Chasing My Shadow (5 page)

As soon as he had everything taken care of he called Bill Grandy and made arrangements to be picked up the following morning at 9:00 for his first leg of his flight west. He knew he couldn’t go without talking with Tara Lee. He also knew he couldn’t make any permanent commitments to her until he at least found out if he was married. He cringed at the thought as he could picture no one but Tara Lee as his wife.

About 8:30 that evening he decided he had to call her just to hear her voice, the one stabilizing thing in his life now, and breathed a sigh of relief when she answered. “Tara Lee,” he said, “I was hoping I would be on my way back to see you by this time, but I now find I have to leave at once for California.”

“California?” she asked in surprise and disappointment.

“Some business I should have finished up before I left,” he told her, “but I’ll try and make it as short as possible and will call you as soon as I can. I miss you a lot and think of you constantly.”

“And I miss you just as much,” she said. I was hoping we would be together this weekend.”

“So was I, but it won’t take long, I’m sure,” he said, and I’ll be back before you know it.” Then he suddenly added, “If I should be delayed longer than I think now, would it be possible for you to take some time off and come out there? I know that’s a lot to ask, though….”

“I’m sure I could arrange it,” she said happily, and I’m very glad you called. I tried to reach you at your home with the number you gave me, but there was some problem with the line as I kept getting the message that the call couldn’t be completed as dialed.”

He mumbled something about the troubles they sometimes had with small town phone lines, then after he had told her he had to get packed and would call her soon, they said their good-bys. As soon as he had mentioned her coming out to see him, he realized he shouldn’t have. He had no idea what he would find when he got there. On the other hand he didn’t want her to think he wasn’t serious about her either. He probably should have told her nothing or everything. If she knew he had forgotten eleven years of his life she would understand what he had to do. As it was, he wasn’t sure she would understand why he was leaving for California without first seeing her. He would just prefer to find out what he could before contacting her again—and it shouldn’t take long. She wouldn’t even have to know that he had amnesia. He hated the idea of not being able to remember. It made him feel trapped…and somehow inferior.

He managed to sleep some, but most of the night he was dreading what he would find when he got out there, and wishing Tara Lee was with him. Finally morning came and at last it was time to be picked up and taken to the airport.

He knew that Bill Grandy had to leave about nine and be back before noon. This meant he had a long wait and was tired before he even started the trip west and whatever was waiting for him there.

He took the shuttle plane to LaGuardia Airport, then waited two hours for the plane west. Finally it was time to board. The aisle seat was taken by a fat woman who held a paper bag in her lap and was eating potato chips. He squeezed by her and to his assigned window seat, then sat looking out the window watching the bustling workers and wishing they could take off immediately. How long would it take? What would he do when he got there? Should he go to that Malsheba address? What would he find? A wife? Children?—Please God, No! He put his head back on the seat and decided that he would go to a hotel then rent a car later, when he had a little time to rest and think and check out that address.

Soon a young man arrived and took the remaining seat between him and the hungry lady. “Good morning, and excuse me,” he said to the lady, and “Good morning, Sir,” he greeted Stone,” and Stone greeted him, hoping he wouldn’t want to visit.

He needn’t have worried. The young man was asleep before the plane took off—and Stone was left to think horrible thoughts. Was he married? Did he have children? How did he get all of that money? What had he been doing, and why had he moved out to California? How long would it take to get his memory back? What if it never came back? Why didn’t he tell Tara Lee? No, he had to find out all he could before he….Oh, boy! I’ve got to stop thinking as I’ve no way of getting answers at least until I get out there. He looked over at the young fellow beside him and envied him. He decided he would try to sleep, too.

He did doze off for a short while as he was exhausted, but most of the time he stared out the window at the layer of white, fluffy clouds. He tried to picture them as mounds of clean, white snow, but his thoughts kept returning to his problem. They had one stop-over which relieved the monotony for a while, but it was a long trip and he was cramped and tired as well as confused.

When he finally arrived at the Los Angeles airport and had retrieved his luggage he went to one of the waiting cabs. He told the driver to take him to a decent and reasonable hotel away from the airport. He would check out that address in Pertula as soon as he had got a night’s rest. That was obviously where he had lived, since it was the address on both accounts in the Colburgh bank.

The Hotel Baltimore was just what he wanted and after checking into his room he went down to the dining room for a meal. It was an early hour for dinner but there were several couples already there. He was uncomfortable wondering if anyone would possibly recognize him. He tried not to look at anyone just in case, although he realized it was entirely unlikely that he would just happen to come to a hotel at random and meet someone who knew him. This was a big state, and he didn’t know how near he was to the place he had lived. Nothing that he had seen so far had reminded him of anything. He wanted to go back to New York—but first he had to find out what he could here.

CHAPTER 5
 

He did sleep some that night from sheer exhaustion, but woke suddenly about 3:00 A.M. with the feeling that he should take the next flight out to…to anywhere at all except here. He was sure something happened here that he wanted to flee from. Why did he have this feeling of urgency to leave? There was no more sleep for him. Finally he could go down to the hotel dining room for breakfast, then he went back to his room to look up the name of a doctor in the phone book. He jotted down the number, and when he thought the doctor’s office would be open he went out to make the call at a pay phone. He first had to go into a nearby drug store and they gave him change for a few dollars. He didn’t even know what it used to cost to make a call at a public phone, and it would probably be more now. He counted out the change the operator asked for and clinked it in one by one. When he got his number he gave a fictitious name of Eugene Baker and asked to speak with the doctor. The nurse informed him it was not possible to talk with the doctor, but she would make an appointment for him.

He explained, “But I’m…I’m really in trouble. I have just arrived in town and I can’t remember a thing. I have no identification except a piece of paper with the name of Eugene Baker, which I can only assume is my name.”

“Then you had better come right in and he will most certainly see you.”

“Tell me,” he asked plaintively, “does the memory ever come back again?”

“Oh, my yes, almost always,” she reassured him, “but the doctor can explain a lot better than I can. So why don’t you…?”

“Does it take a long time? For the memory to come back, I mean,” he interrupted.

“Usually fairly soon, but sometimes it can take quite a long time. The doctor has ways to help you.” She gave him the address and told him to come right in, and she promised he would not have to wait long.

He told her he would try to make it but wasn’t sure he could, then left the phone booth. He knew he shouldn’t have done that as he had no intention of going to see the doctor. He did feel much better knowing that his memory would probably come back, if not soon, at least some time.

He decided to keep the hotel room for a while longer but still rent a car and find the Pertula address. As soon as he got back to his room he got out the phone book to look for car rentals, then slowly put it down as he realized again he didn’t have a driver’s license or identification. He would have to call a cab instead, and he reached for the phone book again.

When they were on their way Stone was very nervous. He didn’t know what he would find and didn’t want to think about it but couldn’t get it out of his mind. After a long drive they arrived at an unimpressive street named “Malsheba Rd.” with a row of, what appeared to be, apartment houses. He had given the number from the address on his bank account to the cab driver and they were now parked in front of the house. “This is it?” he asked.

“Yes, Sir. The address you gave me. Shall I wait?”

“Yes, please.” He took a deep breath and got out of the cab, not knowing what he was getting into, but glad the cab driver was waiting for him. As he walked up to the front door a short, frowzy-haired woman opened the door on her way out. “Well, hello, Mr. Langston, how are you?”

“I’m fine, thank you, and you?”

“Fine, just fine. I thought there would be more mail for you, but two pieces of mail did arrive the day you called me, and nothing else, so I guess it won’t now. It has probably been forwarded on. Just a minute and I’ll get it for you.” She turned and hurried into the house, soon returning with two letters. As she handed them to him she said, “I was sorry to have you leave. Hate to lose good tenants.” She was obviously on her way somewhere and he, just as obviously, had moved out of the apartment. He slid the two pieces of mail into his pocket, not wanting to delay her but he had so many questions. He couldn’t help this feeling of embarrassment that he had for having lost his memory so said nothing except that he had expected to find more mail, then thanks and goodby. Then a thought came to him and he turned and asked, “You didn’t by any chance find a small notebook of mine, did you?”

“No, I didn’t, but I may have missed it. You’re welcome to look if you’d like, as it isn’t rented yet. I have an appointment so have to leave, but I’ll get you the key and you can look.” She entered the house again and was back at once, handing him a key and a folded paper. “I almost forgot, but I did find this note later just inside your door when I entered to show the apartment. Someone must have slipped it under your door after you left. Just put the key on the dresser when you leave,” she told him, “It was nice seeing you. Good luck.” Then just as she started hurrying down the street, she called, “Say hello to Selina for me.”

After he had gone inside and closed the door, he leaned against it as the words she had just said still seemed to echo in the old hallway. His heart sank. She had known the woman. He felt weak and his heart was beating loudly. She had known this Selina, he kept repeating to himself. Finally he knew he couldn’t just stay here, and started up the stairs, but of course didn’t know which door led to his old apartment. He had thought she might suggest going to the apartment with him to look for the notebook, but was surprised when she got him the key. If he saw where he had lived it might bring back some memory. He was assuming it was upstairs as the landlady had entered a downstairs door to get the key. He very carefully and quietly tried a door, thankful that no one heard him, but his mind was mostly on the fact that the landlady knew this Selina woman. Did it mean…? As he was trying the second door he heard footsteps and quickly withdrew the key. A young woman with a towel wrapped around her head opened the door and peeked out, leaving the safety chain on. “What are you doing?” she asked, obviously frightened.

“I…I’m hunting for the apartment that was for rent. The landlady gave me the key but I…she….”

“Oh,” the woman said in relief, “she showed me that one, too. The vacant one is the second door on the left. I think that’s the only one left.”

“Thank you. Thank you very much, and I’m sorry to bother you.”

“No bother. I hope you like it,” and she ducked back in.

The door she had designated opened with his key. It was a furnished studio apartment, living room, kitchen with dining alcove, with a small bedroom on one side and a bathroom opposite. Not very spacious or fancy, but apparently he had lived here or the key wouldn’t have opened it. He noted the full-sized bed and felt a chill go through him. But that didn’t mean that two people had lived there. The apartment was probably furnished when he rented it, and the landlady wouldn’t have been apt to exchange the bed that was already there for a twin-size.

Suddenly he remembered the paper he was still clutching in his hand, and smoothed it out and opened it to read in a small, neat backhand, “
Meet me at the Rainbow for lunch Friday—usual time. Got something great for you. $
”. He left the key on the dresser in the small bedroom and went out, closing the self-locking door, with the last words of the landlady still ringing in his head, along with a dollar sign or the letter “S” at the end of the note. A dead end—and more questions asked than answered. He went slowly down the stairs and out into the afternoon sun where the cab was waiting for him.

A car turned the corner and slowed, just as he approached the cab, and the driver called, “Hi, Stone. Didn’t know you were back. How were things in France?”

“Hi there,” he answered. Then, “I’m sorry, but I’m kind of in a hurry and have this cab waiting. See you later,” and he ducked into the cab, waved, and they were off.

He told the driver to take him back to the hotel then sat in a turmoil of thoughts. Who was the dollar sign or “S”, and who was that guy who had called to him, and why did he think he had gone to France? Could it be true? When had he gone? And it had been so bizarre being in that place where he obviously used to live and not remembering anything of it, and that woman had to have been his landlady. And he must have only recently moved out. How could he not remember her and that fiery-red, bushy hair? But he would not have known he had ever seen her. What had she said? He thought her words were, “I hate to lose good tenants”, and that plural didn’t really tell him anything either. It could simply include all good tenants who ever left. That uncomfortable feeling to flee that he had known ever since he had landed in this state was alleviated a little in knowing that the landlady trusted him with the key. What really bothered him was that she must have known this woman, Selina, and had asked him to say hello for her, as though she had known he would see her. Then he grabbed the note and looked at it again. “S” for Selina? He couldn’t get away from that person. Who the heck was she, and what did she have to do with him? Why had he paid her all of that money? Did that have anything to do with the dollar sign for a signature?