Alien Upstairs (4 page)

"Hey, Gerry."

"I'm all right. I can't stop thinking about that damn Toyota. It's okay."

A voice rose above the hum and babble. The room grew quieter until Sarah could hear the voice. “You little bastard. You little prick.” It was a man's voice. She saw Martin rush from the room.

"Good God,” she muttered. She pushed her way toward the voice. Kathy was holding on to Larry; his face was red and contorted. He pushed Kathy away and shoved past Raf, stumbling into the hall.

Sarah followed Kathy out. Raf was circling the room, calming the guests. “What happened?"

The older woman sighed. “Larry and Martin had a spat. Martin was flirting a little with Raf and Larry was getting a bit annoyed. Then Martin dropped it on him. He's been sleeping with Raf while Larry was at work.” Sarah's neck muscles grew tight. “Larry just about died. I'm going downstairs and see if I can calm him."

Sarah watched her go. An arm touched her and she turned. Gerard said, “I'm not enjoying this party, are you?"

She shook her head.

"Let's go. Maybe we can come back later when some of them leave.” They walked toward the stairs. “Look.” Gerard had carried off a bottle of wine. “And that's not all. I've got caviar and sardines in my pockets, and some cheese."

"Oh, Gerry."

"Raf won't even miss it.” They went down the stairs slowly. Kathy's heavy tread preceded them. Sarah heard her knock on Larry's door below, then his answering wail. The door slammed.

"Larry and Martin had a fight."

"I heard. Jesus."

They went toward their own door and Gerard fumbled with the locks while she held the wine. They went inside. She put the wine on the coffee table while Gerard deposited the contents of his pockets. “I keep wondering whether to drink it or sell it,” he said, sprawling on the sofa. “Want to watch something?"

"I don't know.” She sat on the edge of the sofa, clasping her hands together.

"There might be a good film on. And I think there's a referendum on Shivers and domestic policy."

"Well, you can punch in my vote right now. They can impeach him.” She smoothed down her dress. Her face burned; she felt tired and soiled.

"Martin better come back before curfew,” Gerard muttered. “God, I can't get over Larry making a scene like that."

Sarah looked at him. He was wearing his old corduroy jacket, and his pants were baggy. She had been living with him too long. He seemed to take up the room, pressing her into a corner.

"I slept with him, too.” She had said it. Now she wanted to call back the words. For a moment, she thought he had not heard her. Then she saw his dead blue eyes, and knew he had.

She opened her mouth, ready to tell him about her feeling of being hypnotized, her inability to recall the incident clearly. She could not tell him that. He would despise the excuse, and her for using it.

"Jesus Christ,” he said. He did not move.

"It was just once. On my day off."

"Just once. What the hell's that supposed to mean, just once?” He said the words slowly.

"I don't know.” She plucked at her green dress, picking at the embroidery. She stilled her hands. “That it didn't mean anything, I guess. Apparently it didn't mean much to him, either.” She could not say Raf's name.

"Why?” The query was almost a moan. “Why, Sarah?"

"I don't know."

"Were you trying to get something from him? Was that it? Was that what it was?"

"I don't know. I didn't even think of that."

"Jesus. How can I ever trust you again?” He rose. She cringed, thinking he would strike her. He went into the bedroom and closed the door.

Sarah stared at her feet for a few moments. Then she stood up, surprised at how weary she felt. Her dress seemed heavy; her long hair was a weight pulling her head toward the ground. She went to the bedroom door and leaned against it. “Gerry?” Her shoulders shook; her face was wet. The room beyond was silent. “Gerry?” She sank to the floor, heedless of her dress, and wrapped her arms around her knees. “Gerry.” She pressed her forehead against her arms.

 

 

 

 

Five

 

 

The fall weather had turned bitter. The setting sun was a bright copper coin against the sky; blue-gray clouds drifted nearer to the sun until it divided into reddish streaks. Sarah waited for the bus in front of Warwick and Baum's, shivering. Her feet hurt. She had been a salesgirl for more than two years, and she wondered if they would ever stop hurting. The people standing with her were speculating about what would happen now that Citibank had collapsed.

The bus rumbled toward her. She climbed in, dropped her plastic token in the fare box, and pushed past the Guard, looking for a seat.

"Sarah.” She turned toward the voice, and saw Raf. The bus lurched, and she fell into the seat next to him. She could not look at his face. “I haven't seen you for a bit."

"I've been busy,” she said. “We have a fashion show corning up."

"My, my. Perhaps I'll be able to see it."

"What are you doing on a bus?"

"One must save fuel. I always take the bus when I can."

She stared at her lap. Gerard had withdrawn from her. He had burst into the living room the night of the party and begun the inquisition, as she had known he would once the shock of her confession had worn off. He had pelted her with questions, first about her motivations, then about her actions. She had soon been answering “yes” to all the questions, because she could not recall exactly what she had done with Raf and thus assumed she had performed most of the possible and likely acts. That had been their last real conversation for a week. He was punishing her, or flagellating himself. Their precarious finances, and the likelihood of an even more parsimonious life apart, held them together for now. Gerard regarded her as a warden, and himself as a prisoner—or maybe it was the other way around. She asked herself again if she felt guilty about sleeping with Raf, and decided that the only thing she regretted was telling Gerard about it.

She forced herself to look at her companion. Raf was watching her; she caught a melancholy expression on his face before he smiled. He couldn't be an alien, she thought. He wouldn't have been able to make love to her; it wouldn't have been possible. That proved it.

The bus groaned as it turned a corner, passing a park filled with black marketeers selling produce and coupons to people returning home from work. Some of the sellers wore uniforms.

"Don't you and Gerard get off work at the same time?” Raf asked.

"He's home. It's his day off.” She paused. She felt embarrassed even speaking of Gerard to Raf. “We wanted the same day off, but you can't have everything, and at least we have Sundays, except when the store has a special sale or something.” She stood up as the bus approached her stop. She was hoping Raf had somewhere else to go, but he too was rising.

They got off and walked down the street. A few lonely yellow leaves crackled under her feet. Raf reached for her arm, but Sarah kept it at her side. They passed a liquor store with a posted message:

 

GOLD AND SILVER ONLY

NO CARD'S EXCEPTED

ARMED MAN INSIDE

 

Sarah said, “When are you going to stop pretending you're an alien?"

"I beg your pardon."

"You heard me."

"But I'm not pretending, Sarah."

"Why don't you do something, then? Why don't you help us?"

"But I can't."

"I don't care if you're a rich man having your fun or an alien. It really doesn't make any difference, does it? You wouldn't enjoy having what you have unless there were others who didn't have anything. That just makes your pleasure greater; it gives you power. You wouldn't have power if things were different."

"You people have to settle those things, not I."

"Why don't you and your people come and help us? We could use it, can't you see that?” She stopped walking and he almost bumped into her. The wind shook the wire fence around the empty lot that was used as the neighborhood garden; the fence rattled. “Don't you care? There may be a war soon, don't you know that? They're getting so tired of unemployed people marching on Washington that they may just decide to draft everybody, and all you have to do is show up with a few spaceships and you could stop it. You could stop it all."

"I can't do anything about it, Sarah. Advanced cultures destroy lesser ones when they give them tools they're not ready to use. Believe me, I know. It's true of individuals as well.” His face was hidden in the shadows of dusk. For a moment, he seemed to change. His body was too straight, his voice dead and metallic.

She slapped him. He stumbled back and she hit him with her purse. He grabbed her arms, gently but firmly. She tried to twist away, but he held her. “Christ,” she said, “you've got me believing it now. I won't hit you again, Raf.” He released her. “I'm sorry.” She bowed her head. He took her arm and she did not resist.

They came to their building. The gables resembled turrets; the tangled bush branches in the small front yard were black snakes. “Would you like to have dinner with me?” Raf asked. “You and Gerard. Perhaps we could go out somewhere."

"I don't know.” The porch's boards creaked under their feet. Sarah tried the door, then remembered that it was locked; Mr. Epstein had installed a security system over the weekend. Raf got out his keys and they went inside. “I'd better not accept, Raf. It might be awkward."

"Perhaps another time.” He smiled, but his eyes, shadowed in the dim hall lighting, were sad. He went up the stairs slowly.

Gerard was reading and sipping a beer. He looked up as she entered. She stared back until he looked away. “Martin came back an hour ago,” he said. “There was a lot of screaming and yelling, and then it stopped. Either they made up, or one of them's dead."

"Oh, God, you don't really—” Sarah heard the sound of laughter next door and sighed with relief. Gerard was again frowning at his book. She moved closer to him.

"Gerry.” He did not look up. “Goddamn it, listen to me.” He raised his eyes and lowered the book. “Either make it up with me or help me decide who's going to move out, or something. I can't take this silent treatment of yours. I did something, and I'm sorry it hurt you. It won't happen again, so let's just forget it."

"It's hard just to forget it."

"All right, maybe you can't just forget it, but it doesn't have to be the central fact of our lives, does it?"

He looked down. “No, I guess it doesn't."

She took off her coat and went to hang it in the closet. When she returned, Gerard was still staring at the floor. She sat next to him and stroked his hair and at last he leaned against her.

 

Raf was in the hallway, carrying his console toward the propped-open front door. Sarah followed him outside and watched him put the component in the backseat of his car. She supposed even Raf was feeling the pinch and was taking his console to a pawnshop.

"Going somewhere, Raf?"

He turned and faced her. “My, my. You're not at work, I see."

"I work late tonight, so I don't have to be in until one."

He studied her until she looked away. “I was going to go tonight,” he murmured, “but I suppose I needn't wait until then. I must fetch one more thing from my rooms, and then I'll be set.” She glanced at him. He seemed to be talking to himself. “Do you want to come with me, Sarah?"

"What?"

"You heard me.” He led her toward the porch. “Come with me. I'll show you the proof of what I've said. I'll be right downstairs, and we can take a little drive."

"I have to be at work in an hour."

Raf drew his eyebrows together. “My, my. I offer you the chance of a lifetime, the opportunity to see for yourself that you have indeed met the representative of an advanced culture and civilization, and you're worrying about your job. You people will never lift your heads above trivialities, will you?"

"I suppose I could call in sick. I've never taken a day off for illness."

"Why don't you, then? Or do you still refuse to believe me?"

Sarah pressed her lips together, caught in indecision. At last she said, “All right."

 

Sarah waited five minutes for Lita Rand to come to the phone, and spent another five minutes convincing her that, although she was indeed very ill, she would surely be in tomorrow and would make up the lost time. When she went back outside, pulling on her coat as she hurried toward the car, Raf was waiting in the driver's seat.

She got in. As the seat belt encircled her, she realized that she was going to an unknown destination with a man who was probably insane. Raf pulled away from the curb. She was too suggestible, she was a fool; the man had a talent for involving her in his fantasy world. She was a prisoner in his car. He rolled to a stop at a red light, and Sarah reflected that she could, if she had any sense, get out of the car right now. By the time she decided to do so, the light had changed, and she had missed her chance.

"Where are we going, Raf?"

"Oh, it's quite a ways. Fortunately, I have a full tank."

Sarah leaned back and closed her eyes. She felt, for a moment, as ill as she had told Lita Rand she was.

 

The streetlights went off while Sarah was still almost two blocks away from her apartment. She began to run, then forced herself to slow to a walk; being seen running down a street after curfew was a sure way to get shot by the Guard or the police. She tried to think of a story she could tell a policeman if she was questioned. By the time she had made one up, she was almost home.

Gerard was on the porch, pacing. She hurried toward him. He took her hand and held her for a moment. They went inside. He took off her coat and wrapped her in an afghan, seating her on the sofa. “I was worried sick. God, Sarah.” He pressed his face against her shoulder. “When the lights went out, I nearly went crazy."

The flat television screen was still on, providing the only illumination in the room; it too ran on power from the basement generator. Gerard turned it off. “Come on in the kitchen; it's warmer there anyway. I'll fix some tea."