“Harriet here, Susie. Are you busy?”
“This madhouse? It’s always busy.”
“Oh. I thought we could have a little chat.”
“What’s happened?” asked Susie coolly.
“Happened? Nothing. It’s just that I’ve been talking to Mary. I had no idea she was leaving, Susie. For Los Angeles, apparently.” Harriet felt vindicated by Susie’s silence. A surprise. “You knew she was leaving, of course?”
“Well, more or less. I hadn’t expected— Her exams are over, there’s nothing keeping her.”
“Your home is down that way, isn’t it?”
“Ventura.”
“I suppose Mary’s going down for a visit.”
“I really don’t know.”
“You don’t know? Your own sister? Shame on you!”
“We try to keep our noses out of each other’s business.”
There was a short silence. Then Harriet decided that the snub was not a snub after all. “Who is the ‘John’ she’s going off with?”
Susie’s voice was puzzled. “What’s this again?”
Harriet reported the conversation she had overheard. “Being curious, I wondered who the ‘John’ was.”
“I’ve no idea.”
“Probably John Boce,” Harriet suggested. “He’s always been fascinated by Mary.”
But Susie was not to be goaded into an indiscreet revelation. “Nothing’s impossible.”
“‘She seemed very excited and, well, full of mischief. You know how Mary is. Only more so. And,” Harriet added in a confidential voice, “she did not deny that she might be getting married!”
“She probably didn’t deny that she was joining the Foreign Legion, either.”
“Now, Susie. After all, when a girl like—”
“Excuse me, Harriet, I’ve got a customer. Some other time?” She hung up.
Harriet rose angrily from the couch. She should have known that the little snip would tell her nothing. She poured herself a fresh cup of tea, took it out on the balcony and stood looking down into the court, wondering what the future held.
The door to Apartment 11 opened. Mrs. Kelly, a stout, arthritic woman of over seventy, stumped out on the balcony. She pulled her door shut, glanced sidewise at Harriet, tested the lock, started for the steps. She had a bland, unwrinkled face and curly white hair, which she wore in puffs over each ear, like a pair of enormous popcorn balls. She always walked past Apartment 10 hurriedly, but with Harriet leaning on the balcony rail she had no choice but to pause.
“Good evening, Mrs. Kelly,” said Harriet politely. “Let me get you a nice cup of tea.”
“Thank you, no,” said Mrs. Kelly. “I’m already late for my committee meeting.” Mrs. Kelly spent a great deal of time in the basement of the nearby” church, organizing rummage sales, church suppers, newspaper drives and the like.
“You should get yourself a nice little two-door like mine,” said Harriet. “Then you wouldn’t need to hurry so.”
“I wouldn’t know how to behave in traffic with all these freeways.” Mrs. Kelly looked past Harriet, shook her head. “Oh, dear, those steps. Every day they’re steeper. If I don’t get an apartment on the ground floor soon, I’ll have to move.”
“Oh, no!” cried Harriet. “Up here we have such a lovely view over the court!” But Mrs. Kelly had already continued on her way.
Harriet watched the stout figure jerk down the steps; then, with a fling of the head, she took her teacup and went back inside.
It was time she got ready for her own date. Her plans were made: she knew exactly what she was going to wear, and she had bought an ounce of expensive perfume. Latchouf, read the label on the bottle. How much like a sneeze! But it probably meant something exciting in French or Egyptian. She wished she knew for sure. Then, if tribute were paid to the provocative odeur... Tonight she would be pure woman. Charm was more than a matter of youth, just as youth was not necessarily a matter of years. What a miraculous business, this thing called sex! Intensely interesting. Harriet knew all about it; she had read everything from Krafft-Ebing to Sex and the Single Girl, and need take a back seat to no one. Especially a self-centered little provincial like Mary.
And Harriet went off to prepare herself for the evening.
Chapter 2
On the morning of Saturday, June fifteenth, Harriet used Mrs. Kelly’s accident as an excuse to call on Susie. She tried the door numbered 12 to no avail; she was forced to press the buzzer.
A minute or so passed; then Susie, in an old white terrycloth bathrobe, opened the door. “Slugabed!” sang Harriet gaily. “Eleven o’clock and still asleep?” She stepped forward; Susie grudgingly gave way.
Harriet stood in the middle of the room, looked brightly in all directions. “Did Mary get off all right?”
Susie slumped onto the couch. She looked surly and sleepy and anxious to be alone. “I suppose so. I didn’t get home till late.”
“Poor dear,” said Harriet, mock-dolefully. “I’ll make coffee.”
She ran into the kitchenette, found the coffee, rinsed out the percolator. “You should really get a Chemex. They’re more trouble, but they do brew the most delightful coffee. The water should be heated to exactly one hundred eighty-seven degrees.”
Susie’s response was unintelligible. Harriet watched her from the corner of her eye. So much she didn’t know!
Harriet set the percolator on the flame, returned to the living room, dropped into an armchair. “Then you didn’t see Mary before she left?”
“Just for a few minutes.”
“And did you learn who ‘John’ is?”
“I didn’t ask.”
“And how long will she be gone? I do hope she’s not getting married.”
Susie shrugged, showing little interest in the subject.
“Mary’s so popular and has so much fun, she’d be insane to marry so soon,” said Harriet.
There was a moment of stiff silence, which Susie showed no disposition to break. She curled her legs under the bathrobe, settled herself into the corner of the sofa.
“Poor Mrs. Kelly,” said Harriet. “I must call the hospital again.”
Susie at last was interested. “What happened to Mrs. Kelly?”
“She fell down the steps,” said Harriet in a muted voice.
“How awful! Did she break anything?”
“Her pelvis and collarbone. And her left leg.”
Susie winced. “Poor old thing.”
“A miracle she’s alive.”
“When did it happen?”
“About eight o’clock last night. I was just getting ready to go out when I heard this dreadful tumbling, thumping sound. I ran out, and there she was, all in a heap at the bottom. I thought sure she was dead.”
“Where is she now?”
“At the Sisters of Mercy. I called this morning, and they weren’t at all sure she’d pull through.”
Susie relapsed into silence. Harriet went back into the kitchen, reduced the flame under the percolator. “Are you coming to the party?”
“Party?” Susie used the word as if it were a synonym for “leprosy.”
“I’m sure it’ll be fun,” said Harriet brightly. “They have such a magnificent house. Everything clean and simple and contemporary.”
“Who is this?”
“Oleg, of course. You really should come.”
“I haven’t been invited. I don’t even know the man.”
“Of course you do, silly! Mrs. Malinski’s husband.”
Susie nodded disinterestedly. Mrs. Malinski was assistant stack superintendent at the university library, where both Mary and Harriet worked part time.
“John — John Boce — mentioned a party,” said Susie thoughtfully.