Late at Night Read Online Free PDF Page A

‘What man would look at me and say, “I want you”?’ ”
    Jerry rolled his eyes and recited in an exasperated whisper: “Now Voyager. Warner Brothers. 1942. Bette Davis.”
    Gloria smiled and congratulated him.

 
    Chapter 3
    Betty Sanders finished unpacking her suitcase and hung up her white cotton sweater in the wardrobe. The room was small and narrow, but charming. There was a dresser against one wall, above which hung a mirror with an attractive brown frame. She inspected her face, not really looking, just a quick glimpse to insure that she was still in one piece. She hated to look at herself, though her face was not unattractive. Her head was round and her hair set in a flattering, if old-fashioned, hairdo, the hair curling up at the sides and down in bangs over the forehead. Her mouth was small, her lips full, giving her a pouty expression. She had small hazel eyes, a small rounded nose, some freckles under her eyes, and now and then her bad skin broke out on the forehead.
    She was not exactly fat, though she could have stood to lose ten pounds, but her body was wide and short, giving her that unpleasant squashed look peculiar to her body type. Her hands were big, with fingers thick as sausages. She always wore long-sleeved blouses and, whenever possible, lengthy skirts, to hide her chunky arms and legs; her appendages just collected fatty tissue. She sat down on the bed against the other wall and tried to decide what, it anything, she should change into. Instead her mind wandered— it had a habit of doing that—and she found herself staring at the yellowed wallpaper with its pattern of swans and flowers. She twisted on the bed and looked at the wall behind her. There was a painting on the bedboard: an old woman’s face. The woman looked as if she carried the weight of the world on her shoulders. Betty turned away.
    She needed to pee. She got up and went to the door next to the wardrobe. Opening it, she saw one of those ancient bathrooms with the raised tub and the deep sink with two faucets. There was no shower. Oh well, she could adjust. Baths were time consuming, but relaxing. Then she saw that the door at the other end of the bathroom was wide open, and she heard movement beyond it, saw a quick flash of a male figure holding a coat hanger. Anton.
    The pianist was whistling at the top of his lungs and taking his possessions one by one to the closet. Betty would have preferred the room with the closet: the wardrobe she had wasn’t big. And she was not crazy about having to share the bathroom with Mr. Suffron. “Insufferable Suffron” people called him. He was rather attractive, in a crude, ugly sort of way. What should I do? she wondered. Step into the bathroom and firmly close Anton’s door so I can have some privacy? Would he think it rude of me? Perhaps he had his door open because he planned to use the bathroom in a minute. Betty looked above the sink and saw that the medicine chest was open, that it was filling up with masculine things like shaving cream and hair lotion. She decided to go back, sit down, and wait until Anton was through.
    Were the two ugly people being segregated, she wondered, given one bathroom between them? Probably the smallest rooms in the house. Everson had explained and apologized, but she wondered why the lawyer hadn’t put her in the room with Andrea or Cynthia—the pretty 6nes— and put one of them in here. Stop being bitter, she told herself. You’re here to have a good time. Lynn invited you out here because she likes you. You’re her very best friend. You have been ever since you roomed together in college. You have always wanted to come to this island, for oh so many reasons, and now that you are here don’t spoil it by becoming difficult.
    Always on the defensive, aren’t you? she asked herself, a sad little smile playing across her face as she sat on the bed and smoothed the bedspread with the flat of her palm.
    And who has more of a right? she reminded