Authors: Unknown
‘No.’ Why didn’t he hang up?
The telephone in the living-room rang again. Its distant, strident sounds caused every nerve in Janice’s body to scream in protest.
‘I’ve got to go, Bill,’ she heard herself sputter in almost a gasp. ‘The other phone is ringing.’
‘Answer it, I’ll wait,’ Bill said.
Janice put down the phone, too brusquely, and hurried up the hallway to the living-room.
By the time she got there Ivy had already answered it and was tailing off the conversation.
‘Fine, thank you,’ she said with a small smile. ‘Good-bye.’ And softly returned the phone to its cradle.
Janice’s heart pounded as she took several steps into the living-room. Her voice was surprisingly casual as she asked Ivy who had called.
‘A man,’ Ivy replied. ‘He wanted to know if I was all right’
‘Did he mention his name?’
‘No.’
‘Most likely a wrong number.’
‘Unh-unh. He called me Ivy.’
Janice was amazed at her own control as she idly commented, ‘Maybe a teacher at school. They worry about you kids, you know.’
‘Hey, I’ll bet it was Mr Soames.’ Ivy broke into laughter. ‘He’s always asking the girls how they are. He asked Bettina the other day, and she wasn’t even sick.’
Janice suddenly remembered Bill waiting on the other line.
‘Why don’t you go upstairs and lie down, dear? I’ve got your father hanging on the other phone.’
What about my milk and cookies?’
‘I’ll bring them up to you. Go now, run.’
Ivy moved towards the staircase with some reluctance.
‘Who was it?’ Bill asked.
‘One of the teachers wanting to know how Ivy is feeling,’ Janice replied without even pausing to think.
‘Oh? Which one?’
‘Mr Soames.’
Later, while Ivy was napping and Janice had a moment to collect her thoughts and calmly review each step of the ghastly situation, she wondered why she hadn’t just simply told Bill the truth. She could think of no answer beyond a vague, foolish wish to preserve the peace and tranquillity of their coming weekend. Yes, that was it - she was seeking to protect their weekend, to permit them once more, perhaps for the last time, to savour the loving motions of togetherness before the axe descended, as she knew it inevitably must.
She was buying time.
*
The cab deposited Bill on the park side of Sixty-second Street, across from Gristede’s Market. After a quick, instinctive sweep of the terrain, he jogged across the wide boulevard and entered the store.
Bill walked down the narrow aisles, filling the shiny aluminium shopping cart with cans and boxes and packets of beans, soups, kraut, bacon, hot dogs, milk, various kinds of breads and rolls, peanuts, chips, spreads, packaged cakes, ice cream, a veritable storehouse of provisions.
At the greens counter he selected three heads of iceberg lettuce and six bright-red hothouse tomatoes which he was shocked to find selling for a dollar five a pound.
Rounding the aisle of the meat counter, Bill thought he saw the fleeting image of a man disappearing around the far end in a big hurry. His suspicions roused, he trundled the cart at a fast gallop up the aisle and, panting heavily, turned the corner, fully expecting to see Sideburns fleeing down the aisle towards the exit. But all he saw were two elderly ladies eyeing him covertly in alarm. Bill grinned at them sheepishly and quickly steered his cart to the meat counter, where he ordered three strip steaks, a six-pound sirloin roast, and a dozen wafer-thin pork chops.
At the cashier’s table, Bill wrote out a cheque for eighty-one dollars and fifty-six cents while the boxboy compactly packaged his order in three large paper bags. He had intended to walk home the five blocks, but the bags were too numerous and bulky to permit it. He suggested his borrowing the cart and returning it later and was politely refused. He would have to find a cab somehow.
Leaving the groceries behind in the store, which they graciously allowed him to do, Bill hurried to the Mayflower Hotel, a short distance up the street. He waited ten minutes before a cab arrived and discharged a passenger.
By the time Bill stepped into the elevator of the regal old building, along with Mario, the doorman, who carried two of the heavier bags of groceries, the time was four fifteen.
The weekend had begun.
From the moment Bill entered the apartment, the atmosphere seemed charged with a kind of hidden electricity. Each was overly aware of the other, each move, look, and gesture intensified and heightened beyond its worth. Janice’s laughter was too full, overstated; Bill’s humour, his display of ardour, too overdrawn. Each sensed the false note in the other but was unwilling to diffuse it. Each was determined that nothing was going to spoil their weekend.
Bill dashed upstairs to say hello to Ivy while Janice unpacked the food.
Ivy had spent the afternoon composing a poem for Bill. They sat together on the bed while Ivy recited it, wringing every drop of pathos from each cherished word:
My dad is big, my dad is strong, He never does a thing that’s wrong. His voice is firm, his laughter gay, I think of him throughout the day. Oh, how lucky ‘tis to be A part of such a man as he.
Bill’s eyes were moist as he leaned over and kissed Ivy’s proud and smiling face.
‘That’s terrific, Princess.’ Bill’s voice was husky with emotion. ‘I’ll try to live up to it.’
As Bill changed into his red velvet smoking jacket - last year’s Christmas present from Janice - it occurred to him that he should have brought something home for Ivy; a small present or flowers. He was angry at himself for being so thoughtless. He’d make up for it tomorrow. Somehow.
Bill descended the last step into the living-room and headed for the liquor cart, where he knew the ice would be waiting, when Janice suddenly appeared at the dining-room doorway, wearing a small, wondrous smile.
‘Hey, come here.’ Her voice was soft, sensuous.
Bill went to her, and they kissed warmly. Then Bill felt the tears on her face.
‘What gives, honey?’ he asked her gently.
‘I dig you, that’s what gives,’ Janice replied, her face radiant with love.
Until this moment, Bill hadn’t noticed the box in Janice’s hand. It was a gift box, beautifully wrapped and ribboned, with a small card peeking out of the flap.
Where did that come from?’ Bill asked, puzzled.
Janice’s free arm still clung to his shoulder. Her smile deepened as her eyes probed the tender, patient, mysterious face of the man she loved.
‘Where you put it, darling.’ Janice smiled, continuing the game. ‘On top of the pork chops.’
Bill was about to protest when Janice interrupted.
‘Please sign the card, Bill. She’ll be so happy.’
The card was delicately designed, featuring an array of tiny flowers surrounding the etched legend: ‘Hope you’re feeling better.’
‘What’s in it?’ Janice asked, fingering the box.
What?’
What did you buy her?’
‘It’s a surprise,’ Bill said.
Ivy and Janice’s eagerness to undo the ribbon and find out what the box contained was matched by Bill’s; however, with Bill, eagerness was tempered by doubt, worry and deep-seated fear. Someone had put the present in one of the food bags when he’d left the market to find a cab. Of that he was certain. Who that someone was also presented no great challenge to his deductive powers. It had to be Sideburns. But why?
‘Oh, Daddy!’ Ivy cried, producing a beautiful hand-painted purse from a nest of tissue. ‘Oh, Daddy, I love you, love you!’
She flung her arms around Bill’s neck and squeezed him until he shouted with laughter, ‘Okay, okay, help, please, somebody!’
‘But really, Daddy, it’s perfect.’
Ivy kissed Bill once again, then turned to study her gift.
Similar in style to the, Fragonards inset in their living-room ceiling, the illustration on the pale-blue satin purse featured a lovely French courtesan sitting on a flower-garlanded swing being pushed by a dashing swain. It was lush, excessive, and utterly romantic. Ivy hugged it to her breast.
‘How did you know I always wanted it, Daddy?’
‘I guessed,’ Bill said, the smile slowly fading from his face.
Now it was the demon’s head - blunt snout, sunken eyes, stubby horns, lascivious serpent’s tongue, a disgusting baroque horror leering down at Bill from the complex plasterwork of the ceiling plaque in the centre of their bedroom. Small, circular, ancient, the plaque had once served as centre base for a light fixture. A small chandelier, perhaps. Probably gas, from the age of the building, Bill thought, lying in bed, watching the constantly changing patterns appear, then recede, then alter into new forms all at the whim of his imagination. Forcing his eyes to shift focus slightly, Bill made the demon dissolve into shapeless fragments and, with a bit of concentration, brought back the soft, flowing, graceful lines of the woman running. She, too, was an old friend like the demon, and the man playing cards, and the ship’s prow slicing through a sea in turmoil. All old friends, companions of the nights when Bill couldn’t sleep.
It was after three, according to the luminous dial on the clock-radio. Janice’s soft, rhythmic breathing beside him and the gentle whir of something electrical downstairs were the only sounds to be heard at this early hour.
At least she can sleep, Bill thought, feeling the warmth of her leg against his. The sleep of innocence. Of trust and faith and belief in the perfect order and certainty of their lives. He had not told Janice about Sideburns because he didn’t want to shatter that belief. As long as Bill thought himself the target, the focal point of Sideburns’ interest, why on earth drag Janice into it, especially since he hadn’t the foggiest idea what the whole thing was about?
But now - with the coming of the gift - Bill knew that all his wishful thinking, his carefully organized conjectures and rationalizations would have to be drastically revised since it was obvious now that he was not Sideburns’ exclusive target. The gift had thrust its way beyond Bill’s life into the very centre of his family’s lives. Into the very heart of his home.
Sideburns knew a great deal about them. Knew of Ivy’s illness. Knew just the thing that would please her. Knew more than Bill did, in fact.
What the hell’s going on here anyway?’ he uttered aloud.
Janice stirred in her sleep, then turned over and snuggled into his side. Bill shut his eyes. Remained perfectly still.
What was it? Ivy had asked. ‘How did you know I always wanted it, Daddy?’ The question now on Bill’s mind was: ‘How did he know?’
Bill drifted into sleep gradually, fearfully, pausing on the edge of a deep jungle, reluctantly being drawn into its cloying fastness, its myriad colour grades, its menacing refuge for fang and claw. Great coco palms reared towards the sky, blotting out the sun, surrounded by cascading liana vines, choking the trees and pathways. It was a sinister cathedral with the mould of a hundred years scattered along the ground, musky with decay. Bill looked around, not sure where he was or what direction he should take to get out. He finally selected an opening between two great trees and stepped through it carefully. One pace, two paces, three … Suddenly, the bottom dropped out from beneath his world, and he began to fall. And fall. And fall..,.
*
‘Finish your breakfast before it gets cold.’
Ivy smiled at Bill and nodded, glad to please him in every way she could this morning.
They were sitting opposite each other, across the narrow, shiny, polyurethaned dining table. The last to fall asleep, Bill had been the first to awaken and now sat bleary-eyed in robe, sipping coffee, smoking cigarettes, and observing his daughter slurping spoonfuls of some greyish substance he thought to be oatmeal, but couldn’t be sure.
Ivy had awakened brimming with health and bursting with energy. What plans had they for the weekend, was her first exuberant query. Bill was thankful that Janice fielded that one, explaining to Ivy that she’d have to stay in for the weekend because of her recent illness.
‘But I feel fine now, Mom!’ Ivy protested.
‘I know,’ Janice instructed. ‘But you don’t press your luck after an illness. The rule is to stay indoors at least two days after ia temperature returns to normal.’ ‘Great.’ Ivy pouted. ‘I’ll be just in time for school.’ Bill watched Ivy tip the plate of cereal to gain the last mouthful. The satin hand-painted purse rested alongside her plate, where she could glance at it and lovingly contemplate its beauty between each spoonful. She obviously couldn’t let it out of her sight.
‘Is it really what you always wanted?’ Bill asked, launching on a little fishing expedition.
‘Oh, yes,’ Ivy said with a sincere smile.
‘Or are you just saying that to please me?’
‘Oh, no, Daddy. I’ve always wanted it, really.’
Bill caused, mentally phrasing bis next question with care.
‘To want it so badly, you must have seen it someplace.’
Ivy looked at Bill quizzically but made no reply.
‘Did you see it in a store someplace?’
‘No,’ Ivy said. ‘I never saw it in a store.’ Clearly, she was puzzled by this line of questioning and was seeking a clue to what answers Bill expected of her.
‘Well, if you never saw it before, how did you know it was really what you wanted?’ Bill demanded, his voice rising.
‘I don’t know, Daddy. I just knew.’
‘But to want something very badly has to mean that you know what it is you want? Which means that you have to have seen it someplace.’ Bill’s voice had become strident.
Confused, Ivy observed him nervously.
‘Well?’ Bill shouted.
‘Leave her alone, Bill.’ Janice said quietly.
Bill looked up and saw Janice standing at the kitchen doorway. He didn’t know how long she had been standing there but long enough, obviously, to have taken in the gist of the interrogation.
‘I didn’t see it anyplace, Daddy!’ Ivy cried, tears spilling from her eyes. ‘I guess I just wanted it because … because’ she picked up the purse and fingered the painting with a delicate caress - ‘because it’s just like a part of our lives. It’s like we are, in this apartment … like the paintings in the ceiling … It’s perfect, and I love it… and when I first saw it yesterday, I knew right away that I loved it … you know? Like you see something and it’s so perfect that you know you’ve always wanted it, even though you’ve never seen it before …’ Having noted the long, silent exchange between her mother and father, Ivy realized that somehow she was the cause of what was happening and that even if she didn’t understand it, there were fences to mend and she was expected to do it. ‘I loved it without knowing about it. Like you knew I would when you bought it for me.’ She opened the purse and took out a dainty handkerchief. As she wiped the tears from her cheeks, she looked across at Bill with eyes that begged understanding and offered love. ‘I’m sorry, Daddy, if Pve made you angry.’