False colors

by Powell, Richard, 1908-1999

  I turned to see if Lassiter wanted the fifth bullet but he was on his knees in a corner, crying.

  21.

  It was another of those lovely May afternoons when even Philadelphians from the Main Line get slightly irresponsible, and start nodding to strangers, taking off their coats in public, and wondering if the Phillies could win the pennant. Two weeks

  ago I had been in a mood like that, but not today. I walked through Rittenhouse Square feeling very old and settled. A couple of acquaintances nodded to me. I pretended not to see them. It was Sunday, and church had just let out and some of our best citizens were strolling through the square. I watched a well-known banker and his wife feed crumbs of something to a bunch of pigeons. I frowned. You might think a banker would obey the law. Rittenhouse Square was posted with signs telling people not to feed the pigeons.

  Ten days had passed since the Thorp case broke over the city in thundering black headlines. They had been dull for me. There had been a flare of excitement at the start, but things cleared up fast. A coroner's jury checked me out of the case on grounds of justifiable homicide. A doctor patched up Nick Ac-cardi, and everybody decided to forget that he had sneaked out of the state to take a couple of fights without an okay from the Board of Parole. Lassiter was pleading guilty to everything but first-degree murder. The district attorney was going along with him on it, especially since Lassiter's help was needed to get Sheldon's paintings back to the real owners. The publicity had given me quite a reputation. Several wealthy collectors had already asked me to act as their agent, and a couple of museums wanted me to do consultant work. If I didn't look out I was going to make a lot of money. I didn't know what it would come in handy for except paying income taxes.

  In the past week I hadn't seen Nancy. There wasn't much excuse now to take up her time.

  I paused at the exit from the square leading toward Delancey Place, and thought over possible excuses for going to her house. I couldn't find a good one. However, there was no reason why I couldn't telephone William. I could say that I missed the talks we used to have over the phone, and ask how he was getting along, and maybe inquire how Nancy was these days. I went into the Rittenhouse Arms and dropped a dime in a pay phone and dialed the number of the Vernon house. As I had hoped, William answered the phone.

  "Hello, William," I said. "This is Peter Meadows. Nice to hear your voice. How are you, anyway?"

  "Nice to hear your voice, sir. No doubt you are calling Miss Nancy."

  "Oh no, no. I'm calling you, William. I just wondered how you were getting along."

  "Calling me, sir? Just one moment, please. Someone is at the front door." I waited, and finally he came back and said, "Sorry to delay you, Mr, Meadows. It was a visitor for Mr. and Mrs. Vernon. As you may know, they hurried back to the city as soon as they learned of the trouble Miss Nancy had been in. Now, I believe you said you were telephoning me? I am at your service."

  "Don't be so formal, William. We're old friends. I just wanted to ask how you are."

  "How am I, sir? In exactly what way do you mean?"

  "Well, how's your health and all that?"

  He thought that over for a moment. "Do you want a full report on my health, sir?"

  "Sure. Feeling all right these days?"

  "Well, Mr. Meadows, my sacro-iliac gives me a little trouble, but the doctor says that's to be expected at my age. Now and then I have a touch of bursitis in my right shoulder. At the last test my basal metabolism was normal, but the doctor was not quite satisfied with my blood pressure. I believe the systolic rating was a shade too high. My hemoglobin—"

  "That's nice," I broke in hastily. "Glad to hear you're getting along so well. Ah, by the way, how's Nancy?"

  "I thought you wanted to talk to me, sir," he said, a bit stiffly.

  "I was just asking about her by the way."

  "Miss Nancy is fine, sir. Now are you quite sure you wish to hear the rest of my medical history?"

  "Don't be so hard to live with, William. Can't I ask a simple little question about Nancy without hurting your feelings?"

  "While we are on the subject of hurt feelings, sir, why have you been avoiding Miss Nancy?"

  "Me? Avoiding her?"

  "You haven't telephoned her or come around to see her. Wouldn't you say, Mr. Meadows, that this might indicate you have been avoiding her?"

  "I haven't had anything to see her about," I said. "I haven't had anything to see the Mayor of Philadelphia about, either. Does that mean I've been avoiding him?"

  "If I may say so, sir, there's a difference. The Mayor, if I may be excused for the expression, doesn't give a damn."

  A suspicion hit me. "William, is anybody prompting you? Was that a fake about answering the door? Did you call Nancy?"

  "Mr. Meadows," he said with great dignity, "the answer is no."

  "There aren't any notes or messages for me? This is all coming out of your head?"

  "Yes, Mr. Meadows."

  "Well then, are you hinting diat Nancy cares whether I phone or come around or not?"

  "I believe," he said, after a slight pause, "that it bothered her somewhat, up to several days ago. Now I would say—if you will pardon the language—that she joins the Mayor in not giving a damn."

  "Look," I said earnestly, "I never meant anything to Nancy. I thought it all out carefully. I can give you twelve reasons win-she couldn't at any time have been really interested in me. Want to hear them?"

  He gave that a little consideration, and said finally, "No, sir, I do not need to hear them. You are nearly always right about things, Mr. Meadows. Sometimes you are so right that it tends to depress people. I would rather not be depressed."

  I was annoyed at William. I had settled all this neatly in my mind, and now he had disarranged things. Of course he was wrong in hinting that I had meant somediing to Nancy, but I would have to double-check or else worry about it. "Let me talk to her," I said.

  "She is not in, sir."

  "Where is she?"

  "I am not sure, sir. Later today she planned to see Miss Kay Raymond at the Rittenhouse Arms. I believe Miss Nancy feels that something might be promoted between Miss Raymond and Mr. Nick Accardi."

  "Why doesn't she stop meddling in other people's affairs, and pay some attention to her own? I'm coming around and waiting for her."

  "It's no use, Mr. Meadows. She will not see you. Your only chance would be to meet her by chance on the street."

  I said angrily, "Philadelphia is full of streets. How can I guess which one?"

  William cleared his throat and said, after thinking it over, "It is possible, sir, that you might find her walking in Rittenhouse Square at about this time. She often does."

  "Thanks. Naturally I only want to see her to prove I haven't been avoiding her. I'm calling from a pay phone at the Rittenhouse Arms. So all I have to do is step outside and take a look for her."

  There wasn't any answer. "Hello, hello," I said. Still no answer. A sound like a door slamming came over the wires. Then William spoke again, "I beg your pardon, sir. A breeze blew over a lamp and slammed the front door. You were saying you are calling from the Rittenhouse Arms?"

  "Yes. So I'll just step outside and take a look for her."

  "Mr. Meadows," he said, "may I urge you to take two or even three looks? Sometimes, if I may say so, you get discouraged with great ease."

  "I'll find her. I've got to settle this. Good-by, William."

  I went outside and took a quick look around the square. No sign of her. However, I remembered William's comment about taking two or three looks. I decided to walk around the square a few times. On the second time around I almost bumped into her. She was coming along one of the walks, as light and airy as one of those ballet dancers Degas liked to paint. She wore a white dress with a full skirt and nipped-in waistline, and a white picture hat, and she would probably blow away in a puff of wind. Her blond hair seemed to pick up all the light in the

  park and focus it on her face. All I could do was
stand frozen, and stare at her.

  "Goodness," she said lightly, "if somebody put an iron ring in your hand, people might mistake you for an old-time hitching post. Well, pardon me if I go about my business. I don't seem to need a hitching post today."

  I scowled. "You're out of breath."

  "Please don't feel responsible. I'm sure you never took a girl's breath away."

  "You were hurrying to get here. You were home all the time, telling William what to say. You rushed here so you could have the pleasure of snubbing me."

  "Good-by," she said, and walked away.

  My face got hot. She had brushed me off like a speck of lint on her dress. I caught up with her, and said, "You've got to give me a chance to explain things."

  She kept on walking, her heels making exclamation points of sound on the pavement. "What's the matter?" she said. "Can't you bear not to tell me those twelve reasons why I couldn't be interested in you? I'll take them on faith, Pete. I'm sure you've worked them out neatly, with every comma in the proper place."

  "No I haven't," I said. "I just forgot them all."

  "Why Pete, how daring of you! Have you worked out twelve neat reasons why I should be interested in you? I'm willing to listen. But they'd better be good reasons. Remember your reputation for being right and careful."

  I grabbed her arms and swung her around to face me. Under the big picture hat her eyes looked very big and blue and startled. "I'm just about to be wrong," I said, and slid my arms around her handful of waist and pulled her body against mine and kissed her. For a moment she was tense and trembling. Then her hands dug into my back and held me tightly and it turned out I hadn't been so wrong after all.

  It took us at least a minute to realize that this was an irresponsible thing for Philadelphians to do in the middle of Rittenhouse Square.

  I'rtntfd in the U.S.A.