Donald Westlake - Smoke

"Bank security is not simple, Peg," the air had told her. "Bankers are serious about money, that's one thing I'm sure of. You never know what you're gonna find in a bank. Heat sensors, motion sensors; they don't have to see me to know I'm there. The real money is locked away so no one naked guy without tools is ever gonna get at it. I know Jersey Josh is kind of an irritation—"

"I can put up with him, if I have to," Peg had said, being brave. "As long as you're there with me."

"I'm sorry, Peg, but that's just the way it is. All I can take is merchandise, and convert it to cash. I could start, maybe, a new relationship with a new fence . . ."

"Would he be any better?"

"Probably worse. You know, guys who go into that business, being a fence, they're not your Albert Schweitzer mostly."

So here they were, in pursuit of more merchandise. Over there, more delivery trucks backed in to the loading zone, maneuvering backward up a driveway so hemmed in by tall chain-link fence that most drivers didn't even try to get out of their vehicle. Peg watched them, and thought about the diner she and Freddie had passed on Astoria Avenue on their way over here, and thought about Freddie finally coming out of that building to make the signal and nobody around to receive the signal, and at last she decided enough was enough. Bladder-wise, enough was too much.

Leaving the area, Peg drove past the fur building and noticed that across the street from it was a parking lot with a sign that read AFFILIATED FUR STORAGE PARKING ONLY. The lot was better than half full. Employee cars, they must be. If they're gone when I get back, Peg told herself, then Freddie will be ready for me. So there is a signal after all, whether I'm here or not.

At the diner, Peg relieved herself and ordered a coffee and a doughnut to go, because she didn't feel right about just using the ladies' and then walking out. When she drove back to take up her vigil, the cars were all still in that lot, so nothing had changed. Peg settled down again, a bit more comfortably, to wait.

An hour went by. The second hour since Freddie'd left the van. An hour in which Peg drank the coffee but didn't eat the doughnut. An hour that gave her a lot of time for thought, for private rumination. And the longer she had to think, and the more she pondered this situation in which she found herself, the gloomier she became. Gloomier, and then gloomier.

What it came down to was, an invisible boyfriend was no fun. You just didn't get used to being around such a person, having their voice suddenly come at you from over there when you thought they were over here, having the TV channel-changer float in the air while Freddie was surfing for something to watch, seeing those sudden indentations and abrupt puffings-up, and other signs of Freddie's movements, his presences and absences.

What made it even worse, you could never be sure when he was looking at you. We all like privacy sometimes, to be alone with our thoughts, or our bodies, but these two hours in the van were the longest stretch Peg had had to herself — to be herself — in the last eight days. There was no privacy when you lived with an invisible man. He got all the privacy, and you got none. Never knowing when you're under observation, whether he's behind you or in front of you, never knowing how you look. At this particular moment, do you look sexy and pretty and thin, or do you look foolish or ugly or stupid? Or just merely cranky, probably, most of the time.

And of course Freddie, being a man, hadn't the slightest idea anything was wrong. He just went blithely on, being invisible, half the time in the apartment forgetting his Bart Simpson head, never wearing the gloves, never giving a second thought to the effect he was having on the person with whom he shared the apartment.

Which might be unfair, actually, though Peg wasn't in much of a mood to give Freddie the benefit of the doubt. But the other problem with living with an invisible man was the fact you can't see him. It wasn't merely that you can't see him, you can't see him. You can't see the expression on his face, can't tell if he's pleased or miserable, can't tell if he's bored or excited, can't tell what's going on. We all of us to some extent chart our voyages through life based on the weather occurring in our loved ones, but with an invisible man you can never tell what the weather is. The voice gives some clues, the words give some clues, but where are the facial expressions? Where's the body language? Where's the goddamn body ?

I don't know how much more of this I can put up with, Peg thought. There, the thought was out.

So were the people. All at once, people were coming out of the fur-storage building a block and a half away, streaming across the street to the parking lot, calling out words to one another, waving, getting into their cars. A little pocket rush-hour now took place on the street in front of Affiliated Fur Storage, and then they were all dispersed, leaving only a little white security-company car parked at the gate. Five minutes later, as Peg watched, no longer impatient, no longer bored, happy and interested now that something was happening, three bulky men in brown uniforms came out of the building, paused to lock the front gate, then clambered into the little car and drove away.

Peg didn't wait for a signal from Freddie. She knew that place down there was empty, she knew he was in there dismantling the alarm system, she knew it would be only a very few minutes before he came out with a white towel or a roll of fax paper or something to wave at her, so she started the van and eased it slowly forward, through and beyond the intervening intersection.

The seltzer bottler and the uniform laundry, not being seasonal businesses with a high-volume June, had both shut for the day more than an hour ago. This was strictly a commercial area around here, with no pedestrians ever and no traffic after business hours. Peg had the world to herself as she drove on down the street, and was pulling up in front of the loading entrance to Affiliated when the garage door back in there lifted and out walked a fur coat, holding a white plastic in-tray in its nonexistent hand. "Oh, Freddie," Peg muttered, and just for a moment closed her eyes.

The fur coat, seeing she was already there, retired into the building to put down the in-tray, then came out again and unlocked the gate, while Peg backed and filled, getting the van into position. The fur coat opened wide both sides of the gate, then waved an arm at Peg, and she backed into the driveway, looking left and right, this mirror, that mirror, not quite scraping the sides of the van, moving slowly as the fur coat retreated, and finally kabunking against the black rubber edge of the loading dock. She switched off the engine as the van's rear doors opened and the fur coat said, "Peg, I thought they'd never go home."

"Freddie," Peg said, trying to sound calm and dispassionate, "why are you wearing that coat ?"

"I'm cold, Peg. Believe me, it gets cold in there. I need my shoes and socks."

The van jounced as the fur coat clambered in, then sat on the floor. Socks moved through the air. Peg said, "You're going to get dressed, aren't you? I mean, regular dressed, your own stuff."

"Let's do the job first," he said. "Here, put my things on the seat, okay?" Freddie's clothing floated toward her, as he said, "I'll put the rest on when I'm done loading up the van."

Peg took the mound of clothing, mostly to stop it from floating like that. "You want help?"

"No, you stay with the van, in case there's some kind of trouble. If you gotta take off, I'll make my way home later."