The Glass Inferno

CHAPTER 15

Lisolette Mueller-she often wrote her last name in the umlauted form as Muller-was delighted. Her evening dinner with Harlee would be the perfect ending for a wonderful day. It had started with a quiet morning during which she had played the “Pastorale” in massive, thundering cadenzas that literally rattled her apartment windows and, finally, in a fit of bittersweet nostalgia, she had played her worn but precious 78 rpm records of Madame Schumann-Heink in a recital of ponderous lieder.

It had been a marvelous way to spend the morning of one’s sixtieth birthday. She had wept a little, too, remembering the old days in St. Louis, the girls she had known in the Turnverein-and the boys, too, many of whom had made charming fools of themselves over her -and the thousands of students who had passed through her gym and history classes at South St. Louis’ Goethe High School. It had been a full life, she thought, rewarding enough so that at sixty she still felt young and a part of the world and the people around her.

Not that he actually looked sixty, she assured herself.

In one sense it made little difference to her if she did or didn’t, but she had a residual pride in her stocky and still athletic figure-with no trace of a double chin, she reminded herself. Her hair had silvered at the temples and there were gray strands mixed with her natural brunette, but the over-all effect was not displeasing to her eye. Or to others, she added mentally, thinking of Harlee Claiborne.

Granted that his attention was compounded of business interests as well as personal ones, but she was quite sure that he found her attractive.

By evening, after a long walk in the park, her mellow mood had developed into a sort of Volksfreude and she felt the urge to visit some of her friends in the building.

She busied herself in the kitchen for a moment and then called into the living room, “Schiller, come here and see what Lisa has for you.” The gray tomcat, whom she kept against all rules of the building, arched his back at the mention of his name, purred, and sauntered into the kitchen. “Isn’t that splendid? See the kidneys that Lisa has chopped up so nicely for you?” The Harrises were still home, she thought, and she had promised to look in at the Albrechts before going to dinner. “Schiller, we aren’t going to be able to use our extra ticket for the Leningrad-Kirovertrude has to work that night-and I’m sure Sharon would like it, don’t you?”

Schiller, who had almost finished his dinner, purred but made no other comment. No fool Schiller, Lisolette thought. “And I think Sharon would appreciate Prokofiev’s ‘Cinderella,’ too,” Lisolette continued. “Not that I really approve of the modern Russians but Prokofiev should have been German.”

Schiller was now full and drowsy and could sense the chill of the brewing storm outside; he padded back into the living room and curled into a tight ball in his favored corner of the couch. The cushions were warm and feline dreams were only moments away.

Lisolette found a light jacket in the hall closet, one that. she had knitted herself and was properly proud of.

In her younger days-at fifty, for instance-she had won several blue ribbons at the Missouri State Fair in Jefferson City for her knitting and crocheting. She slipped it on, scratched Schiller absently under his chin, and left.

All three of the elevators were in operation at the moment and she waited impatiently. She suspected that the Harrises were planning on going to the movies tonight and she didn’t want to miss them. They were a nice, though somewhat stiff middle-class couple who, she suspected, looked upon her as something of a busybody, particularly when it came’ to Sharon, whom she regarded as the real flower of the Harris household. Sharon, at fourteen, was the middle of the three Harris children, Irene being seventeen and Danny-Daniel, as his father, Aaron, insisted on calling him-being eleven.

Lisolette was fond of all three of the children but had a special liking for Sharon, who was quiet and given to introspection and filled with a questing intelligence. She appealed to the schoolteacher in Lisolette-and also reminded Lisolette very much of herself at that age.

Lisolette had met Sharon and her mother in the park one day, surrounded by three teenage boys who had been taunting them and working up their courage to snatch the mother’s purse. With Lisolette on the scene, the odds had suddenly reversed themselves and the boys had fled while Lisolette had escorted home a frightened Sharon and her badly shaken mother. To her delight, they also lived in the Glass House, a block from the park.

It was an unusual family, Lisolette thought. Ruth Harris was portly and round-faced, almost a caricature of the Jewish middle-class housewife. Gregarious in the extreme, she was very proud of her husband and the three children. Lisolette had liked her instantly, though she wasn’t quite sure that her friendship was returned.

Tolerated, perhaps, she thought sadly, but she was a shade too German to be completely accepted either by Ruth or her husband, Aaron, who was president of an over-the-counter clothing company and on the board of directors of two small corporations. He was verging on being both fat and balding but had a hearty manner and occasionally, Lisolette thought, you could see the small -boy hiding within the large bulk of the man.

The elevator finally came and a moment later she was knocking on the door of the Harris apartment. Ruth opened it and Lisolette said, almost apologetically, “I hope I haven’t caught you at a bad time but I had to stop by and see Sharon.”

“We were just getting ready …” Ruth started, looking harried, then suddenly swung the door wide. Lisolette could almost imagine her mind flicking back to that day in the park. “Come on in, Lisolette-we were going to go out but there’s always time for a cup of coffee.”

Aaron Harris came puffing in from the bedroom, a bow tie canted at an odd angle on his throat. “Ruthie, you know I can’t tie this damned thing. He noticed Lisolette and frowned for a moment, then slid automatically into the role of good host. “You caught us at a bad time, Lisolette; we’re trying to make the early show. We’ll be a few minutes, so help yourself to a cup of coffee; it’s in the breakfast nook.”

“I’ll only be a minute,” Lisolette apologized. “Is Sharon home?”

Irene, the eldest daughter, came in from the kitchen holding a glass of milk. “Honestly, Daddy, we’d better hurry or we’ll be late.”

She nodded at Lisolette, “Hello, Miss Mueller, congratulate us-we finally got Dad to take us out for a night on the town.”

“Some night,” Aaron protested.

“Sharon’s baby-sitting tonight,” Ruth Harris said, busy with the bow tie. “She’s with Danny in the family room.”

“I have this extra ticket to the Kirov’s ‘Cinderella,’ ” Lisolette explained tentatively. “It’s for next Thursday night and I thought she might like to go.”

Ruth Harris hesitated in the middle of tying the bow.

“That’s a school night,” she said, suddenly doubtful. “How late will she be up?”

Lisolette felt uncomfortable. “Rather late, but one doesn’t get a chance to see the Kirov every day.”

“Don’t, be such a kvetch,” Aaron said, the small boy suddenly surfacing. “Let her go. In the meantime, tie the tie and no back talk.”

“Sharon!” Ruth called, turning her attention back to the tie.

Sharon’s voice floated in from the family -room. “Oh, Mama, it’s just at the exciting part!”

“You’ve got company!” Aaron shouted. Then, “For heaven’s sake, Ruth, you’re strangling me!”

Sharon appeared in the hallway, pale-faced and shy; Danny was half hidden behind her.

“Lisa, Lisa!” Danny suddenly chanted, breaking away from his sister.

He ran into the room and clutched at Lisolette’s skirt. She laughed and rumpled his hair.

“Mind your manners, Danny,” Ruth said sharply. ” How many times do I have to warn you about mauling people?”

“He’s a boy,” Lisolette said indulgently, “and boys are like that, right, Danny?” Too late she caught Ruth’s thin-lipped silence and reminded herself that she wasn’t, after all, a member of the family.

She turned to Sharon, keeping her voice more formal. “How are you, Sharon?”

“I’m very fine, Miss Mueller.” For-a second she was all seriousness and then, abruptly, all smiles. “Oh, it’s ever so good to see you!”

Lisolette told her about the ticket and she turned immediately to her father. “Will it be all right, Daddy?”

He was busy fastening the ornate links into his cuffs.

“Why ask me, ask your mother. With me, it’s okay.”

“It’s all right, Sharon,” Ruth said, a trifle reluctantly.

“Only you’ll have-to go to bed early the night before; we can’t have you losing your rest.”

“I’m going back to watch TV,” Danny announced, realizing that none of this concerned him.

“Good night, Danny,” Lisolette said. He was too preoccupied to notice. She turned to the Harrises and made her good-byes, hugging Sharon and doing her best to be nice to Ruth. The rest of the family liked her, she knew well enough, but Ruth was jealous of her position within it and obviously didn’t like the possibility of having a strange maiden aunt grafted on the family tree.

Outside in the corridor she straightened her jacket and suddenly realized that Danny must have been eating chocolate before he came in.

His hands had left thick dark stains on the nubby wool. Boys will be boys, she thought-and sighed wistfully. She missed teaching school, missed all of the children. They had been such a wonderful part of her life….

She glanced down at her small diamond studded wrist watch and hesitated. She had promised the Albrechts that she would stop in but she had taken more time at the Harrises than she had planned. She would have to hurry if she was going to see the Albrechts and still have time to dress for dinner with Harlee. He was a delightful man, she mused, with a worldly poise and sense of culture that suggested he might have been a bit of a rogue in his time.

It was one of the things that made him attractive, she thought; that tiny thrill of danger and distrust. It was too bad that after tonight their brief and pleasant relationship would probably end, though she had learned long ago to accept the bad with the good… .

She made up her mind.

She would drop by the Albrechts; Harlee was the sort of gentleman who would expect his ladies to be fashionably late. In any event, she thought somewhat sadly, tonight he would probably be more than willing to wait.

Tom Albrecht met her at the door in silence, his sensitive hands and fingers signaling his welcome. She replied in the same manner. He could read lips as well as could his wife, Evelyn, but Lisolette preferred to use sign language. He was inviting her in for coffee; her own stubby fingers conveyed her acceptance.

Evelyn was sitting in a kitchen chair, knotting a macrame mat.

She glanced up, smiled, and rose to greet Lisolette. Suddenly there was a wild whoop from the living room; that would be Chris, Lisolette thought, their five-year-old son. The whoop, as well as the immediate scolding by their daughter Linda, was lost on the Albrechts themselves.

Lisolette motioned to Evelyn that she could not stay long and followed the two of them into the dining room.

The three children-Chris, Linda, aged seven, and Martin, the baby of the family at three, were sitting around the table having their evening meal. Evelyn had spread the table top with place mats and Linda was playing mother and having her hands full. Lisolette knew that Evelyn preferred having the mealtime split in two, since Tom’s job as an engineer for a local electronics firm often kept him away until late at night, and the evening routine had gradually divided into two separate dinner hours.

Evelyn set a plate for her at the table and Lisolette said, “Hello” to the children, reserving a special kiss for Martin and receiving a taste of baby food in return.

They were a beautiful family, she thought, the noisy dinner table marred only by the silence of the parents. From his high cheekbones, Lisolette suspected that Tom had American-indian ancestors someplace in his background. Evelyn had more delicate features and looked the prom-girl type that television advertisers loved. They got along so well among themselves that you frequently forgot that they were deaf mutes; they even attended the ballet occasionally, though they could not hear the music.

One of the few times that they themselves had become bitterly aware of their handicap was the time they had been trapped in a San Francisco fog so dense that neither could see the other to communicate.

Evelyn had told Lisolette of the panic they had felt, and the fear.

They refreshed their coffee and Lisolette with swift fingers told them she must be going. Both expressed honest regret. “I have a gentleman friend calling.” Lisolette signaled and could feel herself blushing.

Tom smiled broadly and motioned, “A lady such as you must be very careful.”

She laughed and spelled back, “At my age, there’s no longer anything to be careful about.” She promised to baby-sit with Linda and the other children on the following Tuesday and then excused herself.

Outside the door, she glanced again at her watch and realized she was running very late indeed. What wonderful people, she thought, hurrying to the elevator bank.

Then she remembered Harlee. If she really hurried, she thought, she wouldn’t keep him waiting very long at all.

She hadn’t, she reflected, running over ancient history, kept a beau waiting yet. And then she caught the idea appealing to her.

At her age, she chided herself. She was becoming a flirt- . .