'Oh, Jeremy, I'd love to!'
'Gilead's just a couple of hours by bus,' he went on. 'It's a nice scenic ride, really not bad at all. Or you could take the express to Flemington, around twelve miles east of it, and save yourself almost an hour. Either way, I could come pick you up. The Poroths have a truck they'd let me use.'
'That sounds wonderful,' she said. 'It would be lovely to get away for a weekend.' She wanted to ask where she would sleep if she stayed over, but didn't have the courage. Surely the farmer and his wife must have a spare room she could use.
'Great,' he said. "Then it's settled.' He already had a scrap of paper pressed against his knee and, with his foot on the bottom step, was scribbling down her house number from above the doorway. 'I'll write you when I get out there and let you know everything’s okay.'
Standing with him on the sidewalk, she followed his gaze, then looked up past the tiers of dirty brick and plaster to a row of windows on the fifth floor. They were dark. Maybe Rochelle had gone out with her boyfriend, and for once Carol would have the place to herself. More likely, though, she was in bed, and certainly not alone. 'If you'd like to come in for coffee,' Carol said, making up her mind, 'we'll have to be very quiet. My roommate's probably asleep already.'
'Oh, that's okay.' After the triumph of getting her to agree to see him, he seemed disinclined to press his luck. 'It's late, and I've got a ton of books to pack tomorrow.'
'Just don't forget to take along those nature guides,' she said, starting up the steps. 'I want you to be an expert tracker by the time I come out.'
She heard him hesitate, then follow her. When she turned he was standing beside her, smiling 'I was hoping you'd come out a good deal sooner than that,' he said. 'Maybe even next weekend.'
He held the outer door open while she reached into her handbag for her keys. 'Well,' she said, a little surprised, 'maybe I could… ' She searched her mind for doubts, objections, other plans – and realized, feeling suddenly foolish, that she had none. She had no plans for the entire summer. 'Yes,' she said, 'that might be very nice. I think I can probably get away.'
'Okay, then. I intend to write you as soon as I get out there. And you'd better write back!' He tapped her nose with the tip of his finger. 'Remember, I'm depending on it.'
'Don't worry. I've got two married sisters plus my mother, and I never miss a letter.' She paused, fitting the key into the inner lock; it was time to make her goodbyes. 'Well, I've had a wonderful evening, and I really want to thank you for- Oh, no! Look at this.' She withdrew the key and pressed against the door. It swung open at her touch. Something had happened to the bolt.
He bent to examine it. 'Looks like somebody unscrewed the little metal plate,' he said, poking at the pitted wood with his finger. 'I wonder if anything's been robbed.' He shook his head. 'This fucking city.'
She stared uncertainly into the dim light of the hallway. 'It's sort of scary.'
'Look, would you like me to come up with you? I'll just see you to your door, I don't want to come in or anything.'
'Could you, please? I'm sure there's nothing the matter, but just in case someone's inside there… ' She swallowed.
'Glad to. I'll go first.'
Frowning, he stepped into the hall. She followed him. The passage was a narrow one, and silent at this hour; their feet scraped audibly against the yellowing white tiles that climbed stained and broken halfway up the walls. At the farther end a thick black metal door concealed an elevator scarcely larger than a closet, lit by only one bare bulb that dangled from wires in the ceiling. It trembled as the two of them crowded inside, and again when the inner door slid echoingly shut.
With a whirr of distant gears the car gave a lurch and rose slowly up the darkened shaft, their shadows flirting back and forth with the swinging of the bulb. They watched the shadows, the curls of paint around the emergency button, and the numbers sliding past the small glass porthole in the door. Through it, as each new floor came into view, a pale circle of light winked open and shut like an eye, then disappeared below them. They said nothing, both of them hushed, listening.
The car slowed, sighed, and came shuddering to rest at the fifth floor. Peering through the glass before Freirs pushed ahead of her, Carol could see that there was no danger after all. The hall was empty.
She walked beside him to her door and slipped her key into the lock. It was an awkward moment; maybe she should plead with him to come in.
'Well,' she heard herself say, 'thank you once again. I had a really lovely evening.' She hoped he could see that she meant it, and wondered if he felt the same. At the turn of the key the door swung inward; beyond it the front hall was dark. She dropped her voice to a whisper. 'And it was really sweet of you to come up here like this. I only wish it weren't so late.' Quickly, before she lost her nerve, she encircled his neck with her arm and pressed a kiss to the side of his mouth. He seemed to take it as his due.
'Amen,' he said. 'See you in Jersey.'
'I'll be waiting for your letter.' She stepped into the darkness; he raised a hand in farewell and turned away. Shutting the door, she heard the clang of the elevator and, moments later, the churning of gears as it started down.
The apartment smelled of garlic and fried meat and, from the doorway of the living room, men's after-shave. Rochelle and her date had not gone out, then; there'd be no dawdling in the kitchen tonight, and no light to guide her to her room. Half feeling her way, Carol tiptoed through the hall; the only illumination came from beneath the bathroom door at the other end. As she passed, it swung silently open. In its light stood the boyfriend, staring at her open-mouthed, olive-skinned and hairy. He jumped back when he saw that it was her, his sex jiggling; she tried to look away. The light was snapped off, and she heard a low chuckle. 'Thought you were Shelly!' he said. There was toothpaste on his breath.
'No, it's only me.' She could feel the nearness of his body as she brushed past him; she groped blindly, nearly stumbling, toward her bedroom. There was the sound of breathing behind her, then a pause, and she heard him pad slowly down the hall.
Once inside the room, she closed the door tightly and switched on a small lamp by her bed. The dancers on the posters seemed to leap out from the wall, arms outstretched in welcome – Merrill Ashley, Baryshnikov, Karen Kain as the Swan Queen – but it was hard to turn her mind from that figure in the bathroom, the damp and shining hair. ..
She forced herself to think of Jeremy, hoping he was really going to send for her, reminding herself, lest she be hurt, how little she really knew of him. How strangely nervous he had been at the end of their walk here, furtively watching for criminals – and cripples! – yet never for a moment losing that special New York cockiness of his. Maybe she should have insisted he come in; she wished he were here beside her, to hold her all night in his arms, but by now he would be downstairs, perhaps back on the street. She went to her window to see.
Parting two slats of the Venetian blind, she peered outside. Yes, there he was, trotting briskly down the front steps, his body foreshortened from this angle. He seemed to be moving fast, his stride lengthening; she hoped it came from feeling good about tonight, and not from any eagerness to leave. Within seconds he'd reached the dying maple that stood halfway up the block, leaves trembling in a final ray of moonlight. Soon he would be past the corner, out of sight.
She was just about to turn from the window when, from the shadows somewhere beyond the row of tenements to her left, almost at the edge of her vision, she thought she saw a small white shape drop soundlessly to the sidewalk and go scurrying after him, waving something in its hand as if it were a wand. Midway to the corner it made a queer, mincing little pirouette and disappeared behind a line of cars parked beneath the tree.