me.”
“Who’s this Scott?”
“Just a guy.” Robin regarded her mother shyly. “He’s real nice. You’d like him.”
“I’d like to meet him. The next time you go out with him, why don’t you bring him around to say hello?”
“Sure,” Robin agreed quickly.
“You’ve never mentioned Scott before,” Joanne persisted. “Is he in your class?”
“No,” Robin said, aware her mother was waiting for further elaboration. “He doesn’t go to school.”
“He doesn’t go to school? What
does
he do?”
“He plays guitar in a rock group.” Robin shifted uneasily in her chair.
“He plays guitar in a rock group,” Joanne repeated, hearing traces of Eve’s mother in her voice. “How old is he?”
Robin shrugged. “Nineteen, maybe twenty.”
“That’s too old for you,” Joanne stated flatly.
“He is not too old for me,” Robin argued. “Boys my age are babies.”
“So are you.”
Robin’s eyes glared instant daggers.
“I’m sorry,” Joanne apologized. “You’re not a baby. But twenty is still too old for you. What else does he do but … rock?” she asked. Again her daughter only shrugged.
“It takes time to build a career,” Robin explained.
“I take it he doesn’t go to college?”
“They don’t give degrees in rock groups at college.”
“No, but they do give degrees in music,” Joanne reminded her.
“Scott says he doesn’t need a degree.”
“Everybody needs an education.”
“Mo … ther!”
Joanne bit down on her lower lip. “Where did you meet this Scott?”
“A party at somebody’s house.”
“When?”
“I don’t know. A month ago maybe.”
“You’re very vague.”
“I don’t mean to be. Look, I said I’d bring him around the next time I saw him. What more do you want?”
Joanne stared hard at the wood grain of the kitchen table as if it could provide her with a suitable reply. “Would you like some breakfast?” she asked instead.
Robin shook her head. “I promised I’d help Lulu study for her history test.”
Joanne nodded wordlessly as Robin departed.
The phone rang just as a loud fight between the sisters erupted upstairs. “Girls, please,” Joanne shouted up at them as she reached for the phone. If they heard her at all, which she doubted, they ignored her. “Hello,” she said, closing the kitchen door to block out the sound of their squabbling.
“Mrs. Hunter …”
Joanne recognized the strange voice immediately. “Yes?” she asked, afraid again though she wasn’t sure why.
“Did you read page thirteen of the morning paper?”
“Yes I did,” she replied, feeling foolish. Why was she talking to someone she didn’t know? “But I think you’ve made a mistake, or you’ve got the wrong Mrs. Hunter …”
“You’re next,” the voice said simply and then was gone.
“Hello? Hello,” Joanne repeated. “Really, I think you’ve made a mistake.” She hung up the phone, her eyes returning slowly to the kitchen table. The morning paper was lying across it in roughly the same position that she had discarded it earlier. Slowly, the strange voice, like an invisible magnet, pulled her back across the room until her fingers were brushing against the rough edges of the newspaper. Nervously, but with increasing determination, she flipped through the pages until she once again found page thirteen. With growing uneasiness, her eyes retraced the columns, skimming over the possible strike by garment workers, reading more carefully the report of the roominghouse fire, finally coming to rest on the story of the housewife who had been hacked to pieces in her home in nearby Saddle Rock Estates. Without warning, Joanne felt an invisible presence standing beside her, bending close to whisper in her ear.
“You’re next,” he said.
SIX
“F or God’s sake, why didn’t you tell me?” Eve Stanley was pacing back and forth across Joanne’s living room.
Joanne was sitting in one of two cream-colored swivel chairs situated on
“Who’s this Scott?”
“Just a guy.” Robin regarded her mother shyly. “He’s real nice. You’d like him.”
“I’d like to meet him. The next time you go out with him, why don’t you bring him around to say hello?”
“Sure,” Robin agreed quickly.
“You’ve never mentioned Scott before,” Joanne persisted. “Is he in your class?”
“No,” Robin said, aware her mother was waiting for further elaboration. “He doesn’t go to school.”
“He doesn’t go to school? What
does
he do?”
“He plays guitar in a rock group.” Robin shifted uneasily in her chair.
“He plays guitar in a rock group,” Joanne repeated, hearing traces of Eve’s mother in her voice. “How old is he?”
Robin shrugged. “Nineteen, maybe twenty.”
“That’s too old for you,” Joanne stated flatly.
“He is not too old for me,” Robin argued. “Boys my age are babies.”
“So are you.”
Robin’s eyes glared instant daggers.
“I’m sorry,” Joanne apologized. “You’re not a baby. But twenty is still too old for you. What else does he do but … rock?” she asked. Again her daughter only shrugged.
“It takes time to build a career,” Robin explained.
“I take it he doesn’t go to college?”
“They don’t give degrees in rock groups at college.”
“No, but they do give degrees in music,” Joanne reminded her.
“Scott says he doesn’t need a degree.”
“Everybody needs an education.”
“Mo … ther!”
Joanne bit down on her lower lip. “Where did you meet this Scott?”
“A party at somebody’s house.”
“When?”
“I don’t know. A month ago maybe.”
“You’re very vague.”
“I don’t mean to be. Look, I said I’d bring him around the next time I saw him. What more do you want?”
Joanne stared hard at the wood grain of the kitchen table as if it could provide her with a suitable reply. “Would you like some breakfast?” she asked instead.
Robin shook her head. “I promised I’d help Lulu study for her history test.”
Joanne nodded wordlessly as Robin departed.
The phone rang just as a loud fight between the sisters erupted upstairs. “Girls, please,” Joanne shouted up at them as she reached for the phone. If they heard her at all, which she doubted, they ignored her. “Hello,” she said, closing the kitchen door to block out the sound of their squabbling.
“Mrs. Hunter …”
Joanne recognized the strange voice immediately. “Yes?” she asked, afraid again though she wasn’t sure why.
“Did you read page thirteen of the morning paper?”
“Yes I did,” she replied, feeling foolish. Why was she talking to someone she didn’t know? “But I think you’ve made a mistake, or you’ve got the wrong Mrs. Hunter …”
“You’re next,” the voice said simply and then was gone.
“Hello? Hello,” Joanne repeated. “Really, I think you’ve made a mistake.” She hung up the phone, her eyes returning slowly to the kitchen table. The morning paper was lying across it in roughly the same position that she had discarded it earlier. Slowly, the strange voice, like an invisible magnet, pulled her back across the room until her fingers were brushing against the rough edges of the newspaper. Nervously, but with increasing determination, she flipped through the pages until she once again found page thirteen. With growing uneasiness, her eyes retraced the columns, skimming over the possible strike by garment workers, reading more carefully the report of the roominghouse fire, finally coming to rest on the story of the housewife who had been hacked to pieces in her home in nearby Saddle Rock Estates. Without warning, Joanne felt an invisible presence standing beside her, bending close to whisper in her ear.
“You’re next,” he said.
SIX
“F or God’s sake, why didn’t you tell me?” Eve Stanley was pacing back and forth across Joanne’s living room.
Joanne was sitting in one of two cream-colored swivel chairs situated on
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