FIRE AND FOG (9 page)

"He left me, Fremont. He's not coming back. I know that now."
She screwed up her face and a couple of tears fell on her
cheeks.

"You may be right. Alice, I'm not unsympathetic, but if I am to
help you at all, you must at least get out of bed and get dressed.
If you don't, I shall just have to leave." I could think of no
other way to handle her.

It worked. She got up, and I went to the kitchen while she
dressed. Cooking of any kind indoors was forbidden, all over the
city, until the fire inspectors could make their way neighborhood
by neighborhood to certify that the buildings were safe. Meanwhile,
gas lines were turned off at the mains, and so was electricity.
Alice had a wood stove, but no one, myself included, would have
dreamed of violating this regulation, for every citizen of San
Francisco had become deathly afraid of fire.

Still, Alice and I would not starve. The night before, I'd
searched through her cupboards and found some apples and a loaf of
bread that was still edible. Now I unlocked and opened the back
door, thinking that the milkman might have made his rounds; he had,
so there was milk. I brought it in, pleased by this bit of
normality restored. While I waited for Alice to come down, I picked
up broken crockery and swept the kitchen floor.

Wearing a blue dress with rows of delicate smocking across the
bodice, Alice wrinkled her nose at the bread and fruit. She went to
the stove, saying brightly, "I'll cook bacon and eggs. For you too,
if you like, Fremont."

I placed myself between her and the stove and explained the
facts of life in post-earthquake San Francisco. As her eyes widened
I wondered where, figuratively, she had been for the past five
days.

We sat at the table and I picked up an apple, both because I
wanted it and to encourage Alice to do the same. Between munches I
said, "Something has been puzzling me. Yesterday, while you were
sleeping, I noticed that your doors were unlocked, so I looked
about for the keys. I found two sets in that piece of furniture
near the front door. In fact"-I removed them from my pocket and put
them on the table-"I should return these to you. It would be a good
idea to keep the house locked, even if you haven't been in the
habit of doing so. Anyway, because the two sets of keys were there,
I wondered: is it possible both you and your husband left the house
without them?"

She shook her head. "I don't remember."

It seemed there was a good deal she didn't remember. If I were
to find myself in such a condition, I would drive myself crazy
trying to fill in the blanks, but that was apparently not the case
with Alice, who sat placidly sucking on a piece of bread she'd
softened in a glass of milk.

Frustrated, I tried another tack. "I promised I would help you
find your husband. Have you notified the police that he is
missing?"

Her head jerked. "No! Do you think I should?"

"Certainly you should." That reminded me: I should go myself to
the police and tell them the Sorensons were not dead. I had been so
busy I'd forgotten.

"All right," said Alice, "I will, as soon as I feel up to it.
But it will do no good. If he were coming back, he would have done
so by now." She said this dully, as if all emotion were spent where
her husband was concerned.

I forbore to mention that he might well have died in the fire.
My naturally suspicious mind suggested he might equally have seen
the confusion as an opportunity to remove himself for a variety of
reasons. None of them salutary.

"Tell me about him, Alice. I'm out and about the city a good
deal. Perhaps I might be able to learn something of his
whereabouts."

A dreamy look came over her face. "His name is Ralph. Ralph
Lasley. He's tall and noble-looking, with the most handsome
profile. Like the actor, John Barrymore. We love each other very
much. There's no one for him but me in the whole world." Her face
changed, the light in her eyes went out. "But I'm not going to
think about him anymore."

I ignored the last. "What business is he in?"

"Business?"

"What sort of work does he do?"

"Oh, he doesn't work. He doesn't have to. He's quite wealthy. We
have everything we need right here." The dreamy look was back.

That did not give me much to go on, but I had an idea. I got up
from the table. "If you'll excuse me, Alice, I need to use the
facilities."

She made no reply. Dreaming on, apparently. I went upstairs and
into the bathroom, where I observed an absence of shaving
equipment. I opened the medicine chest and found a few patent
medicines, a large bottle of aspirin, a box of cotton wool, a pile
of hairpins, and one prescription tonic with Alice's name on it. I
raised the lid on the dirty clothes hamper and poked about; it
contained a couple of towels and a petticoat.

I proceeded to Alice's room, which had a double bed but no
connecting door such as husbands and wives often have between their
rooms. I already knew that the wardrobe held only her clothing. I
opened the drawers of a tall chest and saw silks and sheer cottons
and eyelet and ribbons and lace-female garments all.

So I went into the next bedroom, which had the impersonal, neat
appearance of most guest rooms. I did a perfunctory search with
negative results. Next I tried the room across the hall from
Alice's. It had the stale air of being long shut up and was dusty,
to boot; I saw little point in searching here, but did it anyhow,
to be thorough. The drawers and the wardrobe were unsurprisingly
empty.

I should hurry; Alice would wonder what was taking me so long.
There was one room remaining. As it was the room farthest from
Alice's, I could not imagine that it would be her husband's, but I
turned the doorknob. The door swung inward with a loud creak. Oh,
dear. I didn't want to be caught snooping.

Ears pricked, I waited on the threshold for a sign that Alice
had heard; as I waited my eyes scanned the room. The person who had
chosen this furniture had the same overwrought taste as the one
who'd picked the monstrosity by the front door. The bed was a
massive affair, so high it required a stepstool beside it. A man
might appreciate such a bed, but not its covering: an ecru spread
of embroidered cutwork with a gathered, ruffled drop. Moreover, a
great collection of embroidered and beribboned pillows-round and
square as well as the usual shape, plus a neck roll- were piled at
the head of the bed. My suspicions grew.

Since I'd heard nothing from downstairs, I tiptoed in. The wall
opposite the bed was almost entirely filled by a scrolled,
pedimented armoire that would have made Augusta salivate. It had
four doors, and I opened them all. It was empty, save for a
quantity of clothes hangers. I closed it up. The drawers of a huge
chest were so heavy, and I was so concerned about time, that I
opened them only far enough to peer in. They were empty, except for
the bottom one, which held a crumpled something far back in a
corner. First glancing over my shoulder, I reached in and pulled it
out, hoping for a man's handkerchief, preferably with initials. But
it was a woman's lace-trimmed nightcap. It had been worn, and
smelled faintly of lavender, with an undertone of something more
unpleasant, as if the wearer had been sick.

I cannot possibly say why I did such a thing, but rather than
return the nightcap to the drawer, I shoved it deep in the pocket
of my skirt. Then I quickly closed the drawer and left the
room.

Alice was as I had left her, seated at the kitchen table. She
had finished the bread and was slowly eating an apple. She
brightened as I joined her, looking more like the old Alice I
remembered.

"Fremont, I have the most wonderful idea!"

I smiled. "What?"

"You said that your house and your office both burned in the
fire, yes?"

I nodded.

"Well, here am I in this big house all alone. Why don't you live
with me?"

"Oh, I don't think-"

"Wait, hear me out. I've been thinking about this while you were
upstairs. I admired you so much, you know, when you had your
business and used to come into the library. I was too shy to say
so, but sometimes I used to hope we might become friends. I know
we're very different-you're so independent and I'm not. I've never
needed to be, but now I do, and I could learn from your example. I
don't suppose you'd want to just live here. You wouldn't want to
feel like a guest."

"Alice-"

"I've thought of that. I've thought of everything! Fremont, you
could have the family parlor and the dining room behind it. We
could get someone to help us change the furniture around. You could
make the parlor into an office, I'll even buy a desk if there isn't
a suitable one here already, and the dining room could be your
bedroom. We'll switch the dining-room furniture with one of the
bedrooms upstairs. It'll be like having your own apartment. Of
course it would be only temporary, you wouldn't stay forever, I
know that. Oh, do say you will!"

An office! It was tempting. I said, "Maybe . . ."

"You could pay rent, if that would make you feel better about
it. Not much, just a little. You could get a sign and put it in the
front window: fremont jones typewriting services! Oh, I can just
see it!"

I could see it too, and I could not resist. "Provided you do let
me pay rent. And with the understanding that, if the arrangement
should become, ah, uncomfortable for either of us, we agree to
break it off . . ."

"Of course!" Alice seemed to have become a new person. She stood
up and extended her hand in a businesslike fashion. "We will have a
verbal agreement."

I stood too, and took her hand. A small hand, cold fingers, but
her grip was strong. We shook on it. "Very well. I agree."

"I knew you would, I knew it!" she crowed. She scooped up the
keys I'd put on the table and pressed them into my hand. "Here,
Fremont. These are your keys now."

I convinced myself it would work. Besides, there was a mystery
here of some sort, and I was more likely to solve it if I were on
the spot.

But I could think no more of Alice now, or of our arrangement. I
had stayed rather too long at her house and was obligated to ferry
nurses from one makeshift hospital to another-a time-consuming
business that required several trips. After that, I picked up Anson
at Valencia Street and took him to the Red Cross station in Golden
Gate Park. Bless him, he did not complain about my being so late.
Along the way I told him I had found a place to live and also to
have an office, and he in turn asked many questions about my
typewriting service. He seemed quite interested in my answers. "I
approve of a woman who works," he said. While I hadn't been looking
for his approval, the remark pleased me.

Nurse Bartlett had been busy all day and was apologetic when I
approached her. She said, "I'm afraid I haven't done anything yet
about that tent for you."

"That is just as well." I told her about Alice's offer, and that
I had decided to accept.

Bartlett, ever practical, frowned and was frank. "Hmmm. I wonder
if you will be happy with the arrangement, Fremont. There's
something odd about that girl. I suspect she's not quite right in
the head."

I knew the nurse did not refer to Alice's bruised forehead. "I
think I know what you mean, but we've agreed to break off the
arrangement if either of us becomes uncomfortable with it. I'm not
sure what is wrong with Alice, but she is helping me by giving me a
place for an office, so if in return I am able to help her in some
way, I am perfectly willing to do it."

Bartlett cocked her head to one side appraisingly. "I expect you
can take care of yourself. You don't need advice from me. Does this
mean I'm going to lose you, then?"

"Not right away." We continued to talk details, deciding that I
would have the mornings to myself and drive for the Red Cross in
the afternoons until my business was up to speed. Then Bartlett's
duties reclaimed her, and I took out my pocket watch.

It was almost five o'clock. I mentally ticked off all the things
I had to do in the next two hours, before meeting Meiling. This was
the night we were to begin putting her audacious plan into effect.
She had told me all about it yesterday; we would have started last
night but for my obligation to wake Alice every two hours. I
hurried to the Maxwell, wondering if Meiling's clothes would fit
me. We had to wear black, and as I am not overfond of dark
clothing-it makes me look like one of Mr. Bram Stoker's vampires-I
had nothing suitable of my own. Meanwhile, I had to-

Oh, no!

I realized that I had made an unforgivable mistake.

6.

Strange Times and Stranger Actions

How in the world could I have done such a thing? I felt guilty,
and I do despise guilt-it is such a wastefully debilitating state
of mind. Still, I had earned it, by promising to spend the evening
with both Meiling and Jim Albright.

"Oh, bother!" I said fiercely. I gripped the steering wheel at
the top and drooped over it, head on hands. I had made a number of
little mistakes lately, mostly by forgetting things and having to
retrace my steps or my route. Or I might find myself in a
particular place with no recollection of why I was there, and would
have to wait anxiously until it came to me. As my memory is
ordinarily quite good, such episodes were distressing. I had, in
addition, become remarkably clumsy, tripping over things, dropping
things, barking my shins, bumping elbows, breaking fingernails, and
so forth. Regrettable as such things were, they had heretofore
caused no inconvenience to anyone but me. This mistake I could not
undo without serious inconvenience to one party or the other.

I raised my head, took a deep breath, and set the auto in gear.
No use crying over spilt milk, and all that. I darted a glance over
my shoulder and pulled out into the street. There was no question
that the private would have to be the one I let down. Meiling had
first claim on both my time and my affection.