The invitation to Lisl's party surprised him, and pleased him to no end. What a sweet woman she was to include him in her plans. He was touched. He had a warm feeling for Lisl, and although her intention to prepare a paper for the Palo Alto conference was a direct challenge to his own bid for tenure, it did not alter his feelings for her. She had every right to go for it. And after what he'd overcome in the past, Everett was hardly afraid of a challenge, especially from a respected colleague like Lisl.
But he'd have to turn down her invitation. A party of that sort was out of the question.
He noted that the address was not Lisl's but a place in that exclusive new development, Parkview. Probably belonged to that Rafe Losmara she had been seeing.
Poor Lisl. She no doubt thought she was being so discreet and low-key, but her affair with that rich graduate student was the talk of the department.
Ev wondered what this Rafe Losmara saw in her. He too was reputed to possess a brilliant mind, perhaps the equal of Lisl's, but he was almost ten years her junior. Why was he pursuing an older woman? Lisl couldn't help him academically—she was in a different department than he. So what was his game?
None of my business, he told himself.
And perhaps he wasn't being fair to Lisl. She was an attractive woman—at least Ev had always found her so—and even more attractive now that she was slimming down. There was no reason why she shouldn't have many men chasing after her.
Which made the pool among the other members of the math department all the more offensive. When they'd approached him to see if he wanted to place a wager on how long Lisl's romance would last, he'd coldly dismissed them. He should have given them hell, should have gone to LisI with it, but he lacked the nerve, and hadn't the heart to bring her hurtful news.
He hoped Lisl and this Losmara fellow stayed together for a long time, just to show up the fools in the department.
But what of that groundskeeper? Ev still saw Lisl taking lunch with him. He wondered how he felt about her relationship with Losmara.
Will Ryerson put off opening the envelope. He knew what it was. He dropped it on the kitchen counter and wandered the main room of the house he'd been renting for the past three years. The tiny ranch was old and damp; built on a concrete slab but that hadn't stopped the termites from establishing themselves in the walls. He swore there were some nights when he cquld lie awake in the silent darkness and hear them chewing. The house was situated on a large wooded lot in the center of a dense stand of oaks. He never had to go outside to know when fall arrived—the acorns raining on his roof heralded the return of cool weather.
Nothing here belonged to Will but the food, the linens, and the Macintosh on the dining-room table. The house came furnished. And decorated, so to speak. The previous renter had run a roadside stand specializing in velvet paintings. According to the landlord, that tenant had fallen behind in his rent and had simply disappeared one night, leaving behind some of his stock. The landlord had taken a few of the choicer works for himself and had hung the rest in the little ranch, literally covering the walls with them. Everywhere Will turned he faced yards of black velvet smeared with garish colors—yellow lions, orange-striped tigers, sad-eyed clowns, purple-white rearing stallions, and multiple, idealized studies of good old Elvis—the later Elvis, the glitter-sprinkled, high-collared, white-jumpsuited King of Rock V Roll.
Will had found the collection unsettling when he'd first moved in, but he'd become used to them over the years. Lately he'd found himself actually growing fond of one or two. That worried him.
Will picked up the envelope again and stared at it without opening it.
The party.
Lisl talked about little else these days. And she never let up on pestering him to come. She saw it as her big chance to get him together with Rafe Losmara. Rafe, Rafe, Rafe. Will was tired of hearing about him. In a way, he wanted very much to meet the man who had stolen Lisl's heart so completely. He was curious as to what kind of man—younger man, no less—could engender that level of infatuation in such an intelligent woman. And in another way he dreaded the meeting, fearing he'd discover that Rafe Losmara had feet of clay.
No use in putting it off. He tore open the envelope.
There it was. After all his refusals she'd gone ahead and invited him anyway. A holiday party, from eight till whenever, the Saturday before Christmas. At Rafe's Parkview condo.
It sounded nice. Too bad he couldn't go. Not only would he feel out of place—a laborer mingling with the professors—but there'd be telephones there.
And then he saw the inscription at the bottom of the inside page.
Will—
Please come. I don't have many friends, but I want them all
at the party. And it won't be a party at all if you're not there.
Please?
Love, List
Guilt. How could he say no to that? He hated the thought of letting her down, but he couldn't go. It was impossible. Or was it? Maybe there was a way. He'd have to think on it…
NINE
Will was on his third cruise through the Parkview complex now. He'd passed Rafe Losmara's condo on each circuit, but each time had been unable to stop and go in. He felt like an awkward teenager, driving past the home of the prettiest girl in school, endlessly circling the block because he was too shy to knock on her door.
No doubt about where the party was. Will could have found it without the address. The gallimaufry of cars cluttering the curbs in front of Losmara's unit told the story.
Finally he forced himself to pull his Chevy into the curb, but he kept the engine running.
"Okay," he muttered. "Decision time."
Was it worth it? That was the question. He was already an hour late. The smart thing would be to turn around and head for home and forget about Christmas parties.
He could see them standing in the windows, drinks in hand, laughing, talking, posing. He didn't belong in there. They were faculty and he was maintenance. And he hadn't been in a social situation for so long he was sure he'd commit some gaffe within the first ten minutes.
But these were all minor excuses. The telephone—that was the obstacle that really counted. What was he going to do about the damn telephone? Telephones. There had to be more than one in Losmara's three-story unit.
And within minutes of entering a room with one it would ring, that long, eerie ring, and then they'd hear that voice, and if Will was close enough he'd hear it too, and even after all these years he couldn't bear to hear that voice again.
But he had a plan. And it was time to act. Time to take a chance.
Will turned off the engine and got out of the car. At the front door to the townhouse he paused, fighting the urge to flee. He could beat this. He could.
Now or never.
Without knocking, he stepped inside and grabbed the arm of the nearest person—a tweed arm with a suede patch over the elbow. A bearded face turned toward him.
"Hi," Will said with all the confidence he could muster. "I've got to check in with my service. Where's the phone?"
"I believe I saw one over on the table next to the sofa in the front room there."
"Thanks."
Immediately Will began to worm his way through the guests, focusing straight ahead, avoiding eye contact with anybody, aiming for the sofa. A white sofa. A white rug. White walls. Everything white. The guests looked out of place, obtrusive. They wore every color but white.
There it was. To the left of the sofa. The phone. White, of course.
Will's plan was simple: He'd locate the phones one at a time, make a beeline for them, and disable them.
The first one was right in front of him. He reached for it but a tubby figure suddenly blocked his way.
"Why, Will Ryerson!" said a familiar voice. "Is that you? Praise the Lord, I almost didn't recognize you in that jacket and tie!"