, “Sorry about this afternoon. I got tied up.”
“You do that a lot.”
“Don’t get huffed about it.”
“You know I hate that place.”
“I said I’m sorry. Can I come over?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
She looked at the digital clock on her dresser and saw it was nearly ten. “It’s too late. I’m tired and I have to get up early tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow’s Sunday.”
“I’m going to see my mother.” Her mother lived in Lafayette, a three-hour drive from New Orleans. She made the trip every six or seven weeks. She hadn’t planned to make the trip this weekend. “Besides,” she said, “I thought you were going out of town.”
Eric said, “Change in plans. I’m going next week instead. So if you want to see me this weekend, I better come over tonight.”
“No, Eric. I’ll come back early tomorrow. I’ll call you then.”
Eric hung up with his usual “Ta ta.”
Harmony finished drying herself and dressed for bed. She turned off the lights, opened the draperies, and raised a window. It was April, but still cool — a TV weatherman had said it was the coolest spring in decades for southern Louisiana. She got into bed and looked out the window. The sky was clear and full of stars.
Eric knew all about the stars and had tried to help her find the Big and Little Dippers, Orion, and other constellations, but when she looked at the sky all she saw were stars. Eric had become impatient and told her he wouldn’t try to teach her anything else.
A mockingbird in the trees behind the apartment house sang. Harmony recognized that sound because when she was much younger a mockingbird had made its spring nest in an oak tree outside her bedroom window at home. Her mother had told her that the night song was the male singing out of his need for the female. And she thought of Eric trying to tell her something that he couldn’t get out.
She turned on the lamp beside the bed and dialed his number. It rang the three times, clicked, and the answering machine responded: “Hi, this is Eric. I just stepped out for a minute. I’ll be right back, so leave a number, especially if your name is Harmony. Ta ta.”
She said, “Eric, I’m sorry I was so cold. When you come back, don’t go away again. I’m on my way over, as soon as I get dressed. Ta ta!” She sang the signoff the way he usually did.
She didn’t need makeup, an old dress would be all right. Her hair was a mess but Eric wouldn’t mind — he’d be happy just to see her. And if he wasn’t home yet, she had her own key.
During the day, the trip from her apartment to his place could take thirty-five minutes or more, but at that time of night, without traffic and with a little luck with green lights, she made it in just a little over twenty.
His car was in its usual place in the parking lot, and she parked next to it. His apartment was dark. She rang his doorbell several times, but he didn’t answer. Sounds of music and laughter and voices came from an apartment across the small courtyard that served as a common patio for the half dozen apartments built around it. Harmony found her key in her purse and was opening Eric’s door when the music and voices suddenly grew louder and light splashed onto the courtyard from the opened door of the noisy apartment. A woman laughed and a man answered with laughter that she recognized.
Eric said, “Let’s try my place.”
The woman said, “We shouldn’t.”
“Of course we should. You liked it there last time. Not to mention the time before, and the time—”
“Hush — aren’t you the one who’s always talking about being discreet?”
Their laughter came closer, and Harmony looked for someplace to hide. Eric and the woman — a blonde — stepped from the shadows into the splash of light in the courtyard. There was noplace for Harmony to escape except into Eric’s apartment. She jumped inside and shut the door behind her.
In the living room past the small foyer, she stopped. Had she locked the door? Would Eric notice if it was unlocked? She hurried to the study. It was actually a second bedroom, but Eric put a desk and his computer in it and called it a study. She left a small crack in the door, just enough to hear through, and knelt on the floor behind the desk.
The front door closed and the voices were in the apartment. Then there was a brief silence except for the sound of someone moving around. “Wine?” Eric said.
The woman must have nodded — there was the sound of the wine being poured and glasses clinked together.
Harmony felt a mixture of anger and humiliation rising up in her so strongly it seemed to her that Eric and the woman should have been able to sense it. He had told her he needed her. He had never said he loved her, but at those times recently when he was near to saying something, she believed he had come close. He had acted like he might love her, she told herself, he really had.
The woman said, “I want another glass.”
Eric said, “Don’t get sloshed on me. It’s a lot more fun when you know what you’re doing.”
“One more.”
Again Harmony heard someone moving around.
The woman said, “What are you doing?”
Eric said, “My message light is on.”
“Let it go.”
“I don’t like to ignore messages. You never know when it might be important.”
Harmony heard her own voice. Although most of the words weren’t distinct, she heard herself singing “Ta ta!”
Eric said, “Damn!”
“What’s the matter?”
“You have to go, my love.”
“What do you mean?”
“What I said, love. Harmony’s on her way over here. The girl I told you has been pestering me. You’ve got to be a good girl and disappear. Go back to the party, or go upstairs to your place. I’ll get rid of her and come for you. It won’t take long, but she’s going to be here any minute — you’ve got to go.”
The woman said, “I thought you were going to tell her to get out of your life.”
“I am, love, I am. I’m looking for the right moment. She’s a sweet kid and I don’t want to hurt her any more than I have to.”
“If you can’t tell her, I can.”
“I’ll do it. Come on, you’ve got to go, love. I’ll come for you after I’ve gotten rid of Harmony.”
Harmony bit her lip and tasted blood. Her eyes filled and the very air in the room seemed to attack her flesh. She thought of what she had deluded herself he had been trying to say. She clenched her fists and leaned her forehead on the desk, fighting down the scream swelling up inside her. From the other room came the sound of a slap. The woman said, “Don’t pat me there and tell me you’re waiting for another woman.”