Single White Female (13 page)

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Authors: John Lutz

BOOK: Single White Female
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21
Allie walked away from the interview without any special feeling that the job was hers. They would call and let her know, Mrs. Quinette, an assistant administrator, had told her.
Don't call us.
Allie figured the odds were long that she'd be given a chance, especially after they checked her references and came across whatever poison Mike Mayfair had spread. There was no hiding in the world of computers. But at least she'd tried, taken some control of her life again. It was a partial revival of the spirit. A start.
As was her decision to tell Hedra she must move out.
The rain had stopped and patterns of sunlight lay in stark planes and angles on the buildings. Allie felt so good she rode the subway beyond Times Square and walked several blocks to the Atherton to see Sam.
 
 
Sam stood before the full-length mirror mounted on the closet door and adjusted his sport coat so it hung evenly on his thin frame. Posing at a slight angle, he glanced quickly at himself, as if he might catch his reflection by surprise with a button undone or a shoelace untied. No chance. He'd been surprised too often lately not to be on guard, surprised even by himself and his emotions.
He turned from the mirror and looked around the new, smaller suite he'd been given at the Atherton. It was hardly more than a large room with an anteroom and extra closet. But the paint was fresh, the gray carpet was new, and it was an inside, quiet room away from the street. The only sound now was that of a TV or radio, constant patter seeping faintly through the old thick wall from the next room. It sounded like a game show, but the voices were so indistinct he couldn't even be sure of that.
Sam had done brokerage business with one of the suppliers of the Atherton, Bram Bolton, for years, and a little special treatment on commodity information for Bolton had prompted the man to put in a word for Sam. Shortly thereafter, Sam had been told he could move out of his ninth-floor room, which needed decorating, and into this one, at a rate reduced to the point where it was cheaper than rent for an apartment. He was the conduit for what Bolton and Mellers, the Atherton's assistant manager, thought to be inside market information, so it was an arrangement that worked beautifully. A phone call here and there concerning news as soon as it came over the broad tape, and all three parties were happy. Nothing there for the SEC to complain about, either; if Bolton and Mellers assumed they were getting inside information, that was their business.
For an uncomfortable moment Sam thought about Ivan Boesky, the convicted Wall Street manipulator who'd placed profit before ethics. But this was quite different, Sam thought. There was nothing illegal here, and it was very small-time. The motive was a better hotel room in a city where living space was precious, but this wasn't exactly the Helmsley Palace.
There was a knock on the door. He had to leave soon for a lunch date, and he didn't want to get mixed up in a long conversation with Mellers. He considered not going to the door, then decided that was silly. Mellers might see him leave the hotel later.
He crossed the room and opened the door.
Allie. She was dressed up, wearing a blue dress and high heels. He thought she looked especially beautiful in blue.
She stepped into his embrace and clung to him, then kissed him on the lips. He bent her backward with the strength of his arms, then removed his mouth from hers. He gently massaged the nape of her neck.
She said, “Surprised to see me?”
He grinned. “A bit, but it's a pleasant surprise.” He stepped back and made room for her to come in.
“Miss me?” she asked.
“Do bears miss honey?”
She stood in the center of the room and looked around. “They told me down at the desk you'd switched rooms.” She peered over his shoulder. “This one looks better. Not that it matters.”
He studied her. There was something new in her eyes. A bright pinpoint of light he didn't understand. “Why doesn't it matter?”
She drew a deep breath and said, “I'm going to tell Hedra she has to move out.”
Sam was surprised. “Why?”
“The other day a man mistook me for her on the street. He stopped me and came on sexually, then got mad when I didn't respond.”
“He propositioned you?”
“No, he reminded me of a conversation we were supposed to have had about a proposed . . . sexual experience. Kinky sex, suggested by me.”
“And you think it was actually Hedra who talked to him?”
“Sam, I know it was.”
Sam couldn't conceal his confusion. “Well, Hedra's allowed a social life.”
“Some social life. It turns out she's mixed up with this wild crowd down in the Village, doing drugs, I'm sure. And she's been using my identity. Even wearing some of my clothes.
Being me
in a way that scares the hell out of me.”
He went to her and held her close, liking the warm length of her body pressing against his own. “It can't be as bad as all that,” he told her.
“I looked in her closet today, trying to find some of my clothes. She's got a wig in a box on the top shelf. It looks exactly like my hair, Sam. When I say she's using my identity, it's more than simply using my name. It's . . . like she's stolen my life.”
“You went to the police about the obscene calls,” Sam said. “Have you told them about this?”
“No, I don't see how it's a police matter, even though it does explain the phone calls. I really don't care what Hedra does as long as she stops being me. That's why I'm going to tell her our living arrangement's over. I want to make her life none of my business, and mine none of hers.”
“She'll think you're doing it so I can move in,” Sam said.
Allie smiled. “I suppose that might even be part of it, but so what?”
He stepped back and cupped her face in his long hands. “Your mind's made up?”
“Uh-huh. And I won't change it.”
“Okay, but I think we better wait a few days before I move in. I made a commitment on this suite that's more than a deal with a hotel. The manager's a client of mine, heavily into blue-chip stocks. I've gotta take this one slow.”
She looked puzzled for a moment. Disappointed. Then she said, “All right, Sam.”
He leaned down and kissed her forehead, somewhat ashamed of his influence on her. “It's only a couple of days. You understand, don't you?”
“Sure.” She gave him an up-and-down look. “You look nice. On your way somewhere?”
“Lunch with a bond client who's big on tax-free mutual funds.” He glanced at his watch. “He's supposed to meet me here any minute, in fact.”
She took the hint. Moved close to him and kissed him lightly on the lips. He ran the backs of his knuckles lightly down her cheek. He said, “Call me tonight and let me know how things work out.”
“Will you come over later?”
“I can't. Dinner with the same client. He and his wife are in town from Omaha. They're going back tomorrow morning, so there won't be any other opportunity to wine and dine them seriously for Elcane-Smith.” He shrugged and shook his head. “Business. I'm sorry, Allie. Really.”
“There'll be plenty of time for us,” she said. She kissed him on the lips and went out, giving him a backward glance full of promise. The apartment would be their own exclusive playpen again. Like a couple of teenagers alone in Mom and Dad's house. Allie, Allie.
 
 
As she stepped off the elevator into the Atherton lobby, Allie stopped and stood still for a second.
A sweet, familiar scent, but one she couldn't quite place, floated on the air like a memory.
Then she realized it was a perfume she often wore. Someone wearing the same scent had just passed, or stepped into the other elevator to go up.
She walked on through the narrow lobby and exited on West 44th Street.
22
Hedra had taken the news of her eviction with surprising calm. A tremor of her lower lip, a brief and oddly different cast to her eyes. That was all.
She'd told Allie she understood and she'd move out the next day, which astounded Allie. How could Hedra have someplace to go on such short notice? In New York?
The next morning the phone woke Allie. She lay for a few seconds, listening. Between rings she could hear Hedra moving around in the apartment, gathering her possessions.
The phone was relentless, sending chilling, vibrating knives into her brain. She groaned and shot a painful glance at the clock; God, there was sand under her eyelids! A few minutes till nine. Allie wrapped the pillow around her head to deaden the shrillness of the persistent phone. She waited. Wasn't Hedra going to answer it?
Finally she realized Hedra was going to ignore the phone; she was moving out, after all, and she received very few calls anyway.
Allie released the pillow, scooted to the cold side of the bed, and dragged the receiver over to her. Each ring of the phone was like an electric shock; she didn't want a headache this morning.
For a panicky moment she suspected another obscene call. Then she realized the odds were against it at nine in the morning. There was a time for everything under the heavens—even sexual perverts. Nine
A.M.
wasn't it. She blinked at the brilliant slanting light and said, “Hello,” in a strained, husky voice.
“Miss Allison Jones?”
Allie cleared her throat. She said yes, she was.
“Detective Kennedy here. Remember me?”
She sat up straighter in bed, her back against the pillow and headboard, and tried to focus her sleep-fogged mind. She felt a wary elation. “You found the credit cards?”
Kennedy laughed gently. “No, I'm afraid not. It's not actually the missing cards I'm calling about. I wondered if you'd received any more obscene phone calls.”
“Since I've talked to you, not really.” There was no point in stirring up the law; Hedra was the reason for the calls, and she was moving out. Allie briefly considered telling Kennedy about the man accosting her on the street, but there was an explanation for that, too. Hedra. Allie didn't want to get Hedra in serious trouble; that would only prolong the mingling of their lives. It was hardly wise to make any of this police business.
“Good,” Kennedy said. “I thought we might need to put a tap on your line, find out who the weirdo is. But if he's not bothering you anymore, I guess that won't be necessary.”
“Guess not,” Allie agreed.
After a pause, Kennedy said, “You okay, Miss Jones?”
“Uh, sure. Why?”
“You sound . . . I dunno, different from when you were here at the station. A little depressed or something. You want me to come over there and we can talk?”
God, I must sound terrible, Allie thought. Or maybe Kennedy was simply doing his job and following up on a complaint, serving the public. She said, “It's because I just woke up.”
“Ah. The phone wake you?”
“Yeah, but that's okay. I'm glad you called. Glad you cared enough to take the trouble.”
“Like I said, usually an obscene phone call doesn't develop into any worse problem. On the other hand, it doesn't hurt to take precautions. You did the right thing in coming to the police, dear.”
“I know I did. Thanks.”
“You sure you're all right?”
“Sure.”
“Okay. Any more calls like before, though, and you contact me personally. That a deal?”
“It's a deal.”
“Sorry I woke you.”
“That's okay, I had to get up anyway. You were my alarm clock.” She tried to put some airy brightness in her voice, like a TV game-show contestant, to show Kennedy she was just fine. “Bye, Sergeant. Thanks again for calling.”
It was fun even though I lost.
He told her good-bye and hung up. The broken connection crackled in her hear.
Allie stretched out her arm and replaced the receiver.
After lying there motionless for about fifteen minutes, listening to Hedra scraping and thunking things around in the apartment, she got up, put on her robe, and left the bedroom. The floor was ice against her bare feet.
In the living room, Hedra had just set down a cardboard box of paperback novels by the door. Dust was stirring in the air from her activity; it tickled Allie's nose and almost made her sneeze. Hedra glanced at her and didn't change expressions. She said, “A cab's on the way. I'll have everything outta here by tonight.”
Allie was suddenly ill at ease. She didn't know what to say to Hedra. She felt guilty and hated herself for it. Finally she decided to make small talk to hold back the silence. “You had breakfast?”
“Coffee and a couple of Danish,” Hedra said. “I went out and brought it back from the deli. There's some left in the kitchen, if you want it.”
“Thanks.”
Hedra didn't answer. She walked back to her bedroom and returned with an armload of clothes from the closet. Then she draped them over the arm of a chair. Allie couldn't help thinking the pile of clothes looked as if they were from
her
closet. Clothes aren't really as personal as we think, or as distinctive or recognizable. Thousands of this, thousands of that, often tens of thousands, sewn on assembly lines. Unless you were into Paris originals, everyone's basic black dress was like someone else's.
Allie said, “You still working at that place over on Fifth Avenue?”
“Yeah, I'll be there awhile longer,” Hedra said. Allie wasn't sure she believed her, but Hedra was getting money from somewhere. Maybe she dealt dope; Allie wouldn't be surprised. Not anymore.
Hedra put down her clock radio on the pile of clothes and looked at Allie. “If you don't mind my asking, how do you plan on making the rent here alone?”
“I won't be alone,” Allie told her. “Sam's going to move back in.”
Hedra nodded. “I kinda thought so.”
There were three firm knocks on the door.
Hedra and Allie exchanged glances. Hedra said, “I'll stand over where I can't be seen. No point in giving ourselves away as roommates this late in the game.”
Allie thanked her again. She waited until Hedra had stepped around a corner. Then she yanked the sash of her robe tighter around her waist, walked to the door, and opened it.
Graham Knox stood in the hall.
He had on impossibly baggy pleated black slacks, and his woolly gray sweater with the leather elbow patches. He was so thin he looked lost as a child inside his clothes. His unruly hair was damp and combed more neatly than usual, and he was sporting his lopsided grin. Graham was so obviously glad to see Allie that she felt cheered just looking at him.
She moved in close to the partly opened door and stood so he couldn't see Hedra's possessions piled nearby.
He said, “I thought I better drop by and explain about the tickets.”
“Tickets?”
His face sagged like a sad clown's, then lifted again to hide his hurt. “You know, my play . . .”
Allie had forgotten he'd promised her free tickets. To . . . what was it,
Dance
something? “Of course,” she said. “I've been waiting, wondering.”
She was sure she hadn't fooled him, but he obviously appreciated her effort and forgave her. He held out two tickets he'd been squeezing in his right hand. Allie accepted them. They were damp from his perspiration and faintly warm. They felt good between her fingers; a friend's gift that meant something and required nothing in return other than her presence.
“They're center orchestra seats for the third performance. By then most of the kinks should be ironed out and the play should go smoothly. I want you and Hedra to see it at its best.”
Without thinking about it, Allie tilted forward on her toes and gave him a peck on the cheek. It surprised him and surprised her. “Thanks, Graham. Really. I'll be there. I doubt if Hedra can make it, though.”
He was grinning almost maniacally. “If you have to come alone, that's okay. Maybe we can go out for some coffee or something after the performance.”
“Maybe,” Allie said. He'd read something into that innocent kiss on the cheek. Too bad. “I'll be there either way, Graham.”
Inside his baggy clothes, he shifted his weight awkwardly from one leg to the other; he wasn't a graceful man like Sam. Dear Sam. “I better go down to Goya's,” Graham said.
“Okay. See you.”
“Drop in sometime when things slow down after the lunch rush. We can talk.”
“I'll do that. Bye, Graham.” She eased the door closed and heard his faint, retreating footsteps outside in the hall.
When she turned from the door, she found that Hedra had moved back into the living room and was glaring at her. There was an irrational kind of fierceness in her stare that frightened Allie. Hedra had gone into the kitchen and was holding half of a cheese Danish that had become mush in her clenched fist. “He mentioned my name.”
Allie said, “He lives upstairs. He knows we share—shared—the apartment.”
“You
told
him?”
“No, he saw us together and overheard us talking in the hall one day. He guessed.”
Hedra suddenly noticed she'd mutilated the rest of the Danish. She went into the kitchen to throw it away. Water ran in the sink as she rinsed off her fingers. When she returned she seemed calmer. “So who is this guy?”
“His name's Graham Knox. He's a playwright. That was what he wanted to see me about, to give us two free tickets to the off-Broadway production of his play. I told him some time back that I'd go.”
“You meet him often at Goya's?”
What about Sam?
was in Hedra's eyes.
“He's a waiter there, Hedra. For God's sake, he's just a casual acquaintance.”
“But he knows about me being here.”
“He won't tell anyone. He's promised. Besides, what difference does it make now?”
“None, I suppose. But do you believe him? I mean, his promise?”
“Yes, I do. Besides, he's got no reason to inform on us. He's no friend of the Cody's management.”
“But what if he tells someone else? I mean, like one of the other tenants?”
Allie couldn't understand this. “Hedra, why do you care? You're moving out.”
“I care because I don't wanna be tracked down by Haller-Davis and told I owe back rent.”
“I doubt if they'd do that.” But Allie wasn't sure.
“They might, if this Graham guy tells the wrong person.”
“He won't. He's promised about that, too. He told me he might need a roommate himself one of these days.” Allie was getting irritated with Hedra's intense concern over Graham when it wasn't necessary. “Playwrights and part-time waiters aren't exactly high-income bracket; he understands the arrangement we had and he approves of it.”
Hedra seemed to think about that. Finally she nodded. “Yeah, I guess I'm getting excited over nothing.” She smoothed her skirt and walked to the window, then gazed down into the street. “Anyway, it's not life or death.”
Her body straightened and she turned away from the window, starkly silhouetted for a moment in the morning light. “My cab just pulled up downstairs.”
“Want me to throw on some clothes and help you carry this stuff down?” Allie asked.
“Why not?” Hedra said.
Allie made three trips with her and loaded the backseat and the trunk of the cab. Hedra said she'd be back that afternoon for the rest of her things, then slid into the taxi's front seat alongside the driver. “Good luck, Allie.”
Allie suddenly felt as if she were betraying the trust of a helpless puppy; she told herself Hedra knew how to pull people's strings, change their perceptions of her almost minute to minute. “Luck to you too, Hedra. I'm sorry it didn't work out.”
“It did for a while,” Hedra said with a flicker of a smile. She closed the door and waited for Allie to move away before telling the driver her destination. As the cab pulled away, she didn't look back.
When the cab had been swallowed in traffic, Allie went back upstairs to the apartment.
She ate the Danish Hedra had left and drank a cup of coffee. Then she used the TV's remote to tune in
Donahue
and curled up on the sofa. The program was about unreasonable ordinances in the suburbs, laws that said you couldn't leave your trash can at the curb overnight. Or kiss in public. Or let your cat go outside without a leash and collar. That kind of thing. Donahue was outraged, stalking through the audience with his microphone and wobbling his head. Seeking soul mates or conflict.

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