“That’s admirable,” Tess said. “Most people can’t take such bluntness.”
“So you’ll investigate if I give you a full list?”
“No, no. I didn’t want to say this, it sounds so woo-woo, but I’ve learned to respect my intuition about such things. I couldn’t—I couldn’t spend a lot of time in this apartment. It gives me the creeps. Don’t get me wrong. It’s beautiful, absolutely gorgeous. I could stare out these windows all day. But—there’s something wrong here. I felt it when I crossed the threshold. I don’t know, maybe it’s like the Spielberg movie where it turns out a grave has been desecrated. Only the thing that’s buried beneath your beautiful apartment is jobs.”
“Jobs?”
“There were silos here. Grain silos. There were jobs all over this peninsula. Baltimore’s citizens made things, put them on ships and trains. I know I should be happy, seeing these big apartment buildings going up. It’s property taxes; my kid goes to public school. But this place gives me the creeps, big time. I could never do surveillance here. My partner would probably be cool with it—”
“No, that’s okay.”
He doesn’t want a man’s company. He doesn’t need a private detective. He understands that now. He needs a friend, someone bright and lively, a woman who has read Cheever and knows the origin of gaslighting and makes casual references to the film Poltergeist. And even then—does he really want such a woman or is he simply enamored with this woman because of the plain gold band on her left hand, the casual reference to her “kid”—and her utter indifference to him? There comes a moment in life when everything is the road not taken, when it’s just fork after fork after fork.
*
VICTORIA ORDERS the tape recorder for him and it is, indeed, quite easy to set up. He can’t wait for the next call. Only there are no calls. He finds himself waking in the middle of the night, thinking—hoping—if only for a moment, that the phone has rung. But the phone is quiet and his mind is still. He should be happy—and yet.
Finally, eight days after Ms. Monaghan’s visit, he awakens at 2:08 A.M. He knows that something has brought him out of his dreamless sleep, but it’s not a ringing phone. Was someone whispering his name? Yes, he heard his name, but how is that possible? Gerry, Gerry, Gerry. Aileen calls him Mr. Andersen, when she bothers to address him at all.
It takes a moment for him to realize that there is a slender silhouette by the window.
“Oh, Gerry,” the form says, “your view is so beautiful.”
“Margot?”
“Margot? Who’s Margot? It’s—well, you called me Aubrey in the book. But you and I know I have a different name.”
He is frozen. He must be back in the dream from which he thought he woke, one of those nightmares where you can’t move, can’t make a sound. It takes him a moment to realize that he can turn on the light, all he has to do is turn on the light, and he will see who is torturing him, although the woman’s back is still to him.
Instead, he watches in wonder as the woman turns from the window and heads into the kitchen area. It turns out she is wearing a veil, sort of a black beekeeper effect, so he can’t make out her face. She could be anyone. It could be anything. He hears the click of the back door, which leads to the stairwell.
Then, and only then, he begins screaming his head off.
2012
Syllabus for Advanced Creative Writing
Suggested Reading
The Speed Queen, Stewart O’Nan Zuckerman Unbound, Philip Roth Sister Carrie, Theodore Dreiser Bury Me Deep, Megan Abbott Red Baker, Robert Ward Ghost Story, Peter Straub The Getaway, Jim Thompson The Godfather, Mario Puzo
Suggested Viewing
Misery （1990）
The King of Comedy （1982） A Place in the Sun （1951） I Want to Live! （1958） The Wire, season 2
Ghost Story （1981）
The Getaway （1972）
The Godfather （1972）
GERRY DISTRIBUTED his syllabus among a baker’s dozen of students. Although Goucher had been coed for three decades, the school was still overwhelmingly female, as were those admitted to this class. There were three boys and ten girls, two of whom were distractingly beautiful. He had not chosen the students himself, not wanting the chore of reading dozens of submissions. He had trusted the English department to vet the candidates carefully and send him the best, and they had pressured him to take thirteen instead of the twelve he had requested. So this should be the cream of the crop. Should be. He wasn’t so convinced after he read the work that had gained them entrance.