Mrs. Belding laughed herself when she pictured Hattie in any of her cast-off things; they wouldn’t cover half the woman. But then, maybe she wanted them for a sister — or a friend.
Late in the afternoon, Mrs. Belding was sitting on the stool before her dressing-table mending a run in the top of one of the stockings she was to wear that evening. She had not heard Hattie at her work for some time. She listened, and when a number of minutes went by and there was still no noise, she rose and went out to see what Hattie was doing.
Hattie was not in the living room. She was not in the hall nor in the kitchen. Mystified, Mrs. Belding glanced at the closed bathroom door. The woman must be there. She called her name.
From behind the door, muffled, but still booming, came Hattie’s voice. “Yes, Ma’m, you want me, Mrs. Belding?”
“I didn’t know where you were,” Mrs. Belding said, speaking in the direction of the bathroom.
“I’ll be ready in a minute, Mrs. Belding,” Hattie said from behind the door.
Mrs. Belding went back to her bedroom. Something about Hattie’s reply bothered her, but she didn’t know what it was. She thought Hattie had finished in the bathroom, but evidently she hadn’t.
Mrs. Belding took up the mending of her stocking again. She listened for Hattie, but heard nothing. When a longer time than before went by without any noise being made, she called out as she had before, but this time from where she sat.
There was no answer. She called again. Still there was no reply. She wondered what Hattie could be doing. Whatever it was, she was taking a long time about it. Mrs. Belding wanted her to get through, for she meant to take a bath in a few minutes. Surely the woman must have heard her. She put down her mending, got up, and went out into the hall.
“Hattie!” she called. There was no reply. “Hattie!” Her call was nearly a cry this time. But no answer came from the bathroom. Nor was there any sound of movement.
What had happened to the woman? She must still be in the bathroom. Or had she sneaked out, perhaps to let someone else in the apartment?
Mrs. Belding turned quickly about, looking. There was no one to be seen. There was no sound in the apartment.
She took a step toward the bathroom door, then stopped, cautiously. It was indeed strange.
“Hattie!” she called again.
Only silence answered her.
Mrs. Belding stood there, her heart beating fast. The thought came to her that Hattie had left without saying anything, without collecting her wages. While trying to figure out why the woman would do such a thing, she looked for Hattie’s hat.
The crazy little thing was still on the chair. Hattie was still in the apartment.
Mrs. Belding wanted to call in a neighbor, or the building superintendent, or a policeman, to help her investigate. But she hesitated at the prospect of raising a hue and cry over what might be nothing.
In her irresolution at deciding what to do, another thought, a more logical solution, came to her. She remembered the drawn look on Hattie’s face, and how Hattie had slowed down at the work, as though tired. The woman had probably gone beyond the capacity of her strength and fainted in the bathroom. That was it, of course. That was why she hadn’t answered.
Concerned, and a little irritated, Mrs. Belding went to the door and opened it. Hattie was not to be seen. Mrs. Belding stepped into the bathroom.
As soon as she was well into the room, the door swung closed behind her, snapping shut with a sharp click. There was a movement there, and she whirled around quickly to see what it was.
An utterly naked man, who looked gigantic, stood against the door.
In the confusion and shock of her first horror, Mrs. Belding looked about for Hattie. All that was to be seen of her were a heap of clothing and a wig of straggly gray hair lying on the floor. Other than that, there was only the man standing there starkly nude, exposed and horribly ready, staring down at her from his blood-shot eyes which were now wide and burning.
Mrs. Belding’s lips parted to emit a scream that her terror had so far denied her, but before she could get it out a firm, large hot hand was placed over her mouth, twisting her about so that the back of her head was pressed against a hard sweaty chest that was breathing fast, and another hand began to tear viciously at the clothing on her shoulder.
...Into the Parlor
by Paul Eiden
Just phoning these beautiful girls gave him a charge. Then, to Diener’s everlasting regret, he actually met one...
Diener got the picture of a girl in white panties and bra out of his jacket pocket and then fumbled a cigarette into his mouth. The girl’s body was long-legged and beautiful and arched in a provocative pose. Thick dark hair framed a heartbreaking twenty-year-old face. The picture had been ripped from a glossy-paper magazine. On the margin Diener had written “Linda Land” and a phone number. He dialed the number.
The phone whirred in his ear and Diener sourly studied his reflection in the glass door of the drug store phone booth. He hated his small nervous face and the thinned-out mouse-colored hair that let the freckles on his scalp show through. For the millionth time, Diener wished he was four inches taller, thirty-pounds heavier. He wished he had a really decent suit, and thick curly black hair like Farley Grainger or Tony Curtis.
“Hello? Hello?” the warm contralto voice came through the phone.
“Hello, Linda!” Diener burst out. Then his voice grew thick and cottony. “Know who this is?”
“Who?” The voice had become sharp with annoyance. “Listen, what number do you want?”
Diener forced a chuckle. “Listen, Linda. This is Farley Curtis. Remember?”
A tiny sound that might have been a gasp answered him. The line went dead for a long moment.
“Oh! Hi, Farley!” The girl’s voice had come back sounding strained, unsure of itself. “I thought I was never going to hear from you. It’s been such a long time, I thought you forgot all about me.”
“As if I ever could,” Diener laughed suavely into the phone. “It’s — I was out of town. On a little business trip.” Something was soaring inside him like a rocket. “Texas!” he improvised wildly. “A little business trip to Texas!”
“Oh. But you could have called me long distance.” Was there a pout in her voice, Diener wondered, panicky. But before he could answer, she grew suddenly eager. “Why don’t you come up now? I’m going to be all alone. I’ve been laying here in bed just wishing something exciting would happen to me tonight...”
“B-but,” Diener spluttered, thinking of his old raincoat, his cheap, wrinkled suit. “I couldn’t. I’m not dressed. Just some old clothes I wear when I have to go out to my oil fields.” His legs began to tremble violently.
“I don’t care, Farley!” The voice lilted in his ear. “I–I’d like to see you that way. I’ll tell you what — I’ll dress exactly the way you told me I was in the first picture you saw of me.”
Diener’s mind reeled, remembering a wispy, lace-topped negligee dipping down to bare young breasts, open over a strong, naked leg. The phone was slippery in the sweat of his palm. He fought his timidity, but lost to it again. “I can’t, Linda. I—”
“Farley Curtis, if you don’t come up right now, I’ll hang up on you every time you call. I swear I will!” The anger went out of her voice then. “Please!” she pleaded. “I’ve never even met an adventurous man like you!”
The words were like straight whiskey to Diener. “Okay. Where’s your place?”