“Yes,” Bud said.
“You have that four-eyed bitch for it?”
“Altman?”
“That’s the number,” Front said. “I think I’ll strangle her when the course is done with.”
“Do that,” Bud said.
“You think I won’t? I could strangle her with my bare hands.” Front clucked in sympathy with his own homicidal drives. “Grimm’s Law,” he said. “Pee on Grimm. He should have stuck to fairy tales.”
“His brother Wilhelm twisted his arm,” Bud said.
“Say, you’re a regular font of knowledge, aren’t you? What does b become?”
“What?”
“B. What does it become. P?”
“I don’t remember.”
He did not want to listen to Front. He had tried to shake the guilt of having left Andy alone in the apartment, and he could not do that, and now Front had come along, and he did not want to listen to him. He wanted to go back to the apartment. At the same time he realized his need for studying. He had to study. He had to get some quiet where he could study. The test was at two, and he had to cram until just about that time, a pattern in complete antithesis to his usual study habits, but any port in a storm. He had to study and he couldn’t be worrying about Andy, but at the same time he felt this overwhelming urge to get back to the apartment. I wish I was dead, Andy had said. Thanatopsis. Stop relating everything to college-boy courses, stupid, if Andy kills himself it will have nothing whatever to do with a college education or a lack of same.
“...she can barely speak English herself. That’s what gets me. She comes around with this Southern drawl, and she tries to explain the history of our language. Sometimes I think she was a contemporary of Grimm’s. She’s grim enough to be his sister. Hey, you get that, Donato?”
The train was pulling into another station. He wanted to get up, wanted to get out on the platform and then mount the steps and cross over to the downtown side. He wanted to do that, and he saw the faces of the people waiting on the platform as the train pulled in, and he heard the sound of Front’s voice, and then the train shuddered to a stop, and the doors slipped open, and the people were getting aboard, and Front was saying, “D becomes th or some damn thing, so how the hell am I supposed to get it straight in my head when all of her pronunciations sound like some sort of Southern molasses? I tell you, Donato—”
Bud rose suddenly. “See you, Front,” he said, and he rushed for the doors.
“Hey!” Front shouted, and then the doors closed behind Bud, and Bud could no longer hear his fellow student’s voice.
Up the steps and cross over, he thought.
Take too long. Should I grab a cab? Jesus, cab’ll get caught in traffic. Why am I doing this anyway? Never mind why! Just do it. Hurry, hurry!
The phone. Call Andy. No, he won’t answer. If he doesn’t answer, I’ll go crazy, not knowing what’s going on. He may simply be sleeping, and if the phone rings it’ll wake him. How about Carol? She works on the West Side. She can get there faster. What’s her number? Where does she work? Think. What was the number Louise gave me? What was the name of the outfit? Come on, College Boy, apply your study methods to something practical. Think, think!
Benson. Benson something.
That was Carol’s office. Benson what?
He spotted the phone booth, ran to it, and then began thumbing through the Manhattan directory. Benson, Benson, Benson and, Benson and... Benson and Parke! He traced his finger across the page, got the number, rushed into the booth, deposited a nickel, and dialed it.
“Benson and Parke, good morning.”
“Miss Ciardi, please,” he said.
“One moment.” He waited, thinking, I’ve been through this before, this is déjà vu. I’m living through it all over again. This is what Hell is — living through endless phone calls — “What extension is that, sir?” — endless phone calls and being channeled through hundreds of extensions — “I don’t know” — and waiting for operators to look things up — “That’s extension fifty-one, sir” — and then the ringing, and then...
“Bookkeeping.”
“Miss Ciardi, please.”
“This is Miss Ciardi.”
“Carol?” He was confused for a moment. For a moment he didn’t remember why he had called her, or what he wanted to say. “Carol, is that you?”
“Yes. Who—”
“This is Bud. Carol, I left him alone in the apartment. I know I shouldn’t—”
“Buddy, why, why? Oh, Buddy, for God’s sake, why’d you do that?”
“I’m going back there now, Carol. But it might take a while. Can you get over there?”
“I just got into the office,” she said, almost to herself. Then, more strongly, “Yes, I’ll go. Bud, you shouldn’t have left him. You know that, don’t you?”
“Yes, I know. Get over there, will you?”
“Yes, I’ll leave right now.”
“Good. I’ll see you.”
He hung up and glanced at his watch. He could hear a train approaching on the uptown side. He ran for the steps and then over the tracks, descending on the other side just as the train pulled into the station.
24
The record player was going full blast when Bud arrived, and Carol was waiting in the hallway. She rushed to him as he mounted the steps.
“What’s the matter?” he asked. “What happened?”
“I don’t know. The door is locked, Bud. I knocked, and I shouted, but he’s got the music up so loud... Bud, I thought I’d go out of my mind waiting for you. What do you suppose... do you think...”
“I don’t know,” he said. He took out his key hastily and unlocked the door. The music assaulted the open doorway. “Andy?” he called.
There was no answer.
“Look in the kitchen,” Bud said. “I’ll take the bathroom.” He crossed the living room, snapped off the machine, and then walked to the bathroom door. He tried the knob. The door was locked.
“Andy?”
In the sudden silence of the apartment he could hear the shower running behind the closed door. Why, sure, he thought. Hell, he’s just taking a shower, that’s all. Sure.
“Andy? This is Bud. Open up, will you?”
From beyond the closed door, all Bud heard was the steady drumming of the shower.
“Andy!”
“Go away,” Andy said.
“Andy, what are you doing in there?”
“Go away.”
“Andy, for Pete’s sake...”
“Leave me alone,” Andy said. His voice was very low, barely audible.
“You going to open this door, or do I break it in?” Bud asked.
Andy didn’t answer.
“Andy?” Bud waited. “Andy, I’m going to break it in.”
Carol was in the living room now. She stood beside Bud, her hand to her mouth.
“Okay, Andy,” Bud said. “Okay.” He backed off a few paces and then lurched forward, throwing his shoulder against the door. The door did not budge.
“Andy, goddamn it, open this door!”
He threw his shoulder at it again, and then he backed off, lifted his foot, and rammed the flat of his shoe against the lock. The lock snapped, and Bud stumbled forward, carried by the momentum of his push. He pulled himself up short against the sink, and then he saw Andy sitting on the floor near the tub, his hand under the shower.
“Andy, what the hell...”
Carol was behind him now. She looked over his shoulder, saw Andy, and then almost instantly saw the razor blade in his right hand. She opened her mouth and screamed, a piercing, penetrating scream that filled the small room with echoes.