Bradbury Stories Read Free Page B

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    â€œIt was just a man,” said Lavinia, turning in a slow circle to look at the town.
    â€œSo is Frank Dillon a man, but maybe he’s the Lonely One.”
    Francine hadn’t come out with them, they noticed, and turning, they found her arriving. “I made him give me a description—the druggist. I made him tell what the man looked like. A stranger,” she said, “in a dark suit. Sort of pale and thin.”
    â€œWe’re all overwrought,” said Lavinia. “I simply won’t take a taxi if you get one. If I’m the next victim, let me be the next. There’s all too little excitement in life, especially for a maiden lady thirty-three years old, so don’t you mind if I enjoy it. Anyway it’s silly; I’m not beautiful.”
    â€œOh, but you are, Lavinia; you’re the loveliest lady in town, now that Elizabeth is—” Francine stopped. “You keep men off at a distance. If you’d only relax, you’d been married years ago!”
    â€œStop sniveling, Francine! Here’s the theater box office, I’m paying forty-one cents to see Charlie Chaplin. If you two want a taxi, go on. I’ll sit alone and go home alone.”
    â€œLavinia, you’re crazy; we can’t let you do that—”
    They entered the theater.
    The first showing was over, intermission was on, and the dim auditorium was sparsely populated. The three ladies sat halfway down front, in the smell of ancient brass polish, and watched the manager step through the worn red velvet curtains to make an announcement.
    â€œThe police have asked us to close early tonight so everyone can be out at a decent hour. Therefore we are cutting our short subjects and running our feature again immediately. The show will be over at eleven. Everyone is advised to go straight home. Don’t linger on the streets.”
    â€œThat means us, Lavinia!” whispered Francine.
    The lights went out. The screen leaped to life.
    â€œLavinia,” whispered Helen.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œAs we came in, a man in a dark suit, across the street, crossed over. He just walked down the aisle and is sitting in the row behind us.”
    â€œOh, Helen!”
    â€œRight behind us?”
    One by one the three women turned to look.
    They saw a white face there, flickering with unholy light from the silver screen. It seemed to be all men’s faces hovering there in the dark.
    â€œI’m going to get the manager!” Helen was gone up the aisle. “Stop the film! Lights!”
    â€œHelen, come back!” cried Lavinia, rising.
    They tapped their empty soda glasses down, each with a vanilla mustache on their upper lip, which they found with their tongues, laughing.
    â€œYou see how silly?” said Lavinia. “All that riot for nothing. How embarrassing.”
    â€œI’m sorry,” said Helen faintly.
    The clock said eleven-thirty now. They had come out of the dark theater, away from the fluttering rush of men and women hurrying everywhere, nowhere, on the street while laughing at Helen. Helen was trying to laugh at herself.
    â€œHelen, when you ran up that aisle crying, ‘Lights!’ I thought I’d die ! That poor man!”
    â€œThe theater manager’s brother from Racine!”
    â€œI apologized,” said Helen, looking up at the great fan still whirling, whirling the warm late night air, stirring, restirring the smells of vanilla, raspberry, peppermint and Lysol.
    â€œWe shouldn’t have stopped for these sodas. The police warned—”
    â€œOh, bosh the police,” laughed Lavinia. “I’m not afraid of anything. The Lonely One is a million miles away now. He won’t be back for weeks and the police’ll get him then, just wait. Wasn’t the film wonderful?”
    â€œClosing up, ladies.” The druggist switched off the lights in the cool white-tiled silence.
    Outside, the streets were swept clean and