danced. She stood there a while longer, but Hedra said nothing more. The light washing from beneath her door suddenly disappeared.
As long as she’s all right, Allie figured, what she does in her own room is her business. That was part of the understanding when they’d become roommates. Still, there was something about the absence of music and the uncontrolled wildness of the dance that gave Allie the creeps. On the other hand, a backlighted figure moving in silhouette could be deceptive.
Apparently Allie’s roommate had danced enough that night and had gone to bed. Allie decided that was a sound idea. She turned away from the blank face of the door and went to her bedroom.
Allie woke the next morning to the sound of a sanitation truck grinding away at garbage that had been piled high at the curb. Loud metallic clanking, then high-pitched whining and rending was followed by the coughing roar of the truck engine, then the squeal and hiss of air brakes. Now and then one of the workers handling Manhattan’s throwaways would shout frantically or bark loud laughter. It was an adventure, picking up trash.
She opened one gritty eye and studied the dust motes swirling in a sunbeam bisecting her bedroom, then slowly shifted her gaze to the red digital numbers on the clock by the bed. Eight-thirty. Still early.
Then she realized, late, early, it made no difference. She had no appointments. Nowhere to go.
No work and no immediate income.
She heard tap water run for a moment in the kitchen, then Hedra stride across the apartment and open and close the hall door, leaving for whatever job she was working.
Allie remembered last night’s discovery that her I.D. and credit cards were missing from her wallet. She would look up the card numbers on her monthly statements, then she’d call the credit companies and inform them of the missing cards. Their numbers would soon be listed among those stolen, among hundreds and perhaps thousands listed on the hot sheets for salesclerks and cashiers to scan while infuriated customers waited in checkout lines.
New plastic would be sent, but Allie would be left without much cash and with no credit until her replacement cards arrived. She realized, with an edge of subtle panic, that getting new charge cards might take a while. It was almost as if an integral piece of her were missing; plastic had become essential in her life.
She rolled over to lie on her back and gazed listlessly at the ceiling, listening as the metallic mayhem of the trash pickup moved down the street like a raucous carnival. Finally the noise drifted faint and echoing from the next block.
As she ran her tongue around the inside of her mouth, she realized she was parched and thirsty. She’d lain in bed for a long time last night before falling asleep, and she hadn’t drunk anything since dinner at Goya’s.
Still, she was more tired than thirsty. She watched a tiny insect on the ceiling make its gradual, indirect way to the corner near the window. It stopped, started, slowly detouring around cracks in the plaster, moving through life with the care necessary for survival. Finally it disappeared in deep, angled shadow. Into safety? Or danger?
Allie sighed, stood up, and plodded barefoot from the bedroom. The floor was hard and unyielding beneath her soles. She could feel the individual cracks between strips of wood. She returned to the bedroom to get her slippers, but she couldn’t find them. Hedra had been wearing them last night; maybe they were in her room.
But the slippers were nowhere in sight in Hedra’s bedroom. Allie peeked beneath the bed. Nothing there. Not even dust. She walked to the closet to see if compulsively neat Hedra had placed the slippers in there.
A moment after she opened the closet door she stepped back in surprise. The clothes. Hedra’s clothes. They looked so much like … they
were
Allie’s own clothes.
Allie turned and hurried to her own room. She flung open the closet doors.
Her
As long as she’s all right, Allie figured, what she does in her own room is her business. That was part of the understanding when they’d become roommates. Still, there was something about the absence of music and the uncontrolled wildness of the dance that gave Allie the creeps. On the other hand, a backlighted figure moving in silhouette could be deceptive.
Apparently Allie’s roommate had danced enough that night and had gone to bed. Allie decided that was a sound idea. She turned away from the blank face of the door and went to her bedroom.
Allie woke the next morning to the sound of a sanitation truck grinding away at garbage that had been piled high at the curb. Loud metallic clanking, then high-pitched whining and rending was followed by the coughing roar of the truck engine, then the squeal and hiss of air brakes. Now and then one of the workers handling Manhattan’s throwaways would shout frantically or bark loud laughter. It was an adventure, picking up trash.
She opened one gritty eye and studied the dust motes swirling in a sunbeam bisecting her bedroom, then slowly shifted her gaze to the red digital numbers on the clock by the bed. Eight-thirty. Still early.
Then she realized, late, early, it made no difference. She had no appointments. Nowhere to go.
No work and no immediate income.
She heard tap water run for a moment in the kitchen, then Hedra stride across the apartment and open and close the hall door, leaving for whatever job she was working.
Allie remembered last night’s discovery that her I.D. and credit cards were missing from her wallet. She would look up the card numbers on her monthly statements, then she’d call the credit companies and inform them of the missing cards. Their numbers would soon be listed among those stolen, among hundreds and perhaps thousands listed on the hot sheets for salesclerks and cashiers to scan while infuriated customers waited in checkout lines.
New plastic would be sent, but Allie would be left without much cash and with no credit until her replacement cards arrived. She realized, with an edge of subtle panic, that getting new charge cards might take a while. It was almost as if an integral piece of her were missing; plastic had become essential in her life.
She rolled over to lie on her back and gazed listlessly at the ceiling, listening as the metallic mayhem of the trash pickup moved down the street like a raucous carnival. Finally the noise drifted faint and echoing from the next block.
As she ran her tongue around the inside of her mouth, she realized she was parched and thirsty. She’d lain in bed for a long time last night before falling asleep, and she hadn’t drunk anything since dinner at Goya’s.
Still, she was more tired than thirsty. She watched a tiny insect on the ceiling make its gradual, indirect way to the corner near the window. It stopped, started, slowly detouring around cracks in the plaster, moving through life with the care necessary for survival. Finally it disappeared in deep, angled shadow. Into safety? Or danger?
Allie sighed, stood up, and plodded barefoot from the bedroom. The floor was hard and unyielding beneath her soles. She could feel the individual cracks between strips of wood. She returned to the bedroom to get her slippers, but she couldn’t find them. Hedra had been wearing them last night; maybe they were in her room.
But the slippers were nowhere in sight in Hedra’s bedroom. Allie peeked beneath the bed. Nothing there. Not even dust. She walked to the closet to see if compulsively neat Hedra had placed the slippers in there.
A moment after she opened the closet door she stepped back in surprise. The clothes. Hedra’s clothes. They looked so much like … they
were
Allie’s own clothes.
Allie turned and hurried to her own room. She flung open the closet doors.
Her
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