Read Online Death in The Life by Dorothy Salisbury Davis - Free Book Online
Authors: Dorothy Salisbury Davis
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idea that I’ve shocked you, if you want to know the truth. Sometimes I used to try to shock Doctor Callahan. But she caught on and she’s shockproof anyway. The way I see your situation, little girl, little shocked girl… oh, my God… you are in a bind, but the bind is in your head, don’t you see? Somebody who knows how to think straight and knows more about the human psyche than I do could straighten you out in a jiffy. Just by putting things, one by one, in the right place. What bugged you just now: that I said those things because you’re a whore? Or was it because I said them?”
“It was that, I guess. I didn’t think you’d say anything like that.”
“What am I supposed to be? Some kind of holy woman? Well, let me tell you right now, I’m not any holier than thou.”
The flit of a smile.
“Will you call Doctor Callahan and go see her? Just once. See what happens. You took a chance coming in here, didn’t you? Are you any worse off than you were before?”
She shook her head.
“I’ll write the phone number down for you,” Julie said, and tore a piece of paper from the back of her notebook. She remembered the little box of cards, but used the notebook paper nonetheless. “Tell Doctor that Julie told you to call her.”
“Friend Julie.”
“Just Julie.”
All the anxiety symptoms of the first visit had disappeared.
“Where’s your boss today?” Julie asked at the door.
“He’s breaking in a new girl.”
“I see,” Julie said, although she didn’t.
Rita knew she didn’t. “It’s kind of like a honeymoon, supposed to be.”
“For goodness’ sake,” Julie said, getting the picture. She wasn’t often shocked herself.
“Thanks for everything,” Rita said, on the way down again.
“Are you going to call Doctor Callahan?”
“I’ve got to think about it”
“She’s expecting you to,” Julie said. Her last trump.
Julie had got into the habit of stepping outside the shop when visitors were leaving, a moment or two outside the walls and with a swatch of sky to look up into. Her upstairs neighbor was at the window. She often was.
“How is business?” the woman asked.
“Okay.”
“You will stay?”
“Not forever, but I’ll stay for now.”
“Would you like to have supper with Juanita and me? My husband works late tonight.”
Juanita came to the window, seven or eight, with dark solemn eyes and a mouth that looked as though it had been built around a thumb.
“That’s very nice of you. All right.”
“Whenever you close up.”
At six Julie locked the shop door and went up the green-walled tenement stairway. She took with her a fresh bunch of tulips she had bought that morning.
“Our name is Rodriguez,” the woman said and engulfed Julie’s hand in a clasp that felt like warm bread dough.
“How do you do? I’m Julie Hayes.”
“Julie.” Mrs. Rodriguez made it sound like “Woolie.” “Papa works extra sometimes on the ferry boat to Staten Island.”
“Is he a pilot?’ That was something out of Julie’s own fantasy.
“Only up here,” Mrs. Rodriguez said and tapped her head.
“Me too,” Julie said.
THE ROOM WAS AGLOW with the light of seven or eight lamps and crowded with bric-a-brac and heavy furniture in plastic covers. There was a general feeling of cleanliness which was reassuring. A picture of the three Rodriguezes, the Señora in bridal veil and Juanita not much different from the way she looked today, stood on the table. Papa’s main distinction was a mammoth moustache. A second marriage, Julie decided. The wall was hung with a picture of Jesus after open-heart surgery. The way He pointed it out caused her to think of Goldie and his golden cross. Mrs. Rodriguez removed some artificial flowers from a horn-shaped vase, put water in it, and set Julie’s tulips under the Christus. Juanita was left to entertain the guest while her mother set out their supper on a table near the windows. In the absence of conversation, Julie suggested
“It was that, I guess. I didn’t think you’d say anything like that.”
“What am I supposed to be? Some kind of holy woman? Well, let me tell you right now, I’m not any holier than thou.”
The flit of a smile.
“Will you call Doctor Callahan and go see her? Just once. See what happens. You took a chance coming in here, didn’t you? Are you any worse off than you were before?”
She shook her head.
“I’ll write the phone number down for you,” Julie said, and tore a piece of paper from the back of her notebook. She remembered the little box of cards, but used the notebook paper nonetheless. “Tell Doctor that Julie told you to call her.”
“Friend Julie.”
“Just Julie.”
All the anxiety symptoms of the first visit had disappeared.
“Where’s your boss today?” Julie asked at the door.
“He’s breaking in a new girl.”
“I see,” Julie said, although she didn’t.
Rita knew she didn’t. “It’s kind of like a honeymoon, supposed to be.”
“For goodness’ sake,” Julie said, getting the picture. She wasn’t often shocked herself.
“Thanks for everything,” Rita said, on the way down again.
“Are you going to call Doctor Callahan?”
“I’ve got to think about it”
“She’s expecting you to,” Julie said. Her last trump.
Julie had got into the habit of stepping outside the shop when visitors were leaving, a moment or two outside the walls and with a swatch of sky to look up into. Her upstairs neighbor was at the window. She often was.
“How is business?” the woman asked.
“Okay.”
“You will stay?”
“Not forever, but I’ll stay for now.”
“Would you like to have supper with Juanita and me? My husband works late tonight.”
Juanita came to the window, seven or eight, with dark solemn eyes and a mouth that looked as though it had been built around a thumb.
“That’s very nice of you. All right.”
“Whenever you close up.”
At six Julie locked the shop door and went up the green-walled tenement stairway. She took with her a fresh bunch of tulips she had bought that morning.
“Our name is Rodriguez,” the woman said and engulfed Julie’s hand in a clasp that felt like warm bread dough.
“How do you do? I’m Julie Hayes.”
“Julie.” Mrs. Rodriguez made it sound like “Woolie.” “Papa works extra sometimes on the ferry boat to Staten Island.”
“Is he a pilot?’ That was something out of Julie’s own fantasy.
“Only up here,” Mrs. Rodriguez said and tapped her head.
“Me too,” Julie said.
THE ROOM WAS AGLOW with the light of seven or eight lamps and crowded with bric-a-brac and heavy furniture in plastic covers. There was a general feeling of cleanliness which was reassuring. A picture of the three Rodriguezes, the Señora in bridal veil and Juanita not much different from the way she looked today, stood on the table. Papa’s main distinction was a mammoth moustache. A second marriage, Julie decided. The wall was hung with a picture of Jesus after open-heart surgery. The way He pointed it out caused her to think of Goldie and his golden cross. Mrs. Rodriguez removed some artificial flowers from a horn-shaped vase, put water in it, and set Julie’s tulips under the Christus. Juanita was left to entertain the guest while her mother set out their supper on a table near the windows. In the absence of conversation, Julie suggested
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