William Bankier - Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 92, No. 3. Whole No. 547, September 1988

She touched up her lipstick, combed her hair, and straightened her blouse. Eric’s voice had had a special pleading in it that she had learned to recognize, and she had dressed for him. She wiped off her lipstick, then put more on, feeling like an idiot for letting him put her in a situation that made her run to the ladies’ room to hide. She looked at herself in the mirror and thought about the last time she had told Eric she didn’t want to see him any more. He had called the next night with that pleading tone in his voice and asked her to meet him at the Cafe du Monde at ten. She had waited at one of the small marbletop tables until almost eleven, until she’d been asked to order something or leave. She could still remember the embarrassment that had flooded through her and swearing she would never wait for him again. She also still remembered how especially tender he had been later that night at his apartment.

Harmony looked at her watch. She didn’t know how long she’d been hiding here but she made up her mind that if Eric was not in the bar when she went back, she would leave. She would keep her promise to herself and more. She would go home and go about her business and when he called she would tell him she didn’t need to see him anywhere. She would mean it this time.

And she so much expected him to be there when she came back into the bar that she felt momentarily helpless and paralyzed when she looked around the room and couldn’t find him.

The waitress asked her, “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. Is there another way out of here?”

“This way,” the waitress said and pointed down the narrow hall that led to the restrooms. “Take a right at the end and you’ll see the exit sign. It leads out to the parking lot in back.”

Harmony hesitated and looked back to the bar.

The waitress said, “Maybe he’ll come in a minute.”

“What?”

“The one you’re waiting on. Maybe he’ll show up in a minute.”

Harmony said, “He’s not coming.” Then: “Is there a pay phone?”

The waitress pointed again down the hall toward the back.

Harmony followed the hall and found the phone on the wall next to the rear exit. She rummaged in her purse to find a coin, dialed Eric’s number, and waited. It rang three times, then there was a click and a whirring sound and the answering machine was playing Eric’s greeting.

“This is Eric Andrepont. I can’t come to the phone now, but at the tone, leave your name, age, measurements, and phone number, and I’ll call you as soon as I have a clear spot on my calendar. Ta ta!”

Harmony had once told him the message offended her, and he had laughed and said it was only a joke. That was the same night he’d given her a key to his apartment to show her how much he trusted her. She had given him a key to her apartment several weeks before. She said, “Eric, I can’t wait in this place. If you really want to see me, I’ll be at home.”

She hung up and went out the door to the parking lot. The air had turned grey and was full of fine mist. She didn’t have an umbrella and had to walk through an alley to get to the street, so that by the time she got to her car she was wet, cold, and mad.

When she drove into the lot of her apartment complex, she looked around to see if his car was parked in the visitors’ parking area. In her apartment, she immediately felt its emptiness. He was not there. She hadn’t consciously expected him to be, but the sense of aloneness still caught her by surprise. She had to stop for a moment and take several deep breaths to smooth out the ragged edges of her nerves.

She took off her wet clothes and put on the jogging suit she usually wore when she expected to stay around the apartment. She fixed a light supper, watched television, tried to read three or four of the magazines on the coffee table, but gave that up when she realized she was looking at the pictures without registering anything about them. She called Eric’s number three times during the evening, but all she heard was the beginning of the same recorded message. She hung up each time as soon as the tape began to play.

She remembered the less than half full bottle of white wine left in the refrigerator a week before when Eric had come for supper. She poured herself a glass of it and took it with her into the bathroom, where she undressed. She was twenty-seven years old and not strikingly beautiful, but she kept herself in shape with aerobics and a reasonable diet. And she knew men were attracted by her dark hair and by a certain quality in her voice.

Two or three times in recent weeks, Eric had seemed on the verge of telling her something. The other morning especially, after he’d come to dinner and stayed the night, he had seemed about to say something, then realized he was going to be late for work.

Harmony finished the glass of wine before getting into the shower.

She hadn’t finished drying herself when the phone rang.

Without giving her a chance to say hello, Eric said, “Sorry about this afternoon. I got tied up.”

“You do that a lot.”

“Don’t get huffed about it.”

“You know I hate that place.”

“I said I’m sorry. Can I come over?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

She looked at the digital clock on her dresser and saw it was nearly ten. “It’s too late. I’m tired and I have to get up early tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow’s Sunday.”

“I’m going to see my mother.” Her mother lived in Lafayette, a three-hour drive from New Orleans. She made the trip every six or seven weeks. She hadn’t planned to make the trip this weekend. “Besides,” she said, “I thought you were going out of town.”

Eric said, “Change in plans. I’m going next week instead. So if you want to see me this weekend, I better come over tonight.”

“No, Eric. I’ll come back early tomorrow. I’ll call you then.”

Eric hung up with his usual “Ta ta.”

Harmony finished drying herself and dressed for bed. She turned off the lights, opened the draperies, and raised a window. It was April, but still cool — a TV weatherman had said it was the coolest spring in decades for southern Louisiana. She got into bed and looked out the window. The sky was clear and full of stars.

Eric knew all about the stars and had tried to help her find the Big and Little Dippers, Orion, and other constellations, but when she looked at the sky all she saw were stars. Eric had become impatient and told her he wouldn’t try to teach her anything else.

A mockingbird in the trees behind the apartment house sang. Harmony recognized that sound because when she was much younger a mockingbird had made its spring nest in an oak tree outside her bedroom window at home. Her mother had told her that the night song was the male singing out of his need for the female. And she thought of Eric trying to tell her something that he couldn’t get out.

She turned on the lamp beside the bed and dialed his number. It rang the three times, clicked, and the answering machine responded: “Hi, this is Eric. I just stepped out for a minute. I’ll be right back, so leave a number, especially if your name is Harmony. Ta ta.”

She said, “Eric, I’m sorry I was so cold. When you come back, don’t go away again. I’m on my way over, as soon as I get dressed. Ta ta!” She sang the signoff the way he usually did.

She didn’t need makeup, an old dress would be all right. Her hair was a mess but Eric wouldn’t mind — he’d be happy just to see her. And if he wasn’t home yet, she had her own key.

During the day, the trip from her apartment to his place could take thirty-five minutes or more, but at that time of night, without traffic and with a little luck with green lights, she made it in just a little over twenty.