by Peter Ponzo
Chapter 12
It was only later that I learned of what had happened at home, the next day, while I was at the lab. Part of this I got from Josey, then part from Charles.
Josey had looked carefully in the mirror. The dark streak on her upper lip was not Charles' secret salad dressing, as she had earlier suspected. The skin was discolored. In fact, it was not only dark in color, it felt somewhat fuzzy and seemed quite permanent. She had shaken her head as though to dispel the thought of a permanent streak and walked out of the bathroom.
Charles had seen her enter her bedroom, a room previously occupied by Penny, the wayward native girl. By that time I had already left for the lab, to test the "cocoon theory". Josey would sleep until noon, Charles was sure. He had carefully descended to the kitchen, unlocked the door to the basement, looked about one last time, then descended into the unlit stairwell, closing the door behind him. As Josey told it, he was gone for perhaps ten minutes when the phone rang.
Charles had run up the stairs and grabbed the phone before the fourth ring, hence before the answering machine would kick in.
"I'm afraid Miss Fleetsmith is not a home at the present time," he had said. It was his standard response. "May I take a message?"
He had gazed at the ceiling, then at the open door to the basement. With a foot, he had reached over and kicked the door half-closed. "Yes, surely. I will tell her when she returns home. Thank you for calling." He had hung the phone on the hook, pushed the basement door securely closed, then had slid into a chair, jumped again to his feet, then slid the lock into place on the basement door.
I heard the basement episode from Josey. Charles told me of the phone call. When he related these events, I hadn't even asked what the hell was going on in the basement. Stupid. Fran Debra Fleetsmith, PhD in Stupidity.
Josey was in her room when Charles continued with his part of the story, telling it as though it was a script for some B-grade movie:
Josey wanders down the stairs in her nightgown. I had already set the table for two. Without a word she plops into a chair.
She mentions the dark streak on her upper lip, how she had tried in vain to clean it off. Then she gulps her coffee.
Josey: "Thanks, Charlie. What'd I do without ya?"
Charles: "Quite well, I should think." I pause for effect, then: "Have you any plans for employment? I mean, you were a secretary to the late von Oerschott, I believe. Do you plan to continue that line of work? Is your intention—"
Josey: "Wanna get rid of me, Charlie? Fran says if I step outside, the cops get me. I should hang around for awhile. C'mon Charlie, I ain't so bad. If you like, I'll make dinner and you can take a rest. I'll even clean up the house. I'll wash the—"
Charles: "No need Miss Cowley. My intention was not to suggest that you leave. I merely inquired as to your plans, out of concern for your future."
Josey: "Nice, Charlie. Very nice. But I think I'll hang around for a bit, like Fran says. Never had it so good." Josey gulps the last of the coffee, stuffs an entire hard boiled egg into her mouth and gets out of her chair, walking to the window. Her body is silhouetted against the morning light. She places her hands on her hips. "Not bad for an old broad like me, eh Charlie? Old Hans liked it, this body. Oh lordy, how he liked this body." She leans toward me. "You can have it, you know, this body—such as it is. No need to kick me out. I'm all yours, if you—"
Charles: "Miss Cowley, I am afraid you misinterpret my intentions. I am merely concerned for your future. I have no desire to partake of your ... your—"
Josey: "Listen Charlie, you're not so pure you know. I know all about you and Pelvis. Can't fool me. English lessons? C'mon now. Every night, after we've all gone to bed? Takin' advantage of the poor little gal, I'd say. And she don't know no better than to—"
Charles: "Miss Cowley! I must insist that you discontinue this absurd line of reasoning. My intentions toward Miss Penny are entirely honourable and driven by the wishes of Miss Fleetsmith who has asked that I teach the young woman—"
Josey: "Sure Charlie, English. Too bad she's gone, eh Charlie? No more lessons, eh Charlie? But I'm makin you an offer. Take it or leave it." She winks at me then turns and walks slowly to the door. Leaning against the door frame, she looks back and says: "Your little secret is safe with me, Charlie boy," then she leaves.
Charlie finished the scene and stared intently at me. He was smiling, pleased with his storyline. Josey talked of some secret. Before I had a chance to ask Charles about this secret, he said, "Just what secret did she think she knew?"
We were sitting by the fire. I was sipping sweet sherry. I didn't answer. I was humming. Something strange was going on and it wasn't Charlie's sexual endeavors.
PART THREE
