Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 92, No. 3. Whole No. 547, September 1988

Harmony’s Song by Carl Wooton

© 1988 by Carl Wooton.

Harmony held the phone for a moment and tried to understand why Eric might have chosen The Fashion Spot as a place to meet. Weekend tourists looking for a singles scene in New Orleans thought it was a place to go, partly because it was in the area known as Fat City. Harmony knew it really was a meat locker, one of those bars filled with plastic-chic decor and where every woman who walked in was on display and thought of as probably for rent. She hated it, Eric knew it, and she was there. He was not.

Our first story by Carl Wooton, whose short fiction has appeared in a number of small literary magazines — two recently in the Hudson Review...

Harmony Romero felt the stares even before she walked through the door of The Fashion Spot. Four men at the bar all turned to watch her as she came in, and her skin tingled like something was crawling on it. She really didn’t want to be there, but Eric had insisted. “I need you,” he’d said.

“You always need me.”

“And you’re always there. That’s what’s so great about you.”

And she thought it was true. It had been true for nearly a year. He said he needed her, and she was always there. She said she needed him, and he was hard to find, usually a recorded voice on an answering machine with a message that made him sound like the world’s greatest gift to women. But he always called back.

This time he said he needed to see her because he was leaving town for a few days — and the rush of sensations at the thought of his being gone made her not register what he was saying about meeting him at The Fashion Spot until it was too late. She searched for the name of some other place to meet, but he was already saying, “See you at six, Harmony. Ta ta!” He sang the last two syllables.

He hung up, and she’d held the phone for a moment and tried not to understand why he might have chosen The Fashion Spot as a place to meet. Weekend tourists looking for a singles scene in New Orleans thought it was a place to go, partly because it was in the area known as Fat City. Harmony knew it really was a meat locker, one of those bars filled with plastic-chic decor and where every woman who walked in was on display and thought of as probably for rent. She hated it, Eric knew it, and she was there. He was not.

She looked along the bar and the row of tables against the wall. There were only the four men at the bar and most of the tables were taken by couples. Five women sat around one table, however, looking, Harmony thought, as if they were trying to figure out how to divide the four men at the bar among themselves. Two of the women glared at her. She was bewildered by the hostility in their faces and felt an impulse to stop and tell them not to worry about her, she was meeting someone — he would be here any minute, they didn’t need to worry.

At the bar, one of the men stood and made a gesture as though to offer her a stool. He was nice-looking, taller than Eric, and maybe younger, but it was hard to tell in the dim light. He smiled at her. She looked at him and felt the others watching her, then she walked past him to a table in a rear corner and sat facing the door with her back to the wall. The man who had offered her the stool and the others at the bar were laughing. The five women at the round table looked at her, then turned away. One of them muttered something that started them all giggling. Harmony tried to ignore them, but the high tilted mirror that ran the length of the wall behind the bar reflected everything in the room.

She was startled by the image of herself in it, her hair down, falling almost to her shoulderblades, and her face with the dark glasses still on. She took off the glasses and put them in her purse. A waitress appeared at the table and Harmony told her she was waiting for someone, she would order when he arrived.

The men at the bar laughed again. One of them slapped the bar several times with his hand, and even the bartender moved closer to see if they would let him in on the fun. Harmony heard one of the men ask him, “Is she a new one?”

The bartender shook his head and squinted through the dim light toward her. Harmony had only been there a few times, with Eric, and she didn’t remember the bartender. She couldn’t tell how well he was able to see her. He shook his head again and leaned forward to whisper something to the other men.

They laughed, and the one who had stood to greet her turned and looked at her. He got off his stool and leaned back to say something to the others. Where was Eric? He was definitely younger and taller than Eric, and he walked toward her in a way that made her think he was easily impressed with himself. She stood and looked around, then followed the sigh to the ladies’ room, hearing the word “fox” and louder laughter at the bar as she pushed through the restroom door.

She touched up her lipstick, combed her hair, and straightened her blouse. Eric’s voice had had a special pleading in it that she had learned to recognize, and she had dressed for him. She wiped off her lipstick, then put more on, feeling like an idiot for letting him put her in a situation that made her run to the ladies’ room to hide. She looked at herself in the mirror and thought about the last time she had told Eric she didn’t want to see him any more. He had called the next night with that pleading tone in his voice and asked her to meet him at the Cafe du Monde at ten. She had waited at one of the small marbletop tables until almost eleven, until she’d been asked to order something or leave. She could still remember the embarrassment that had flooded through her and swearing she would never wait for him again. She also still remembered how especially tender he had been later that night at his apartment.

Harmony looked at her watch. She didn’t know how long she’d been hiding here but she made up her mind that if Eric was not in the bar when she went back, she would leave. She would keep her promise to herself and more. She would go home and go about her business and when he called she would tell him she didn’t need to see him anywhere. She would mean it this time.

And she so much expected him to be there when she came back into the bar that she felt momentarily helpless and paralyzed when she looked around the room and couldn’t find him.

The waitress asked her, “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. Is there another way out of here?”

“This way,” the waitress said and pointed down the narrow hall that led to the restrooms. “Take a right at the end and you’ll see the exit sign. It leads out to the parking lot in back.”

Harmony hesitated and looked back to the bar.

The waitress said, “Maybe he’ll come in a minute.”

“What?”

“The one you’re waiting on. Maybe he’ll show up in a minute.”

Harmony said, “He’s not coming.” Then: “Is there a pay phone?”

The waitress pointed again down the hall toward the back.

Harmony followed the hall and found the phone on the wall next to the rear exit. She rummaged in her purse to find a coin, dialed Eric’s number, and waited. It rang three times, then there was a click and a whirring sound and the answering machine was playing Eric’s greeting.

“This is Eric Andrepont. I can’t come to the phone now, but at the tone, leave your name, age, measurements, and phone number, and I’ll call you as soon as I have a clear spot on my calendar. Ta ta!”

Harmony had once told him the message offended her, and he had laughed and said it was only a joke. That was the same night he’d given her a key to his apartment to show her how much he trusted her. She had given him a key to her apartment several weeks before. She said, “Eric, I can’t wait in this place. If you really want to see me, I’ll be at home.”

She hung up and went out the door to the parking lot. The air had turned grey and was full of fine mist. She didn’t have an umbrella and had to walk through an alley to get to the street, so that by the time she got to her car she was wet, cold, and mad.

When she drove into the lot of her apartment complex, she looked around to see if his car was parked in the visitors’ parking area. In her apartment, she immediately felt its emptiness. He was not there. She hadn’t consciously expected him to be, but the sense of aloneness still caught her by surprise. She had to stop for a moment and take several deep breaths to smooth out the ragged edges of her nerves.

She took off her wet clothes and put on the jogging suit she usually wore when she expected to stay around the apartment. She fixed a light supper, watched television, tried to read three or four of the magazines on the coffee table, but gave that up when she realized she was looking at the pictures without registering anything about them. She called Eric’s number three times during the evening, but all she heard was the beginning of the same recorded message. She hung up each time as soon as the tape began to play.

She remembered the less than half full bottle of white wine left in the refrigerator a week before when Eric had come for supper. She poured herself a glass of it and took it with her into the bathroom, where she undressed. She was twenty-seven years old and not strikingly beautiful, but she kept herself in shape with aerobics and a reasonable diet. And she knew men were attracted by her dark hair and by a certain quality in her voice.

Two or three times in recent weeks, Eric had seemed on the verge of telling her something. The other morning especially, after he’d come to dinner and stayed the night, he had seemed about to say something, then realized he was going to be late for work.

Harmony finished the glass of wine before getting into the shower.

She hadn’t finished drying herself when the phone rang.

Without giving her a chance to say hello, Eric said, “Sorry about this afternoon. I got tied up.”

“You do that a lot.”

“Don’t get huffed about it.”

“You know I hate that place.”

“I said I’m sorry. Can I come over?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

She looked at the digital clock on her dresser and saw it was nearly ten. “It’s too late. I’m tired and I have to get up early tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow’s Sunday.”

“I’m going to see my mother.” Her mother lived in Lafayette, a three-hour drive from New Orleans. She made the trip every six or seven weeks. She hadn’t planned to make the trip this weekend. “Besides,” she said, “I thought you were going out of town.”

Eric said, “Change in plans. I’m going next week instead. So if you want to see me this weekend, I better come over tonight.”

“No, Eric. I’ll come back early tomorrow. I’ll call you then.”

Eric hung up with his usual “Ta ta.”

Harmony finished drying herself and dressed for bed. She turned off the lights, opened the draperies, and raised a window. It was April, but still cool — a TV weatherman had said it was the coolest spring in decades for southern Louisiana. She got into bed and looked out the window. The sky was clear and full of stars.

Eric knew all about the stars and had tried to help her find the Big and Little Dippers, Orion, and other constellations, but when she looked at the sky all she saw were stars. Eric had become impatient and told her he wouldn’t try to teach her anything else.

A mockingbird in the trees behind the apartment house sang. Harmony recognized that sound because when she was much younger a mockingbird had made its spring nest in an oak tree outside her bedroom window at home. Her mother had told her that the night song was the male singing out of his need for the female. And she thought of Eric trying to tell her something that he couldn’t get out.

She turned on the lamp beside the bed and dialed his number. It rang the three times, clicked, and the answering machine responded: “Hi, this is Eric. I just stepped out for a minute. I’ll be right back, so leave a number, especially if your name is Harmony. Ta ta.”

She said, “Eric, I’m sorry I was so cold. When you come back, don’t go away again. I’m on my way over, as soon as I get dressed. Ta ta!” She sang the signoff the way he usually did.

She didn’t need makeup, an old dress would be all right. Her hair was a mess but Eric wouldn’t mind — he’d be happy just to see her. And if he wasn’t home yet, she had her own key.

During the day, the trip from her apartment to his place could take thirty-five minutes or more, but at that time of night, without traffic and with a little luck with green lights, she made it in just a little over twenty.

His car was in its usual place in the parking lot, and she parked next to it. His apartment was dark. She rang his doorbell several times, but he didn’t answer. Sounds of music and laughter and voices came from an apartment across the small courtyard that served as a common patio for the half dozen apartments built around it. Harmony found her key in her purse and was opening Eric’s door when the music and voices suddenly grew louder and light splashed onto the courtyard from the opened door of the noisy apartment. A woman laughed and a man answered with laughter that she recognized.

Eric said, “Let’s try my place.”

The woman said, “We shouldn’t.”

“Of course we should. You liked it there last time. Not to mention the time before, and the time—”

“Hush — aren’t you the one who’s always talking about being discreet?”

Their laughter came closer, and Harmony looked for someplace to hide. Eric and the woman — a blonde — stepped from the shadows into the splash of light in the courtyard. There was noplace for Harmony to escape except into Eric’s apartment. She jumped inside and shut the door behind her.

In the living room past the small foyer, she stopped. Had she locked the door? Would Eric notice if it was unlocked? She hurried to the study. It was actually a second bedroom, but Eric put a desk and his computer in it and called it a study. She left a small crack in the door, just enough to hear through, and knelt on the floor behind the desk.

The front door closed and the voices were in the apartment. Then there was a brief silence except for the sound of someone moving around. “Wine?” Eric said.

The woman must have nodded — there was the sound of the wine being poured and glasses clinked together.

Harmony felt a mixture of anger and humiliation rising up in her so strongly it seemed to her that Eric and the woman should have been able to sense it. He had told her he needed her. He had never said he loved her, but at those times recently when he was near to saying something, she believed he had come close. He had acted like he might love her, she told herself, he really had.

The woman said, “I want another glass.”

Eric said, “Don’t get sloshed on me. It’s a lot more fun when you know what you’re doing.”

“One more.”

Again Harmony heard someone moving around.

The woman said, “What are you doing?”

Eric said, “My message light is on.”

“Let it go.”

“I don’t like to ignore messages. You never know when it might be important.”

Harmony heard her own voice. Although most of the words weren’t distinct, she heard herself singing “Ta ta!”

Eric said, “Damn!”

“What’s the matter?”

“You have to go, my love.”

“What do you mean?”

“What I said, love. Harmony’s on her way over here. The girl I told you has been pestering me. You’ve got to be a good girl and disappear. Go back to the party, or go upstairs to your place. I’ll get rid of her and come for you. It won’t take long, but she’s going to be here any minute — you’ve got to go.”

The woman said, “I thought you were going to tell her to get out of your life.”

“I am, love, I am. I’m looking for the right moment. She’s a sweet kid and I don’t want to hurt her any more than I have to.”

“If you can’t tell her, I can.”

“I’ll do it. Come on, you’ve got to go, love. I’ll come for you after I’ve gotten rid of Harmony.”

Harmony bit her lip and tasted blood. Her eyes filled and the very air in the room seemed to attack her flesh. She thought of what she had deluded herself he had been trying to say. She clenched her fists and leaned her forehead on the desk, fighting down the scream swelling up inside her. From the other room came the sound of a slap. The woman said, “Don’t pat me there and tell me you’re waiting for another woman.”

“Don’t be difficult, love.”

“If I’m your love, meet her at the door and tell her you’re with someone else.”

“I can’t do it that way. Harmony’s too sweet.”

“Don’t push me!” the woman said.

“You’ve got to go!”

“No, I don’t!”

There was the sound of another slap, only this time it was a sharper sound of flesh against flesh, hard. Someone fell.

The woman said, “You bastard!”

“Don’t call me names, love. Just get the hell out of here.”

“You’re going to have to throw me out.”

“Suit yourself.”

Harmony listened to Eric and the woman fighting. The sounds got louder, then diminished, as if they had moved from the living room to the kitchen. Both were yelling. Objects fell, maybe a lamp or a couple of lamps, with the sound of glass breaking. Harmony stood and moved to the door, trying to see through the crack.

“You bastard!” the woman said again.

“Put that down.”

There was the sound of the woman sucking in air and then pushing it out again. Something heavy fell. The woman shouted, “Oh, my God!”

Eric said, “Get help! Quick!” There was something wrong with his voice.

Harmony opened the door and moved cautiously into the living room. Beyond, in the kitchen, she could see the blonde woman, who was very pretty, standing over Eric. On the floor, with a large kitchen knife stuck in his abdomen, he was trying to get up. The woman was wiping blood from her hands onto her blouse. All the buttons on her blouse were undone.

“Help me!” Eric said. His voice was weaker.

The blonde turned and ran from the apartment. Beyond the closed door Harmony heard her high heels rapping sharply along the paved walk, then on the stairs and along the balcony that allowed entrance to the second-floor apartments. A door slammed. Harmony went to the kitchen and leaned over Eric, who had fallen back on his side.

“Harmony!” he said, seeing her. “Thank God you’re here! Call an ambulance, please!”

Harmony knelt beside him, but not within reach, careful to stay clear of the blood. His shirt and the top of his pants were soaked with it. It covered his hands and ran onto the floor. The look in his eyes was changing from intense pain and fear to a slowly growing cloudiness. As she watched his face turn grey, she thought of herself hiding in the study, listening to the soft laughter and the wine glasses clinking together. “Harmony,” she heard him saying, “I’ll get rid of her. I’ll come for you.” The woman had stood over him with the buttons of her blouse undone. Had that happened in the fight or had Eric unbuttoned her blouse on the sofa before he went to get the second glass of wine?

“Harmony,” he whispered.

She said, “I’m here, Eric.” She said it softly, almost tenderly, but she didn’t touch him.

She watched him until he closed his eyes and fell asleep. His breathing came hard, with long spaces between breaths. Then she got to her feet. Stepping carefully around the blood, she found the answering machine and ran it back to where her message to him began. She erased it, looked back once at Eric, and left, closing the door behind her, thinking not to lock it.

In the parking lot, she looked up at the apartments on the second floor over Eric’s. There were lights on in most of them, and she had no idea which one the blonde had run to. Was she trying to wash the blood off her hands and out of her blouse? The party across the courtyard was still going on.

The clock on her dresser read 1:46. She was surprised she had been gone so long. She changed again for bed, turned out the light, and looked out at the clear, dark sky full of stars.

She leaned over and dialed Eric’s number, listened to his recorded message, waited for the tone, then said, “This is Harmony. I wanted to tell you goodnight, Eric, and to say I’m sorry I missed you tonight. Call me again if you ever need me. Ta ta, Eric.” She said the “Ta ta” sadly.