The Four Johns (3 page)

“Oh. I thought we could have a little chat.”

“What's happened?” asked Susie coolly.

“Happened? Nothing. It's just that I've been talking to Mary. I had no idea she was leaving, Susie. For Los Angeles, apparently.” Harriet felt vindicated by Susie's silence. A surprise. “You knew she was leaving, of course?”

“Well, more or less. I hadn't expected—Her exams are over, there's nothing keeping her.”

“Your home is down that way, isn't it?”

“Ventura.”

“I suppose Mary's going down for a visit.”

“I really don't know.”

“You don't know? Your own sister? Shame on you!”

“We try to keep our noses out of each other's business.”

There was a short silence. Then Harriet decided that the snub was not a snub after all. “Who is the ‘John' she's going off with?”

Susie's voice was puzzled. “What's this again?”

Harriet reported the conversation she had overheard. “Being curious, I wondered who the ‘John' was.”

“I've no idea.”

“Probably John Boce,” Harriet suggested. “He's always been fascinated by Mary.”

But Susie was not to be goaded into an indiscreet revelation. “Nothing's impossible.”

“‘She seemed very excited and, well, full of mischief. You know how Mary is. Only more so.
And
,” Harriet added in a confidential voice, “she did
not
deny that she might be getting married!”

“She probably didn't deny that she was joining the Foreign Legion, either.”

“Now, Susie. After all, when a girl like—”

“Excuse me, Harriet, I've got a customer. Some other time?” She hung up.

Harriet rose angrily from the couch. She should have known that the little snip would tell her nothing. She poured herself a fresh cup of tea, took it out on the balcony and stood looking down into the court, wondering what the future held.

The door to Apartment 11 opened. Mrs. Kelly, a stout, arthritic woman of over seventy, stumped out on the balcony. She pulled her door shut, glanced sidewise at Harriet, tested the lock, started for the steps. She had a bland, unwrinkled face and curly white hair, which she wore in puffs over each ear, like a pair of enormous popcorn balls. She always walked past Apartment 10 hurriedly, but with Harriet leaning on the balcony rail she had no choice but to pause.

“Good evening, Mrs. Kelly,” said Harriet politely. “Let me get you a nice cup of tea.”

“Thank you, no,” said Mrs. Kelly. “I'm already late for my committee meeting.” Mrs. Kelly spent a great deal of time in the basement of the nearby” church, organizing rummage sales, church suppers, newspaper drives and the like.

“You should get yourself a nice little two-door like mine,” said Harriet. “Then you wouldn't need to hurry so.”

“I wouldn't know how to behave in traffic with all these freeways.” Mrs. Kelly looked past Harriet, shook her head. “Oh, dear, those steps. Every day they're steeper. If I don't get an apartment on the ground floor soon, I'll have to move.”

“Oh,
no
!” cried Harriet. “Up here we have such a lovely view over the court!” But Mrs. Kelly had already continued on her way.

Harriet watched the stout figure jerk down the steps; then, with a fling of the head, she took her teacup and went back inside.

It was time she got ready for her own date. Her plans were made: she knew exactly what she was going to wear, and she had bought an ounce of expensive perfume.
Latchouf
, read the label on the bottle. How much like a sneeze! But it probably meant something exciting in French or Egyptian. She wished she knew for sure. Then, if tribute were paid to the provocative
odeur
… Tonight she would be pure woman. Charm was more than a matter of youth, just as youth was not necessarily a matter of years. What a miraculous business, this thing called sex! Intensely interesting. Harriet knew all about it; she had read everything from Krafft-Ebing to
Sex and the Single Girl
, and need take a back seat to no one. Especially a self-centered little provincial like Mary.

And Harriet went off to prepare herself for the evening.

CHAPTER 2

On the morning of Saturday, June fifteenth, Harriet used Mrs. Kelly's accident as an excuse to call on Susie. She tried the door numbered 12 to no avail; she was forced to press the buzzer.

A minute or so passed; then Susie, in an old white terrycloth bathrobe, opened the door. “Slugabed!” sang Harriet gaily. “Eleven o'clock and still asleep?” She stepped forward; Susie grudgingly gave way.

Harriet stood in the middle of the room, looked brightly in all directions. “Did Mary get off all right?”

Susie slumped onto the couch. She looked surly and sleepy and anxious to be alone. “I suppose so. I didn't get home till late.”

“Poor dear,” said Harriet, mock-dolefully. “I'll make coffee.”

She ran into the kitchenette, found the coffee, rinsed out the percolator. “You should really get a Chemex. They're more trouble, but they do brew the most delightful coffee. The water should be heated to exactly one hundred eighty-seven degrees.”

Susie's response was unintelligible. Harriet watched her from the corner of her eye. So much she didn't know!

Harriet set the percolator on the flame, returned to the living room, dropped into an armchair. “Then you didn't see Mary before she left?”

“Just for a few minutes.”

“And did you learn who ‘John' is?”

“I didn't ask.”

“And how long will she be gone? I do hope she's not getting married.”

Susie shrugged, showing little interest in the subject.

“Mary's so popular and has so much fun, she'd be insane to marry so soon,” said Harriet.

There was a moment of stiff silence, which Susie showed no disposition to break. She curled her legs under the bathrobe, settled herself into the corner of the sofa.

“Poor Mrs. Kelly,” said Harriet. “I must call the hospital again.”

Susie at last was interested. “What happened to Mrs. Kelly?”

“She fell down the steps,” said Harriet in a muted voice.

“How awful! Did she break anything?”

“Her pelvis and collarbone. And her left leg.”

Susie winced. “Poor old thing.”

“A miracle she's alive.”

“When did it happen?”

“About eight o'clock last night. I was just getting ready to go out when I heard this dreadful tumbling, thumping sound. I ran out, and there she was, all in a heap at the bottom. I thought sure she was dead.”

“Where is she now?”

“At the Sisters of Mercy. I called this morning, and they weren't at all sure she'd pull through.”

Susie relapsed into silence. Harriet went back into the kitchen, reduced the flame under the percolator. “Are you coming to the party?”

“Party?” Susie used the word as if it were a synonym for “leprosy.”

“I'm sure it'll be fun,” said Harriet brightly. “They have such a magnificent house. Everything clean and simple and contemporary.”

“Who is this?”

“Oleg, of course. You really should come.”

“I haven't been invited. I don't even know the man.”

“Of course you do, silly! Mrs. Malinski's husband.”

Susie nodded disinterestedly. Mrs. Malinski was assistant stack superintendent at the university library, where both Mary and Harriet worked part time.

“John—John Boce—mentioned a party,” said Susie thoughtfully.

Harriet pounced. “Oh, so you're going with John?”

Susie's lips twitched. “I hardly think so. I'm not feeling very well.”

Harriet went into the kitchen, poured two cups of coffee. “John knows Oleg up at the lab. He's a technician of some kind.”

“Who? John Boce?”

“Good heavens, no. John Boce doesn't know a calipers from a turnip. He's an accountant.” She handed Susie the coffee, seated herself in the armchair. “I don't think Mary quit at the library,” mused Harriet. “I could call John Thompson and find out. Except that he hides out over weekends.… Perhaps Mary eloped with John Thompson.” She looked at Susie questioningly.

“Nothing's impossible,” said Susie. And just sipped her coffee.

Presently Harriet rose. “Well, I suppose I
should
go.…”

Susie made not even a polite attempt to dissuade her; Harriet departed. For a moment after the door closed, Susie sat still. Then she put the cup down and began to cry.

Harriet, returning to her own apartment, saw John Boce enter the court from the street. He held up a beefy arm in salute, and Harriet leaned invitingly over the rail. Boce was a big man: pale, complacent, moon-faced. His clothes were untidy; he had a belly; his eyes squinted shrewdly through gold-rimmed glasses; his nose was long and lumpy. He was generous with his time and cautious with his money. To Harriet's annoyance, he failed to slacken his pace. She stalked into her apartment.

The accountant walked to the far end of the court, stopped in front of Apartment 3, knocked a cheerful
rat-a-tat-tat
. He waited, knocked again:
rat-a-tat-tat-a-tat-tat
.

Mervyn Gray opened the door. He was barefoot and wore a dark-blue bathrobe.

“So I woke you,” said Boce, bluff and jocular. “Why not sleep nights?” He entered the apartment, looked around for the most comfortable chair, plumped into it with a fat grunt.

Mervyn sat down on the couch, rubbing his eyes. “I suppose you have some good reason for annoying me.”

“It's noon, my boy, noon,” said Boce. His face suddenly became lugubrious. “I do have something of a problem, now that you mention it.”

“Please take it somewhere else.”

The accountant grasped the arms of the chair, gave them a series of quick slaps. “Here's the situation. There's a party scheduled for tonight. I thought maybe you'd let me use one of your cars. Our car, in fact.”

“Why don't you pay me for it?” growled Mervyn. “Then you'd own it. And you wouldn't feel guilty when you want to use it.”

“I don't feel guilty, if that's what's worrying you.”

“The money is what's worrying me. Do you want the car or not? If not—”

“Don't be hasty. I want it, but I also want to beat you down a few bucks.”

“Down from two hundred dollars? Harriet's convinced you I'm crazy. I can get two fifty from a dealer.”

“As trade-in on a new Cad.”

Mervyn shrugged. “Forget it. Go find yourself something better.”

“Just a minute. I agree that the car is basically sound. But even you'll admit that it's got a few deficiencies. The top is torn. That ignition business.”

“You never need worry about losing your key.”

“That's no worry. I like keys. And there's a funny tick in the valves. And the paint is only adequate.”

“Which is why the price isn't four hundred.”

John Boce stared in shock, then laughed a great hoho laugh. “Your sense of humor, absolutely deadpan!”

“I'm a clown,” said Mervyn. “Listen, tomorrow I put an ad in the paper. Now would you get the hell out of here?”

“Not so fast. There's this party tonight. I want to give the old convertible one final test before I make up my mind.”

“You've been testing and checking and retesting and rechecking for three months. Don't you have any shame?”

“Mervyn, I'm a poor man. I've got to nurse every dime.”

Mervyn went into the kitchenette, came back to the living room with a can of beer. Ignoring Boce's thirsty stare, he drank.

“You cheap son of a gun,” said Boce. He lurched to his feet, went to the refrigerator, found a can of beer, opened it, returned to the chair. “Sometimes I wonder about you, Mervyn.” After a moment he said, “You know about Mary?”

“What about her?”

“She and Susie had a spat. Mary took off for Los Angeles.”

Mervyn tilted his can of beer. “A permanent separation?”

“Good Lord, I hope not. What would life be without Mary? So squeezable, so huggable, so kissable. Wow!”

“Fat lecher.”

Boce eyed Mervyn intently.

“Sarcastic bastard. Sometimes I half suspect you're not kidding.”

“Every time I try to kid somebody I end up kidding myself.”

“That's what I mean. You're likely to talk yourself into thinking of me as a fat lecher.”

Mervyn reflected a moment. “It's certainly a danger.”

“Be positive. Refer to me as fair, generous, big-hearted John.”

“I see you're still after my Chevy.”

“I'll pay you one fifty cash, and I'll fix the ignition lock and patch the top.”

“O.K. If you'll throw in your wristwatch.”

“My three-hundred-dollar Rolex?” Boce looked at his wrist, which was bare. He blinked. “Have I lost it? No, it's in the bathroom. It must be in the bathroom. I had it last night.… Oh, well, it was just a spare.” He rose to his feet. “Since you won't sell me your car—”

“I won't
give
you my car.”

“… and you won't lend it to me, and since I'm escorting your girl to this party, Mary having absconded—”

“My girl? Who?”

“Susie.”

“Take the young hellion, and welcome!”

“In view of all the circumstances, I suppose I'll have to urge you to come with us.”

“I'll say this for the invitation, it's spontaneous.”

Boce made an airy gesture. “Don't question the good things of life. Snatch them as they fly past.”

Mervyn lay back on the couch. “I thought you had a big romance going with Harriet.” He grinned. “Susie says that Harriet plans to accept you when you propose.”

“Haha! When and if! First of all I plan to marry Mary Hazelwood.”