The Brownstone, page 19
“It wasn’t nonsense, Justin! The place was a mess,” she pleaded. She reached for her robe and felt the stiffness in her body.
“Maybe you only wished it that way.”
“I don’t understand what you mean?”
“Look, I know I’ve been spending too much time down there. You get lonely, so—you get jealous.”
Chandal looked into his eyes. She could see that he believed what he was saying. She hesitated, then said, “Justin, the night before last, there was a picture, a large picture of Magdalen, and it was hanging over the developing trays.”
“I know. So?” He disappeared into the bathroom.
“Yesterday, it was gone.” She tied her robe and crossed to the bathroom door.
“Right. I didn’t like it—so I tore it up.”
Chandal watched as the razor glided smoothly over Justin’s face. When they had been first married, she had watched him shave almost every day. It had been one of her favorite times with him. “When did you take the picture of her?” she asked, dropping down on the edge of the tub.
“A couple of days ago. Magdalen saw me taking pictures in the yard one day. She said she always wanted to have her picture taken. So I took it. I figured she’d been so nice to us that I’d do her the favor.” He rubbed his hand under his chin and considered his image. “You know, I think I’ll grow a mustache!”
Justin was right. The two women had been very understanding and generous with their offer. She couldn’t even remember thanking them.
The phone rang in the living room, giving Chandal a start.
“Who the hell could that be at this hour?” Justin had a slight edge to his voice.
“I’ll get it,” she said.
Justin threw the towel on the edge of the tub and slapped his face with after-shave lotion. After a moment, Chandal returned to the bedroom.
“It’s for you.”
“Who is it?”
“He wouldn’t say.”
“Damn!” Justin brushed past Chandal and entered the living room. “Hello!”
“Is this that great and famous director—Justin Knight?” The voice carried with it a certain mocking tone.
“Who is this?”
“I’ll give you one guess—shmuck! It’s Richards, You know—Billie Richards’ husband.”
“Look, I don’t want you calling me.”
Chandal stood at the living room door and, in a low voice, asked him who it was. Justin covered the mouthpiece and indicated that she should be quiet.
“Why, did I wake you up? Tough! The important thing is you forgot to call my wife for that reading, shmuck! She feels real bad.”
“We don’t start call-backs until next week.” Justin could feel the anger at the pit of his stomach. He sat down on the couch to calm himself.
“I want you to call her, anyway—now! Tell her you like her, you want to read her special. If you don’t, someone might just tell that pretty little wife of yours to take her clothes off—and it won’t be at no audition, either. Understand, shmuck?”
“Hey, goddamn it—”
Richards hung up.
“Son-of-a-bitch!” Justin slammed the phone down.
“Honey, what is it?” Chandal was frightened at how angry Justin was.
Without answering her, he grabbed for his jacket on the coat rack. “I’ll kill that bastard!”
“Are you going to tell me what’s happening?”
“Oh, nothing. Just some jerk. A real smart ass!” Justin pressed his fingertips into the sockets of his eyes, then ran them up to his forehead.
“Honey, are you all right?” She came close to him and laid her hand on his shoulder.
“Sure.” He smiled. “Listen, what are your plans for the day?”
“I have to work, naturally. After that, I planned to pick up my ring and then go to see my mother at the hospital.”
“Tell you what, I’ll be finished casting around five. I’ll head over to the Sacred Cow—I’ll meet you there. I really should go with you to the hospital, okay?”
Chandal agreed, after which Justin gave her a long kiss.
“Oh, by the way,” she said, suddenly remembering, “did you call Bender?”
“I tried. Lucky stiff’s in Florida. Be back on Friday.” He kissed her again and left the house. She walked around the apartment after that trying to get her bearings. She shrugged—Bender must have changed his mind. Then she fed Mintz, had her coffee, and showered.
The hot water spurted down upon her and she relaxed into a delirium of non-motion. Enough. She scrubbed herself vigorously with Ivory soap, held up her arms to wash off the last spots of lather, and chafed herself down with a rough towel. She liked the play across her body as she drew the towel up, and for a moment she wondered if she was still in good shape.
She swung open the closet door, lined with a long mirror. She glanced at herself doubtfully. Her stomach was only beginning to protrude slightly. She had always wondered if she was pretty. Cute, maybe, but pretty was something else and better. She looked at herself sternly. “Listen, you—you’re okay. Besides, pretty girls are usually a lot of silly idiots!”
She yawned slightly, heard the seer’s voice stealing into her brain. “Go far away—tell no one where.” She was probably referring to California, Chandal thought. But why tell no one?
She dressed in a light gray sweater and skirt and a red scarf, which she then exchanged for yellow—it was less conspicuous. There was something harsh and violent in the seer’s voice which had frightened her last night. “You shouldn’t have come here—not carrying a child.” How did she know I was pregnant? Chandal thought.
She sat in the kitchen and ate two poached eggs and bacon, cut thick. She tried to be nonchalant about last night, not give it any more thought. Silly woman! Winning her own argument by this simple declaration, she smiled, put the dish in the sink, and was about to leave the house when she heard someone calling her from the top of the stairs. It was Elizabeth.
“Yes?” she asked, standing in the foyer.
“I hate to disturb you, but do you suppose that I might be able to borrow a cup of sugar?”
“Sure. I’ll get it for you.” Chandal crossed into the kitchen and got the sugar. When she turned around, she was surprised to see that the old woman was standing right behind her. “Oh, here you are.”
“Thank you, dear.” Elizabeth took the cup of sugar.
“Don’t mention it.” Chandal started for the door to put on her coat. Suddenly she thought: Why would Bender give us $6,000 and then—?”
The old woman stopped her. “Can I ask you a question? I mean, can we talk for a while?”
“I’m afraid I must—”
“My sister is trying to drive me crazy.”
“What?” Chandal was taken aback by her frankness.
“She’s like the devil reincarnated. Oh, she’s always nice to me and we always have a good time together. But when I ask her for a little money, she laughs in my face. I told her that I needed money—that I wanted to go out and buy nice things. She wouldn’t let me. I was so angry that I became violently ill right there in the den, so she locked me in the attic and wouldn’t let me out. Things are changing so fast. Are you listening to me?”
“Yes.” Chandal paused for a moment. “But why do you say she’s like the devil?”
“Because she’s so sure of herself. She has traveled all over the world and she knows about history. She has me figured out to a T. She sits there and tells me what I believe and what I’ve done. Things she couldn’t possibly know. And when I got sick, her face turned a deep red and she was laughing and no one could hear her except me. And the man, he’s there, too—both of them. It’s impossible to accept both of them, and I can’t love one for the other. He and Father are so much alike, yet so different. Do you know what they do together? Magdalen and this man... they—”
“Please, I don’t think you should be telling me all this.”
“You don’t understand, do you? I guess there are some things people just can’t understand. I’ll just have to wait, then.”
Chandal watched her climb the stairs to the second floor. Before entering her own hallway, she turned to Chandal and said, “Please don’t tell Magdalen that we’ve had a chat, all right?”
“All right.”
“And then maybe we can talk again tomorrow. I won’t disturb you if you have things to do, but if you have time, we could see a little more of each other. I’d like that. I... get lonely from time to time. I’m not very good at being alone. I get nervous.”
“If I have the time. It would be nice.”
“I mean you’ve been living here for—how long has it been now? It seems forever, doesn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“And we have never sat down to tea. I’d like that. I really would.”
“Maybe over the weekend.”
“Yes, the weekend.” Pause. “If you don’t mind my saying so, you should eat more, my dear. You’re too thin. And exercise more. Then perhaps you would be able to act again. Why, some of the greatest actresses in the world overcame all kinds of physical problems. Sarah Bernhardt wasn’t very pretty, not in the least. And look, they called her ‘The Divine Sarah.’ Did you know she died in her son’s arms? Did you?”
“No.”
“In Paris. And they put her body into a rosewood coffin that she had built for herself before she died.” Elizabeth stood there for a moment as if to pay her last respects to an old friend. “Well, I’m keeping you, aren’t I? The weekend, then?” She smiled.
Chandal nodded.
The old woman closed the door, leaving Chandal alone in the foyer. Simultaneously, Chandal’s picture on the living room side table fell over. At first she thought it was Mintz, but the cat wasn’t in the room. She placed the picture back upright, crossed into the hallway, stared at the second-floor landing for a moment, and then left the house for work.
Throughout the day, the snow rapidly disappeared due to the rain, but freezing temperatures persisted, making the streets dangerously icy. Due to hazardous weather conditions, Chandal was let go from work an hour early. She immediately seized the opportunity to collect her ring.
As soon as she entered the small shop, she felt that something was wrong. The man who had waited on her was not there. Only the goldsmith who sat in the rear of the store, jeweler’s glass over one eye, examining a watch, was present. Chandal stood trembling from the cold and the rain, waiting patiently for him to acknowledge her.
“Yes?” he finally asked, removing the glass from his forehead.
“I... I dropped off a ring here on Tuesday—to be made smaller. I’d like to pick it up.”
“Do you have the ticket?” he asked unpleasantly.
“Oh, the ticket—yes.” Chandal fumbled around in her pocketbook for the ticket. “I don’t seem to have it with me.”
“I can’t give it to you without the ticket.”
Chandal dumped her entire pocketbook upside down on the counter and started frantically pushing articles aside. “Please, I need the ring today! It’s important to me.” Having gone over each item twice, she became tense, angry. “Look, I can describe the ring!”
The goldsmith let go of the watch he had been holding, grabbed a huge wooden case with both hands, and under his breath started to mutter to himself.
“What?” asked Chandal.
“Name, name—what’s the name?” His eyebrows went up.
“Oh, Knight. Chandal Knight.”
The man grew furious as he rummaged through the little brown envelopes. His pudgy face turned pale and he began to sweat. Then he hesitated. “Knight, Chandal?”
“Yes!”
“Address?”
“Three West Eighty-fifth Street.”
He took the small brown envelope, opened it, and dropped the ring onto the soft blue velvet pad on the counter.
“Yes, yes—that’s it,” said Chandal, picking up the ring.
“Eight-fifty.”
She paid the man, and as he put the money into the cash register, she asked, “The owner, is he here?”
“He’s sick.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. Is it anything serious?”
“Serious,” he repeated. “Just like that, he collapsed. Next thing—he’s in the hospital with tubes everywhere. Brain like a vegetable. It doesn’t pay, I’ll tell you that. You work and work, for what? To wind tip like that?” The man sat himself back down behind the small workbench at the rear of the store, picked up the jeweler’s glass, and went back to work.
“Well, thank you. You did a nice job.”
“I didn’t do it—he did.”
“What?”
“The owner—he worked on the ring. Last piece he did before his stroke.”
Chandal stared at the ring on her finger. The small detailed carvings on either side formed a strange triangular pattern and gave the ring an ancient appearance. The top part of the ring remained shiny and smooth. Odd, she thought, that Justin would pick out that particular ring.
“Did you forget something?” the goldsmith asked.
“Oh, no—thank you.”
The freezing rain tore into Chandal’s face, making it impossible to go any farther. She stepped into a nearby doorway, hoping that the rain would cease, or that at least she would be able to hail a cab. Neither was the case, however, and she huddled in the doorway for a little more than an hour.
Justin peered from the window of the Sacred Cow, wondering what was keeping Chandal. He had called her office and had been informed that she had gone for the day. He ordered another drink and waited.
“You look tired,” said the barmaid, pushing a double Scotch in front of him.
“I am.” He took a sip.
“How’s casting going?”
“Terrible.”
“Why’s that?” She cleaned the empty glasses off the bar.
“Because all the good actors are in California, that’s why!” He shrugged. “Who can blame them? Look at it out there.” He had been talking about going to California for the past three years. Twice he had accepted directing jobs in Texas and Chicago, thinking that he would go on from there. Each time, he’d found an excuse for not going. This time, it had been the brownstone.
“I see you’re starting to grow a mustache.” She put a fresh bowl of peanuts in front of him.
“Yeah. What do you think?”
“I can’t tell yet, but I think it’ll look okay.”
He couldn’t get Magdalen out of his mind. All day, he’d wanted to see her. Why? That’s what he kept asking himself. Both parents were dead by the time he had reached his fifteenth birthday, perhaps that was it. But it was more than that. He did not think of her as being older.
He remembered their first meeting. Three years ago. It was autumn and the air was fresh and clean. The sun shone on her silver hair as she hesitated, one hand on the railing leading up the steps of the brownstone. As though she’d called, he walked up to her and smiled questioningly. “My package,” she said gently. “Would you be so kind—” He’d lifted the parcel to the top of the steps and she’d taken his hand in hers. “Thank you,” she said. Even then, she was more than a nice old lady. He was unable to forget her.
Two months later, he’d married Chandal. Hurrying on with his life, always when he passed the brownstone, he watched. Sometimes he thought he could feel someone peering at him from a remote window, but he had not seen the woman until that eventful day. In few words, she’d asked him to bring his wife, to move to the old building. She knew her timing was perfect; he could tell. Joy had come to him, sending thoughts of California scattering. “Not see her again! I only live when I’m with her!”
“What?” asked the barmaid, looking around to see who Justin was talking to.
“Nothing.” Justin paid the tab and stormed out of the Sacred Cow.
“Are you all right?” The smallish man stared at Chandal. By this time she was completely frozen and had squeezed her hand so tightly that the ring had cut into her finger. The palm of her hand was covered with blood.
“Oh, yes—I think so. I must have cut myself without realizing it.”
The man insisted on helping her, but she refused his offers. Wrapping her hand in her handkerchief, she moved to the curb where she got into a taxi. When she arrived at the Sacred Cow, she told the driver to wait.
Inside, the barmaid informed her that Justin had just left. Chandal glanced at the clock—it was six-forty P.M. Why hadn’t he waited? Surely he could see how bad the weather was. Goddamn him!
Chandal returned to the cab and headed for the hospital. The driver drove like a madman, skidding, grazing the safety islands in the middle of the streets. At each near miss, the driver turned around, raised his shoulders, and winked at Chandal.
Once inside the hospital, Chandal went into a booth and telephoned home. After letting the phone ring for some time, she hung up.
When she came into her mother’s room, her mother was sitting up in bed waiting for her. They had removed the oxygen tent and on the table a fresh bouquet of flowers was in evidence.
“Didn’t I tell you exactly what would happen?” her mother cried. “I knew you wouldn’t be here yesterday—I knew it!”
Chandal was surprised by her mother’s outburst. She had never spoken to her like that before. Chandal barely had a chance to sit down before her mother went on in detail about the horrible treatment she was receiving from the nurses.
“I warned them that if they don’t let me read, I’ll go home. And they’ll never see me again.”
“Mom, don’t be silly. You need care. How would you manage home alone?”
“Don’t you worry, little girl!”
Seeing that her mother was determined to leave the hospital, Chandal suggested that she stay at the brownstone for a while. Her mother refused and deliberately made herself uncomfortable by kicking the covers partially from the bed. Chandal got up to straighten them.
“Don’t touch me. Don’t you dare touch me!”
“I wasn’t going to touch you. You see me adjusting the covers, don’t you?”
“Stop being cute.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
