by Clea Simon
She smoothed out the form and began to type. She wouldn’t find the answers here at Priority. And if there was something unbalanced in her supposed visions, maybe it was passing. She hadn’t had a detailed vision just now: she’d only seen a tail. And, well, she had heard a voice. But her ears had been almost ringing with all the noise of the day. It could have been her imagination. Just like the toothbrush. Dulcie sighed. The evidence was mounting. She was developing a mental illness – or she had a spectral pet. Finishing Mr Quiroga’s claim, she began on that of a Ms Levinson; a nice normal code 333. Industrial. Maybe before Luke came over tonight, she’d call her mom and try to make some sense of all of this. Maybe they were both just lonely ladies in need of a chat.
But four hours later, she was in no mood to call Lucy. The constant noise and the lack of lunch had given her a throbbing headache. She needed aspirin, a drink, and a good friend. As she queued for the elevators – there was always a crowd at five o’clock – Dulcie looked around for Joanie. Her earlier suspicions now seemed foolish. She would drag the black-clad girl over to Foley’s, get the dirt, and still be home in time to meet Luke. But even though she waited for two elevator cars to go past, her eyes strained on the far corridor, the Goth girl never appeared.
‘Maybe they’ve taken her in for questioning.’ Dulcie said, without realizing she was talking out loud.
‘Excuse me?’ She jumped. Next to her, a queen-sized older woman in tiger-striped polyester was staring. ‘You said something?’
‘Sorry. I’ve been sitting at a terminal too long.’ She tried a smile. ‘Talking to myself.’
Tiger-stripes pushed ahead, her wide hips herding Dulcie into the elevator. ‘You’re the new girl. The one they have seated by the message center.’ She said it as a statement of fact, not a question, but Dulcie nodded.
‘Yeah. They moved me from the cubicles. Might be for repairs or something.’
Overplucked eyebrows rose up. ‘Could be,’ she said, her doubt clear, and Dulcie recognized her as one of the phone operators.
‘Why, can you tell me anything? Would you tell me what you’ve heard?’ But the elevator had reached the ground floor, and the fat woman had pushed through, leaving Dulcie in her wake. Dulcie stepped into the lobby and looked around. Still no sign of Joanie. Should she head to Foley’s? No, she decided. The sky outside looked too threatening to make a walk anywhere feel like fun. Besides, she really needed to talk to someone with some sense. Suze, maybe, if she wasn’t tucked away in the library.
Dulcie reached for her phone just as it began to ring.
‘Bag, please?’ She opened her bag for the guard, retrieved the phone and flipped it open.
‘You’re all clear.’ The noise in the lobby and the guard’s voice obscured the line on the other end. Beyond the glass doors, Dulcie saw pedestrians scurry as the clouds opened up.
‘Excuse me? I didn’t hear you.’ Dulcie stepped toward the revolving doors to look at the downpour. Two burly guards, new since that morning, stood on either side, ignoring the soaked pedestrians coming in.
‘Dulcie, this is Helene. I found your number. I thought you’d want to know.’ Dulcie looked around the lobby. What could be so important that her neighbor would call her twenty minutes before she’d be home? ‘The police have been all up and down the block, Dulcie. They talked to Bob next door and he came over right before they rang my bell. I didn’t answer, but I thought you should know. They’re talking to everyone – and they’re asking about you.’
Twenty
Never mind the downpour. Dulcie ran through the rain, desperate to get home and – what? Confront the police? Find out what her neighbors were saying about her?
At least Helene had called, though if her neighbor’s intention was to warn her to stay away, it had the opposite effect. Dulcie was sick of being acted upon. As she descended into the T, she realized she wanted to do something, anything.
By the time she surfaced at Central Square, the two uniforms were long gone, of course. But at least the rain had ended, and Dulcie was able to fold up her umbrella before knocking on Helene’s door.
‘They were asking about visitors, friends.’ Helene handed Dulcie a towel. Even with the umbrella, she’d gotten soaked. ‘Boyfriends – you know.’
‘Great.’ Dulcie rubbed her hair down, hiding her embarrassment in the fluffy terry. ‘Like I have any boyfriends.’
‘Well, that’s the problem.’
Dulcie looked up. Helene wasn’t smiling. ‘My stupid ex, Duane? He’s been hanging around. I think he’s seeing that slut, Marcella. Anyway, Bob says he saw Duane actually run after the cops – and this is when it was raining. They ducked into a doorway, and Bob says Duane talked to them for, like, five minutes. He kept pointing to your door, too.’
‘Why would he do that? What does he even have to say about me?’
‘I don’t know. Men. He’s a loser.’ Helene made a face and then a decision. ‘Truth is, he knew you never liked him. He used to say you were a man-hater; that you were trying to break us up. He even said you planted cat hair in my place so he couldn’t stay over, what with his asthma and his allergies and all.’
Dulcie hid her face in the towel and closed her eyes. ‘That’s crazy.’
‘I know, and I figure the cops have enough sense to suss that out. I just thought you should know, too.’
It was all too depressing for words. But just as she was about to hand the towel back, Dulcie felt a familiar warm pressure on her ankle. She looked down to see a small, orange-coloured back. ‘Helene? You got a cat?’ In her present state, Dulcie wasn’t quite sure she was seeing a real feline.
‘Yeah, this is Julius. Get it?’ She lifted the kitten with a smile, revealing a fluffy white belly. ‘I went to the shelter last night, picked out this little fellow and his brother, Murray. Cute, huh?’
‘Adorable.’ Dulcie reached out to take the kitten, which began kneading in satisfaction. ‘By any chance, the brother isn’t grey, is he?’
‘You’re still thinking of your old kitty, aren’t you?’ Helene smiled. ‘No, sorry. He’s orange, too, all over, with the cutest pink nose. But striped more, like a tiger.’
Makes sense, thought Dulcie, holding the kitten up to her neck. If this little fellow was so young, and had such a neat, short coat, what were the odds he had a long-haired, full-grown sibling? ‘Well, I’m thrilled for you.’
‘Thanks. Better two good cats than one bad man. Which reminds me, have you given any thought to getting a new cat in your life? There are a lot of great animals down at the shelter.’
‘I know,’ said Dulcie, enjoying the warmth of the kitten. ‘I’m just not ready yet.’ Up close to her face, she could feel the soft vibration as the kitten began to purr.
The brief feline interlude was wonderful, but Dulcie had a visitor coming over. Once back in her own place, the full weight of Helene’s words hit her. Kicking off her sodden shoes, she hit ‘play’ on her answering machine and heard two more call-and-hang-ups. Great. She just managed to dial Suze’s number before collapsing on the sofa. The heat was still suffocating, sapping the energy from everything except her out-of-control curls. The rain had failed to break the hold the humidity had on the city. Drained by the subtropical conditions, Dulcie peeled off her pantyhose and propped her bare feet up on the back of the sofa to air dry. What was happening to her life?
‘OK, it’s not so bad.’ She knew she was talking out loud. At this point, she didn’t care. ‘I mean, maybe the no-messages are just wrong numbers, right? And if the cops really thought I was a suspect, they’d pick me up, right?’ There was no answer, and even when she wiggled her toes, she could feel no soft fur, no batting of leather paw pads. Well, maybe the visions of Mr Grey had been just that: flights of fancy when life had gotten too hard to bear. Considering how much time she spent reading about ghosts and beleaguered maidens, it made sense, right? At least she was sane. Nor, despite the silence in her apartment, was she completely alone and friendless. She’d l
eft a semi-frantic message for Suze. And, she remembered, Luke was due any minute. Well, if Suze didn’t call back in time, she could always pick his brain for legal advice.
If only he didn’t seem sweet on Stacia . . . Dulcie closed her eyes. She might as well wish for the moon; or that she’d never agreed to sublet to Tim; or that she had listened when that eerie voice had told her not to go inside. Dulcie pulled the sofa cushion over her face. She couldn’t go there. She couldn’t. And, holding on to that resolve, she fell asleep.
She was in such a deep sleep that the doorbell made her jump. On her feet before she thought about it, Dulcie also realized that she was still wearing her drab office dress – and she hadn’t so much as washed her face. Well, there was nothing she could do now.
‘Hi, Luke. Sorry about this.’ She gestured to her hair, sure that it had taken on a life of its own, and probably of an asymmetrical, lopsided kind. ‘Got home from work and fell asleep.’
‘It’s the weather. Not fit for man or beast.’ He handed her an empty box and grabbed two others off the stoop. ‘But you look fine. We’re still on for dinner, right?’
Dulcie smiled, and immediately worried about her breath. ‘Thanks, yeah. Uh, do you mind if I wash up while you start?’
‘No problem. No reason you should have to deal with Tim’s crap, anyway.’
Dulcie led the way up to the top floor and left the box by the closed bedroom door. She could hear him muttering as she splashed cold water on her face, trying to wake up, and found herself staring into the mirror. She was too pale, too . . . Dulcie. But after a moment’s hesitation, she rejected the strange mascara. Luke had just seen her without it. If he noticed her wearing some, it would seem too obvious. Instead, she ducked into her own bedroom to change, looking back to see him emptying out the bottom drawer of the old dresser Suze had cleared for her temporary replacement.
‘You OK in here?’ She peeked around the half-opened door a few minutes later. Although Luke had already taken a carload of stuff, Tim’s possessions seemed to have multiplied.
‘Yeah, I think I’ll take these sweaters directly to the dry cleaner.’ He was folding a baby-blue cashmere. ‘We’ll probably end up donating them anyway.’
Someone will get lucky, thought Dulcie, as she watched Luke pile two identical pullovers – one a soft lemon yellow, the other pale cream – on the first. ‘I didn’t realize he had so much stuff.’
‘That’s the Worthingtons. Rich in stuff,’ said Luke, bending over for one more sweater. ‘At least, clothes. I think Mother had all of Tim’s measurements on file at the Andover Shop. She still sends me sweaters occasionally.’
‘That’s sweet.’ Dulcie leaned back against the desk, to be out of his way.
Luke snorted. ‘It’s all image. Her boys wore Pendleton. Besides, she likes to shop. Hey, while you’re sitting there . . .’ He handed her the remaining empty box. ‘Would you look through the desk? I think I grabbed most of his papers last time. But if you see anything there that you think might be his, would you throw it in here?’
‘Sure.’ She started leafing through the papers on the desk’s surface. Suze was not much neater than she was, but she had tried to tidy everything away before she left for the summer. Odds were that anything out here was Tim’s. ‘These look like course papers.’ She found a stack of Xeroxed notes on statistics. Some kind of study guide from Luisa probably.
‘Throw ’em in. Who knows? Maybe someone else can use them.’
‘Maybe.’ Leafing through the notes, Dulcie had the distinct impression that they’d not been touched. Perhaps, she acknowledged, that was just because she couldn’t remember Tim ever studying. But then she came across two pages stuck together, as if they’d gone through the printer together. The type that started on one ended on the other. Nobody had even bothered to pull them apart. At least Luisa had been trying to tutor him. Maybe he would have come to care for her. Maybe he had.
Dulcie pulled open the top desk drawer. Suze had made a point of emptying it out completely, not that Tim had much use for a workspace – or for pens and pencils for that matter. She pulled a bunch of loose papers out and reached back into the drawer. All she could find was a box of matches. She thought then of the huge diamond and sapphire ring that Stacia had found up here.
‘Luke, do you know about that ring, the one Tim supposedly bought for Alana?’
‘How could I help it?’ He didn’t look up. ‘Alana was shoving it under everyone’s face at that party of hers.’
‘Don’t you think it’s funny that we didn’t find it? I mean, when we were turning this place upside down?’ She emptied out the top right-hand drawer. More matches, a package of condoms, and some pens. Including, she noted, one of her favorites: a refillable fountain pen that she’d been missing since July.
He shrugged. ‘We weren’t looking for it. Neither of us were; we were looking for a plastic bag of weed or a hidden compartment in the floor or the closet.’
‘But still, that’s a pretty big find.’
He shrugged again, and she was reminded: money meant less to his family than to hers, because they had so much more of it. ‘If I’d seen a velvet box, I might have assumed it was his cufflinks or his tuxedo studs.’
The image of Tim in a tuxedo startled Dulcie enough so that she let out a questioning noise. ‘Huh?’
‘Yup, Tim in a tux. Hard to believe, I know. But that’s how we were raised.’
She tried to picture her former room-mate formally dressed. She’d seen his suits – three, all custom tailored – when the funeral home representative had come by to pick them up. But even those had seemed foreign. And a tuxedo? All that came to mind was Luke. She could see him in a shawl-collared tux, looking a bit like James Bond, ready to go to some wonderful event . . .
‘Did that bother you?’ Dulcie’s voice had gone quiet and, for a moment, she thought Luke hadn’t heard her. ‘I mean, the party? That Alana would have people over so soon after?’
‘Yeah,’ he said finally. ‘But I wasn’t surprised. I’d met her last Christmas and, in a way, they were the perfect couple. She didn’t seem like the most warm or caring woman, to put it mildly. In fact, I doubt Tim was ever real to Alana. He was a prize. Someone who would propel her to the next stage of life.’ He looked up at Dulcie. ‘But Tim wasn’t any better. I mean, to him Alana was just a blonde – the blonde of the moment. She came from the right background and the right family, so maybe he was planning on marrying her. But that never stopped him from having a brunette on the side. Or a redhead, for that matter.’ He looked at her and Dulcie was horrified to realize that she was blushing. Luke either didn’t notice or was too polite to comment. ‘Even if he had married her, it probably wouldn’t have stopped him from chasing after any other woman who caught his eye.’ He turned back to his boxes. ‘I don’t think I ever heard him say he loved her.’
She returned to shuffling papers. Anything to keep busy. ‘I didn’t know you two talked that much.’ Truth was, she had barely been aware that her room-mate had a brother.
‘I didn’t.’ He looked down. ‘And I’m sorry that I didn’t. Maybe I’d have made a difference. I mean, it’s not like Tim learned any different at home.’ Folding the last of the sweaters, he avoided Dulcie’s eyes. ‘My folks were never what you would call nurturing. They didn’t really care what we got up to, as long as it didn’t embarrass them. We were the classic “heir and a spare”. And, well, if we were just status symbols to them, where was Tim going to learn to treat people any differently?’
‘But you’re not like that!’ The words burst out of her. ‘I mean, you were just in Asia helping out and now you’re doing the legal clinic and everything.’ He kept packing. ‘And, well, you obviously loved Tim.’
He did meet her eyes then, with a wry smile. ‘Maybe that’s what saved me. I’m the big brother. I was the one who was there when he fell off his bike. I was the one he ran to when he got picked on. He was a chubby kid, did you know that?’ Luke grabbed another box
. ‘Anyway, for a while there, he would come to me. I liked it, I guess. I liked being responsible, having that connection with somebody.’
Dulcie looked at him, unsure how to ask the obvious next question. ‘So, did you two . . . drift?’
‘Did we have a falling out, you mean? Not in so many words. I mean, I was still bailing him out when he was prepping. That’s how I know about his little side business. But then I went off to “find myself”, and he hit his growth spurt, slimmed down, and discovered he could be the big man on campus. I don’t know, I think maybe I still saw him as a screwed-up little fat kid, and he could tell that I saw him that way. He didn’t want much to do with me the last few years. Spent more time with his school buddies, and pretty soon he’d got an in at finals clubs and eating clubs at every college on the East Coast.’ Luke shrugged. ‘Maybe I could have tried harder, but he seemed to be doing OK for himself. I mean, until I got the call from the folks that he was flunking out, I thought he had found his level.’
They were quiet then, as Luke continued to fold clothes and Dulcie worked the papers into one big pile. One page stuck out, and she pulled it out for a look. It was better quality paper, more like stationery than printer paper. No wonder it didn’t slide neatly in with the others. ‘You don’t think his tutor would want these back, do you?’
He took a step closer and looked over her shoulder. ‘What is that, some kind of computer code?’
‘I think it’s statistics.’ The page Dulcie was holding didn’t have much type on it, just a couple of lines of nonsense, maybe shorthand or instant messaging. Maybe it was a tip sheet. ‘This looks like it was a first-generation printout, not a copy. Could be his tutor’s original.’
