“Madelaine has her own way of doing things. You’d have to know her better to understand.”
“It’s a singularly odd way,” Cornelia observed. She was quite pleasant to me Saturday night at the party. Do you expect me to believe that she knew about us then?”
“She did. I tell you, you just don’t understand Madelaine. If you did, you might be more concerned.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“She’s dangerous. She wouldn’t hesitate to ruin us both if we pushed her to it.”
“I’m not afraid of Madelaine, even if you are. If she knows about us, all right. I’m rather glad. We can be free of pretense from now on.”
“You don’t know what you’re saying.” Panic flickered briefly inside Brad. “Have you lost your mind?”
“I haven’t lost my mind, but I think I’ve lost my lover. That’s what you’re really saying, isn’t it? That you’re tired of me and don’t want me any longer?”
“All right! All right, by God! I had hoped that we could be reasonable and remain friends, but I see that we can’t. I’ve told you the truth, but you can believe anything you please.”
Cornelia didn’t respond immediately. She seemed, in fact, not even to have heard. It was obvious to him now that there would be no repetition of Friday night’s emotional eruption. This should have been a vast relief, but it wasn’t. The terrible smile remained fixed on her lips, and the feverish brightness was in her eyes.
“Go away,” she said. “Go away at once.”
He made a small gesture, a slight supplication. “We’re adults, Cornelia. We can be friends.”
“You are not my friend. You have never been. I’ll decide for myself what you are, and I may make you sorry for it, whatever it is. Perhaps it will be I, not Madelaine, who will ruin you.”
“If you do anything foolish, you’ll hurt yourself as much as me.”
“Will I? There may be a way to avoid that. I’ll consider it.”
Brad was frightened by her smile and her bright eyes. It would have been preferable, after all, if she had screamed or cursed or wept. Turning away from her, unable to stand the sight of her any longer, he went out through the empty classroom and out of the building.
In his car, he left the campus, driving slowly along a residential street. He was merely driving, escaping to nowhere in particular, and it was entirely by chance that the street was the same one on which Maggie McCall happened at the time to be walking.
Seeing her on the sidewalk, he thought that she was exactly the odd and intriguing diversion that he desperately needed at the moment. Accordingly, without thinking again, he stopped and called to her. Crossing the parking strip between sidewalk and curb, she got in beside him and settled herself comfortably before saying a word.
“Hello,” she said. “Were you looking for me?”
“No, but I’m glad I found you. May I take you somewhere?”
“I was going home, to my apartment, but I’d just as soon go somewhere else if you prefer.”
“I’m afraid I don’t have time for a preference. Where do you live?”
“You keep right on going down this street for three more blocks beyond the next corner, and then you turn right and go four blocks that way, and there it is.”
“You live quite a distance off campus, don’t you?” he inquired, feeling a little awkward with her now.
“Yes, I do. I’ve discovered that living quite a distance off campus has many advantages.”
“I’m surprised that you’re allowed to live off campus at all. Isn’t there some sort of rule about it?”
“I suppose there is. There’s some sort of rule about practically everything. However, as I told you, I’m a sort of special student, which makes me an exception.” She smiled sweetly at him.
“You’re an exception, all right.”
She had slumped into the seat beside him as if it were a familiar place where she had often been before, her body from hips to head a relaxed arc supported in its position by the back of her neck and a small area of contact near the base of her spine. Rolling her head on the back of the seat, she looked at him gravely while she considered what he had said.
“I’m not sure how you meant that,” she said. “How did you?”
“As a compliment.”
“That’s all right, then. Thank you.”
“No thanks necessary. I merely acknowledged a fact. Is this the corner?”
“Yes. Turn here and drive four blocks.”
He turned the corner and drove the four blocks. The building in which she lived turned out to be a brick structure that had been converted into apartments from something else. It was two stories high, and he judged that there were two small apartments on each floor, but there were actually three smaller ones instead.
He parked at the curb in front of the building, remaining behind the wheel while she opened the door on her side and swung around on the pivot of her stern. Pausing on her pivot, her feet on the sidewalk, she issued an invitation over her shoulder.
“Will you come up for a few minutes?” she said. “I’d be pleased if you would.”
“I don’t think so. Thanks just the same.”
“Why not? Don’t you want to?”
“I want to, but I don’t think I should.”
“Oh, come on. Once won’t matter. Besides, no one pays any attention around here to what anyone else does.”
“That’s reassuring, at least. I’m not so sure, however, that once won’t matter. Are you?” He gave her a level, inquiring glance.
“No, I’m not, to tell the truth, and I’d like to find out. Please come up.”
She got out onto the sidewalk and turned, waiting. He knew very well what he should do — the only sane and sensible thing — and he knew also that he wouldn’t do it.
He knew that he should drive away quickly, while there was still time, and the knowledge was an uneasiness in his brain all the while he was getting out of the car and crossing the sidewalk and climbing beside her up the stairs.
“The place is a mess,” she said, opening her door. “I’m not very neat.”
He followed her inside. The bed was still down from the wall, unmade. Glasses, ash trays and magazines and items of clothing and incidental junk made a vast litter on the floor, the bed and the table, wherever she had left whatever she had used and might or might not use again.
Her portable television set was at the foot of her bed on its wheeled stand. On a table beside the bed, within easy reach of an incumbent, was a pack of cigarettes, a dirty glass, and a quart bottle half full of dark port wine.
Ordinarily a fastidious man, he was not offended by all the clutter. He accepted it as a diametrical expression of herself. If the room was dirty, she was not. If it was littered, her mind wasn’t. Indifference to incidentals and tedious distractions made it possible for her to remain consistently what she was. Not that he knew what she was exactly.
It may have been, if he had, that he would still have gone away, as he should have gone before and hadn’t. But perhaps he wouldn’t have gone in any event, in spite of all knowledge. For the first time in his life, although he wasn’t fully aware of this yet either, he had met someone he would never want to leave or lose or live without.
“For God’s sake,” he said, “don’t you ever pick anything up?”
“Sometimes I do if it seems necessary. It seldom does, however. I rather like things left around. Does it disturb you?”
“Strangely enough, it doesn’t.”
“If it does, I’ll pick up immediately,” she offered.
“Thank you. I have an idea that’s quite a concession. Never mind, though. I’m afraid it would take far too long.”
“Won’t you take off your coat and sit down? You’ll have to clear a chair, I guess. There doesn’t appear to be one without something on it. Will you have a glass of wine? It’s all I have.”