Rosemary's Baby Read Online Free PDF

the Bramford, but she could well have been visiting someone and helping out with the chores. A closer look, though, told Rosemary that she was mistaken; this girl’s nose was too long and sharp and there were other less definable differences of expression and carriage. The resemblance, however, was a remarkable one—and suddenly Rosemary found the girl looking at her with an embarrassed questioning smile, the washer beside her closed and filling.
    “I’m sorry,” Rosemary said. “I thought you were Anna Maria Alberghetti, so I’ve been staring at you. I’m sorry.”
    The girl blushed and smiled and looked at the floor a few feet to her side. “That happens a lot,” she said. “You don’t have to apologize. People have been thinking I’m Anna Maria since I was, oh, just a kid, when she first started out in Here Comes The Groom .” She looked at Rosemary, still blushing but no longer smiling. “I don’t see a resemblance at all,” she said. “I’m of Italian parentage like she is, but no physical resemblance.”
    “There’s a very strong one,” Rosemary said.
    “I guess there is,” the girl said; “everyone’s always telling me. I don’t see it though. I wish I did, believe me.”
    “Do you know her?” Rosemary asked.
    “No.”
    “The way you said ‘Anna Maria’ I thought—”
    “Oh no, I just call her that. I guess from talking about her so much with everyone.” She wiped her hand on her shorts and stepped forward, holding it out and smiling. “I’m Terry Gionoffrio,” she said, “and I can’t spell it so don’t you try.”
    Rosemary smiled and shook hands. “I’m Rosemary Woodhouse,” she said. “We’re new tenants here. Have you been here long?”
    “I’m not a tenant at all,” the girl said. “I’m just staying with Mr. and Mrs. Castevet, up on the seventh floor. I’m their guest, sort of, since June. Oh, you know them?”
    “No,” Rosemary said, smiling, “but our apartment is right behind theirs and used to be the back part of it.”
    “Oh for goodness’ sake,” the girl said, “you’re the party that took the old lady’s apartment! Mrs.—the old lady who died!”
    “Gardenia.”
    “That’s right. She was a good friend of the Castevets. She used to grow herbs and things and bring them in for Mrs. Castevet to cook with.”
    Rosemary nodded. “When we first looked at the apartment,” she said, “one room was full of plants.”
    “And now that she’s dead,” Terry said, “Mrs. Castevet’s got a miniature greenhouse in the kitchen and grows things herself.”
    “Excuse me, I have to put softener in,” Rosemary said. She got up and got the bottle from the laundry bag on the washer.
    “Do you know who you look like?” Terry asked her; and Rosemary, unscrewing the cap, said, “No, who?”
    “Piper Laurie.”
    Rosemary laughed. “Oh, no,” she said. “It’s funny your saying that, because my husband used to date Piper Laurie before she got married.”
    “No kidding? In Hollywood?”
    “No, here.” Rosemary poured a capful of the softener. Terry opened the washer door and Rosemary thanked her and tossed the softener in.
    “Is he an actor, your husband?” Terry asked.
    Rosemary nodded complacently, capping the bottle.
    “No kidding! What’s his name?”
    “Guy Woodhouse,” Rosemary said. “He was in Luther and Nobody Loves An Albatross , and he does a lot of work in television.”
    “Gee, I watch TV all day long,” Terry said. “I’ll bet I’ve seen him!” Glass crashed somewhere in the basement; a bottle smashing or a windowpane. “Yow,” Terry said.
    Rosemary hunched her shoulders and looked uneasily toward the laundry room’s doorway. “I hate this basement,” she said.
    “Me too,” Terry said. “I’m glad you’re here. If I was alone now I’d be scared stiff.”
    “A delivery boy probably dropped a bottle,” Rosemary said.
    Terry said, “Listen, we could come down together regular. Your door is by the service