Enchanted Isle Read Free Page B

from the bank, where it crossed my mind for a moment that I could call Mother and ease her mind, but what crossed my mind next was: I didn’t want to.
    It was still not yet eight o’clock when we got back to the motel, though with daylight saving time it was broad daylight. But we bought two Evening Suns and after watching TV a few minutes went on up to the room. Then for the first time Rick made a pass: “Well, what do you say, Mandy? We having a roll in the hay?”
    “Well? It’s what hay is for, isn’t it?”
    We both laughed and that’s all there was to it—but telling the truth about it, I wasn’t too excited one way or the other. And I added on real quick, “I tell you one thing, though: you’re taking a bath first, Rick. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, to smell the way you do. You heard what I said: you smell. We could almost say S-T-I-N-K.”
    “Well, look at the life I’ve been leading.”
    “And you could dunk some of what you’re wearing. You wash those things out good, then hang them up over the tub to drip-dry on that shower-curtain rail.”
    “OK, OK, OK.”
    “Take one of my nighties to sleep in.”
    I got it for him. “What’s the matter with skin?”
    “I’m a nice girl. Put something on.”
    But he’d hardly closed the bathroom door when I dropped him out of my mind. Because I thought: why must I wait? Wait till I have an apartment before calling my father? I could do it right now. I could do it here from this room. I don’t have to give him that name, the one Rick wrote on the register. I could give him my real name, his name of course, and then meet him downstairs in the lobby—be waiting for him there when he comes. Then I could make a fresh start, forget this thing with Rick and the roll in the hay he expects. It’s still early evening, exactly the right time, so I got the phone book from the night table, took it to the window, and looked, and sure enough he was in it, Edward Vernick, at an address on West Lombard Street. I called the desk and gave the woman the number, then sat on the bed, patted myself on the heart, and tried to make it calm down. But all it did was pound. After some rings a woman answered. I said, “Mr. Vernick, please.”
    “Who’s calling?”
    “...He doesn’t know me, Ma’am.”
    “I have to say who it is.”
    “...Tell him Mandy.”
    “...Tell him—who?”
    “He’ll know if you tell him. Mandy.”
    All that got was a long silence, but then a man came on the line. “Edward Vernick talking. Who is this, please?”
    “Mr. Vernick, it’s Mandy.”
    “I’m sorry, the name means nothing to me.”
    “I’m your daughter, Mr. Vernick. Mandy.”
    It was so long before he answered that I thought the connection was broken and asked him if he was there. At last he said, “Yes, I’m here, but I don’t have any daughter and don’t know anyone named Mandy. You’re under a misapprehension, or someone’s been telling you falsehoods. But whatever the reason is, don’t call me again, and don’t come to this house. You’ll not be let in if you do. Do you hear me?”
    “Yes, sir, I do.”
    “And don’t expect any money.”
    “...Money? Is that what you said, money?”
    “I said don’t ask it. You’ll not get it.”
    “Well, who’s asking money of you? Who wants money of you? Who needs money of you? How did money get in it?”
    “Whether you ask it or want it or need it, you’re not going to get it. Am I making myself clear?”
    “You make yourself any clearer I can see right through to your backbone how much like a snake it looks.”
    “Is there anything else?”
    “I hope to tell you there’s not.”
    “Then I bid you good-bye.”
    Next off Rick was there in my nightie, which was so short on him it was funny, a foolish look on his face, and I was in the chair, with no idea how I got there. I’d been on the bed with the phone and didn’t remember moving or anything. All I knew was I was gooped from that call, like I’d been hit