The Ex

37

It was dark when Lisa Emmons left the movie and made her way along East Fifty-seventh Street toward the subway stop. Beside her in the street, light traffic hissed along in the dampness of a recent drizzle. The remnants of the audience that had left the theater with her and walked in the same direction were thinning out, going down side streets or getting into cabs. Lisa’s mind was still on the movie-a satisfying drama about three independent women who got even with the abusive men in their lives then formed an investment company and became millionaires-when she was aware of someone walking behind her, whistling the theme song from the movie.

Lisa slowed her pace and glanced back, then stopped and turned all the way around. The sidewalk wasn’t crowded. There was no one within fifty feet of her. A panhandler who’d appeared from somewhere was standing half a block away with a cup and a cardboard sign. A short man with puffy dark hair was bustling away in the opposite direction. It was possible that he was the whistler. Even the beggar might have followed and whistled the tune. He didn’t necessarily have to have seen the movie; he might have picked up the melody from some other member of the audience who’d walked past him.

Or the whistler might have ducked into a nearby all-night deli or entered the shop Lisa had just passed that had an assortment of jade figurines displayed in its lighted window.

There was no way for her to know for sure. That was one of the problems with a city like New York that lived late into the night; there were too many possibilities.

Her heart beating faster, Lisa continued on her way. She thought, for only a few fleeting seconds, that she heard the whistling again. A sound of the night that might have been the trailing notes of a faraway emergency siren, or an echo from blocks away. Sound carried that way sometimes in the nighttime canyons of tall buildings, the way images sometimes appeared out of their proper place in the desert.

She began walking faster. There had been a monotonal quality to the whistling that was oddly threatening and made her afraid to look behind her again. Yet without looking, she was sure she was being followed.

A cab turned the corner and drove toward her. She ran a few steps, her arm raised.

But despite the fact that the cab’s rooflight showed it to be available, Lisa saw a passenger slumped in back, and the cab accelerated and spattered droplets of rainwater on her as it sped past.

A horn blared at her, and she realized she was standing off the curb, almost a yard into the street. She hurriedly moved back up onto the sidewalk just as a string of cars roared past.

The blare of the horn and her sudden action had jolted her mind. She was angry with herself now. This was absurd. She wasn’t exactly alone-this was midtown Manhattan and there were other people on the streets. She had done nothing and had no reason to be afraid of anyone.

Holding her breath, she stood and stared back in the direction she’d come from along the wide, shadowed sidewalk. There were two women walking away from her, holding hands. Lovers? Mother and daughter? Merely fast friends?

A tall man in baggy pants and a shirt with the sleeves rolled up emerged from the shop that sold jade. He glanced her way, then drew something from his pocket and appeared to be studying it. Two business types in suits and ties walked past the man toward Lisa. She stood and waited while they passed. “…should never have traded so much to get him,” the man on the left was saying, gesticulating with his right arm.

Lisa didn’t move. She continued staring boldly at the man still standing in front of the shop with the jade.

He glanced at her again, slipped whatever he’d been holding and looking at back into his pocket, then walked away in the other direction.

Lisa walked on, feeling better.

But she decided she didn’t want to go down into a subway station. The subways were better these days, safer and more brightly lighted, but still they gave her the creeps. Though she regretted spending the extra money, she’d take a cab.

Even as she made the decision, the traffic light at the next intersection changed and several cabs turned and drove down the street toward her.

She moved back into the street and waved an arm to hail all of them. It was the first one that veered in her direction and came to a rocking stop before her. She climbed in and gave the cabby her address, then settled back into the soft seat and closed her eyes. She knew that if she wanted to, she could keep them closed until she felt the cab stop in front of her apartment, where she’d be safe.

She’d been home for fifteen minutes and was sitting on the sofa, sipping a cup of orange-flavored tea, when the phone rang.

When she picked it up and said hello, a woman’s voice said, “You were followed from the movie.”

Lisa felt the night’s earlier fear come alive and leap into her throat. “Who are you?” she asked in a choked voice.

“I’m somebody who saw you followed from the time you left the theater until you got into a cab. It’s okay, though. No one followed you home.”

Lisa was angry now, but still afraid. She looked down and saw goose bumps on the backs of her pale hands. “Why are you telling me this?”

The woman gave a short laugh, as if the answer to Lisa’s question should be obvious. “To warn you, of course.”

“Then tell me more. Say who was following me. If you know.”

“That really wouldn’t change anything.”

“Then why are they following me?”

“You’re perceived as a threat to this person.”

Lisa’s mind worked furiously but came up empty. “No. I’m not a threat to anyone!”

“I said it was a perceived threat.”

“How do you know all this?”

“An acquaintance of mine has talked to me about you. This person is dangerous.”

“Is it a man or a woman?”

“I can’t tell you. I don’t want anyone to find out we’ve talked.”

“How could anyone find out?”

“You might tell them.”

“Don’t be absurd. If you help me, why should I do anything that would hurt you?”

“It would be an accident.”

“What’s your name?”

“You don’t need to know.”

“You might call again,” Lisa said. “If you do, how will I know it’s the same woman?”

There was silence for such a long time that Lisa thought the woman might have hung up without her hearing the distinctive double click of the connection breaking. Then the voice said, “My name’s Darlene, Lisa.”

“What about a last name?”

“No. I’ve warned you because I saw it as my duty. I’ve fulfilled my obligation. That’s enough.”

“I promise I won’t-

But now Lisa did hear a sharp double click that might have been a hang-up, then only a thrumming silence.

“Hello,” Lisa said tentatively into the void.

The phone company took her voice and didn’t give it back.