The Case of the Lady in Apartment 308 (4 page)

She wasn’t going to pay her rent! Yeah. That was it, exactly! When it came due, she wouldn’t pay. She was one of those.

Disgruntled, he drove back to the compound. He parked his car and then walked over to see the Smiths. Ed said, “We’ll be there.”

Rudolf grinned widely. His eyes sparkled with his curiosity. But Ed wasn’t about to give Rudolf or Amy any satisfying expansion on who Marcia Phillips was. They’d soon see for themselves…and be disappointed.

As Ed walked back to his own place, he thought how curious Rudolf would become when he saw how indifferent Marcia was to her companion. Then Rudolf would wonder why Ed had asked Marcia along.

The next morning, there Marcia was at the door. She got into the car as he stopped. He said, “Good morning.”

She gave him an acknowledging glance but said nothing.

She didn’t smile but just settled herself in the car. She had her own fishing pole. It was a take-apart, clever one. It was not a bamboo pole.

How had she known it was his car?

So Ed puzzled on that in the brief silence it took to reach the pier and park on beyond.

The eager Smiths were on the pier. Marcia
smiled
at them and even shook hands. She had good teeth. It was the first time he’d seen them. Bad teeth was one of the reasons he’d considered for her never smiling at him.

He watched her shaking hands with both of the Smiths. She’d never touched Ed.

He didn’t feel that she was “with” him. He felt that she had just used him for transportation. To be someone’s donkey transport was diminishing.

He became a courteous, but silent observer who was helpful. He carried the two food baskets Amy indicated. Marcia carried her own pole.

The boat had an awning over it, and the poles were thin and sturdy.

Ed gave a helping hand to both of the women to step into the boat.

Rudolf didn’t do that sort of thing. He went to the engine and started it. He used it on low power.

They didn’t go speeding down the river. They putted along. At that time of summer, it was already light. It was a soft light and it was so quiet. The city was not yet rumbling along.

Peoria is a city of over a hundred thousand. It straddles the Illinois River, which is at least two blocks wide, and goes down Illinois to finally empty into the
Mississippi just above St. Louis. St. Louis is on the west side of the Mississippi.

In the quieter side waters of the Illinois River, Rudolf putted their boat along north of the city.

There were fields and trees. And the air was sweet. The sun wasn’t yet up. The day was still hushed. Then barges came along. Grain barges. People were already working.

Of course, that was so in the city. Maintenance people, postal people, restaurant people were already beginning their days.

And the group of four was fishing. They anchored on the edge of quicker water and tossed in the bait on their fishing lines. Three of them had the traditional bamboo poles. Marcia had the clever rod.

With some curiosity, Ed watched her assemble the sections and bait her own hook. She was an independent woman who was not interested in allowing a man to help her or cosset her.

She wasn’t what he wanted.

Amy chatted quite a bit with Marcia, but the latter’s replies were scant. Amy didn’t seem to mind.

Amy caught the first fish. Rudolf got the next two. And Marcia got one. Ed never did catch one.

He wasn’t competitive.

The others all…well, it was their hosts who comforted Ed by saying they’d share their catfish with him.

Marcia didn’t offer any portion of her fish.

She readily helped Amy put out their breakfast. She did that as if it was second nature. She’d never offered to help Ed with a meal or clean up after one. She’d acted like a guest.

Of course, she’d been invited to be a guest.

Well, she was there with the Smiths, too. She was invited as a guest, but she hadn’t hesitated to offer help and she’d helped.

Amy had a real breakfast of ham and scrambled eggs with fat homemade rolls oozing with icing. Totally fattening. Absolutely
great!

On occasion, Ed would turn his head minimally and give the woman—who was his guest—a judging look.

Ed realized she was a difficult woman. To continue to include her in his life would be a big mistake. She would give a man nothing. She would use him. That was all.

So Ed discarded Marcia before they even went back to the dock.

However, having been raised by his mother and father, Ed did take the woman back to her apartment. He didn’t walk inside with her. He stopped at the front steps and allowed her to get out without any help from him.

She exited the car with silken ease, sliding out with no trouble. She carried her own things plus the fish she’d caught and she closed the car door.

Ed left. He drove back to his compound. There he showered and went back to bed. He lay thoughtfully
considering. And once more he gave up on the woman altogether.

When he wakened, there were three messages on his answering machine. He turned up the volume and listened to that woman, Marcia, who said in a normal voice, “You are invited to a fish dinner tonight at 6:00 p.m.”

That was all. No comment on the outing. Just that he was invited.

The second was his mother, who said, “Some woman called and asked how you like fish cooked. Who was that?”

As he was listening to the tape, his mother called again. She asked, “Who was that female?”

And her second son replied, “I don’t know.”

The third call was from a manufacturing firm out in California, which said, “We haven’t been shaken off the continent as yet, and we’re hiring. Your résumé was quite interesting.” And the male voice added, “Please call John. I’m John.”

The voice cheerfully gave the number and said, “We’re looking forward to hearing from you.”

Ed thought John sounded like a guy with humor and ease. Ed went to his file and looked up the company, what he’d read on them and what he’d written to them in application. It was a good company.

Maybe California was the answer to his restlessness. It was a long way away. Perhaps that’s what Ed Hollingsworth needed.

When a man has abandoned an area—or a woman—his attitude changes. With the incident past, he can become hateful and critical…or he can be tolerant and kind.

He could be kind.

A
s Ed showered and shaved, he wondered how Marcia had found his mother’s phone number. He hadn’t dared mention the question to his mother. Her radar would perk up if Ed seemed curious about any woman.

Had Marcia asked Amy for the number when they were on the river? How would Amy have known? Did Amy know his parents’ names and phone number? How? Why would she have given the number to Marcia?

When the two women had been talking, had Amy’s ready talk been in reply to Marcia’s questioning? Questioning about Edgar Hollingsworth?

Was…Marcia…curious about him?

He was going to her place for supper. She was going to share the fish she’d caught. They’d be alone together under different circumstances.

She’d tell him that her silence had been because she wanted his body so badly that she hadn’t been able to think straight enough for idle conversation. That she
hadn’t dared to speak to him because she couldn’t keep her hands off him.

Sure.

He’d go to her apartment with his bouquet of fl—

He was going to take
flowers
to her?

Well, that was ordinary. Most guys did that. It wouldn’t be unheard of. He could pick some of those blue flowering weeds from in back of the apartments’ garages. They’d be flowers, but nothing to knock her over.

It’d be subtle.

But she would be touched. She’d smile at him and say, “Okay.”

And he’d pretend he didn’t understand her submission. He’d give her his small, double whammy, subtle killer grin and say, “They’re like your eyes.”

She’d fold.

They’d quickly be naked and tussling around in the bed, with him trying his damnedest to keep up and— The fish would burn in the oven.

He’d exclaim, “The fish!”

But she’d say…she’d say…“Who cares?”

She’d use his body recklessly with great lascivious hunger. She’d use her nakedness and busy fingers and hungry mouth to do outrageously sensual things to his helpless parts.

And when he finally lay, drained and exhausted, she’d say to him, “Move in here with me.”

He’d gasp weakly and put up a protesting, defensive hand as he moaned in terror.

Ignoring his drained exhaustion, she’d just go at him again.

The water in the shower was cooling. He’d been standing there, daydreaming for too long. Well, she had invited him to supper. He’d go. He’d call her back.

Dressed and pacing, Ed went over the words he’d say in response to her invitation. He changed the words around. He added some compliments. He wrote it out.

He hadn’t done that since he was sixteen! Twenty-one years ago!

But he did write it out. He switched words around and discarded some and added some and worked on the acceptance more than he’d ever worked on a résumé.

Women are a trial.

He tossed aside the written—and learned—acceptance when her answering machine replied. He said in a male voice that was his own, “Thank you for the invitation to share the catfish. I’ll—” And the machine shut off.

There’s no way to erase an answering machine. So Ed called back and finished. “—be there at five.”

Why had he called her first? He still hadn’t replied to John about the job out in California.

Well, taking a day or so to respond to a job interview wouldn’t be unheard of. He couldn’t appear desperate. A delay could work in his favor, making
them anxious. He’d go over the material of the California office and figure out a neutral response.

Why would he waffle now when he’d already decided to go to California?

It was a move to contemplate quite soberly. After supper, he’d think about it.

Why wait until then? Was he going to give the silent, push-away woman of reality another chance?

No. He was just going to study the California option more closely.

If he hadn’t been sure about it, why had he applied?

Well… It was a long way out there. The ground wasn’t steady, the trees burned readily and it cost more to live.

It wasn’t cheap in Peoria.

But he owned two pieces of real estate which needed his attention.

Rudolf would love to take over the supervision of both places. And he’d do a good job of it. He was a fix-it man. That’s why the compound hadn’t dissolved entirely. And Rudolf hadn’t even been hired for the maintenance. He’d just done it.

So.

Well…

Ed wanted another look at the woman. An aloof woman. She’d been frosty and with-drawn.

Yet, on her own, she’d invited him to her place. He wanted to see how she’d be.

That was more honest. Stupid, but more honest.

Why—stupid?

She hadn’t given him any indication—at all—that she was even mildly interested in him. She’d never tried even to have a conversation with him. How could he expect
any
thing from such a woman?

She’d invited him to supper.

Big deal. He’d had her to lunch twice.

But not at his place. He’d served her in the basement on a wooden table.

The food had been good.

But women like atmosphere. They like elegance. They want to be pampered. Just watch. When she had him there for supper, she’d have the best linens on the table. She’d show off her culinary talents. It’d be a ball and a banquet.

Okay. So what was going on with her? She’d set him up. And he’d already discarded her. She’d flunked all the openings. Why now?

He’d know by—bedtime.

Dreamer.

It was an endless day. In the late morning, he did go over to the apartments. And he did go up the stairs to her apartment with an inner dither of anticipation.

Why was he there? What excuse could he give? He wasn’t invited until five that evening. How could he begin?

He could offer to get anything she might need for supper.

Her door was closed and she didn’t respond to his knock. She’d probably moved out overnight and her invitation was a touché of malice.

Disappointed, he took care of whatever needed to be done at the apartments, which wasn’t much, and he went back to the compound. Then he went on a hike along the road down by the river.

Ed did nothing productive in that whole day. He was waiting for five o’clock to finally get there. Then he would see if she’d tricked him and had already left the place, or if she wanted to be friendly.

Actually he wondered if she would speak to him at all…if she was actually there.

How interesting that he considered her tricking him as plausible. If he felt that way about her, he ought to leave her be and have no contact with her at all. It was dumb to flirt with the knowing of such a woman.

But Ed waited for time to pass so that he could dress and go to her place. He felt as if he wasn’t being very smart. He had trouble deciding what to wear.

He didn’t wear a tie. But he wore good brown trousers and a contrasting cream sports jacket. His shirt was brown and so were his excellently shined shoes.

He was carefully shaven and his after-shave was so subtle that it would take a very friendly woman to even get a hint of it.

All of it was done with no idea that she would even be there. Or that she would actually accept him as a guest.

So he drove to the apartment house with no anticipation that he could actually acknowledge. His breathing was quicker only because he’d hurried.

Hurried? He’d been ready just about the entire day! He parked his car and locked it. But he did go behind the garage and pick a bunch for the blue weed bouquet as he’d planned. He considered it. It, too, would be a test. If she was actually still around.

Then he went into the very familiar building and up the worn carpeting on the stairs.

No one was anywhere around. There was a radio playing in an apartment on the second floor. He went on up to the third floor. No one was there, either, and the sounds were those of atmosphere. Nothing.

He went past the apartment she would have when she finished painting it, and went on to her temporary one.

That door, too, was still closed. He knocked discreetly. And he listened for footsteps. There was none.

But the door opened!

Had she been standing there, watching the clock, waiting?

She didn’t smile. She looked up at him and said, “Hello.”

She’d said hello!

He smiled and restrained the impulse to reply. His smile would do it all. He handed her the blue flowered weeds.

And she smiled! Her eyes sparkled. She didn’t say anything. But she took them to the table and put them into her water glass.

The place mats were paper towels, the napkins were paper. The fish was ready to go into the skillet. The other skillet was covered and there was the fragrance of bread being baked…warmed?

And there was garlic. They were having toasted garlic bread. His mouth reacted with a rush of saliva. As early as it was to eat at five, he was ready.

Her brown hair was in a knot on top of her head and there were little stray curls by her ears and at the back. She wore no jewelry.

Who ever heard of a woman who didn’t wear earrings?

He looked down her. She had on a white silk shirt with the sleeves rolled up, long black trousers, and black slippers.

She was out of that extralarge, paint-splattered coverall, and she was a lot skinnier than he’d remembered.

She was really well made. His hunger then was different. And he was still amazed that she hadn’t stood him up.

She said, “This is the first time I’ve cooked a catfish.”

He smiled. “It’ll be fine.”

“There isn’t much damage I can do with the garlic bread.”

He bit his lower lip to stop his laugh. She’d said several sentences to him. She hadn’t talked that much to him since they’d first met.

She said, “I have to paint. But your supper will be ready in a minute.”

He was stunned. He protested, “It’s quitting time. You’re supposed to sit with me and eat with me.”

“I’m paying you back for taking me fishing.” She could communicate. She knew words.

He was expansive. “You get half of the fish.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“If you make me eat alone, I’ll go into a decline.”

She tasted the word. “A…decline?”

“I have an uncle who lives in TEXAS and he says that whenever anybody crosses him. But he
can
go into a decline.” He raised his eyebrows as he lowered his eyelids and he bragged, “So can I.”

“How?”

He gave her his aloof glance and replied, “I slump and my face falls and I give up.” He smiled and his eyes sparkled with his humor.

She said, “Bosh.”

So he sighed deeply as he slid out of his cream jacket and hung it on one of the chrome-and-fake-leather chairs, which had seen better days. Then he unbuttoned his shirt cuffs and turned them back precisely.

He sat down and looked at her. “I’m ready to eat.” And he put his hand to his forehead as if he was being very brave to endure.

When she made no response, his glance slid over to her and caught her bitten grin.

She said, “Where all have you taken your plays?”

“I’m not an actor, I’m just a simple man.” Then he narrowed his eyes just a trifle and asked, “How do you make your living?”

She did an eye-catching shrug. “Painting.”

He was kind. “You’re really very good at it.” But then his honesty kicked in and he added, “You tend to be slow and careful. When will you be finished with your apartment?”

“In about two days.”

He frowned at her. “How can you live on what you make? You’re so…careful that you’re slow.”

In her white silk blouse, her shrug was fascinatingly wonderful. His body tingled and he had to be careful his breaths didn’t sound like an upset bull’s.

Why her?

She was turned away, putting the fish into the hot skillet.

She put the waiting covered skillet onto the table and he peeked. It was cut-up potatoes, which had been browned as they’d cooked in grease. He smiled. To hell with cholesterol rejection.

He said, “Sit down. You don’t get credit unless you share your company. I did. You have to reciprocate.”

She sat down. “I didn’t know rent collectors knew such a word.”

His mouth just went right on and told her, “I’ve had a stickler for a mother.”

She went to the small refrigerator and brought out a bowl of salad. It was well cut and had been tossed to distribute the dressing. There was lettuce, tomatoes and onions. Some croutons had been added. There were bits of green pepper. It was crisp and nice.

He smiled some more.

She watched the frying fish. She’d set the timer and it clicked along. When it dinged, she turned the fish carefully. And she reset the timer.

He wondered how she’d come to decide on how much cooking the fish needed?

She watched the timer, filled the glasses with water and put the warmed plates on the table. She took the covered skillet and removed the lid to allow him to take some fried potatoes.

Then the timer sounded, and she put the fried fish on a plate. She brought it to the table and said, “There.”

He repeated, “You get half.”

She considered. Then she sat down and cut the fish in half. She did that across the middle. He got the part with the head, she took the part with the tail.

How could a woman, who lived by such a big river, and had such a refined fishing pole, not know how to fillet a fish? There were probably other, more important things she didn’t know. She had a few things to learn.

He reached for her plate as he told her, “Here. Let me fix that for you.”

She said nothing but watched his face as he skillfully filleted the back half of the catfish. She didn’t much care for fish.

He put the bones on his own plate and smiled at her kindly as he returned her plate. Then he began on his own fish, filleting it with dispatch.

She got up and found a soup bowl for him to use for the bones. And the fish’s head. How gross.

They ate mostly in silence. He ventured several questions. “Did you go to school here?”

She replied, “No.”

“Where?”

Vaguely, she said, “Over in Ohio.”

He inquired, “What did you study?”

“Not painting.”