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Asterodeia spoke again. “Pandora here.”
“This is Hope Brady.”
“Yes.”
“Your new tenant. Third floor, front.”
“I know who you are, Hope.”
“Thanks, Pandora.” As she always did when she was flustered, Hope touched the scarlet birthmark that encircled her left eye.
No matter how much makeup she used, she couldn’t hide the port-wine stain.
She was also a pimply faced, fat girl with stringy brown hair, who worked in the mail room of U.B.S., a small cable company.
“My name is Asterodeia,” the woman said, pronouncing all the syllables. Slow and distinct. “Pandora is just for the shop. All my friends call me Aster; anyone who lives in my house is my friend.”
“Thanks, Aster.”
“You are welcome, Hope.”
There was a silence.
“Yes, Hope?”
“Oh,” the girl blurted. “I forgot. No, I didn’t. Did the telephone man come today?”
“Yes, he did. And the locksmith, to change the locks. If you stop by the store or my apartment, I will give you the keys.”
“I didn’t call a locksmith.”
“I did. I do that for every new tenant. Something extra. No charge. It is a shame to say, but nowadays, in the city of New York, one ca
“Thank you, Aster.” Hope closed her eyes in embarrassment. Why was she constantly thanking the woman? She sounded like a half-wit. Grow up, she told herself. “I really appreciate it.”
“That’s quite all right. When are you moving in?”
“Tonight. I brought my suitcases to work this morning, so I only have a few more things at my old place, and I can put them in a couple of shopping bags.”
“Very well, then. Until tonight, good-bye.”
“Good-bye.” Hope cradled the phone.
“Who was that?”
Startled, Hope looked up. Her heart was pounding. She raised her hand to her birthmark. Mr. Kesselring was leaning over her, his face close to hers. So close she could see his contact lenses floating in his eyes. Plastic boats in dirty water.
“Who was that, Brady?” he asked in a quiet voice filled with menace. “Were you stealing phone calls again?”
“No,” was all she could manage as she looked about the room, wishing desperately for an interruption.
“Who was it, then?” he demanded, triumphant.
“Mr. Porge in Perso
“Well, did it?” Kesselring squinted.
“Yes, it did.” She reached into the Perso
Kesselring was disappointed. He’d thought he had her. “Don’t just sit there, take it to him. If it was important enough for him to call, it shouldn’t wait until the next delivery.”
She was halfway out the door when Kesselring said, “Wait a minute, he didn’t call. I didn’t hear the phone ring.”
“That’s right, he didn’t. Yesterday. He asked me yesterday to be on the lookout for it. I called him.” Ru
George Porge, Kesselring, Hope Brady, and quite a few other people worked for the Universal Broadcasting System. It was a vainglorious title.
Despite the money and the location, just uptown of Rockefeller Center, and an entire midtown office building, albeit only a fifteen-story one, U.B.S. was just another cable company.
But it owned the finest modern communications equipment and was home to the wheelingest and dealingest management ever to come down the pike.
GEORGE Porge and Perso
Jess’s practiced smile never left her face. “Christ, Hope, do you have to be such a dweeb all the time? In this place there are no stars. Only a lot of people who wish they were.”
A tall man wearing a charcoal jacket and a camel turtleneck that matched his hair strode by the reception desk and toward the i
“Morning, sweets. Are they in there?”
“Yes, sir. They’re waiting for you.”
“Good. Give ’ em character. See you, sweets.”
Hope gazed after him. “That was Vic Lancaster. He’s a star. He called you sweets.”
“He calls everybody that. It’s an act. And he’s not a star; he’s a used-to-be. Worse, an almost-was.”
“He’s thirty-six, an Aquarius, and an avid sailor. I read that in People.”
“Give me a break. You better leave before you get me in trouble. Hey, you want to go to a Halloween party tonight?”
“I don’t know. I’ve got all those boxes to unpack. What time?”
“Seven thirty.”
Hope scrunched up her face and chewed on her lower lip. “Okay. Why don’t you come see my new apartment?”
“Doesn’t make any sense. The party’s on the Upper West Side, not five blocks from me. Why should I go downtown and uptown again on that lousy subway when I can just walk to the party? I’ll see your digs another time. Come home with me, and we’ll go together.”
“I’ve still got some stuff in the old place I have to get.”
“All right, how about this? Do you have a lot to move?”
“No, it shouldn’t take me long.”
“Good.” The phone on the reception desk rang. Jess answered it and told two women waiting that they could go in. “Mr. Wilson’s office is the third door on the right.” Her practiced smile shone brightly. When the women were gone, she said to Hope, “You do what you have to do, then come to my place.”
“What should I wear?”
Jess raised her right eyebrow, another practiced accomplishment. “The gold lame you wore to Mado
“Oh, Jess.” Hope tugged at her jeans and her bulky yellow sweater and wished she could be more like her friend, who looked great even in her plain white shirt, black pants, and vest.
“Don’t oh-Jess me. Out of here before we both get fired. I’ll see you later.”
Hope delivered George Porge’s letter to the tenth floor.
“Hey, Kathy, guess who I saw on twelve? Vic Lancaster.”
“So?” George Porge’s pretty Chinese assistant sneered. “He was here twenty minutes ago. Screaming and yelling for all he was worth. I thought Georgie Porgie was going to go ballistic. Vic Lancaster just fired most of his staff, and here it is Friday, and he wants Georgie Porgie to set up a bunch of appointments by Monday. I don’t see why they put up with his crap around here. It’s just a lousy local cable show, and it sucks. Poor Georgie is tearing his hair out. And I don’t blame him. Where’s he going to find people to work for that maniac? I wouldn’t for anything.”
Hope envisioned the blond god she’d seen upstairs. The thought made her sweat. “I would,” she said, more to herself than to Kathy.
WHEN Hope reached her new apartment, she dropped her stuff and collapsed in a purple armchair that had been left by the previous tenant.
She fell into a deep sleep and dreamed of a black wolf and a three-headed silver dog.
In the midst of sleep Hope said, “What a strange dream,” as if it were a TV show and not a dream. She awoke with a big smile and a great feeling of contentment.
“Party time,” she yelled. But when she saw the daylight outside and stared at her watch, she realized that she had slept the night through.
Thoroughly panicked, she rushed out without changing her outfit or washing her face or using the john.