by Ira Levin
‘Dorrie, this is important.’
‘Can’t you tell me now?’
‘No. I have to see you. Meet me at the bench in half an hour.’
‘It’s drizzling out. Can’t you come to the lounge downstairs?’
‘No. Listen, you know that place where we had the cheese-burgers last night? Gideon’s? Well, meet me there. At nine.’
‘I don’t see why you can’t come to the lounge—’
‘Baby, please—’
‘Is – is it anything to do with tomorrow?’
‘I’ll explain everything at Gideon’s.’
‘Is it?’
‘Well, yes and no. Look, everything’s going to be all right. I’ll explain everything. You just be there at nine.’
‘All right.’
At ten minutes to nine he opened the bottom drawer of his bureau and took two envelopes from under the pyjamas. One envelope was stamped, sealed, and addressed:
Miss Ellen Kingship
North Dormitory
Caldwell College
Caldwell, Wisconsin.
He had typed the address that afternoon in the Student Union lounge, on one of the typewriters available for general student use. In the envelope was the note that Dorothy had written in class that morning. The other envelope contained the two capsules.
He put one envelope in each of the inner pockets of his jacket, taking care to remember which envelope was on which side. Then he put on his trenchcoat, belted it securely, and with a final glance in the mirror, left the room.
When he opened the front door of the house he was careful to step out with his right foot forward, smiling indulgently at himself as he did so.
EIGHT
Gideon’s was practically empty when he arrived. Only two booths were occupied; in one, a pair of elderly men sat frozen over a chessboard; in the other, across the room, Dorothy sat with her hands clasped around a cup of coffee, gazing down at it as though it were a crystal ball. She had a white kerchief tied about her head. The hair that showed in front was a series of flattened damp-darkened rings, each transfixed by a bobby pin.
She became aware of him only when he was standing at the head of the booth taking off his coat. Then she looked up, her brown eyes worried. She had no makeup on. Her pallor and the closeness of her hair made her seem younger. He put his coat on a hook beside her raincoat and eased into the seat opposite her. ‘What is it?’ she asked anxiously.
Gideon, a sunken-cheeked old man, came to their table. ‘What’s yours?’
‘Coffee.’
‘Jest coffee?’
‘Yes.’
Gideon moved away, his slippered feet dragging audibly. Dorothy leaned forward. ‘What is it?’
He kept his voice low, matter-of-fact. ‘When I got back to my place this afternoon there was a message for me. Hermy Godsen called.’
Her hands squeezed tighter around the coffee cup. ‘Hermy Godsen—’
‘I called him back.’ He paused for a moment, scratching the table-top. ‘He made a mistake with those pills the other day. His uncle—’ He cut off as Gideon approached with a cup of coffee rattling in his hand. They sat motionless, eyes locked, until the old man was gone. ‘His uncle switched things around in the drugstore or something. Those pills weren’t what they were supposed to be.’
‘What were they?’ She sounded frightened.
‘Some kind of emetic. You said you threw up.’ Lifting his cup, he put a paper napkin in the saucer to absorb the coffee that Gideon’s shaking hand had spilled. He pressed the bottom of the cup into the napkin to wipe it.
She breathed relief. ‘Well, that’s all over with. They didn’t hurt me. The way you spoke on the phone, you got me so worried—’
‘That’s not the point, baby.’ He put the soggy napkin to one side. ‘I saw Hermy just before I called you. He gave me the right pills, the ones we should have had last time.’
Her face sagged. ‘No—’
‘Well there’s nothing tragic. We’re right where we were Monday, that’s all. It’s a second chance. If they work, everything’s rosy. If not, we can still get married tomorrow.’ He stirred his coffee slowly, watching it swirl. ‘I’ve got them with me. You can take them tonight.’
‘But—’
‘But what?’
‘I don’t want a second chance. I don’t want any more pills—’ She leaned forward, hands knotted white on the table. ‘All I’ve been thinking about is tomorrow, how wonderful, how happy—’ She closed her eyes, the lids pressing out tears.
Her voice had risen. He glanced across the room to where the chess players sat with Gideon watching. Fishing a nickel from his pocket, he pushed it into the jukebox selector and jabbed one of the buttons. Then he clasped her clenched hands, forced them open, held them. ‘Baby, baby,’ he soothed, ‘do we have to go through it all again? It’s you I’m thinking of. You, not me.’
‘No.’ She opened her eyes, staring at him. ‘If you were thinking of me you’d want what I want.’ Music blared up, loud brassy jazz.
‘What do you want, baby? To starve? This is no movie; this is real.’
‘We wouldn’t starve. You’re making it worse than it would be. You’d get a good job even if you didn’t finish school. You’re smart, you’re—’
‘You don’t know,’ he said flatly. ‘You just don’t know. You’re a kid who’s been rich all her life.’
Her hands tried to clench within his. ‘Why must everyone always throw that at me? Why must you? Why do you think that’s so important?’
‘It is important, Dorrie, whether you like it or not. Look at you – a pair of shoes to match every outfit, handbag to match every pair of shoes. You were brought up that way. You can’t—’
‘Do you think that matters? Do you think I care?’ She paused. Her hands relaxed, and when she spoke again the anger in her voice had softened to a straining earnestness. ‘I know you smile at me sometimes, at the movies I like, at my being romantic. Maybe it’s because you’re five years older than I am, or because you were in the army, or because you’re a man – I don’t know. But I believe, I truly believe, that if two people really love each other – the way I love you, the way you say you love me – then nothing else matters very much – money, things like that, they just don’t matter. I believe that, I really do—’ Her hands pulled away from his and flew to her face.
He drew a handkerchief from his breast pocket and touched it to the back of her hand. She took it and held it against her eyes. ‘Baby, I believe that too. You know I do,’ he said gently.
‘Do you know what I did today?’ He paused. ‘Two things. I bought a wedding ring for you, and I put a classified ad in the Sunday Clarion. An ad for a job. Night work.’ She patted her eyes with her handkerchief. ‘Maybe I did paint things too black. Sure, we’ll manage to get along, and we’ll be happy. But let’s be just a little realistic, Dorrie. We’ll be even happier if we can get married this summer with your father’s approval. You can’t deny that. And all you have to do for us to have a chance at that extra happiness is just take these pills.’ He reached into his inner pocket and brought out the envelope, pressing it to make sure it was the right one. ‘There isn’t one logical reason why you should refuse.’
She folded the handkerchief and turned it in her hands, looking at it. ‘Since Tuesday morning I’ve been dreaming about tomorrow. It changed everything – the whole world.’ She pushed the handkerchief over to him. ‘All my life I’ve been arranging things to suit my father.’
‘I know you’re disappointed, Dorrie. But you’ve got to think of the future.’ He extended the envelope to her. Her hands, folded on the table, made no move to accept it. He put it on the table between them, a white rectangle slightly swollen by the capsules inside. ‘I’m prepared to take a night job now, to quit school at the end of this term. All I’m asking you to do is to swallow a couple of pills.’
Her hands remained folded, her eyes on the sterile whiteness of the envelope.
; He spoke with cool authority: ‘If you refuse to take them, Dorothy, you’re being stubborn, unrealistic, and unfair. Unfair more to yourself than to me.’
The jazz record ended, the coloured lights died, and there was silence.
They sat with the envelope between them.
Across the room there was the whisper of a chessman being placed and an old man’s voice said, ‘Check.’
Her hands parted slightly and he saw the glisten of sweat in her palms. His own hands were sweating too, he realized. Her eyes lifted from the envelope to meet his.
‘Please, baby—’
She looked down again, her face rigid.
She took the envelope. She pushed it into the handbag on the bench beside her and then sat gazing at her hands on the table.
He reached across the table and touched her hand, caressed the back of it, clasped it. With his other hand he pushed his untouched coffee over to her. He watched her lift the cup and drink. He found another nickel in his pocket and, still holding her hand, dropped the coin into the selector and pressed the button opposite ‘Some Enchanted Evening’.
They walked the wet concrete paths in silence, divorced by the privacy of their thoughts, holding hands through habit. The rain had stopped, but face-tingling moisture filled the air, defining the scope of each street-lamp in shifting grey.
Across the street from the dorm, they kissed. Her lips under his were cool and compressed. When he tried to part them she shook her head. He held her for a few minutes, whispering persuasively, and then they exchanged good nights. He watched as she crossed the street and passed into the yellow-lighted hall of the building.
He went to a nearby bar, where he drank two glasses of beer and tore a paper napkin into a delicate filigreed square of admirable detail. When half an hour had passed, he stepped into the telephone booth and dialled the number of the dorm. He asked the girl at the switchboard for Dorothy’s room.
She answered after two rings. ‘Hello?’
‘Hello, Dorrie?’ Silence at her end. ‘Dorrie, did you do it?’
A pause. ‘Yes.’
‘When?’
‘A few minutes ago.’
He drew a deep breath. ‘Baby, does that girl on the switchboard ever listen in?’
‘No. They fired the last girl for—’
‘Well listen, I didn’t want to tell you before, but – they might hurt a little.’ She said nothing. He continued, ‘Hermy said you’ll probably throw up, like before. And you might get a sort of burning sensation in your throat and some pains in your stomach. Whatever happens, don’t get frightened. It’ll just mean that the pills are working. Don’t call anyone.’ He paused, waiting for her to say something, but she was silent. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before but, well, it won’t hurt too much. And it’ll be over before you know it.’ A pause. ‘You’re not angry with me, are you, Dorrie?’
‘No.’
‘You’ll see, it’ll all be for the best.’
‘I know. I’m sorry I was stubborn.’
‘That’s all right, baby. Don’t apologize.’
‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’
‘Yes.’
There was silence for a moment and then she said. ‘Well, goodnight.’
‘Goodbye, Dorothy,’ he said.
NINE
Striding into the classroom Friday morning he felt weightless and tall and wonderful. It was a beautiful day; sunlight poured into the room and bounced off the metal chairs to spangle the walls and ceiling. Taking his seat in the back of the room, he stretched his legs all the way out and folded his hands across his chest, watching the other students crowd in. The morning’s radiance had inflamed them all, and tomorrow was the first Varsity baseball game, with the Spring Dance in the evening; there was chattering, shouting, grinning, and laughter.
Three girls stood off to the side and whispered excitedly. He wondered if they were dorm girls, if they could possibly be talking about Dorothy. She couldn’t have been found yet. Why would anyone enter her room? They would think she wanted to sleep late. He was counting on her not being found for several hours; he held his breath until the girls’ whispering erupted into laughter.
No, it was unlikely that she would be found before one o’clock or so. ‘Dorothy Kingship wasn’t at breakfast and she wasn’t at lunch either’ – then they would knock on her door and get no answer. They’d most likely have to get the house mother or someone with a key. Or it might not even happen then. Many of the dorm girls slept through breakfast, and some of them ate lunch out occasionally. Dorrie hadn’t had any close friends who would miss her right away. No, if his luck held, they might not find her until Ellen’s phone call came.
The night before, after saying goodbye to Dorothy on the telephone, he had returned to the dorm. In the mailbox on the corner he had posted the envelope addressed to Ellen Kingship, the envelope containing Dorothy’s suicide note. The first mail collection of the morning was at six; Caldwell was only a hundred miles away and so the letter would be delivered this afternoon. If Dorothy were found in the morning, Ellen, notified by her father, might leave Caldwell for Blue River before the letter arrived, which would mean that an investigation of some sort would almost certainly be launched, because the suicide note would not be found until Ellen returned to Caldwell. It was the only risk, but it was a small one and unavoidable; it had been impossible for him to sneak into the Girls’ Dormitory to plant the note in Dorothy’s room, and impractical to secrete it in the pocket of her coat or in one of her books prior to giving her the pills, in which case there would have been the far greater risk of Dorothy finding the note and throwing it away or, still worse, putting two and two together.
He had decided upon noon as the safety mark. If Dorothy were found after twelve, Ellen would have received the note by the time the school authorities contacted Leo Kingship and Kingship in turn contacted her. If his luck really held, Dorothy would not he discovered until late afternoon, a frantic phone call from Ellen leading to the discovery. Then everything would be neat and in its proper order.
There would be an autopsy, of course. It would reveal the presence of a great deal of arsenic and a two-month embryo – the way and the why of her suicide. That and the note would more than satisfy the police. Oh, they would make a perfunctory check of the local drugstores, but it would net them only a fat zero. They might even consider the Pharmacy supply room. They would ask the students, ‘Did you see this girl in the supply room or anywhere in the Pharmacy Building?’ – displaying a photograph of the deceased. Which would produce another zero. It would be a mystery, but hardly an important one; even if they couldn’t be sure of the source of the arsenic, her death would still be an indisputable suicide.
Would they look for the man in the case, the lover? He considered that unlikely. For all they knew she was as promiscuous as a bunny. That was hardly their concern. But what about Kingship? Would outraged morality inaugurate a private inquiry? ‘Find the man who ruined my daughter!’ Although, from the description of her father that Dorothy had painted, Kingship would be more likely to think ‘Aha, she was ruined all along. Like mother, like daughter.’ Still, there might be an inquiry …
He would certainly be dragged into that. They had been seen together, though not as frequently as might be expected. In the beginning, when success with Dorothy had been in question, he had not taken her to popular places; there had been that other rich girl last year, and if Dorothy didn’t work out as he planned there would be others in the future; he didn’t want the reputation of a money-chaser. Then, when Dorothy did work out, they had gone to movies, to his room, and to quiet places like Gideon’s. Meeting at the bench rather than in the dorm lounge had become a custom.
He would be involved in any inquiry all right, but Dorothy hadn’t told anyone they were going steady, so other men would be involved too. There was the red-headed one she’d been chatting with outside the classroom the day he first saw her and noticed the copper-stamped Kingship on her matches, a
nd the one she’d started knitting argyle socks for, and every man she’d dated once or twice – they would all be brought into it, and then it would be anybody’s guess as to who had ‘ruined’ her because all would deny it. And as thorough as the investigation might be, Kingship could never be certain that he hadn’t completely overlooked the ‘guilty’ party. There would be suspicion directed at all the men, proof against none.
No, everything would be perfect. There would be no quitting school, no shipping clerk’s job, no oppressing wife and child, no vengeful Kingship. Only one tiny shadow … Suppose he were pointed out around campus as one of the men who’d gone with Dorothy. Suppose that the girl who had let him into the supply room should see him again, hear who he was, learn that he wasn’t a Pharmacy student at all … But even that was unlikely, out of twelve thousand students … But suppose the very worst happened. Suppose she saw him, remembered, and went to the police. Even then, it would be no evidence. So he was in the supply room. He could make up some kind of excuse and they would have to believe him, because there would still be the note, the note in Dorothy’s handwriting. How could they explain—
The door at the side of the room opened, creating a draught that lifted the pages of his notebook. He turned to see who it was. It was Dorothy.
Shock burst over him, hot as a wave of lava. He half rose, blood rushing to his face, his chest a block of ice. Sweat dotted his body and crawled like a million insects. He knew it was written on his face in swollen eyes and burning cheeks, written for her to see, but he couldn’t stop it. She was looking at him wonderingly, the door closing behind her. Like any other day; books under her arm, green sweater, plaid skirt. Dorothy. Coming to him, made anxious by his face.
His notebook slapped to the floor. He bent down, seizing the momentary escape. He stayed with his face near the side of the seat, trying to breathe. What happened? Oh God! She didn’t take the pills! She couldn’t have! She lied! The bitch. The lying goddamned bitch! The note on its way to Ellen – Oh Jesus, Jesus!
