Being Invisible (22 page)

“I trust you’re good for a taxi, anyway,” said she when they had reached the lobby, where the cockeyed man now on duty in the cage contemptuously disregarded their departure.

Wagner just wondered whether he had enough cash with him to pay for her ride home, wherever that might be, perhaps in an outlying district or suburb. He had taken the young lady’s maidenhead without even knowing where she lived: such lack of care was unprecedented in his history. Perhaps he was on the threshold of a new existence, where precedents would not be all that important. Yet he had felt vulnerable as they passed the desk clerk—even though such a room was paid for on entrance and had no telephone or room service for which extra charges could be assessed.

The taxi hailed by Mary Alice from curbside was already occupied, but she seemed prescient, for as if in answer to her summons it pulled to a stop directly in front of her.

The door was flung open, and Jackie Grinzing stepped out of the vehicle. She ignored Mary Alice to smile sardonically at Wagner.

“At least I had the decency to find another hotel than the nearest one to the office,” said she.

Mary Alice had caught the door of the taxi. “Go fuck yourself, Jackie. Come on, darling.” She climbed in.

Had Wagner had his wits about him, he might have done something before it got this far, but obviously there was nothing left to preserve now. He climbed into the cab after Mary Alice.

He shrugged at her. “I guess it’s pretty certain
now
that you’ve lost your job.”

“I told you it was a foregone conclusion.” She leaned forward to give the driver Wagner’s home address.

Wagner was both flattered and worried. “How do you happen to know where I live?”

Mary Alice settled back in the seat. “I made you my hobby, Fred. You really succeeded in fascinating me. You’re brilliant, but there’s no getting away from the fact that you’re getting older and life has not brought you the rewards your talent deserves. That could be either
your
fault or life’s, and guess which one always has the upper hand?”

This was still another phase: Mary Alice as girl-philosopher.

“I’m not that old,” he said.

“I don’t call six years at that dumb place getting anywhere. And anyway except for Roy everybody else is a woman.”

She had forgotten Gordon, but then he was soon to leave. Wagner tried to change the subject. “I’ve been thinking about what to tell your parents, Mary Alice,” he lied. “Your friend’s phone was out of order; you assumed it was a temporary condition, and by the time you realized it couldn’t be repaired till morning, it was too late to go into the street to a public phone. Anyway, by then they’d have been asleep.”

“Fred,” Mary Alice said, patting his wrist, “you’ve been letting your potential go to seed. It’s ridiculous that a person with your command of the English language should be in harness to some second-rate catalogue-writing business for the best years of his life.” She glanced over his shoulder. “But here we are. Pay the man.” She was already out the door.

Wagner could not believe that in such a short time they had made the trip for which the record by bus could be no less than thirty minutes, but he saw the correct house number over the double entrance doors and below it the dour morning doorman.

The taxi driver, a toothy, long-jawed man of about Wagner’s age, accepted the fare with a wink. “Boy,” said he, “they can sure bitch you up sometimes. My old lady —”

Wagner was on the sidewalk. He realized only now, when he saw Andy the doorman sizing up Mary Alice, that she clearly showed the night’s wear and tear. He was embarrassed, he who had hitherto been seen only in the company of the well-groomed Babe. Mary Alice looked for all the world like a girl who had been filled with liquor, screwed all night, and now was still with her user only because no convenient moment had yet appeared in which she could be dumped.

He made the best of a bad job, and introduced her to Andy as “Miss Phillips. We work together.”

This did not erase the scowl from Andy’s face. What did, however, was Mary Alice’s contribution. “We just both got fired!” She clamped a proprietor’s grip on Wagner’s arm. Wagner had never before seen Andy’s grin, which proved vulpine.

Just as they arrived at the elevator, its doors opened and Debbie Fong and Ellen Mackintosh, the roommates and co-workers, stepped into the lobby. By contrast with these sleek young ladies, Mary Alice might have been his charwoman.

Wagner muttered a hello. As if Mary Alice were a stranger, he made a gallant little bowing gesture the implication of which was that she should board the elevator before him. She did not comply. Instead she positively gawked at Debbie and Ellen.

“Hi, Ed!” Ellen cried enthusiastically.

Debbie poked an elbow at her. “It’s
Fred.
Hi, Fred. We’re going to a seminar.”

“I see,” said Wagner. “Well, enjoy yourselves.”

“That’s why we’re off today,” said Ellen. “Sorry I called you Ed. I knew it was Fred.” It looked as though she had subtly lightened her hair; Debbie of course retained the glossy black bangs of her heritage.

Thus far it seemed as though he might be getting away with it, but now Mary Alice said, in a voice with an identifiable edge, “I’m Fred’s friend.”

The roommates were affable as always when introducing themselves, but Wagner could not doubt that they would despise him now.

Once he and Mary Alice were on the elevator, she asked, with an implied groan, “
Who
were those two characters?”

Wagner had both keys ready, and as soon as the car reached his floor he dashed for the door of his apartment and opened it with dispatch. Mary Alice however took her time, staring up and down the hallway, apparently with interest, bleak though this prospect had always seemed to him.

Standing inside the doorway, he motioned to her.

“What’s the hurry?” she asked, grinning disdainfully. “Don’t you want to run into any more call girls?”

He brought her inside and closed the door. “You’re joking. Debbie and Ellen both have junior-executive positions at a big downtown bank.”

“Oh,
sure
they do,” said Mary Alice, glancing around the living room. “How long have you been living in this apartment, Fred?”

“Three years. We—” He caught himself. It seemed wrong to allude to Babe in any way at this time, lest Mary Alice seem even more of an invader. “Three years, take or leave a little.”

“Don’t you think it’s time then to get drapes that fit the windows?” she asked, turning abruptly away from the articles in question. “Oh, so there’s how you got so smart.” She nodded at the small bookcase in the corner, which in point of fact held few books, with its empty shelf-and-a-half forlornly awaiting Babe’s return with her potted plants, and then some more of its space was occupied by horizontaled magazines and newspapers, all outdated. There was probably a total of no more than two dozen volumes on the lowest shelf of all, which sagged midways thereby, and it would have been fruitless to seek literature as such amongst the classified phone book, a no doubt useful but never used tome on the removal of stains, and a thick-spined
Who’s Who in Private Country Clubs,
in which his sister and brother-in-law had paid to have themselves listed (“but you have to be invited”).

Along with the houseplants, Babe had taken away all the pictures, which of course were her property, and the only decoration on the walls at this time were rectangles of pale plaster outlined in the soot that must always be in the air but otherwise goes undetected: an unpleasant thought. Only now did it occur to Wagner that it must be a shabby-looking place: the irony was that the dusty-gold draperies were the most attractive item on hand, having been sewn to order by the appropriate department of an expensive store and installed only a year ago.

In an officious stride Mary Alice went back to the kitchen, followed by Wagner, who asked, if only to remind her who was host, “Would you like some coffee?”

“Oh,” said she, “I’m capable of
that.
” She seized the kettle from the stovetop and went to fill it at the sink.

Wagner hastened to fetch the jar of powder from a cabinet which was otherwise empty except for a teabag without a string and a can of Petite Marmite Henry IV, imported from Portugal and given to Babe by Cleve Guillaume after breaking up with a boy who had cost him a fortune in exotic canned goods. The tin was slightly deformed from, probably, a fall; fearing botulism, the Wagners had never broached it. In any event, Wagner did not want a stranger to see how pitiful was his larder.

Yes, despite their excruciatingly intimate association of the night before, Mary Alice now seemed, in the environment of his own home, the slightest of acquaintances.

Deaf to direction, she quickly ransacked two drawers before she found the spoons. Then she sloppily shoveled too much instant coffee into each of the cups.

“When I get some of this in me, I’ll use the phone,” she said, indicating the wall-hung instrument next to the refrigerator. “My father will have gone to work by then, and I can talk to my mom.”

Wagner sighed in relief. “Oh, good. I’m sure you can explain it all.” He was not sure in the least, but he wished this whole matter could be concluded without delay. He had to give himself to the really important issue: namely, what he would now do with his life. Surely it was all to the good that he finally had no alternative to sitting down and writing that novel. It was no longer the thing he would eventually do when the time came. The moment was here; he no longer had a source of income.

He went on. “And when you’ve got that straightened out, we’d better think about returning to the office, unpleasant as that might seem. But you left your coat there, I believe. And I have to pick up my check.”

“I’m never going back to that shit hole,” Mary Alice said, plucking away and dropping to the counter the little blue plastic bird from the spout of the teakettle. Wagner had always found its whistle useful as well as homey, but, not wanting to be provocative, made no complaint now. “They can mail my check. And they can keep the coat. I’m sick of it. It’s the kind of clothes you wear as one of the jerks who have to go to work at an office every day.”

Wagner moved quickly to make the coffee as soon as it seemed sufficient time had gone by for the water to have heated, but no doubt owing to his impatience he miscalculated.

Mary Alice made a face and lowered the mug. “This is
cold.
”

“Sorry,” said Wagner. “But that’s why the bird was there.”

“I can’t stand cute kitchens,” Mary Alice said. “At least you don’t have twine coming out of a ceramic French chef’s lips or a duck’s-head towel rack.”

“Better call Mom,” Wagner advised.

She grimaced at him. “She’s my mother and not yours.”

“What I meant was she’ll be worried.”

Mary Alice went to the wall phone, where she turned and asked, “Do you mind?”

“Oh, sure.” He left the kitchen and went into the bedroom. That’s where his real library was: one whole wall of it. Babe had not been too happy about giving up that much picture space, but it was the only wall he claimed of the many. The bed was impeccable: he had to admit that Polly Todvik and Glen had made it up tightly before they departed. He reminded himself that he must have the locks changed. After a long while he went out into the living room, expecting to find that Mary Alice had concluded her phone call, but he could still hear her remotely speaking from time to time. He could not distinguish the words, but the tone seemed calm enough. After all, she was no longer a minor. She even had a BA. Staying away all night should not be an occasion for parental outrage.

It turned out to be fortunate that she was so longwinded. A susurrus was heard at the door. As he looked there a pink envelope came sliding through the slit at the threshold. He went hastily to take and—to pocket it, for out in the kitchen Mary Alice had suddenly raised her voice.

“All right then,” she cried. “You’ll never see me again!”

Immediately she came marching out. “Bad luck,” said she. “My dad was home, refused to go to work with me missing. We tangled, as I was afraid we would. I don’t know if you heard just now.”

Wagner nodded lugubriously. “I’m sure you’ll both settle down, though, before long. My sister and I have always fought a lot, but we always soon make peace.” He gave a hollow laugh. “We have to. We don’t have anybody else.”

“Don’t minimize this,” said Mary Alice. “I’m a stubborn cookie. If I say I’ll do or not do something, I don’t back down, whatever the consequences.”

Wagner kept nodding, like a certain kind of spring-necked toy figure. “Gosh,” he said eventually, for she was staring fixedly at him, “friendship with me hasn’t helped, has it?”

“Fred,” said Mary Alice, “I just intended to stay with you till this thing blew over. I didn’t spell that out because I didn’t want you to be disappointed. But now it looks a whole lot like I’ll be moving in for good. My father is as stubborn as I am.” She looked around. “Now where’s your bathroom? I need a good hot tubbing.”

Wagner believed the time to discuss the matter would be after her belated bath, so he politely found a clean towel for her and a thicker piece of soap than that snottily deliquescing in the niche above the tub.

Once Mary Alice closed the door behind her, he read the pink letter.

DEAR FREDO
—

I admit I was darn mad when you stood me up. I still am some. But I’m getting a little scared by now. It doesn’t seem like you at all to not get in touch all this time. You wouldn’t be likely to stay out all night without informing me of all people. I’m going to try to find where you work—I bet Glen can tell me—and call there. But if I don’t find you by noon, I’ll bring the cops in. So
please
if you come back meantime, let me know.

Your devoted but worried

SANDO

The affectionate diminutives were new since he had last seen Sandra. Unless the one assigned him were to be pronounced “Fraydo,” shouldn’t it be rather spelled with two
d’s
?

W
HILE MARY ALICE WAS
bathing was a good time to get straight with Sandra, and therefore he called the latter on the bedroom phone.