After Midnight (25 page)
Just go for it!
I turned around and walked back to his building. I wasn’t sure what to do. Go door to door, maybe, saying my car broke down and I need to use a phone…
MANAGER
It was a sign near the door of apartment one.
The building manager would
have
to know Tony’s apartment number. And he or she would have keys for it.
I hurried over and rang the doorbell.
I did it with a knuckle.
Knuckles don’t leave fingerprints.
Nothing happened, so I rang it again. This time, a man’s voice called, “Hang on, there! I’m on my way!”
A few seconds later, the front door swung open. The screen door still stood in the way. Through the gray mesh, I could barely make out the man on the other side.
“Well, hello there,” he said.
“Good morning,” I said.
“Take a step backward, and I’ll open the screen. Don’t wanta knock you on your keester, do I?”
I took a step backward, and he swung the screen door open. He held it wide with an outstretched arm. He was maybe about thirty years old. He had messy brown hair and wore glasses. He also wore a Bear Whizz Beer T-shirt that showed a grizzly bear peeing in a woodland stream. His shorts appeared to be swimming trunks, even though the apartment building didn’t seem to have a swimming pool. He was barefoot.
Not much to look at, but he had a nice smile and I sort of liked the glint in his eyes.
“My name’s Fran Johnson,” I told him, and held out my hand.
“Murphy Scott.” He gave my hand a hearty shake as if we were old pals. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Fran. And what brings you here, this fine morning?”
“I’m looking for my boyfriend, Tony. Tony Romano.”
“Ah, Tony!”
“He lives here, doesn’t he?”
“He does indeed. I helped him move in last Saturday. Apartment six, directly across the way.”
Nodding, I muttered, “Six, I know,” and glanced over my shoulder at the unit on the other side of the lawn. It was one of the three with a
Tribune
on the stoop.
I faced Murphy again and said, “The thing is, he isn’t…I’m afraid something might be wrong. We were supposed to meet for breakfast this morning, but he didn’t show up. I waited over an hour for him.”
Frowning, Murphy shook his head.
“Have you seen him at all this morning?” I asked.
“Nope. I just got up.”
“I phoned him a few minutes ago, but all I got was his answering machine.”
“Maybe he screens his calls.”
“But I told him it was me, and he still didn’t pick up.”
“He might’ve been indisposed at the time. That sort of thing happens. He could’ve been taking a shower, for instance.”
“Maybe, but…”
“A lot of possibilities.” With a sheepish look on his face, Murphy said, “Sometimes, guy’s just…” He shrugged. “Were you getting along all right?”
“Sure. I mean, as far as I know. Nothing
seemed
to be wrong. And we had this date for breakfast.”
Frowning past my shoulder, Murphy said, “He hasn’t picked up his paper yet. Maybe he just overslept or something.”
“But he didn’t answer his phone.”
“Why don’t you go over and give his doorbell a ring or two?” Murphy suggested.
“I already tried, but…okay.”
While Murphy watched, I walked across the grass to unit six and pushed the doorbell with my knuckle. The sound of the ringing gave me flutters in the stomach.
What if he comes to the door
?
Yeah, right. In his condition
?
But somebody else might open it.
A cop. A friend. A twin.
Be ready for anything. Stay cool.
The door stayed shut.
I rang the bell a few more times, then turned around and headed back for Murphy. As I walked toward him, he checked me out.
Normally, I don’t like it when guys do that.
Most guys are pigs.
Anyway, I didn’t mind Murphy looking me over. I’d only just met him, but I already knew he wasn’t some kind of asshole. Also, I could tell that he liked what he was seeing, and I can’t say I blamed him.
Along with my red wig, bright lipstick and enormous earrings, I wore a yellow blouse the color of a lemon. I would’ve preferred a halter top, but had to keep my midriff covered because of the injury. To make things interesting, I’d left a few of my upper buttons undone. Plenty of cleavage showed.
My legs were scratched and bruised, too, so I couldn’t wear my really short, snug shorts. I’d chosen a skirt, instead. A light, full skirt of forest green. It drifted against my legs and had a slit up one side. In a certain light, you could see through it.
The whole outfit was intended to draw men’s eyes. To attract them and
dis
tract them. They would see the flamboyant redhead, the stacked and leggy broad—not me.
My shoes, actually, weren’t part of the outfit. The costume screamed out for something like gold lamé slippers or snake-skin boots. But I wore white sneakers for comfort and speed.
Murphy, watching me, shook his head and smiled.
“What?” I asked.
“Tony’s gotta be either nuts or dead to miss a breakfast with
you
.”
I must’ve blushed. I sure felt very hot all of a sudden.
“The thing is,” I said, “he’s diabetic. Did he tell you about that?”
Murphy lost his smile. “Oh, man,” he said. “No, he didn’t say anything about that. Diabetic? Maybe we’d better have a look. I’ll go get the keys.”
He vanished inside, but his screen door barely had time to swing shut before he pushed it open and came out. As I followed him across the courtyard, I scanned the rest of the apartments. I saw nobody.
He pulled open Tony’s screen door and knocked a couple of times on the wooden door. But he didn’t wait for a response. He stuck a key into the lock, turned it, and pushed the door open. Then he called out, “Tony?”
We both listened, but heard nothing.
“Tony? It’s Murphy, the manager. Are you here?”
Still no answer, so Murphy stepped inside. I crouched, picked up the
Tribune
by the rubber band around its middle, and entered behind him. We were in a small, tidy living room.
I saw Tony’s answering machine on a lamp table beside his couch. “Maybe I’d better wait here,” I whispered. “In case he’s…indecent or something.”
“No problem,” Murphy said, and hurried away to search the apartment.
The moment he stepped into the bedroom, I rushed forward, tossed the newspaper onto Tony’s couch, swung my purse behind my back to get it out of the way, and picked up the telephone.
At the sound of a dial tone, I started to tap numbers into the keyboard.
The three-digit local prefix.
Then four random numbers.
In the earpiece, I heard quiet, ringing sounds.
YES!!!
Murphy, coming out of the bedroom, looked at me and shook his head.
I gave him a smile, then spoke into the mouthpiece. “Barb? It’s me, Fran.”
Murphy hurried on, apparently to check the kitchen.
“I got the manager to let me into his apartment, but he doesn’t seem to be here.” Then I called out, “Murphy, any sign of him?”
“Nope.”
To the ringing phone, I said, “I guess it’s good news. I was really afraid he might’ve had another seizure.”
Murphy came back into the living room, his eyebrows raised, his head shaking.
“Any sign of him?” I asked.
“Nothing. He’s not here.”
I gave Murphy a grateful smile, then told the phone, “He’s definitely not here…No, I don’t know if his car’s here.”
“I’ll go look,” Murphy said.
A moment later, he was gone. The screen door clapped shut behind him.
I hung up.
Then I flipped up the plastic cover of the answering machine, took out Tony’s tape cassette, shut the cover and gave it a quick wipe with my skirt. I tucked the tiny cassette down the front of my panties.
After that, I picked up the phone and tapped in another set of random numbers.
This time, somebody picked up after the first ring. A man’s voice said, “Hello?”
I didn’t say a thing.
“Hello? Who is this?”
“This is Margaret,” I said, “from Westside Marketing Research…”
“Not interested,” he said and hung up.
I still had the apartment to myself. As I tried a new number, I noticed a calendar beside the answering machine. It was the kind that has a small, separate page for each day of the year. The number showing on the right was yesterday’s date.
The thick stack of pages on the left side of the center rings told me that Tony was in the habit of turning them over, not ripping them out.
From the other end of the line came a busy signal.
With the edge of a fingertip, I flipped the calendar page over so today’s date showed.
Then, hearing a quick approach of footsteps on the outside walkway, I said into the phone, “Maybe so. I sure hope so, anyway.”
As the screen door opened, I turned around and smiled at Murphy.
He came in, shaking his head. “Car’s gone,” he whispered.
“Thanks, Murphy.” Into the phone, I said, “Tony’s car is gone…I have no idea…Well, I’d much rather be stood up for a breakfast date than have Tony in a coma, or something. I’m
glad
we didn’t find him, you know?…Right, I’ll let you know if I find out anything. Bye-bye.”
I hung up, then said to Murphy, “That was Tony’s sister. She’s even more worried than I am. I made the mistake of calling her from the restaurant…They’re really close. I thought she might know where he was. But I only ended up scaring her half to death.”
“He’s probably fine,” Murphy said.
“I sure hope so.”
“Ready to go?”
No! My fingerprints were all over the phone.
“Yeah,” I murmured. “I guess.”
He frowned slightly, but turned around and started toward the door.
“I don’t…”
He looked back. “What?”
“…feel so good.”
I let out a moan and tried to look nauseated. Bending over, I put my hands on my knees.
“Are you sick?” Murphy asked.
“No, no. I’ll…be fine. Just…I’m a little dizzy, that’s all. I’d better just…I’ll be fine in a minute. I’m sorry.”
“Hey, no problem.”
“I’d better sit down,” I said, and sank to the floor.
Murphy squatted in front of me, looking appalled. “What’s the matter? Do you need an ambulance, or…?”
“No. No. I’m…I get this way. It’s my…condition kicking up.”
“Condition?”
“MDS.”
“I don’t know what that is.”
As far as I knew, neither did anyone else. I’d just then made it up. “Morning Dehydration Syndrome,” I explained.
“Huh?”
“It’s because I missed breakfast, and…” I trailed off and hung my head.
“Dehydration?” he asked.
“Water. I need…water.”
“Okay. Hang on.” Murphy sprang up, dodged past me, and went rushing for the kitchen.
The answering machine was next to my shoulder and slightly behind me. I stood up quickly and turned around. As I listened to cupboards squeak and water run, I picked up the telephone’s handset, wiped it all over with my skirt and returned it to its cradle. Then I gave the phone’s keypad a quick rub. When the kitchen faucet shut off, I sank to one knee. I was struggling to rise as Murphy trotted in with a glass of water.
“Be careful,” he said.
Wobbling, I made it to my feet. But as I reached for the glass, I lost my balance accidentally on purpose and fell toward Murphy, bumping the glass. The whole load of water caught me in the chest. It drenched the top of my blouse, doused my exposed cleavage, soaked through my bra, and poured down between my breasts.
As I sagged and grabbed Murphy by the shoulders, some of the water underneath my blouse even raced down my belly and soaked the top of my skirt.
He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me against him.
“My God,” he gasped. “Are you okay?”
“I…yeah. Just…a little dizzy. Just…I’ll be…fine…In a minute.”
“Are you sure?”
“You won’t let me fall, will you?”
“I don’t think so,” he said, and I felt his arms tighten against my back. He still seemed to be clutching the glass in one hand. His other hand was open and pressing firmly against me.
“I’m not too heavy, am I?” I asked.
“No. No, not at all.”
“I’m starting to feel better.”
He didn’t say anything, but his open hand began to move up and down a little, caressing my back.
“Good thing you’re so strong,” I told him. “I would’ve fallen flat on my face.”
“Sure glad that didn’t happen.”
“I’m really sorry about all this.”
“No need to be sorry about anything.”
“It’s so embarrassing.”
“Nothing to be embarrassed about.”
“Stumbling around like a drunk.”
“These things happen. But we’d better get some water into you.”
“Instead of ‘onto’ me?”
He laughed quietly, his chest shaking against my breasts.
“What I really need is a towel,” I said.
He laughed again. Then he said, “I think you
are
feeling better.”
“You don’t feel so bad yourself.”
He didn’t laugh at that one. He just made a sound like, “Mm?” and seemed to tighten up slightly. “I’d better get you that water,” he said. “If I let go of you…?”
“I’ll be okay.”
He loosened his hold. Easing backward, he stared at my face. He looked worried. “Okay?”
“So far, so good.”
He backed away from me. The front of his pale blue T-shirt looked wet from where he’d been pressed against me. “You steady?” he asked, looking from my face to my blouse and up to my face again.
“Fine,” I said.
“I’ll just be gone a second.”
“Why don’t you see if Tony has some beer?”
“
Beer?
”
“Yeah. A good, cold beer. That’d be a lot better than water.”
He grinned. He glanced at my blouse again, and said, “Beer’s
always
better than water.”
