The Furnished Room by Laura Del-Rivo Page A

the ashtray. He removed these things from sight.
    Ilsa watched him. After a while she said: ‘I wish you had a radio.’
    â€˜Shall I get one?’
    â€˜Yes.’ She said in a twangy voice: ‘This is Radio Luxembourg, the Station of the Stars.’ She followed this announcement with an imitation of a pop singer.
    Becket said: ‘Fine. But can you pitch it a bit lower?’
    â€˜Huh? Why?’
    â€˜The landlady. I’m not supposed to have visitors after ten-thirty. Especially beautiful girls.’
    She accepted the compliment as a matter of course, saying merely: ‘What a drag.’
    â€˜I know. It makes me feel so humiliated, having to ask my friends to be quiet on the stairs, and keep their voices down. The old cow makes me feel guilty every time I come in the front door. I want to find a place without a landlady on the premises. I detest the whole race. The constant pettiness and prying, the com plaining notes pushed under the door. That’s why I left the Paddington place, you know. The fool woman was always shoving notes under my door, complaining that I burnt the light too late, or that I walked up and down and disturbed the people below, etc., etc. Finally I told her I was sick to death of reading her everlasting drivel, and that she must either stop pestering me with notes or find another tenant.’
    â€˜Heavens! What did she say to that?’
    â€˜She asked me, who did I think I was?’
    They laughed, then Ilsa said: ‘I can’t help sympathizing with the woman. You do give the impression that you think yourself superior to other people. It’s a very irritating trait of yours.’
    â€˜It’s only because I am superior.’ He said it as a joke, and then realized that he meant it. He had always had a conviction of his superiority; a conviction so basic that it was hardly conscious.
    She said: ‘You’re bloody conceited, Joe Beckett.’
    â€˜I know. Can you stand it?’ He took her hand and raised her out of the chair. They stood facing each other. He said: ‘You obsess me. You know that, don’t you? I’ve got you in my blood like fever.’
    He tried to kiss her, but she quickly averted her face so that his mouth only brushed her cheek. She shrugged him off. ‘Stop it, Joe. You’re to leave me alone.’
    â€˜But why?’
    There were pinpoints of light in her grey eyes. She looked mean and nasty. ‘Because you get in my way, that’s why.’
    â€˜I don’t see that.’
    â€˜I can’t explain any better.’
    â€˜Well, try.’
    â€˜All right, I’ll try. You said you felt superior. Right? If life proves unpleasant to you, you evade it by hiding in superiority feelings. A sort of sour grapes. Well, I am  very insecure person, but my cure is different from yours. I’ve got to have people loving me, admiring me, telling me I’m wonderful. Love and admiration build me up, so I don’t feel insecure any more. But you despise me, Joe. You despise me, my friends, my amusements. All the things that are necessary to me. Instead of building me up, you undermine me. That’s what I mean by saying you get in my way. And I won’t stand for that.’
    â€˜I see. At least, I think I see.’
    Her voice took on a more conciliatory tone. ‘Besides, my darling, I’d be bad for you. I’d hurt you. I’d betray you by going off with other men. Oh, I might promise not to, and really intend not to. But I’d do it just the same. I can’t stop with any one man. I’ve got to have new men, new conquests. I suppose I need constant confirmation that I’m attractive.’ She pushed her hair back with quick, nervous fingers. ‘I remember once when I was a kid, a neighbour of ours got