by Jack Finney
Well, time moved on. It's been noted often that a big city can be a lonely place, and it's true enough. Louise went to work each day and came home again, she ate and slept, and went to the movies pretty often. One of them was about this young man who was phoning his aunt and he dialed the wrong number and called this girl by mistake and they got to talking and they made a date and went to this amusement park and at the shooting gallery he couldn't hit a thing and her turn came and she was afraid of the gun so she just closed her eyes and shot and she hit the target and won this big doll. Then they rode on the roller coaster, and they ate hot dogs and they ended up about three in the morning in this little diner and the man who owned it was such a nice funny old character — well, it was a pretty nice movie, and Louise felt pretty depressed afterward.
Ralph saw the same movie — just this, ordinary average guy, you see, James Stewart, who meets this girl by dialing the wrong number … Ralph wondered if anything like that could really happen. Just for the fun of it, next night, he tried the same thing; just closed his eyes and dialed a number, Huffnagel Cleaning and Dyeing, said a voice, and Ralph hung up. .
He took a lot of walks, too. Ralph liked to walk, he told himself, and he'd walk around for a while, maybe up Lexington Avenue, and then after a while he'd stop in at a bar. He didn't much like to drink, but he kept reading about these interesting people and conversations you run into in bars. But all anyone ever wanted to talk about was baseball.
Well, you know how it is; the one that gets away is the one you can't forget. Louise kept remembering Ralph every once in a while, and Ralph kept thinking about Louise. Days passed, a week went by, and a week or so more, but neither of them moved out of town; they didn't change their jobs or their habits, so it was only a matter of time till they got on the same bus again.
The bus was crowded and Ralph didn't see her till he stood right next to her seat. Then their eyes met, and they both looked away, very quickly. Ralph stared up at the ads and Louise went furiously to work on her puzzle. Now, in a story he'd have sat down, right next to her. But in real life he didn't. He couldn't. A big fat man was sitting there. So Ralph stared at the ads, and Louise sat there looking at her puzzle, and thinking.
Now, why cut my own throat? she thought. Like last time? Why stand on ceremony? And she began to write on her newspaper.
Ralph tried to keep looking at the ads (there was one on, soup), but then he just couldn't help it; he looked down and saw that Louise was writing, very industriously, in big capital letters, in the margin of her paper. Favorite, she wrote. A minion.
Ralph grinned happily, leaned down and whispered. Darling …
What? said Louise, in a slightly tremulous voice. What did you say?
I said — darling. That's the word you're looking for — isn't it?
Yes, she said faintly. That's the word — I've been waiting for.
Hey, you two screwballs want to sit together? said the big fat man.
Yes! said Ralph. We —
No, said Louise, I — we get off here.
Yeah, that's right, said Ralph softly. We get off here. Because I've got a date — with a gorgeous brown-haired redhead!
With beautiful queen-size eyes, said Louise, as the fat man moved over next to the window, looking disgusted.
Well, they arrived okay — at her luxurious apartment with a loose board in the floor and no heat after ten. Louise turned and said, She stood there; a vision in green. Then she laughed and said, Her old, green, year-before-last coat, with a tear in the hem, and that old, old look.
Yeah, said Ralph, and he stood there — like a big drip.
That reminds me, said Louise. You're dripping wet. It must be pouring out!
Huh? said Ralph. Oh, yeah! he said quickly. I'm drenched! Soaked to the skin! He coughed. Pneumonia. Suppose I go hunt up a — streetcar, while you wait here?
No, said Louise, you just go into my huge living room and find a fireplace. I'll put on my frilly little apron and stir us up some — pancakes.
Ralph grinned at her. At this point, he said, I suppose I ought to think up something pretty terrific. A smash punch line. And I usually do, too. About three weeks too late.
He was right about that. He kissed Louise, and then Louise kissed him, and finally Louise said, I'm glad you read the right magazines.
And Ralph said, So am I — honey.
Which is exactly what he should have said at least three weeks before! Why, if he'd been the hero in a story, he'd have recognized the setup immediately! He'd never have muffed that opportunity. Anyone with the sense a hero is born with would have known that of course the five-letter word beginning with “H” and having to do with bees, just couldn't be anything else but “Honey. ”
So you see? It just goes to show you. That's the trouble with you real-life people — you're so helpless! Why, the only way Louise Huppfelt and Ralph Shultz ever got together was to make real life live up to life as it's lived in these wonderful stories.
Which isn't a bad idea. It's something you might try yourself sometime. Who knows? Maybe it is a solution to world peace.
The Third Level, 1957
Rainy Sunday
For some moments Ruth Callandar stood at the rain-speckled living-room windows, staring at the glistening San Francisco street five stories below. Then, without turning, she spoke to her husband on the sofa behind her. We could go to the movies, she said and sighed. She was a small, pretty girl with dark red hair, wearing a green sweater and gray skirt.
You'd have to be a lot more desperate than I am for something to do, he answered, to go to the movies. In the afternoon. And in a pouring rain.
Well, I am desperate, or getting there. And it's not raining that hard.
Still, said Benjamin Callandar, it's a suggestion I deracinate completely.
You what? She turned to look at him. A paper-jacketed book in his hands, he was lying stretched out on the sofa in stocking feet, wearing tan cotton pants and a white shirt open at the collar. He was a lean-faced young man with black hair and blue eyes.
‘Deracinate,’ he said, glancing up from his book as though surprised she didn't know the word. It means to pluck out by the roots, to extirpate.
Well, that's exactly what I wish would happen to me — she turned back to the rain-streaked window. Right out of this apartment.
He shook his head and said, I've checked every movie listed in the Sunday paper; none are demotic.
She turned, narrowing her eyes to look across the room at the book propped on his chest, but the paper jacket was that of the novel he'd been desultorily reading all day.
‘Demotic,’ as I need hardly explain, he continued, means popular.
Ben, what in the world are you talking about?
The movies; surely you find me more entertaining than an undemotic movie? Now, just settle down in this cozy, rain-sheltered apartment, before I devel you.
You've been deviling me all afternoon —
Devel, he said. With an e, not an i, and it means to deal a stunning blow, so watch out. I don't suppose, by the way, that we have a demy in the house?
A what?
He shrugged. Well, since obviously I could hardly be referring to a scholar on the foundation at Magdalen College, Oxford, I can only mean any of several sizes of paper about sixteen by twenty-one inches.
Ruth walked across the room to the sofa, and though Ben tried to clutch his book to his chest, she managed to turn it face up exposing the double columns, in fine print, of the abridged dictionary they kept on the end table beside the sofa. He grinned up at her. What's the matter, my didapper, meaning dabchick or other small grebe; did I embrangle you?
She looked down the dictionary columns to find the definition of embrangle — to confuse or entangle — then, glancing at a word near the bottom of the page, said, You're going to end up with an epistaxis, and to save you the trouble of looking that up, it means bleeding, at the nose.
What's wrong, honey? He smiled at her. You bored with
a nice peaceful Sunday at home? Want to play some cribbage? Like a beer?
No. She turned back toward the living-room windows, arms folded, palms cupping her elbows. You may be content to lie around all day — I certainly haven't been able to budge you — but I want to do something.
The phone rang, and Benjamin Callandar swung his feet to the floor. Ah, he said, a sail on the horizon, a message from the outside world — I'll get it. The ring of a phone, he continued, walking toward the kitchen, promising who knows what? Sudden wealth, fame, disaster, adventure, a wrong number. In the kitchen, he picked up the phone. Hello? he said. Oh, hi. Yeah, she's here; she's just taking a shower — I'll call her. For a moment, the phone at his ear, he was silent, then he said, No, that's all right; she can just wrap a towel around — Grinning now, he listened again for a moment, then said, No, no, time she was out, anyway. She's all soaped up, but if you want to talk to her — Ruth! he shouted, Get out of that tub!
Ben, for heaven's sake! His wife, becoming aware of what he was saying, was rapidly crossing the living room toward the kitchen, her smooth white forehead momentarily creased with a single vertical frown line. Who is it? she said.
Aileen. Speaking into the phone again, he said, Here she is, dripping like a drowned seal, then handed the phone to Ruth and turned to open the refrigerator and take out a can of cold beer.
Hi, Ruth said into the phone, in mock-weary exasperation. No, of course not; I was just standing in the living room looking out the window. Listen, I'm glad you called; I found your glove. Tucked down behind the — She paused, frowning; Ben stood watching her interestedly. Your glove, Ruth said. The one you lost — Again she listened to an interruption, her frown deepening. Tuesday, she said, exasperated. Tuesday night at our house, when you lost your gl— Suddenly she stopped, leaned intently over the phone, and said, Who is this? There was a moment's pause; then she said, June? Oh, for heaven's sake, Ben said it was Aileen! She glanced up from the phone to glare at her husband, who was grinning at her. No, no, she said into the phone, he knew it was you; it's just an idiotic joke of Ben's when someone phones and asks for me. He tells me it's someone else, and I come to the phone all set for one person, and instead it's — No, I wasn't in the shower! I was standing in the living room completely dress— She suddenly stamped her foot on the linoleum. Ben, for heaven's sake, get into the living room! And take that idiotic grin with you!
Yes, ma'am. He winked, then walked toward the doorway; as he passed the phone, he suddenly leaned toward the mouthpiece and said, Ruth, quit dripping all over the floor, or I'll devel you!
Entering the living room, he heard his wife say, Yes, I could kill him today. Look, what're you doing? Suppose Ben and I get dressed, and drop in —
No! he shouted from the living room. Ask them over here. He turned back toward the kitchen. And don't take yes for an answer!
Did you hear? Ruth said into the phone. Well, for heaven's sake, come on over then. … Yes, I'd love it; I really wish you'd come. Ben's been sitting around all day driving me crazy — She listened for a moment, then murmured, You, too, eh? What's he been doing?
Yeah, Ben said; he was leaning in the kitchen doorway now, beer can in hand. What's old Charley been doing?
After a moment Ruth looked up from the phone to reply, Drawing fake lipstick smudges on one of his handkerchiefs where June would be sure to find it.
Ben nodded approvingly, smiling. I've got to see that man. Without a moment's delay.
How about it? Ruth said into the phone. Can you come? Yeah, ask him. She waited a few moments, the phone pressed to her ear; then she looked up at Ben. Charley's on the extension; he wants us to come over there.
It's raining.
She nodded, lips compressed. That's exactly what Charley says.
Tell them to take a cab! he replied loudly enough to be heard on the phone and turned toward the hall leading to the bedroom. They won't have any trouble finding one, he shouted over his shoulder. No one else in San Francisco will be fool enough to go out on a day like this, certainly not me! In the bedroom he picked up the extension phone beside the bed and said, Charley?
Yeah, Charley Howser answered, and Ben could picture him lying on his bed at home, the phone at his ear — a short, husky young man with wide shoulders, his red-brown hair cut short and bristling.
Charley, cut out the argument and get on over here, Ben said. Ruth's bored silly and needs company; we'll have a party. He sat back against the headboard of the bed.
Suits me, said Charley's voice. June's been straining at the leash all day, too. Only you people come over here. You've got an awning in front of your building; you can wait for a cab out of the rain.
We would, said Ben, in spite of the fact that I'd have to change clothes laboriously and then shave off a fine week-end growth of whiskers. We'd do it in a minute, except that I'm expecting this long-distance call —
Honestly, Ruth murmured into the kitchen phone, he wouldn't move if the place were on fire.
I understand, Ben, said Charley, and even though it meant getting out of this comfortable old robe and getting soaked to the skin going over, we'd be on our way right now — if I could only get down the stairs on these crutches. My old wound.
Ruth, said June's voice, he hasn't twitched a muscle all day, except to eat. For sheer double-distilled essence of laziness, who would win first pl—
It's a dead heat; they're co-champions.
Well, I can tell you this much; either you people are coming over here, or we're getting dressed and going over there. I'm sick and tired of just sitting around —
Darn it, Ben, said Charley, all was serene and slothful around here until your wife brought up the fantastic notion of going out into the teeming rain and visiting each other. So the only honorable thing for you to do —
Listen, it was your wife, bored to the edge of insanity by your wretched company, who phoned in the first place. And if you have an ounce of decency —
One of you, Ruth said implacably, is going to have to make the supreme sacrifice. June and I don't care which. You can toss a coin, draw straws, or fight a duel, but you're going to have to decide.
There was a long moment of silence; then Ben said, Charley, this is a desperate situation; I've been staving off going out all day and thought I'd made it —
Me, too.
Well, think of something, then.
Let's wait till it stops rain—
No! said June and Ruth together.
Again there was a silence. Then, presently, Ben said, Listen, ladies; as I understand it, you two would like to have a little get-together at which Charley and I dispel the mists of Sunday-afternoon ennui with our inimitable antics and swift repartee. Right?
Approximately, said Ruth.
Well, that happens to be what Charley and I would like too; we simply think pneumonia is a little too high a price to pay for it. But I've solved the problem. Through the miracle of science, if we will but realize it, we are already gathered together. What are we doing right now but gaily chattering away, each with his phone in hand, in the blessed comfort of his own home! And no one has to go out in the rain. Or even shave. And I can talk to Charley without seeing his face, a definite plus.
Wonderful! said Charley. A Sunday's rest and quiet have immeasurably sharpened your wits. That's as brilliant a —
Now, listen, said Ruth, you two aren't going to talk us out of —
Get into the mood, Ruth! Ben shouted. The party's started — yippee! You dressed for it, Charley?
Yep. This morning, as it happened, I dressed in dinner clothes: black tie.
I'm in mufti, myself, said Ben. White gloves and tennis shoes. I'm sorry to report, though, that Ruth, while magnificently clean, is wearing only a towel. He heard her sigh. What about you, June?
I'm ravishing, she answered, in an off-the-shoulder house dress and Charley's old slippers. Now, look, you're not going to sidetrack us this way. Anyway, we can't tie up the phones like this.
Wh
y not? said her husband. Who's going to call with a better idea? Yippee, to quote Ben — we're having a party! What're we serving, Ben?
Beer, I guess. That's all we've got, isn't it, Ruth?
Yes.
Okay, said Charley. I was sipping pre-Restoration chartreuse when June called you, but I'll switch to beer for the sake of the party. Ben, take that lamp shade off your head!
In the kitchen Ben found Ruth, phone at ear, nodding her head. I know, she was saying, but at least you can reason with children.
Ben got two cans of beer from the refrigerator, opened a kitchen drawer, pawed through it, then said, Where's the can opener?
Without turning, Ruth said, First drawer right next to the —
Nope; I just looked.
Just a sec, June. Ruth put down her phone, got up, walked to the open drawer, took out the can opener, and handed it to Ben. At the table again, she picked up the phone, and said, Hi. After a pause, she said, Oh, sure; right there in plain sight.
Ben handed Ruth a glass of beer and turned toward the bedroom, an opened can of beer in his hand. Then he stopped and returned to the drawer he'd left open. Stooping, peering into it, he found what he'd noticed while hunting for the opener — an opened cellophane-wrapped package left over from a birthday party Ruth had given for her nephew some six months before. From the package he pulled out two paper hats, one red, one blue. Approaching Ruth from the back, he slipped the blue hat onto her dark head. She turned to see him walking toward the bedroom, pulling the red hat down onto his head with one hand. He glanced back over one shoulder and winked at her. Yippee, he said.
In the bedroom, Ben sat back against the headboard of the bed, adjusted a pillow comfortably behind his back, then picked up his phone. Charley, he said, all set?
Ready.
June?
Here.
Ruth?
Here. June, is Charley lying on the bed?
Of Course. While I'm sitting on the kitchen floor.
No suggestion that you take the most comfortable place? For this alleged party?
Certainly not. How about y—
Well, said Ben quickly, here's to the party! He clinked his beer can against the mouthpiece of his phone, heard the responding clicks from the other three phones, then took a sip of beer, and settled down comfortably on the bed, his paper hat on the bed post.
