Alien Upstairs (2 page)

"Well, well, it doesn't matter. I'll take this one. I've heard it's quite good.” Sarah found that an odd remark to make about
Gone With the Wind.
Raf rummaged in his pockets. The armed guard in the aisle peered at Raf for a moment, then turned his attention to three shabby-looking boys who were loitering near the candy counter. “My, my. I seem to have left my card at home."

"We don't accept bills for cash purchases,” Gerard said, still smiling.

"Well, well. Here you are.” Raf handed him two silver coins. “That should cover it. I do find a card such a bother anyway, one always pays more once the rate of inflation is figured in, doesn't one.” Sarah tried not to fidget, wishing he would leave.

"Would you care to look at our reading lamps? So handy when the power goes off.” Gerard waved with one hand.

"No, no. I'm so glad I ran into you both. Are you free for dinner tomorrow? I do hope so. I'm asking everyone in the building. Please say you'll come."

Sarah opened her mouth. “We'll come,” Gerard responded, and she closed her mouth again.

"I'm so delighted.” Gerard rang up the purchase and put the book in a bag. “See you anon.” Raf drifted away, leaving a scent of musky cologne.

"About time,” Sarah muttered. Gerard took her arm. “I thought he'd never leave."

"We're getting a free meal out of it."

"I just hope he doesn't serve anything fattening. I have to lose five pounds.” They moved toward the cafeteria in the back of the store.

"You're too thin now."

She began to tell him about the fashion show.

 

"It's a buffet,” Raf said, leading them to the heavy oak table. “It's so tiresome to serve a formal dinner, don't you think?” Kathy, seated on the velvet love seat, was already eating. She smiled at Sarah and her eyebrows rose under her dark bangs. Larry Belder, who lived in the other first-floor apartment, was sitting on a long couch under the windows. Martin, the young man with whom he shared his quarters, sat with him. Martin glanced sideways at Larry, and Sarah thought she saw malice in his tilted eyes.

She gazed longingly at the food on the white linen tablecloth. “I'm on a diet,” she said apologetically to Raf. Gerard was already loading his plate.

"Ah.” Raf seized a plate and filled it with caviar, three small meatballs, and fruit salad, then added a hard-boiled egg. “Not too many calories there, my dear. And do have some champagne.” He poured her a glass. She sat next to Kathy. The middle-aged woman smiled at her, then rolled her eyes.

Sarah surveyed the apartment. Raf's place took up the entire third floor; his bedroom and bathroom were in a gable. The rest of the apartment was one large room. Bookcases filled with hardcovers lined one wall. The kitchen was tucked into one corner. The wood floor was bare, with a few scattered cushions. She noticed an end table with a cloisonné dish and an odd-looking console on it; the console was not a computer, and could not be part of a stereo, since there were no speakers. She saw no television, and assumed he kept one in the bedroom. The kitchen held a refrigerator; Raf had apparently decided to pay the extra fee Mr. Epstein required for hooking up the refrigerator to the basement generator, which was used when the city shut off power at night.

"So.” Raf sat on a cushion in the center of the room, his red caftan billowing around him. “We're all here. At least all of us except Mrs. Ritter. I'm sorry to say that she declined my invitation."

"Believe me, it's no loss,” Kathy said. “Mrs. Ritter heartily dislikes all of us."

"She seemed quite an imposing old lady, I must say.” Raf smiled at Kathy. “Well, well, I certainly have a variety of people here. You, Mrs. Giordano, are a schoolteacher, are you not?” Kathy nodded. “And I met Mr. Litvinov and Miss Jaynes at Warwick and Baum's Department Store. But I don't believe I know what you do, Mr. Belder."

"I work for the government. Fuel stamp board.” Larry tilted his balding head. “Not a popular position, I'm afraid."

"And you, Mr. Simms?"

Martin was silent.

"Martin is my very good friend,” Larry answered. “Officially, I'd guess you'd say he's a homemaker.” Martin stroked Larry's arm while shooting him another venomous look.

Sarah sipped her champagne. “What do you do, Mr. Courn?"

Raf laughed. “Oh, my. At the moment, I suppose I'm at liberty. Or perhaps you could say I'm on a travel allowance, a tourist of sorts.” He chuckled some more. Sarah was feeling hot in her sweater, and wondered if it was the champagne. Raf's apartment did seem very warm. She recalled that heat would rise, but reflected that there was little heat in the building to rise.

"Yes, a tourist. That's what I'd call myself. Yes, indeed. You see, I'm an alien."

"What country?” Larry mumbled, his mouth full. “You must have had one hell of a time getting through immigration."

"Oh, my. It's not exactly a country. I meant another world. I'm an alien from another world, a spaceship sort of alien. You see, some of us have been observing you for some time, and I thought I'd come down and have a little look-see."

Larry cleared his throat. Sarah was afraid to look at Raf. Gerard rose. “Well,” he said, “I think I'll have seconds."

 

Kathy had come downstairs to have tea with Gerard and Sarah. “Party didn't last long,” Gerard said as he poured.

"Well,” Kathy said, “it does tend to put a crimp in the evening when you realize your host is a bozo."

"Still, it was nice of him to say I could borrow his books.” Gerard sat down. “He has quite a collection."

"Maybe he is an alien.” Sarah sipped her tea.

"You don't believe that ridiculous story.” Kathy stirred honey into her cup.

"I don't know. I suppose I don't, really. I asked him why his apartment was so warm when I was helping him clear the table. He just laughed and said, oh, my, heat's no problem with my little doo-hickey.” Sarah fluttered her hands, aping Raf. “I suppose he meant that thing near the sofa, on the end table."

"Heat rises,” Gerard said. “I wish I knew where his money comes from."

Kathy shook her head. “He's probably somebody's rich son, and he's slumming. Unlike those of us who have to work, he can afford to let his delusions flower. Maybe his father's in oil or coal, and that doo-hickey is one of those new developments they're supposedly sitting on until things get really bad. I looked at it, though, and it looks like an old stereo component. He probably keeps it there for effect. Have you decided what to tell Epstein, Sarah?"

"Not yet."

"Well, let me know when you do. I'm taking the ownership option. Of course, it's useless for getting a loan—I already asked my bank about that, and it's strictly enclave houses only as far as loans go—but I don't want Epstein evicting me."

"He wouldn't do that."

"You never know. If he gets a few more rich clowns like Raf willing to rent, and we don't have signed leases, even nice Mr. Epstein might give us all the heave-ho."

 

 

 

 

Three

 

 

Sarah counted out her silver coins and put them in Mr. Epstein's palm. The old man seemed tired. “Thank you, dear.” He gave her a receipt. “Tell me, have you decided about the apartment yet?"

"We'll take it,” she said. “I mean, we'll take ownership."

"We?"

"Both of us. I mean, it's silly for me to keep it just in my name. You can draw up the papers for both of us.” She had not yet told Gerard about that decision. She supposed he would be happy about having part ownership, and, she thought, he could share the problems if his ideas about owning it turned out to be wrong.

"I'm pleased. I think there's a good chance we'll get those collectors in before winter. Nice hot water again, and maybe we'll save a bit on wood, too. The pipes will give you a little extra heat.” Mr. Epstein sighed. “Things have been hard. The Guard's pulled out of Euclid Street, you know, and the police, too. I'm probably going to have to abandon my building there."

"I didn't know.” Euclid Street was just across the river, on the south side. “Where will they all go?"

Mr. Epstein stared at the floor. “Oh, some will stay, and live as best they can. Some of the young men and women will join the National Guard, as always. Some will go west, and get work on farms. I filed a protest. It won't help. I wouldn't take their rent for the month; they'll need it to resettle.” He paused. “I don't even know how much longer I can keep my own house, as it is. You may see me in this building yet, as a resident.” He cast his eyes heavenward. “Mrs. Ritter can't last forever, I'm afraid, especially if this winter is as bad as last year's."

Sarah decided not to point out that Mr. Epstein was almost as old as Mrs. Ritter. She now understood the extra luxury of hot water; Epstein was preparing his retreat.

"Well, I must go. I'll see you next month, maybe sooner, with the papers.” The old man opened the door and stepped into the hall, where his bodyguard was waiting. As he left the building, Clarisse Anthony entered with a small paper bag. She handed it to Sarah.

Sarah peered into the bag. “Is that all? These potatoes are kind of small."

"That's it for this year. If you want more next year, spend more time in the neighborhood garden."

"I don't have time."

"You could get Gerard to do some work."

"He hates gardening."

"It's your loss. If you want to throw your money away, you're welcome.” The young woman lowered her voice. “You have some weird guy in this place."

"What?"

Clarisse pulled up the collar of her spotted trench coat. “The guy who just moved in. I heard stories. I don't like him."

"You don't even know him."

"I don't like him. Strange people mean trouble.” Clarisse narrowed her eyes. “I like to see stable people live near me. You get one weird guy, pretty soon the Guard asks questions and then they pull extra duty and then they say the hell with it, close the street. You got to care about the neighborhood, you know."

Clarisse left. Sarah went back inside and stashed the potatoes in the kitchen. She could not, on her diet, eat them anyway. She leaned against the sink, knowing she would have only one more day off until the fashion show was over; so far, she had wasted this one. She found herself wondering if Raf Courn was home.

Entering the hall, she locked her door carefully behind her. As she climbed the stairs, she pondered the new neighbor. By the time she reached the third floor, she was no longer certain she wanted to see such an odd person by herself. She turned to go back down.

Raf's door was suddenly flung open. “Miss Jaynes. What a lovely surprise.” Raf wore a white cashmere sweater and a pair of brown corduroy slacks. “I thought I heard someone on the stairs. Please do come in.” She entered, feeling trapped. “Aren't you working today?"

"It's my day off.” She stood awkwardly in the door as he closed it.

"I was just about to have lunch. Please join me.” He ushered her toward the table. She sat down while he got out another plate and glass. “Nothing fattening, don't worry. Just a chef's salad.” He served her and poured her some white wine before seating himself. “I do so dislike eating alone."

Sarah inspected the glass that held her wine; the goblet seemed to be made of crystal. She picked at her salad. “This is very nice of you, Mr. Courn."

"Call me Raf. As I said, I dislike eating alone. You're favoring me with your presence.” He sighed. “I only wish the others here were as friendly. Somehow I feel they're avoiding me."

"We're all pretty busy. Except Mrs. Ritter, of course. And I think Larry and Martin are having problems. Martin seems a bit discontented.” Sarah chewed some salad. The lettuce was crisp, and she wondered where he had found it.

"My, my. Somehow I don't think that's it, Miss Jaynes. They avoid me even when they're not busy."

"Call me Sarah.” She paused, worrying about how frank she could be with Raf. She decided to chance it. “I think you might have put people off with that story of yours. You know, the one about—well, you know what I mean.” He was watching her calmly. “The one you told at your dinner party last week,” she finished.

"Oh. But it's true, Sarah.” He put his elbows on the table. His lashes fluttered over his dark eyes. He squinted, and his mouth was very straight for a moment. “I am an alien. Be honest, wouldn't you admit that I'm—well, a little different?"

"Not that different."

"My goodness. Well, I'm very humanlike, obviously, or I could hardly have come calling here without kicking up a ruckus."

"How did you get a card? What's your Social Security number?"

He laughed and tilted his head to one side. “Oh, come now. If one can cross space with no trouble, acquiring a credit card and Social Security number hardly presents a problem.” She recalled that he had not used a card at Warwick and Baum's. “You are suspicious, aren't you? Well, I suppose I would be in your place."

She studied him. He seemed perfectly sane, and that was more disturbing than obvious irrationality. The eyes gazing upon her were clear, the olive-skinned face composed, the body still. “You speak English well,” she said at last.

"Well, of course I do. How else could I communicate? It was easy to learn, too. Consider how many broadcasts of various kinds there are in English. And this country was the obvious place to try my wings, so to speak. There are so many different sorts of people here. I would have been quite conspicuous in certain lands."

"And you decided to come to a fourth-rate apartment building in a third-rate city."

"And why not?"

"You could have gone to Washington, or New York, or Los Angeles. You could have seen important people."

He shrugged. “Why do that? Such people are atypical. I seek the ordinary. One learns more that way."

"You're here because you're a fraud."

He smiled. It was a game with him. She could raise objection after objection, and he would have an answer for them all. His delusional system was well developed; it rested on one premise she could neither dislodge nor refute.