The Devil's Cook

2

Soon after five o’clock Fanny Moran, Farley Moran’s little sister upstairs, returned to The Cornish Arms. She did not, however, climb directly to her second-floor apartment. She spoke cheerfully to Orville Reasnor, who was on his hands and knees in the vestibule near the entrance, and paused briefly to check her mailbox, which was empty. While she was thus engaged, Orville exploited the opportunity to survey her with considerable admiration from end to end, and he concluded as usual that she was a neat little package. It was a short excursion, actually, from end to end of Fanny, for she stood only one inch over five feet, although a natural tendency of the observer to linger on the way usually prolonged the trip. Orville, who was a trained observer, took his time going from strawberry blonde hair, cut short and slightly shaggy, to a small pair of nyloned feet raised for added height on high heels.

“You ain’t got any mail,” Orville said.

“So I see,” Fanny said. “Thank you for looking for me, Orville.”

“I didn’t look. You’ll never catch Orville Reasnor prying into tenants’ affairs. I was working in the hall when the postman came, that’s all, and I saw what boxes he opened. Miles and Bowers is all.”

“Oh?” Fanny turned and looked down at Orville. “What are you doing down there on your hands and knees? Saying your prayers?”

“Not hardly. I been replacing some of this asphalt tile. A couple pieces got kicked up and cracked.”

“Is my brother at home?”

“Not knowing, I couldn’t say. He ain’t come out this way. ’Course, he might have gone out the back door.”

“Yes, Farley often goes in and out of back doors. It’s a kind of instinct with him.”

“You want to see him about something?”

“Not particularly. I wonder if Terry Miles is home. Don’t bother to answer, Orville. I’ll just go back and knock on her door and find out, if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind. Why should I?”

Not knowing, Fanny couldn’t say. At any rate, she lingered no longer. Orville Reasnor, still in a prayerful posture above his pot of tile cement, watched her ascend four steps to the lower hall level, and offered thanks for short skirts.

Down the hall a way, Fanny knocked, on Terry’s door. There was no answer, and she knocked again. This time there was an immediate response, but it was not the one she was waiting for. The wrong person opened the wrong door. The wrong person was Farley, and the wrong door was his.

“Hello, Fan,” Farley said. “No use banging on Terry’s door. She isn’t home. She said she was going out somewhere.”

Fanny jumped as if she had been caught with a jimmy in her hands. When her heart had snapped back into place, she turned and glared at her brother, who was, technically, only half a brother. (They had shared a father who had been accommodated in the course of his marital fiascoes by two wives who had succeeded in becoming mothers. The third wife, fortunately, had failed.)

“Damn it, Farley,” Fanny said, “I wish you would quit leaping out of doors at people. It’s very disconcerting, to say the least. Went out where?”

“She didn’t say. Just out. She said something about having an appointment.”

“Did she say when she’d be back?”

“No, she didn’t. I assume, however, that it will be before six. I’m invited at six to share the ragout with her and Jay.”

“What ragout? Please don’t be so cryptic about everything!”

“The ragout that Terry left cooking in her skillet. Don’t you smell it?”

Fanny sniffed, and did, and it smelled good. She was getting hungry herself. The good smell made her mouth water.

“How do you rate an invitation? I should think I’d be the one, if anybody. After all, I’m her friend.”

“So you are. She doesn’t have too many of them, does she? Friends, I mean.”

“Women don’t like her because she’s pretty and sexy. With me that’s no issue, because I’m pretty and sexy, too.”

“The hell you are. I hadn’t noticed.”

“Brothers don’t. Not normal ones. Do you think I could be included in the invitation?”

“I doubt it. There probably wouldn’t be enough. Besides, I was invited out of compassion. I’m a poor young bachelor with nothing to look forward to but his own cooking or a Greasy Spoon somewhere.”

“Well, you’re welcome to your old ragout. I’ll make Ben take me over to the Student Union. I’ll even pick up the check if necessary.”

“You may find that a little bit difficult, little sister. Ben’s gone.”

“Gone? What do you mean?”

“How can I be more explicit? Taken off. Deserted his nest.”

“Did he go with Terry?”

“Oh, no, nothing like that. With Jay confined by his duties at the university, why should they go off together? For the accomplishment of certain things, there’s no place like home.”

“You have a lecherous mind, Farley Moran. What makes you think I was thinking of such certain things?”

“Weren’t you?”

“To be honest, I was. Ben’s an enchanting little scoundrel. I may decide to marry him if he ever shows signs of being anything more than a perennial college student. The only thing is, I suspect him of being susceptible to seduction.”

“What makes you suspect that?”

“Never mind. Did Ben say where he was going?”

“No. In fact, he was damn secretive about it. He said he’d be back Sunday evening.”

“Well, blast his treacherous little, heart He’s simply never around when I want him. Are you sure you don’t know where he went?”

“I said I didn’t. Don’t you believe me?”

“No. And it may take you quite a while to convince me, so I guess I’d better come in while you try.”

She walked past him into the room and sat down on the sofa, crossing her knees and thereby displaying — thanks to the short skirt — a pair of legs that were extremely ornamental as well as useful. Farley followed her as far as a chair, into which he collapsed.

“There’s nothing to be gained by nagging me,” he said. “I’ve told you all I know.”

“Nevertheless, it might be interesting to speculate.”

“Well, it’s obvious enough, if you ask me. No speculation is necessary.”

“I’m not so sure. Just because he was secretive is no sign he had some kind of assignation, or something. As a matter of fact, if that were the case, the little devil would probably have bragged all over the place about it. Men have no honor in such matters.”

“Do you think so?”

“Still, one can’t discount the possibility entirely. He might do something like that just to annoy me.”

“Why should it annoy you if you don’t know?”

“He may tell me afterward. In the meantime, I’m forced to speculate, which is even worse than knowing. What time did he leave?”

“About two. Just a little while before Terry left.”

“Was Terry here?”

“I said so, didn’t I? I thought I did.”

“I’m sure you didn’t. What did she want?”

“She wanted to borrow three fresh carrots for the ragout.”

“What on earth would make her think she’d find fresh carrots in this warren?”

“Well, it just happens that we had some. Ben bought them yesterday at the market.”

“If that isn’t just like him! He’s completely unpredictable. It shows, however, that he would be useful around a house. I wonder if I shouldn’t be a little more generous and give him a fair chance.”

“It might keep him home weekends. Incidentally, speaking of generosity, how about a fiver?”

“You had your monthly allowance from our wayward daddy. What the devil did you do with it?”

“My monthly allowance is hardly adequate. By the time the old man gets through paying alimony, there’s not much left for his lawful progeny.”

“As you know, there isn’t anything at all for this lawful progeny. As an efficient secretary with a thorough command of shorthand, as well as attractive legs, I earn my own way. When are you going to get that law degree, anyhow? You’re already two years past due.”

“You know I had to lay off and work a couple of years.”

“Perhaps you’d better lay off and work a couple more. Every month, what with twenty bucks here and ten there, you’re costing me at least fifty bucks.”

“Oh, come on, Fan. A lousy fiver won’t kill you. I need some gas for my car.”

“Why don’t you sell that heap? What business has a pauper got with a car?”

“Are you going to let me have the fiver or not? Be a good sis, Fan. Some day you’ll get it all back with interest.”

“I suppose I’ll have to. Here, damn it. And make it last.”

She dug the five out of her purse and, after wadding it in her hand, tossed it to him. It fell short between them, and he eyed it for a moment, as if not quite sure that picking it up was worth the effort.

“Thanks, Fan, you’re a doll. I’d offer you a beer, but Ben and Terry and I drank them all.”

“That’s all right. I prefer a martini, which I’m going up and fix for myself this instant.”

“I don’t suppose you’d want me to come up and have one with you?”

“You’re right, I wouldn’t. You have your ragout. And wash your face and hands before you go, for God’s sake.”

Fan got up and left, stepping carefully over the crumpled five-spot. Walking to the stairs, she saw that Orville Reasnor had vacated the vestibule.

Upstairs in her apartment she peeled to the buff, showered and, after a fierce struggle, got into a sweater and a pair of adhesive pants. This done, she went to the kitchen and mixed two martinis, one of which she poured and began to drink. Since she had been practically deserted by Ben, the devious little devil, she supposed she might as well eat out of the refrigerator and spend the evening at home. There was a small steak to broil, a potato to bake, and some head-lettuce for a salad. There was also this martini to finish drinking, another to follow, and more where they came from if it began to seem like a good thing. Later, for amusement, there was Joseph Andrews in the bedroom.

Not so amusing as Ben, Fan thought.

Where had he gone? Fan wondered.

And with whom?

If anybody?