Ira Levin - Rosemary’s Baby

It was almost four. He would be home in an hour or so.

She called Actors Equity and got Donald Baumgart’s telephone number.

The phone was answered on the first ring with a quick impatient “Yeh?”

“Is this Donald Baumgart?”

“That’s right.”

“This is Rosemary Woodhouse,” she said. “Guy Woodhouse’s wife.”

“Oh?”

“I wanted-“

“My God,” he said, “you must be a happy little lady these days! I hear you’re living in baronial splendor in the ‘Bram,’ sipping vintage wine from crystal goblets, with scores of uniformed lackeys in attendance.”

She said, “I wanted to know how you are; if there’s been any improvement.”

He laughed. “Why bless your heart, Guy Woodhouse’s wife,” he said, “I’m fine! I’m splendid! There’s been enormous improvement! I only broke six glasses today, only fell down three flights of stairs, and only went tap-a-taptapping in front of two speeding fire engines! Every day in every way I’m getting better and better and better and better.”

Rosemary said, “Guy and I are both very unhappy that he got his break because of your misfortune.”

Donald Baumgart was silent for a moment, and then said, “Oh, what the hell. That’s the way it goes. Somebody’s up, somebody’s down. He would’ve made out all right anyway. To tell you the truth, after that second audition we did for Two Hours of Solid Crap, I was dead certain he was going to get the part. He was terrific.”

“He thought you were going to get it,” Rosemary said. “And he was right.”

“Briefly.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t come along that day he came to visit you,” Rosemary said. “He asked me to, but I couldn’t.”

“Visit me? You mean the day we met for drinks?”

“Yes,” she said. “That’s what I meant.”

“It’s good you didn’t come,” he said; “they don’t allow women, do they? No, after four they do, that’s right; and it was after four. That was awfully good-natured of Guy. Most people wouldn’t have had the-well, class, I guess. I wouldn’t have had it, I can tell you that.”

“The loser buying the winner a drink,” Rosemary said.

“And little did we know that a week later-less than a week, in fact-“

“That’s right,” Rosemary said. “It was only a few days before you-“

“Went blind. Yes. It was a Wednesday or Thursday, because I’d been to a matinee-Wednesday, I think-and the following Sunday was when it happened. Hey”-he laughed-“Guy didn’t put anything in that drink, did he?”

“No, he didn’t,” Rosemary said. Her voice was shaking. “By the way,” she said, “he has something of yours, you know.”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t you know?”

“No,” he said.

“Didn’t you miss anything, that day?”

“No. Not that I remember.”

“You’re sure?”

“You don’t mean my tie, do you?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Well he’s got mine and I’ve got his. Does he want his back? He can have it; it doesn’t matter to me what tie I’m wearing, or if I’m wearing one at all.”

“No, he doesn’t want it back,” Rosemary said. “I didn’t understand. I thought he had only borrowed it.”

“No, it was a trade. It sounded as if you thought he had stolen it.”

“I have to hang up now,” Rosemary said. “I just wanted to know if there was any improvement.”

“No, there isn’t. It was nice of you to call.”

She hung up.

It was nine minutes after four.

She put on her girdle and a dress and sandals. She took the emergency money Guy kept under his underwear-a not very thick fold of bills-and put it into her handbag, put in her address book too and the bottle of vitamin capsules. A contraction came and went, the second of the day. She took the suitcase that stood by the bedroom -door and went down the hallway and out of the apartment.

Halfway to the elevator, she turned and doubled back.

She rode down in the service elevator with two delivery boys.

On Fifty-fifth Street she got a taxi.

Miss Lark, Dr. Sapirstein’s receptionist, glanced at the suitcase and said, smiling, “You aren’t in labor, are you?”

“No,” Rosemary said, “but I have to see the doctor. It’s very important.” Miss Lark glanced at her watch. “He has to leave at five,” she said, “and there’s Mrs. Byron . . .”-she looked over at a woman who sat reading and then smiled at Rosemary-“but I’m sure he’ll see you. Sit down. I’ll let him know you’re here as soon as he’s free.”

“Thank you,” Rosemary said.

She put the suitcase by the nearest chair and sat down. The handbag’s white patent was damp in her hands. She opened it, took out a tissue, and wiped her palms and then her upper lip and temples. Her heart was racing.

“How is it out there?” Miss Lark asked.

“Terrible,” Rosemary said. “Ninety-four.”

Miss Lark made a pained sound.

A woman came out of Dr. Sapirstein’s office, a woman in her fifth or sixth

month whom Rosemary had seen before. They nodded at each other. Miss Lark went in.

“You’re due any day now, aren’t you?” the woman said, waiting by the desk.

“Tuesday,” Rosemary said.

“Good luck,” the woman said. “You’re smart to get it over with before July and August.”

Miss Lark came out again. “Mrs. Byron,” she said, and to Rosemary, “He’ll see you right after.”

“Thank you,” Rosemary said.

Mrs. Byron went into Dr. Sapirstein’s office and closed the door. The woman by the desk conferred with Miss Lark about another appointment and then went out, saying good-by to Rosemary and wishing her luck again.

Miss Lark wrote. Rosemary took up a copy of Time that lay at her elbow. Is God Dead? it asked in red letters on a black background. She found the index and turned to Show Business. There was a piece on Barbra Streisand. She tried to read it.

“That smells nice,” Miss Lark said, sniffing in Rosemary’s direction. “What is it?”

“It’s called ‘Detchema,’ “ Rosemary said.

“It’s a big improvement over your regular, if you don’t mind my saying.”

“That wasn’t a cologne,” Rosemary said. “It was a good luck charm. I threw it away.”

“Good,” Miss Lark said. “Maybe the doctor will follow your example.”

Rosemary, after a moment, said, “Dr. Sapirstein?”

Miss Lark said, “Mm-hmm. He has the after-shave. But it isn’t, is it? Then he has a good luck charm. Only he isn’t superstitious. I don’t think he is. Anyway, he has the same smell once in a while, whatever it is, and when he does, I can’t come within five feet of him. Much stronger than yours was. Haven’t you ever noticed?”

“No,” Rosemary said.

“I guess you haven’t been here on the right days,” Miss Lark said. “Or maybe you thought it was your own you were smelling. What is it, a chemical thing?”

Rosemary stood up and put down Time and picked up her suitcase. “My husband is outside; I have to tell him something,” she said. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

“You can leave your suitcase,” Miss Lark said.

Rosemary took it with her though.

“All right,” the woman said.

Holding the hook again, Rosemary wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. Please, Dr. Hill. She cracked open the door for air and then pushed it closed again as a woman came near and waited. “Oh, I didn’t know that,” Rosemary said to the mouthpiece, her finger on the hook. “Really? What else did he say?” Sweat trickled down her back and from under her arms. The baby turned and rolled.

It had been a mistake to use a phone so near Dr. Sapirstein’s office. She should have gone to Madison or Lexington. “That’s wonderful,” she said. “Did he say anything else?” At this very moment he might be’ out of the door and looking for her, and wouldn’t the nearest phone booth be the first place he’d look? She should have gotten right into a taxi, gotten far away. She put her back as much as she could in the direction he would come from if he came. The woman outside was walking away, thank God.