Elliot looked at her seriously. “Have you met him?”
She shook her head. “I would’ve today.”
“I wonder,” said Elliot. “I’m beginning to think that there isn’t any Merce Rampart. That he’s just a bogey invented to throw everyone off the track.”
“You’re a cynic.”
“Not at all. I’m a rational empiricist. And an impatient one. Are you coming with me?”
Lorimer nodded. “I had some shopping to do anyway.”
“Me, too. A change of clothes. And some brown hair dye.”
164
Alongside Night
“Not that easy sometimes. When I dyed my hair last week, I had to pick up colored contact lenses.”
“That’s not your real coloring?”
“My hair’s as blond as yours.”
“Well that explains—Oh, never mind.” He studied her. “You know, blonde you’d look a little like my sister.”
“Thanks. I think. Now come up close.” Elliot slid over; Lorimer looked into his eyes. He could not resist kissing her. After a time she asked, “Is that how you treat your sister?”
“No.” He kissed her again.
“You have a one-track mind.”
“That’s me, all right. The Man with the Monorail Mind. “
Lorimer flipped off the bed covers. “Later. I’m taking a shower.”
Elliot flicked an invisible cigar ash onto the carpet. Imaginary thick eyebrows gyrated up and down behind imaginary glasses.
“Mind if I join you?”
At ten thirty Elliot answered a knock at the door, Lorimer still in the bathroom drying her hair. It was Mr. Ferrer with their delivery from the food cooperative.
Elliot took in the first carton; then, after accompanying Ferrer down to his apartment for two more, returned upstairs with him to pay the ten eurofrancs due. After thanking Ferrer, Elliot asked him if there were anything he could do in return.
“Would you be going near a newspaper stand today?” Ferrer asked.
“Going uptown a little later.”
“Would you pick up a newspaper for me? Our newsboy did not show up today. Again.”
“No problem.” Ferrer thanked Elliot and returned downstairs. Elliot went to the kitchen, turning on the radio—easy-lis- Alongside Night 165
tening music was playing—then began storing the groceries. When half an hour later Lorimer finally emerged, dressed in a tight cashmere sweater and slacks, coffee was on the table, tarts in the toaster, and bacon draining. “So you cook too, huh?”
she said.
“Nope. You’re my first victim. How’d you like your eggs?”
“Uh—I’ll cook my own eggs, thank you.”
“Just kidding. I can make them any way you want.”
“I’m crazy about eggs Benedict.”
Elliot gave her a dirty look.
“In that case,” Lorimer said, “once over easy.”
While Elliot dropped food onto their plates, the radio announcer took the opportunity to intone a station break, then continued by cueing what he called “more beautiful music for a beautiful Monday morning, a Boston Pops rendition of
‘Slaughter on Tenth Avenue.’”
The arrangement came on as Elliot carried the plates into the dinette, joining Lorimer at the table. “That’s odd,” he told her.
“What is?”
“The announcer just gave this station’s call letters as WINS.”
“So?”
“So WINS is an all-news station, twenty-four hours. Has been since before I was born.”
Lorimer shrugged. “Probably a new CRC ruling. They’ve been talking about cracking down on balanced-programming rules for years.”
Elliot scowled. “Why can’t the CRC mind its own damn business?”
“When has any government agency ever had its own damn business to mind?”
“Uh—let’s change the subject,” said Elliot.
“Spoilsport.”
Though still overcast, the sun was shining through in spots, 166
Alongside Night
and the sky did not again threaten rain. lust after noon, Elliot and Lorimer walked up to Fourteenth Street, deciding against searching for a tzigane and beginning to walk across town. It was not as windy as the previous week, consequently the freezing temperature was not especially uncomfortable. Had he not had so much on his mind, Elliot could have found this walk with Lorimer as carefree an outing as ever could be hoped for on a February day. As it was, he felt like a student on a halfday field trip, the momentary freedom merely underscoring his sense of being trapped.
As they walked along, past First Avenue, past Second and Third, Elliot began noticing that many of the faces he encountered showed uneasiness as great as his own. Too many stores were closed, hastily drawn signs taped onto plate glass behind drawn steel grilles, saying “NO STOCK TODAY.” Though the subway strike had been thickening street-traffic density, today seemed particularly crowded. A mob at union Square was standing around a fight, cheering it on. Elliot told Lorimer,