Флетчер Флора - Wake Up With a Stranger

We have this young woman, this Donna Buchanan, who awakened one morning in a room in a house in Midland City, a certain kind of person with a certain kind of day ahead of her.

At first, immediately after opening her eyes, she had a feeling that it was very late and that she would have to get up at once and go down to the shop in which she worked. Then, with increasing awareness of which day it was, she remembered that it was Sunday and that it would not be necessary to get up until she chose, or to go anywhere at all. With this established — the day and the limits of its claims upon her — she was prepared to establish also in her mind the significant sequence of events which had determined that she should awaken here and now instead of somewhere else at another time.

To start with, she thought, there was the sale of the original peau de soie with the bouffant skirt. I designed it myself and made it myself and sold it myself to no one but Mrs. William Walter Tyler, Queen Harriet herself, the snotty bitch, but I’ll have to hand it to her that she’s got the body to wear it and get away with it, not all points and edges like some of them. It was the sheerest bit of good luck that the gown was available when she stopped in the shop, just finished and hanging on the rack in the back room as if it were made for her and meant for her from the beginning. But even so, even with such a beautiful chance to show it for the first time, I almost didn’t do it because I was afraid. I was afraid she wouldn’t like it — and if she hadn’t, if she’d rejected it, I’d have hated her guts, I swear to God I’d have scratched her eyes out. But I needn’t have been afraid at all as it turned out, because she liked it and bought it, and this is much more important than might at first be apparent. Quite apart from the price, which was four hundred dollars and therefore of considerable importance in itself, there is the matter of having the continuing patronage of Mrs. William Walter Tyler, Queen Harriet, beautiful Hattie, and the additional patronage of all the points and edges who try to look like Hattie and act like Hattie in all that Hattie does for public observation. What Hattie does that is not for public observation is no business or concern of mine, but just the same, in passing, I wonder who the hell she thinks she’s fooling with her sly caresses under the guise of feeling the material, and I wonder what the hell kind of life Mr. William Walter Tyler has in bed at home.

Let’s see, now. What happened next in the day that was yesterday and had everything to do with the day that is today? After Queen Hattie had gone, it was quite late, almost time to close the shop, and I went into the back room again, and the sewing machine was running, and because of the sale of the peau de soie, which was the best thing I have ever done and actually worth more than the four hundred dollars it brought, the sound of the sewing machine was like a song, a serenade, a singing in the blood. Gussie was waiting for me there, and I could tell from her excitement that she had been spying through the curtains and had followed the sale right from Queen Hattie in mink to her panties and back, and she asked me if I’d really sold it, the peau de soie, and I told her I had, casually, as if it were nothing unusual at all to have one of my little creations covering the velveteen tail of Mrs. William Walter Tyler, and just about then Aaron came back from wherever he’d been, and I told him about it.

He was happy. He was happy for me, and there’s that about Aaron. There was profit in it for him, because it’s his shop, but he was basically glad because it was my design and my gown and might be for me the beginning of acceptance and recognition and something truly big at last. He was happier for me than for himself, and there’s that about him.

“It’s marvelous, Donna,” he said. “I am so happy for you.”

“Maybe it won’t mean anything,” I said. “Maybe it’s a four-hundred-dollar sale and nothing more.”

“Oh, no,” he said. “It’s a beautiful gown, and it will make Mrs. Tyler look beautiful, and everyone will tell her so, and she’ll surely be back for more Donna Buchanan originals. Make no mistake about that.”

“Well, I hope you’re right,” I said, and he said, “It’s absolutely true, and you’ll see, and we should do something to celebrate it.”

He was very sweet with his gray curly hair and soft smiling mouth, and I agreed that it was something that should be celebrated, and after Gussie and the seamstress were gone we talked about what would be a proper celebration and finally decided to go to dinner as a beginning, which we did. I didn’t want to go to my apartment even long enough to change clothes, so I changed into my dress shoes and borrowed from the racks the crimson sheath that fitted my mood, and changed in one of the dressing rooms, and we went out and had dinner and later went dancing and got a little drunk on too many brandies, and I could tell that he wanted me, and after a while I began to want him also, though not so much as he wanted me, and eventually we came here to his home, his wife having gone to Florida, and we undressed and went to bed, and so here I am, in bed still, but he is not, for some reason or other, and I wonder why everything is so exceptionally quiet.

Having thus reviewed her way to bed, she lay and listened to oppressive silence, and all at once, for no reason that she could isolate, she was uneasy and a little depressed and no longer so pleased by remembrance of the sale of the peau de soie. Lying quite still, hardly breathing so that her breath would not disturb the air, she listened intently for the sound of Aaron in the bathroom, but she heard no sound at all, and she began to wonder where he could possibly have gone to. It was certainly not reasonable that he would simply get up and go away under the circumstances, leaving her asleep and naked in bed with no word whatever. Unless, of course, he had been called away quite early and planned to return quickly, in which case he would surely have left a note explaining things.

Thinking that this was what he had done, she sat up suddenly and snapped on the small lamp on the table beside the bed. But there was no note on the table or pinned to his pillow, and neither, she learned by leaning to the side and peering over the edge of the bed, had it accidentally fallen to the floor. It was certainly peculiar, and she couldn’t understand it at all, and she began to feel a little angry, as well as lonely and depressed, and she would give Aaron hell for it when he returned, you could depend on that, and what made his absence even worse and absolutely inexcusable was that she was becoming increasingly conscious of her own body and wanted him to return for more reasons than one.

Then it occurred to her that he had probably gone downstairs to the kitchen to prepare them some breakfast. This was a perfectly rational and acceptable explanation, because it was just the kind of considerate thing he would do, and she lay and listened intently again, trying to detect the sounds of movement on the lower floor, but she still heard nothing and had really expected to hear nothing, for in so large a house the kitchen was much too far away for sounds to carry. Moving abruptly, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed and reached for her glasses on the bedside table and put them on.

She did not do this because she needed them to see well, but because they had become to her the symbol of something she had never quite isolated and identified, and they gave her a feeling of strength and security and of being the kind of person she wanted to be. They were harlequin-shaped horn rims with plain glass lenses. The optometrist had reported she did not need glasses, but she had insisted so vehemently upon having them that he had finally shrugged and put the plain glass in the frames of her choice. She had thought then, and still thought, that the frames accentuated the natural slant of her eyes and the piquancy of her thin face, and what she thought was true. She was pretty enough without them, but with them she was much more than pretty, and it would have been difficult to determine precisely the substance of the difference.