The Four Johns Read Free Page A

get along with. Conceited little twerps, both of them. Just because they had sleek round bottoms and cute young faces they thought they could elbow everyone else into corners.… And she wondered who the John could be that Mary loved so exclusively.
    Mary’s world was full of Johns, and Harriet knew all of them. John Boce, John Viviano, John Thompson, John Pilgrim. Mary no doubt loved them all exclusively; her heart was catholic. Harriet herself scorned the tricks that Mary used to attract attention. Popularity was one thing; cheapness another. Not many people saw through the sunny façade to her mixed-up interior. The ingenuous flirting, the teasing, the laughing—they housed an underdeveloped sexuality. An enormous number of men were either blind or just didn’t care. That offensive but Byronically handsome Mervyn Gray in Apartment 3, for instance. And dear dependable John Boce, solid and comfortable as an old oak settle. Thank heaven he was starting to show more stability.
    Harriet returned to her own apartment at the beginning of the deck. She was tall, with thin shoulders and legs that unfortunately emphasized her heavy hips. She wore her straight black hair in a coiled braid to frame what she felt to be the keen, classic purity of her features. Harriet had her master’s degree in psychology, and she worked at various part-time jobs as a consulting psychologist. She was addicted to violent peasant blouses, straw sandals and Mexican jewelry; she marched for peace, she folk-danced like one possessed. Her walls displayed copies of the more incomprehensible works of Picasso and Klee; besides her technical books her shelves displayed Kafka, Henry Miller, Sartre, Camus, Aldous Huxley, Bertrand Russell, C. Wright Mills and Lawrence Durrell, as well as a group of exotic cookbooks from which she concocted the most unsavory messes imaginable.
    Now she prepared a cup of tea and speculated on the identity of “John.” Not that she really cared, but … She reached for the telephone, dialed a number. Then she hung up when the bell at the other end began to ring.
    She chewed at her lower lip. Finally, with defiance, she dialed the number again. The bell rang—three … four … five times. No answer. Harriet returned the receiver to its cradle with a stealthy click.
    Presently she took it up again and called the Bancroft Textbook Exchange, where Susie had taken a temporary job during the end-of-semester rush. Susie was a junior, a sociology major, and her finals were also over and done with. There was a short wait while Susie was called to the phone.
    â€œHello? Susie Hazelwood.” Susie’s voice, as usual, was self-possessed.
    â€œHarriet here, Susie. Are you busy?”
    â€œThis madhouse? It’s always busy.”
    â€œOh. I thought we could have a little chat.”
    â€œWhat’s happened?” asked Susie coolly.
    â€œHappened? Nothing. It’s just that I’ve been talking to Mary. I had no idea she was leaving, Susie. For Los Angeles, apparently.” Harriet felt vindicated by Susie’s silence. A surprise. “You knew she was leaving, of course?”
    â€œWell, more or less. I hadn’t expected—Her exams are over, there’s nothing keeping her.”
    â€œYour home is down that way, isn’t it?”
    â€œVentura.”
    â€œI suppose Mary’s going down for a visit.”
    â€œI really don’t know.”
    â€œYou don’t know? Your own sister? Shame on you!”
    â€œWe try to keep our noses out of each other’s business.”
    There was a short silence. Then Harriet decided that the snub was not a snub after all. “Who is the ‘John’ she’s going off with?”
    Susie’s voice was puzzled. “What’s this again?”
    Harriet reported the conversation she had overheard. “Being curious, I wondered who the ‘John’ was.”
    â€œI’ve no