Эд Макбейн - Strangers When We Meet

“Do you think so?”

“Certainly. When you get as old as Mama, your organs get all mixed up, and everything bothers you.” She began stroking her hair viciously. “I’d like a cigarette,” she said. “Do you have any?”

“If you’re going to smoke, go to the john.”

“She knows, anyway,” Lois said. “Every time she goes in there, she damn near chokes on the smoke. You’d think she’d loosen up and say ‘Go ahead, kids, smoke.’ But not Mama.” Lois shook her head. “She’s silly about some things.”

“Eve wasn’t allowed to smoke until she was eighteen,” Linda said.

“Eve’s a different generation,” Lois answered. “Besides, I’ll bet she smoked, too.”

“Not in the house.”

Lois was searching through Linda’s bag. When she found the cigarettes she lighted one instantly, went to the window, opened it, and stood there puffing feverishly.

“I don’t know why you’re dating MacLean,” she said suddenly. “He’s a spook.”

“He doesn’t seem like one.”

“He is. I’ve dated him, and I know. He’s a spook.”

“Well,” Linda said, and she shrugged.

“Where’s he taking you?”

“To a movie.”

“That’s about his speed, all right. He’ll buy you an ice-cream soda later. He’s a big spender, MacLean. He hasn’t got Scotch blood for nothing. Whatever you do, don’t order anything expensive like a banana split or anything. He’ll die right on the spot.”

“He didn’t seem tight.”

“How do you know? You’ve never gone out with him.”

“Just talking to him, I mean.”

“I’ll bet you ten dollars he tells you about his father’s clan, and his kilt. If you want to see him blush, ask him what a Scotchman has under his kilt.”

“Did you ?”

“No, but I wanted to. He’s a spook. He doesn’t even know how to kiss.”

“He seems nice,” Linda said.

“Are you going to let him?” She paused. “Kiss you, I mean?”

“Not on the first date. That’s what we decided, didn’t we?”

“Sure, but it seems sort of silly. I think we ought to change it. I think we left out a lot.”

“I think the rules are fine,” Linda said.

“I think we ought to include petting. All the girls do it, Lindy. Seriously. I get awfully tired of pulling hands away.”

“I don’t.”

“Besides, I wonder what it feels like.”

“Lois, Mama wouldn’t—”

“Oh, Mama, Mama! Daddy touches her , doesn’t he?”

“They’re married.”

“Am I saying we should go all the way? Am I saying that?”

“No, but...”

“Well, I think we ought to change the rules. Even if you don’t want to, I’m going to.”

“Do what you want to do,” Linda said.

“Well, what fun is it if you don’t do it, too?” Lois protested. She began pacing the room. “Why are you wearing that dress to a movie?” she asked. “It’s a little dressy, isn’t it?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“It’s pretty low, too. You’ll shock MacLean right out of his kilt in that dress, Lindy. You should see how it looks across your behind.”

“It looks fine,” Linda said. “I looked in the mirror.”

“It looks a little tight to me. If you don’t mind showing your backside to the world, I’m sure I—”

“It’s not tight at all. Mama already let out the seams.”

“I was thinking... Do you know my blue dress?”

“Yes?”

“I was going to wear it tonight. This is my first time out with Alan, you know.”

“Yes, I know.”

“He’s twenty-three, Linda, twenty-three. And this is a Phi Sig party, right at his fraternity house. All his brothers’ll be there.”

“So?”

“So I was going to wear the blue dress. You can’t just go in anything to a Phi Sig party.”

“Why don’t you?”

“I got gook on it. It’s still at the cleaners.” Lois was silent for a moment. “My beige is too severe. And the only other one I have is that green horror with the big bow that makes me look pregnant.”

Linda began laughing.

“Don’t laugh, Sis. Can I wear a sweater and skirt to a Phi Sig party? How can I do that?”

“Well, what else can you do?” Linda asked, still laughing.

“I could wear your dress. If you’d loan it to me.”

“Oh, what a sneak,” Linda said.

“Can I?”

“No.”

“It is too tight, you know. I wouldn’t lie about that.”

“No.”

“Linda, for hell’s sake, this is important!”

“So’s my date with Hank.”

“That spook? Linda, don’t be selfish.”

“I’m not being selfish. I’m all dressed, Lo. He’ll be here any minute.”

“How long would it take you to change?”

“No.”

“You can wear what I was going to wear. The black skirt and my tan cashmere.”

“No.”

“Linda, my cash mere, not just a junky orlon or something.”

“Lois—”

“Lindy, please. Have I asked you for anything recently?”

“No, but—”

“I wouldn’t ask now if this wasn’t such a big thing. Lindy?” She paused. “Lindy?” She paused again. “Please?”

“I’m all dressed .”

“Pretty please?”

“How can I—?”

“Pretty please with sugar on it?”

“Oh, go ahead,” Linda said. “I’ll... Oh, go ahead. Unzip me.”

“I’ll let you wear my pearls,” Lois said happily, unzipping the dress.

“I don’t want your pearls,” Linda said. “I have my own pearls.” She stepped out of the dress and handed it to Lois.

“You’ve got a run,” Lois told her.

“Dammit, that’s all I need.”

“I’ve got a pair of stockings for you,” Lois said generously. She went to the dresser. Over her shoulder, she said, “If Alan tries to pet, I’m going to let him.”

“Do what you want to do,” Linda said.

“Will you?”

“No.”

“With your dress on,” Lois said, “he’ll try it. I know he will.” She handed Linda the stockings. “Here.”

“Thanks.”

“It was too tight for you, you know,” Lois said. “It made you look like all ass.”

“Sometimes I think I am ,” Linda said.

Disgustedly, she extended one leg and began putting on the stockings.

It seemed to her that everything, sooner or later, passed into the no man’s land of community property. She could count on the fingers of one hand the possessions which she could call exclusively, inviolately her own. The rest of the accouterments of everyday living were shared equally within the corporate structure of sisterhood and twinship. There were only three things she truly owned and these were jealously coveted in an old tin candy box at the back of the second dresser drawer.

The first of these was a pink shell as exquisitely turned as a water nymph’s ear.

She had found it one summer at Easthampton while walking alone on the shore, just before a storm. She was nine years old, and she watched the sky turn ominously black and the waves beating the sand in windswept anger. When she found the shell, she picked it up and held it cradled in the palm of her hand; it was a delicate thing, the pink luminescent against the gathering fury of the storm. The thunder clouds broke around her. Barefoot, her hair and her skirts flying, she had run back to the cottage across the suddenly wet sand, the shell clutched in her small fist.

The second possession was an autumn leaf, thin and fragile, carefully mounted with Scotch tape on a piece of stiff paper, losing its structure nonetheless, so that only the tracery of delicate veins remained in some spots.

She had been eleven when the leaf fell.