Alien Upstairs (3 page)

"If you wish to believe I'm a fraud, you may."

"Or else you're mad. You seem too steady to be really crazy, but then I'm no judge."

"I have my doo-hickey over there.” He motioned with one arm. “Doesn't that constitute proof of a sort?” He pointed languidly at the silver console.

"Oh, come on, Raf, that's probably an old component you picked up somewhere."

He got up and disappeared into his bedroom, returning with a pair of earphones. He gestured at her and she rose; he moved her chair closer to the console and seated her again; then handed her the earphones. “Put these on and close your eyes."

Sarah stared at him, stunned. Did he expect her to support his insanity, or was he waiting for another objection so that he could offer yet another clever answer? She did not know how he would react; he might be dangerous. She fumbled for words. “These are earphones, Raf."

"Well, of course. You don't expect me to have things about which look odd, do you? I must disguise them."

"I thought that thing heated your room."

"That's only one of the things it does. Put them on and close your eyes."

She wanted to throw the earphones to the floor and leave. She put them on, closed her eyes cautiously and waited.

—She was suddenly adrift in blackness. Mists of red and violet shimmered in the dark. A voice whispered to her from the center of her brain, but she could not understand its words. A dead rocky world was beneath her; a red globe swelled behind it. She dropped toward the rock. A tall thin latticework of metal jutted out of the rock. She dropped more quickly. She was falling—

She tore off the earphones, jumped up, and crumpled toward the floor. Arms caught her. She steadied herself and pulled away.

"You hypnotized me,” she cried. Raf was silent. She went toward the windows and looked out. The sun was lower in its arc; she had come up at noon. She rested her hands on the back of the sofa. “You hypnotized me."

Raf was unplugging the earphones. He crossed the room and stood at her side. “Perhaps I did."

She glanced at him. He put one hand between her shoulders and began to trace her spine. She shivered, but did not draw away. He pulled her to him. She seemed to be watching herself. Her mind raced as she thought, Now I'll find out, now I'll know. Then she stopped thinking.

 

Sarah stood on the stairs. She thrust her right hand into her sweater pocket; Raf had given her an envelope before she left. She shook her head, feeling disoriented. The afternoon had become scattered images and sensations of lips and hands and thrustings; she could not remember exactly what she had done. Something was wrong. Her memories of sex were usually so sharp that they would cause her to gasp involuntarily. She had been hypnotized. No, she thought, that was only her excuse, her rationalization.

Gerard would be home. She lingered guiltily on the staircase. The door to Larry's apartment opened and Gerard stepped out. He muttered something to Larry and the door closed. He looked up and saw her. “What are you doing?"

She did not answer.

"Come on down.” He went into their apartment. She hurried down the stairs and went inside, closing the door behind her. Gerard was sitting on the sofa, elbows on knees, head in hands.

"I hope Larry wasn't flirting,” she said lightly. Gerard was still. She sat down next to him and put a hand around his shoulders. He was going to tell her something bad, she knew it. She was going to be punished, as she deserved to be. She tried to tell herself that she and Gerard had never agreed to be faithful, and dismissed the thought; some things did not have to be spoken. “What is it, Gerry?"

"Larry told me some bad news. All private cars are going to be inspected in the next few months. If you don't pass the inspection, no more gas coupons."

"But that's nothing new. You always got that crate through inspections before."

He leaned back, resting his head against the back of the sofa. “This is a different inspection. Larry told me the specs. Nothing will get through except a car in perfect working order. I'd have to spend a fortune to get the Toyota through it."

"But they can't."

"They're going to. They want to get more cars off the road, and make a dent in the black market besides. Those coupons were our margin, Sarah, we're in debt as it is. I don't know what we're going to do."

"No.” She shook her head. “No.” Her voice caught on the word. “I can't stand it. One thing after another, and it just goes on.” She choked and tried to swallow.

"I don't know how we can take the apartment now,” he went on. “We may need the extra cash."

"I already told Mr. Epstein we would. I told him we wanted joint ownership."

He stared at her, then looked away. “That was kind of you.” She leaned against him, holding him. “Maybe there's another way. I've got some time, I'll think about it. We'll figure something out. I don't want you worrying about it."

She remembered the envelope in her pocket. “I was visiting with Raf Courn today.” She raced over the words. “He gave me this.” She pulled out the envelope and opened it, realizing abruptly that it might contain something incriminating. It was too late. Gerard took the envelope from her and read the note inside.

He handed it to her. Written in italics, it was an invitation to a party to be given next week.

"We might as well go,” Gerard said. “Maybe it'll take our minds off things. He might be crazy, but he served good grub at his last get-together.” He sighed.

She could not look at him. She had betrayed him, probably at the very moment Larry had been giving him the bad news about the inspection. No, she thought; neither of the men would have been home that early. She wondered if she was having a nervous breakdown, if that was why she had forgotten what she had done. She could not afford a nervous breakdown; unable to pay for private care, she would be sent to a state facility, where heavy doses of pacifiers combined with occupational therapy in the fields of nearby farms were the favored mode of treatment.

She drew away from Gerard. It was his fault; if she had been happy with him, she would never have turned to Raf. That was yet another unworthy thought.

"It's my fault, in a way,” he said, and she tensed at the words, then shook her head. He couldn't know. “I had my chance, right after I left school,” he went on. She had heard the story before, but he obviously needed to tell it again. “Terry Bloom wanted to open that bookstore with me. He'd put up the money, and I would have managed it. I could have done that. But I didn't want to give up a sure thing with Warwick and Baum's."

"You told me Terry's store went out of business."

"That's because he decided to run it alone, and he didn't know a goddamn thing about books. You have to work pretty hard to fail at a rare book business, but he did it, he overpriced everything and stocked junk and paid too much for a lot of things. He was the kind of guy who thought that if a book looked nice and clean and had a pretty cover, it was worth a lot, and if it was old and beat-up, it wasn't. It didn't matter what was inside. I wouldn't have done it that way, it would have worked with me, and I'd have had a share in the business by now, and maybe my own collection."

"It doesn't matter now."

"I guess it doesn't. I'll figure out something before the inspection. Hell, maybe I can do some plumbing for people on the sly, get some extra money that way."

"Don't. If the plumbers' guild finds out, you're finished.” She rubbed his back. There was not much else she could do.

 

 

 

 

Four

 

 

Raf's room was crowded with people. He was in a brown velvet suit, greeting people at the door. Sarah eyed the throng. A tight-lipped old man sat in a corner, eyes blank. Two young black women stood near him, giggling. Raf certainly had a lot of friends.

Gerard struggled toward the food while Sarah lingered near Raf. “Mrs. Denham,” Raf said. “So delighted you could come."

A thin red-haired woman was peering at Raf. “Have you received the message yet?” she asked him.

"No, I'm afraid I haven't."

"Has the Lord of the Forty Worlds revealed himself to you?"

"I'm afraid I've not had the pleasure of his acquaintance."

The woman looked at Sarah. “He's an imposter,” she said. “I've seen those on the higher frequencies, and he's not one of them. I would know, for they sent me here.” She fingered her necklace. “They taught me their science, a mental science far in advance of ours.” She shifted her eyes to Raf again. “You're naughty, pretending like you do. I hope I can intercede with the Lord of the Worlds on your behalf, or you will never be ready for the higher plane."

"Well, hello.” Sarah turned to face a portly middle-aged man in pinstripes. He drew her toward the center of the room. “Odd place Raf has now, don't you think?"

Sarah mumbled a few noncommittal syllables. The man looked down at her feet, then at her breasts. “Never can tell what he'll do, I guess."

She said, “He thinks he's an alien."

"Oh, everyone knows that. It's his little eccentricity, don't you know. It damn well put me off at first, I can tell you. But what the hell, if he wants to play his little game, he can play it. He came to me for some business advice, but I can tell you he gave me better advice than he got.” He raised his eyes to her face. “I don't suppose you'd be free after the party."

"I don't suppose I would."

"Too bad.” He wandered away. The room hummed with voices. Raf was at the door speaking to an old woman; Sarah recognized Mrs. Ritter. She was probably complaining about the noise. Raf leaned over her and then, astonishingly, wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Mrs. Ritter smiled. Sarah made her way to the door.

Mrs. Ritter was gone by the time she reached Raf. “What did you say to her?"

"Oh, not much. She's really quite nice. I'm going to have tea with her tomorrow. Whatever is the matter with your Gerard? He seems quite morose."

She searched the room for him. Gerard was at the kitchen counter, getting a drink. “We've got problems."

"Oh, my. Nothing serious, I hope."

"I don't know."

He took her arm and led her into the narrow passage outside his apartment. They passed a middle-aged couple; Raf hailed them and waved them toward the door, then paused by the stairwell.

"Your guests,” Sarah said.

"I'm sure they can take care of themselves. What is the matter?"

"Oh, you don't want to hear it."

"But I do."

"Gerry's afraid his car won't pass the new inspection. If it doesn't, we won't have any gas coupons, and we're going to be hard up. We were just starting to get ahead a little."

"Is that all?” Raf smiled. “Well, well. You people amaze me. There are such possibilities open to you, and yet you live, if I may say so, such a short-sighted existence. It's as if you were somehow perverse. It's one of the things that intrigues me about your ways."

She folded her arms, gripping her elbows. “You can't stop playing your game, can you? Not even when I tell you one of my worries. It's cruel."

"I assure you, I don't do it to be cruel.” He measured her with his eyes, and she felt as if she was being judged. “I'm not like you. I could never be like you.” He bent forward, and she stepped back. He stared past her, and she wondered if he was seeing her, or someone else.

"Maybe you think,” she said carefully, “that if people believe you're crazy, they won't hold you accountable, and you can do what you like."

"I'm not responsible for what others think."

"You're just a rich guy who toys with people. Isn't that true?"

Raf raised an eyebrow. “In a manner of speaking, I suppose it is.” She began to retreat and he reached for her arms. Pushing him away, she went back inside, then wondered if she should have risked antagonizing Raf. He had money; she might have hit him for a loan so that Gerard could get his car repaired. She hated herself for considering it.

She tried to push through the crowd toward the counter and bumped into a young blond woman. “Hi. Know Raf long?"

"Um,” Sarah replied.

"I've known him since he lived on River Drive."

Sarah stiffened. “Raf used to live in an enclave?"

"Didn't you know? He had a lovely house, an old stone castle, it looked like. But he wanted to do further investigation.” The woman lowered her voice and her eyelids. “That's why he moved to this firetrap. He wanted to do more research. He told me so."

"I live in this firetrap myself,” Sarah said.

The statement sailed past the woman. “He's going to learn all he can about our world.” The woman lit a cigarette and blew the smoke in Sarah's face.

"So you know about that. I guess everyone here does."

"But he really is from another world.” The woman waved her cigarette and Sarah shrank away, afraid of a live ash falling on her one good dress. “Don't you believe him? He is an alien. His people are tremendously advanced. He's sort of a scout, in a way. He'll find out about us, and then his people will come and everything will be settled. They'll give us all their knowledge and technology, and everything will be fine."

"Did he tell you that?"

"Raf? Oh, no, of course not. But that must be why he's here. Things are going from bad to worse, but I always knew something would happen. I always had hope. I just know things are going to clear up now."

"I sure hope they do.” Sarah moved through a knot of young men in the jeans and khaki shirts of the Guard, and found Gerard near the counter. His cheeks were flushed; his fair hair drooped. He had been drinking. She estimated the calories in scotch and decided to have one. Pouring herself a drink, she moved to his side.

"You all right?” she asked.

"Oh, yeah.” He stared straight ahead. “I was looking at the bookshelves, trying to figure out how much they'd fetch from a rare book dealer. Quite a lot. I was making a tally. I never used to look at books that way. That crap in the store, sure, but not real books, not that way."