He Who Hesitates

10

They had come back to the room at a little past midnight, coming quietly up the steps to the third floor, walking past Fook's apartment, and then pausing silently outside Roger's room as he searched for his key and unlocked the door. They stepped inside, and he closed the door behind them, shutting out the light from the hallway. They stood in darkness for several seconds while he groped for the light switch just inside the door. When the light went on, Molly seemed surprised that he hadn't tried to kiss her in the dark.

"This is very nice," she said, looking around the room. "Very nice."

"Thank you," he said. They were both whispering. No one had seen them come into the building, and no one knew she was here in the room with him, but they whispered nonetheless, as though the entire building knew they were alone together, as though each and every one of the tenants was eavesdropping.

"It's not too small at all," Molly said.

"No, it's all right. Plenty of room for just one person."

"That's right," Molly said. She took off her coat and scarf and put them over the arm of the easy chair. "Well," she said, "this is really nice. Maybe I'll move. Do you think there are any vacancies?"

"Gee, I wouldn't know," Roger said. "But actually, this room'll be empty tomorrow, you know. I'll be going back to Carey tomorrow."

"That's right," she said, "I almost forgot."

"Yeah," Roger said, and nodded.

She sat on the edge of the bed. "It's too bad you're going back so soon," she said.

"Well, there's really no reason for me to stay any longer, you know. My mother's expecting me, so really I have to-"

"Oh, sure," Molly said. "This is very comfortable. The bed."

"Yeah, it's not a bad bed," Roger said.

"It seems very comfortable. I hate lumpy mattresses, don't you?"

"Yes."

"Or ones that are too soft."

"This one is pretty good, actually," Roger said. "You get a good night's sleep on it."

Molly leaned back suddenly, swinging her legs up on to the bed and stretching her arms over her head. "Mmmm," she said, "this sure feels good." She smiled at Roger. "I'd better be careful or I'll fall asleep."

"Well," Roger said, and smiled.

"Do you know what gets me about looking for a job?" she asked.

"No what?"

"My feet. They're killing me. Would you mind if I took off my shoes?"

"No, not at all."

"I'll be leaving in a minute," she said, sitting up, and crossing her legs, and taking off first one high-heeled pump and then the other. "But while I'm here I might as well take advantage of the opportunity, huh?"

"Sure," Roger said.

"Ahhhhh," she said, and wiggled her toes. "Ahhhh, that feels good." She put her arms behind her, the elbows locked, and stared up at him. "Aren't you going to take off your coat?" she asked.

"What? Oh. Oh, I thought-"

"I've got a few minutes," she said. "We don't have to rush right out again. I mean, not unless you want to."

"No, no," Roger said.

"Besides, it feels so good with these shoes off," she said, and smiled.

"Just make yourself comfortable," he said. He took off his coat and went to the closet with it. "I'm sorry I can't offer you a drink or anything, but I haven't got any in the room."

"Oh, that's all right," she said. "I don't drink much anyway."

He hung his coat on a hanger, and then took Molly's from the chair and put it over his on the same hanger. He looped her scarf over the hanger hook, and put everything back in the closet. "If the liquor stores were open," he said, "I'd go down for some. But I think-"

"No, I don't mind. I hope I didn't give you the impression that I drink a lot."

"No, I didn't get that impression."

"Because I usually don't, except socially. It's been so depressing, though, marching around this city and not being able to find anything. It can get really depressing, I mean it."

"I can imagine," Roger said.

"Boy, it's good to get out of those shoes," she said, and she leaned back, propping herself on one elbow so she could watch him. She smiled. "Is that the only light in here?" she asked.

"What?"

"The light. It's kind of harsh."

"There's a lamp on the dresser," Roger said. "Would you like it better if I-"

"Please. It's just that lying back like this, I'm looking right up into the light there.".

"I'll just put this one on," Roger said, and went to the dresser. He turned on the small lamp, and then flicked out the overhead light. "How's that?"

"Better," she said. "Much better."

She closed her eyes. The room was silent.

"Mmm," she said. She stretched and then leaned back and said, "I really better be careful or I will fall asleep."

"It's early yet," Roger said.

"The night is young, huh?" she said, and giggled. "Be funny if your landlady walked in here tomorrow morning and found a strange girl in your bed, wouldn't it?"

"Well, she never walks in," Roger said. "Nobody ever bothers you here."

"You mean you've had strange girls in here before?"

"No, I didn't mean that," Roger said.

The girl giggled. "I know. I'm teasing." She opened her eyes and looked at him solemnly. "I'm a big tease."

Roger said nothing.

"Though not that way," Molly said. She paused. "Do you know what I mean?"

"I'm not sure."

She smiled briefly, and then sat up suddenly, swung her legs over the side of the bed and said, "I'm getting your bedspread all wrinkled. Your landlady won't like that a bit. I mean, she may not object to girls in your room, but I'll bet she doesn't like a wrinkled bedspread or lipstick all over the pillow."

"Well, she's never found any lipstick on the pillow," Roger said, and smiled.

"No, and we're not going to give her any to find, either." She padded to the dresser in her stockinged feet, opened her bag, took out a Kleenex, and leaned close to the mirror. She wiped off her lipstick quickly, and then put the tissue back into her bag. "There," she said, and smiled at him. He was beginning to dislike the way she was making herself so comfortable, the way she was moving around the room so easily and naturally, as if she owned the place. He watched her as she went to the bed and pulled back the bedspread and fluffed up the pillows. "There," she said again, and sat on the edge of the bed.

She smiled at him.

"Well," she said, "here we are."

The room was silent again. She stared at him levelly.

"Do you want to make love to me?" she asked.

"That's not why I brought you up here," he said quickly.

The smile was still on her face, but it seemed to have weakened somewhat, as though his words had embarrassed her, or injured her. He didn't want to make her feel bad, and he certainly didn't want to hurt her. But at the same time, he didn't particularly feel like getting involved with her, not in that way, not with a girl as plain as she was.

"I mean, I didn't bring you up here to take advantage of you," he said gallantly. "I only wanted to show you the room because you said maybe you-"

"I know."

"-might want to move if it was a good-sized room."

"It's a good-sized room," she said.

"But, believe me, I wasn't planning-"

"And it's a very comfortable bed," she said.

"-on taking advantage of you, if that's what you thought."

"That's not what I thought."

"Good because-"

"I didn't think you'd take advantage of me."

"Good because-"

"It wouldn't be taking advantage of me," Molly said flatly.

He looked at her silently.

"I have a lot to give," she said.

He did not answer her.

She stood up suddenly and pulled the flaps of her blouse out of the black skirt. Slowly, she began unbuttoning the blouse. There was something ludicrous about her performance. She stood alongside the bed with her head erect, the flaming red hair burnished in the glow of the single lamp on the dresser, her hands slowly unbuttoning the blouse, staring at him, her eyes serious and solemn in the plain face, the fake eyelashes, the penciled eyebrows, the pointed fake breasts in the padded bra slowly revealed as her hands worked the buttons at the front of the blouse. She threw the blouse and the bra onto the bed behind her and then unzipped the skirt and stepped out of it. He felt nothing. He looked at her as she took off the rest of her clothing and moved toward him, an oddly shaped woman with tiny breasts, large bursting nipples, wide in the hips, far too wide in the behind, thick in the thigh and ankle, there was nothing exciting about her, nothing attractive about her, he felt no desire at all for her. She moved into his arms. She was very warm.

They whispered in the night.

"I sometimes feel all alone in the world," she said.

"I do, too."

"I don't mean alone just because I have no parents, or because Doris went off to Hawaii, not that way, not that kind of alone. I mean really alone."

"Yes."

"Alone inside," she said.

"Yes."

"Even when I'm surrounded by people. Even when there are people everywhere around me, like in that bar tonight, before I met you."

"I almost didn't come over to you."

"Because I'm not pretty," she said.

"You're beautiful," he said.

"No, please…"

"Yes."

"Please don't lie to me."

"You're the most beautiful girl I've ever known in my life."

"Ahhh," she said.

"Yes."

"Ahhh."

"Molly, you're beautiful," he whispered.

"I'm a good lay, is what you mean?"

"Yes, you're a good lay, but-"

"Mmmm, and that's it."

"No."

"Yes, that's all of it. Roger, please, I know."

"How do you know?"

She shrugged. "You're a man. I know what men want."

"That's not all I want," he said.

She moved closer to him. She buried her face in his shoulder. Her lips vibrated against his skin as she spoke. "You're the only man who ever told me I was beautiful," she whispered. She paused for a long time. "Roger?"

"Yes?"

"Tell me."

"What?"

"Tell me again."

"What?"

"Don't make me beg."

"You're beautiful," he said.

"You embarrass me," she whispered.

"I want to hold you," he said.

"Ahhh."

"I want to kiss you."

She moved into his arms. "What's this?" she whispered.

"Nothing."

"Nothing?" she whispered. "Oh, it's something. Oh, I can tell it's something. Oh, I'm sure it's something. Oh yes. Yes, yes, that's it, yes."

"Molly, Molly…"

"Ooooh, kiss you," she whispered. "Ooooh, hold you, kiss you, kiss you."

"Beautiful," he whispered, "beautiful."

Her scarf was in the bottom drawer of the dresser. He walked to the dresser now and opened the drawer and took out the scarf and held it in his hands. It was a pale-blue scarf, light, almost transparent, made of nylon, he supposed, he didn't really know. It was the only article of her clothing left behind in the apartment. He had discovered it afterward near the closet door, he supposed it had dropped from the hanger when he'd gone to get her coat.

He looked at the scarf and wondered what he should do with it. Suppose those two detectives came back to ask more questions, suppose they search the room? Well, no, they needed a warrant to do that, didn't they? Or did they? Suppose they came back while he was out with Amelia? He'd have to get rid of the scarf, that was for sure. Or else, he could simply take it with him when he went to the police station to tell them about it, yes, that would make things a lot simpler, sure. He would go there with the scarf and that would make it easier to talk about Molly. He would ask for the detective with the deaf-mute wife. He hadn't really liked any of the others, not Parker in the luncheonette, and not those two who had just been here, either, although they weren't too bad - still, he preferred the one with the beautiful wife.

Amelia, he thought.

I'd better get rid of this scarf, first, he thought, and wondered how he should do it.

I suppose I can cut it into little pieces and flush it down the toilet. That would probably be best. Only trouble is I haven't got a scissors, nor even a knife. I can tear it in my hands, I suppose.

He looked at the scarf again.

He grasped it firmly in both hands and tried to rip it, but it wouldn't start because there was a tight, strong welting all around the edge of it. He put the end of the scarf into his mouth and tore the welting with his teeth, and then ripped it in half along a jagged line, and then decided throwing it down the toilet wouldn't be any good. Suppose the damn toilet got stuffed, that would be just great.

He went to the dresser. A book of matches was lying in the ash tray near the lamp. He picked up the matches and went to the bathroom with the scarf. He struck a match, and then held the scarf hanging from one hand over the toilet bowl, almost touching the water. He brought the other hand, with the lighted match, toward the dangling end of the scarf and was about to set fire to it when he heard someone calling him.

He recognized Mrs. Dougherty's voice, and wondered how in hell she had known he was about to set fire to a scarf in her bathroom. He shook out the match and dropped it into the bowl, and went back to his room. There he wadded the scarf into a ball and put it into the bottom dresser drawer again.

Mrs. Dougherty was still yelling his name in the hallway. "Mr. Broome, Mr. Broome, Mr. Broome!"

He went to the door and opened it.

"Yes," he said, "what is it?"

"Mr. Broome, there's a phone call for you."

"What?" he said.

"The telephone," she said.

"Who is it?" he asked.

"I don't know. It's a woman."

My mother, he thought, and wondered how she had got the number.

"I'll be right down," he said. He closed the door, went back into the room, opened the bottom dresser drawer, and shoved the blue scarf all the way to the back of it. Then he closed the drawer and went out into the hall. The pay phone was on the wall of the first-floor landing. Mrs. Dougherty was standing near the phone, waiting for him.

"Did the detectives talk to you?" she asked.

"Yes," he said.

"They were nice boys, weren't they?"

"Yes, they seemed very nice. Are they still in the building?"

"They're talking to Mrs. Ingersol on the fifth floor."

"Then they're almost finished, I guess," Roger said. He took the receiver from her hand. "Thank you," he said.

"Do you think they'll get my refrigerator back?" Mrs. Dougherty asked.

"I hope so," Roger said, and he smiled and put the receiver to his ear. "Hello?"

Mrs. Dougherty smiled and nodded and started down the steps to her apartment on the ground floor just as the voice at his ear said, "Roger, is it you? This is Amelia."

"Amelia? How - Amelia, did you say?"

"I was hoping you hadn't left yet."

"No, I'm still here. What time is it?"

"It's three-twenty. I was afraid you might have left."

"Why? What's the matter?"

"I'm going to be a little late."

"Why?"

"Something unexpected."

"Like what?"

"I'll tell you when I see you."

"How late will you be?"

"Four-thirty?" she said. "Is that too late?"

"No, that's fine."

"Same place?"

"Yes, outside the drugstore."

"Aren't you curious?"

"About what?"

"About how I got your phone number?"

"Yeah, how about that?" he said.

"Some memory, huh?"

"What do you mean? I never gave you the number here. I don't even know the number here myself."

"Aha," she said.

"How'd you get it?"

"Agnes Dougherty," she said.

"What?"

"The name on one of your valentines. The cards. Remember?"

"Oh, yeah, that's right," he said, smiling.

"Your landlady."

"That's right."

"Or so you said."

"She is. I'll introduce you to her, if you like."

"When?"

"Later."

"Sure," Amelia said. "You can't kid me. She's some big old blond broad you're living with, you can't kid me."

"No," he said, grinning, "she's my landlady."

"Hey, you know something?"

"What?"

"I like you."

"I like you, too, Amelia."

"Good."

"Four-thirty, okay?"

"Yes." She paused. "Roger?"

"Yes?"

"I more than just like you."

"Okay."

"Okay, look at the brushoff," she said, and laughed.

"What brushoff?"

"You're supposed to say you more than just like me, too."

"I do."

"Ah, such enthusiasm," Amelia said. "Okay, I'll see you later. You think you can keep out of trouble between now and four-thirty?"

"I'll try," Roger said.

"Yeah, try," she answered. "Try real hard."

"I will."

"You're very cute," she said, and hung up.

He stood grinning at the receiver for a moment, and then replaced it on the cradle.

He went up to the apartment then and burned Molly's scarf and flushed the ashes down the toilet, and then opened the bathroom window to let out the smoke.