Quinn

by Sally Mandel

  “He was so blasted I don’t think he even knew what he’d done.”

  “What if we take him away for a little while. Medham … somewhere.”

  Suddenly she stopped herself. There was Quinn and there was Will, but there was no longer a “we.”

  “We’ll think of something,” Will said. The tiny particle of hope quivered again. Quinn noticed he was wearing the Christmas sweater she’d knit for him.

  A nurse swished into the room. “You’ll have to leave. It’s past visiting hours, and we only made an exception because the patient was so upset.”

  Will sat. Quinn knew no one could pry him out of that chair until he was ready to leave.

  “I don’t want him to wake up and be alone,” Will said.

  “He won’t wake up, sir. He’s had a sedative.”

  “We can take turns sitting with him, just for tonight,” Quinn said. “We’d be very unobtrusive, and there’s nobody else in here.”

  The nurse smiled. “I know it’s hard to leave him. But listen, I’ll look in every fifteen minutes all night long. I promise. I can also promise he won’t wake up until it’s light.”

  Reassured, Will got to his feet. He swayed a little.

  “You okay?” Instinctively, Quinn touched his arm. With the physical contact she recoiled as if he were electrified.

  “I don’t want to go,” he murmured, mainly to Harvey.

  “Please,” the nurse urged them. “I won’t let you down.”

  They left the room and walked down the hushed hallway to the elevators.

  Will and Quinn were back together again. Neither of them wished to examine the reasons, since what had changed was that Harvey now wore a shoulder cast and a nasty scar on his face. Nothing else.

  Quinn had received a personal letter from Ted Manning, offering Quinn his sympathies regarding her mother and a job with an affiliate news program in Boston. He assured her that the door was open whenever she felt ready to come to New York. Quinn waited several days before she mentioned the letter to Will, and when she did, it was without joy.

  On Thursday afternoon, two weeks after Harvey’s hospitalization, Will and Quinn were drinking coffee in the union. Will was about to head for the bus to the North End.

  Quinn grumbled over her newspaper. “Would you look at what Johnson’s doing to his dog? Somebody ought to pick him up by the ears.” Suddenly she cried out. “Hey! Guess who’s coming to Ferguson’s this weekend.”

  “Mm.” Will was engrossed in his philosophy notes.

  “Will, listen, the entire cast of Harvey’s favorite TV show, Infinity. They’re making a promotional tour for the movie. Wouldn’t Harve go ape?”

  “That’s the cartoon thing,” Will said absently, outlining a sentence with yellow Magic Marker.

  Quinn snatched it from his hand. “It’s a regular science fiction program. Harvey’d give up hot fudge for life if he got a chance to see those guys.”

  Will was paying attention now. “When?”

  She folded her paper open to the advertisement and read. “Uh … Filene’s Friday, Ferguson’s Saturday. This Saturday afternoon.” She looked up. “Let me take him by myself. I want to do something special for him, and Thursdays are shot now with the cafeteria job.”

  “I think he’d be ecstatic.”

  “Tell him I’ll pick him up at one, and he should wear his Sunday best. We’ll go out to dinner afterward, a fancy date.”

  “Did you get this worked up to go out with me?”

  She forced a smile. “Saturday night without you ain’t champagne, believe me.”

  “Root beer?”

  “Flat root beer, with a lousy aftertaste.”

  “I know the feeling.” He regarded her for a moment. Finally he said, “Are we ever going to talk?”

  “Not if I can help it.”

  He shook his head.

  “Let’s just drift for a while, okay?” She grabbed her stomach. “I’m still trying to stick my guts back inside.”

  “I suppose the solution is a lobotomy for us both.”

  “Good,” she said. “We could sit on the front porch in our rocking chairs, holding hands and gazing blankly into space. Forever.”

  “What am I going to do with you?”

  “Sure and it’s damned if I know, lad.”

  “Lad?”

  “Did I say that?”

  “You did indeed.”

  “I used to do that with Jake sometimes when I wanted something. Colleening around. ‘Ah, and it’s me, Daddy, your own girl Quinn’ and all that.”

  “What’re you after now?” Will stretched his hand across the table, slipped it behind her neck, and drew his fingers up through her hair. Her eyes were deep blue, with the glistening black flecks he had noticed in Ann’s. Maybe Quinn was becoming more like her mother.

  “Your ass,” Quinn said.

  Will laughed. Then again, maybe she wasn’t.

  “What?” she asked.

  He shook his head and began gathering his papers together. “Steve’s waiting at the bus stop.” He gave her a quick kiss on the mouth and strode toward the door. She watched him leave, thinking that when he really wanted to move, he could be plenty fast on his feet.

  The clock over the exit told her she had twenty minutes before leaving for the cafeteria. Twenty minutes to think, and nothing safe to think about.

  “Hi,” Stanley said, plunking down his books.

  Quinn flung her arms around his waist. “I love you, Stan,” she said.

  He laughed. “They all do.” Extricating himself, he took a close look at her. Then he set about cheering her up with stories of mayhem in the Markowitz family regarding the Great August Disaster, which was how the wedding had come to be known. How the Markowitzes wanted to hold the ceremony in a kosher hotel in the Catskills and how the Huntingtons insisted it transpire in their living room, where they could serve watercress sandwiches instead of chopped chicken liver.

  The twenty minutes flew by.

  Chapter 29

  On Saturday morning Quinn put on her best sweater—pale lime-green cashmere—and her gray wool skirt. As she slipped into high heels she felt a twinge, hastily quelled, remembering the last time she’d worn them, for the interview with Ted Manning in New York. Well, anyway, the mirror said that today was a particularly good day. Her hair had dried just right, and this morning’s phone call to Medham had left her feeling optimistic about Ann.

  Van walked in while she was contemplating her reflection. “Well, Vanity, and where are you going, may I ask?”

  “I’ve got a hot date this afternoon. Don’t I look smashing?” Quinn reached into the recesses of her closet for the treasured green topcoat, carefully bagged in plastic. “Harvey Jackson and I are going to meet some very important television stars. And then we are going out to supper at a chic spot where they serve wine and Shirley Temples.” She planted a kiss by Van’s ear and breezed out the door. “Don’t wait up,” she called.

  It was a brilliant cool spring day that even the litter-strewn streets of the North End could not eclipse. She was a little early, but Harvey was already waiting for her in the doorway of his tenement. From a block away she could see him peering through a pane of broken glass. She walked briskly past a group of black teenagers who were bouncing a ball off the roof of a stripped automobile. Harvey emerged from the doorway and approached her with the dignity befitting his formal attire.

  “You look wonderful,” she said. He was wearing the shoes Will had bought for him, navy blue and polished to a glassy shine. His slacks, hand-me-downs from someone on the block, were gray, his shirt white with tiny blue stripes, his tie Black Watch plaid, and his jacket deep green.

  “We even match,” Quinn said. She pirouetted for him. “What do you think?”

  “Nice,” Harvey said. The flesh around his left eye was still yellow. The stitches had been removed from the cut on his cheek, but the scar’s track was clearly
visible.

  “I look like Frankenstein, right?” he asked.

  “You’re too glamorous for Frankenstein.” She touched his shoulder carefully. “Where’s your cast?”

  “They strapped me up in a Ace bandage.” The jacket was a size too big and hung loosely.

  “You’re going to need a coat.”

  “No!” Harvey said fiercely.

  Quinn realized he did not want to spoil the effect of his outfit with a baseball jacket. There was no other coat in his closet. She drew him close to her as they walked down the street.

  “I’ll keep you warm,” she said.

  “Did you catch the show this morning?” Harvey asked. “Leroy let me watch and I didn’t even do the garbage.”

  At the mention of the name, Quinn felt her back teeth clamp together. Leroy had been released the morning after Harvey’s hospitalization with a warning from the police department. Ever since, Quinn had found herself constructing fantasies of revenge. She imagined Leroy being mugged by a gang of toughs who would torture him before beating him senseless. The final blow, administered with a heavy fist to the left eye, was always accompanied by a howl of angry voices raised in unison. This one’s for Harvey. Once at night Quinn dreamed that she broke into Leroy’s closet and systematically ripped up all the fancy finery that provided his self-respect. Hatred had never been a part of Quinn’s nature; she resented Leroy all the more for introducing her to it.

  Harvey machine-gunned a trash can. “You shoulda seen Marfax. Oh, man, he was great this mornin’. There’s this monster after Golon, y’know, the chick, and he was this real greasy, re-VOLT-in’ snaky thing …” He wriggled away from her and skipped up ahead, making grotesque faces and clawing the air with his hands. “An’ Marfax, he jus’ hangs in there cool, bidin’ his time with them magic eyeballs, ready to zap anythin’ that breathes, and … eep, erng, erng, here comes the monster with Golon hangin’ out of his big slimy claw, and she’s screechin’ her brains out, and WHAMMO! Magic eyeballs to the rescue! And the monster, man, he drops Golon like she’s electrified, and then he kicks it …” Harvey performed his rendition of a monster succumbing. “Ungh, ooo, uhh … ahhh.” He started to drop to the pavement but caught himself just in time to preserve the Sunday best. Then he flashed Quinn a smile of such gentle complacency that she grabbed his sleeve and captured him in a hug.

  Harvey’s limit for such demonstrations was three seconds, tops. When she released him, he marched beside her, matching his strides to hers. “You really think Marfax is gonna be there himself?”

  “Yup.”

  On the bus trip downtown Harvey provided her with a historical overview of the Infinity adventures, beginning with the very first program two years ago through this morning’s show. The gaps due to Leroy’s intervention had been filled in by detailed cross-examination of Harvey’s friends.

  The ground floor of Ferguson’s Department Store was crowded with Mother’s Day shoppers. As Quinn and Harvey passed the lingerie counter, a saleswoman eyed them curiously. Quinn was trying to imagine the speculations she and Harvey must be engendering, when up the aisle shuffled a robot. Harvey spotted him first.

  “Zindar!” he shouted. “Quinn, hey, look, man! It’s Zindar!”

  The robot stopped, whirred, and projected a stiff hand toward Harvey. A pair of brown eyes glistened behind the aluminum helmet.

  “Oh-humanoid-you-come-to-observe-Infinity,” the robot intoned.

  Harvey was overwhelmed. He gazed up at Zindar, speechless.

  “You-shall-encounter-Marvax-on-Eight,” Zindar said. “I-will-shake-the-hand-of-the-female-humanoid.’’ He picked up Quinn’s hand with his silver gloves. One brown eye winked at her.

  “Thanks, Zandor,” Quinn said.

  “Zindar!” Harvey howled.

  “I beg your pardon,” Quinn said humbly.

  The robot bowed in little rigid lurches and made his way, ticking and humming, toward a group of children half hidden behind the glove counter. Their faces were fascinated and terrified.

  “Infinity-on-Eight, Infinity-on-Eight,” intoned the receding Zindar.

  “Wow!” Harvey breathed. “Come on! Marfax is up there. Shee-yit!” He tugged on Quinn’s hand. “Man, I hope he brung them magic eyeballs.”

  On the eighth floor a replica of the Infinity spacecraft had been constructed against one entire wall. Above the huge model the word “Infinity” flashed in pulsating red light bulbs. The show’s soundtrack boomed and throbbed. A young man in astronaut gear guarded the display. He wore a button on his chest that announced: I work for Ferguson’s. Let me help.

  “Hi,” Quinn said. “Where’s the crew?”

  The astronaut peered inside the rocket. “Don’t know. I just came on.”

  “Zindar said they were on Eight,” Quinn said. Harvey slipped his hand into hers.

  “Who?”

  “Zindar. The robot on the ground floor.”

  “Just a minute.” He headed for the service desk.

  Quinn looked at Harvey. The boy’s face was heavy with disappointment.

  In a moment the guard returned with a sheet of paper. “Says here Infinity crew … hm, hm … yeah.” He checked his watch. “Should of been here a half hour ago, and stayed till three. Try Nine. They were scheduled for noon up there in Children’s Shoes.”

  “Okay. Thanks.” They hurried to the escalator, but Harvey’s excitement had become tentative. Quinn was tugging at him now.

  The salesman on Nine said Infinity had passed through his department about twelve thirty. It was now one fifty. Weren’t they supposed to be on Eight? Quinn explained. The salesman fingered his Let Me Help button.

  “Well, try the Cafeteria on Five. They were down there earlier. The kids went crazy.”

  “Let’s take the elevator,” Quinn said.

  Harvey was quiet. His scar formed a rough exclamation point that punctuated the yellow stain beneath his eye. Quinn resisted an impulse to kick the elevator door.

  A serpentine lunch line had formed on Five outside the cafeteria, but there was no Infinity.

  “Stay here,” she commanded Harvey. “Excuse me,” she said to the cashier, “but do you know if Infinity is going to be here?”

  “What’s that, miss?” The cash register clanged open.

  “Infinity,” Quinn repeated. “From the television show.”

  “Don’t know anything about that. Better try Eight. That’s where they have all the kiddie stuff.”

  Quinn marched back to Harvey. He checked her face for good news, then dropped his eyes as they began to fill with tears. She ushered him toward the escalator, taking care not to jostle the injured shoulder. She stalked up the moving stairs with Harvey scrambling along behind.

  Ferguson’s astronaut stood where they had left him, his face alternating steadily between pink and white with the flash of the Infinity lights above his head. He watched the twosome approach: attractive redhead, real classy and trim, probably from one of those towns like Lincoln or Wellesley. Working in a place like Ferguson’s, you got to know the type after a while. What in hell was she doing with the little skinny colored kid? Beat up like he was in an accident or something, and looked like he was crying.

  Quinn backed the guard up against the spacecraft and halted six inches from his face. She narrowed her eyes at him and said, in a low but menacing tone, “Where the fuck is Infinity?”

  The young man’s jaw dropped.

  “I said,” Quinn repeated, decibels building, “where the fuck is Infinity?”

  His mouth opened and shut silently.

  “This little kid has had a miserable couple of weeks, and this is the best thing to happen to him in his whole life. Now I want to know where the FUCK is Infinity?”

  “I’m sorry, madam.”

  “You bet you are. Now I want to talk to the president of this place and I want to talk to him now. Where’s the store phone?”

  The astronaut pointed wor
dlessly.

  “Come on, Harvey. We’re going to find your Marfax.”

  Harvey’s tears had dried into two chalky streaks. His head jerked back and forth between the equally enthralling spectacles of the dumbfounded Ferguson’s employee and the enraged, heroic Quinn. When she walked away, Harvey trotted along behind with eyes full of unspilled tears and awe.

  Quinn picked up the phone and waited for the operator.

  “Hello,” she said pleasantly. “Can you tell me the name of the president of this store, please? … Fine. Mr. Murdock. I want you to ring Mr. Murdock’s office for me, please, and tell him Miss Mallory has urgent business with him.” There was a pause while she listened politely. Then she continued, “It concerns my attorney, whom I intend to telephone this minute if I can’t reach Mr. Murdock. And possibly the police. Definitely the police.”

  Harvey hung on every word. There was no chance of Infinity’s matching this performance, and he knew it.

  “Mr. Murdock’s office? Fine. I’m Quinn Mallory; who’s this? … What’s your title? … I see. All right, you’ll do.” She related the afternoon’s adventure, beginning with Zindar’s tantalizing introduction in the lingerie department. At the end of her narrative she said, “And if we’re not standing in the presence of Marfax and Golon and the entire crew of the spaceship Infinity within five minutes, I will personally launch Ferguson’s Department Store into outer space. I mean it. I am very pissed.” Then she replaced the receiver. Harvey smiled.

  In three minutes and twenty seconds—Quinn monitored her watch—six members of the Infinity crew arrived via escalator, all present with the exception of Zindar, who was presumably still circling the bras and girdles. Marfax was a splendid green-scaled tower. He regarded Harvey with neon eyeballs.

  “What is the name of this small humanoid?” he demanded in a voice like thunder. Quinn wondered if there was an amplifier hidden in the costume.

  “Harvey Jackson,” Harvey croaked.

  “Marfax wishes private communication with Harvey Jackson,” Marfax said, and picked Harvey up in one swift motion. Quinn winced for the wounded shoulder, but Harvey’s face peering at her over the chartreuse biceps was at war between delight and terror only. Pain, if in attendance at all, did not signify.