Nightmare at 20,000 Feet

“And no one by that name moved out within the last few days?”

“We haven’t had a vacancy for a year. Rooms are hard to get in New York, you know.”

“I know,” I said, and hung up.

I went back to my desk. Mary was back from the drugstore.

She told me my coffee was getting cold. I said I was calling Jim in regard to that job. That was an ill-chosen lie. Now she’ll start in on that again.

I drank my coffee and typed a while. But I didn’t know what I was doing. I was trying hard to settle my mind.

She has to be somewhere, I thought. I know I didn’t dream all those moments together. I know I didn’t imagine all the trouble I had keeping it a secret from Mary. And I know that Mike and Sally didn’t…

Sally! Sally lived at the Club Stanley too.

I told Mary I had a headache and was going out for an aspirin. She said there must be some in the men’s room. I told her they were a kind I didn’t like. I get involved in the flimsiest lies!

I half ran to the nearby drugstore. Naturally I didn’t want to use the phone at work again.

The same operator answered my ring.

“Is Miss Sally Norton there?” I asked.

“One moment please,” she said, and I felt a sinking sensation in my stomach. She always knew the regular members right away. And Sally and Jean had been living there for at least two years.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “No one by that name is listed here.”

I groaned. “Oh my God.”

“Is something wrong?” she asked.

“No Jean Lane and no Sally Norton live there?”

“Are you the same party who called a little while ago?”

“Yes.”

“Now look. If this is a joke…”

“A joke! Last night I called you and you told me Miss Lane was out and would I like to leave a message. I said no. Then I call tonight and you tell me there’s nobody there by that name.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say. I was on the board last night but I don’t recall what you say. If you like I’ll connect you with the house manager.”

“No, never mind,” I said and hung up.

Then I dialled Mike’s number. But he wasn’t home. His wife Gladys answered, told me Mike had gone bowling.

I was a little nervous or I wouldn’t have slipped up.

“With the boys?” I asked her.

She sounded kind of slighted. “Well, I hope so,” she said.

I’m getting scared.

Tuesday night

I called Mike again tonight. I asked him about Sally.

“Who?”

“Sally.”

“Sally who?” he asked.

“You know damn well Sally who, you hypocrite!”

“What is this, a gag?” he asked.

“Maybe it is,” I said. “How about cutting it out?”

“Let’s start all over,” he said. “Who the hell is Sally?”

“You don’t know Sally Norton?”

“No. Who is she?”

“You never went on a date with her and Jean Lane and me?”

“Jean Lane! What are you talking about?”

“You don’t know Jean Lane either?”

“No, I don’t and this is getting very unfunny. I don’t know what you’re trying to pull but cut it out. As two married men we…”

“Listen!” I almost shouted into the phone. “Where were you three weeks ago Saturday night?”

He was silent a moment.

“Wasn’t that the night you and I bached while Mary and Glad went to see the fashion show at…”

“Bached! There was no one with us?”

“Who?”

“No girls? Sally? Jean?”

“Oh, here we go again,” he groaned. “Look, pal, what’s eating you? Anything I can do?”

I slumped against the wall of the telephone booth.

“No,” I said weakly “No.”

“Are you sure you’re all right? You sound upset as hell.”

I hung up. I am upset. I have a feeling as though I’m starving and there isn’t a scrap of food in the whole world to feed me.

What’s wrong?

Wednesday afternoon

There was only one way to find out if Sally and Jean had really disappeared.

I had met Jean through a friend I knew at college. Her home is in Chicago and so is my friend Dave’s. He was the one who gave me her New York address, the Club Stanley. Naturally I didn’t tell Dave I was married.

So I’d looked up Jean and I went out with her and Mike went out with her friend Sally. That’s the way it was, I know it happened.

So today I wrote a letter to Dave. I told him what had happened. I begged him to check up at her home and write quickly and tell me it was a joke or some amazing set of coincidences. Then I got out my address book.

Dave’s name is gone from the book.

Am I really going crazy? I know perfectly well that the address was in there. I can remember the night, years ago, when I carefully wrote it down because I didn’t want to lose contact with him after we graduated from college. I can even remember the ink blot I made when I wrote it because my pen leaked.

The page is blank.

I remember his name, how he looked, how he talked, the things we did, the classes we took together.

I even had a letter of his he sent me one Easter vacation while I was at school. I remember Mike was over at my room. Since we lived in New York there wasn’t time to get home because the vacation was only for a few days.

But Dave had gone home to Chicago and, from there, sent us a very funny letter, special delivery. I remember how he sealed it with wax and stamped it with his ring for a gag.

The letter is gone from the drawer where I always kept it.

And I had three pictures of Dave taken on graduation day. Two of them I kept in my picture album. They’re still there…

But he’s not on them.

They’re just pictures of the campus with buildings in the background.

I’m afraid to go on looking. I could write the college or call them and ask if Dave ever went there.

But I’m afraid to try.

Thursday afternoon

Today I went out to Hempstead to see Jim. I went to his office. He was surprised when I walked in. He wanted to know why I’d travelled so far just to see him.

“Don’t tell me you’ve decided to take that job offer,” he said.

I asked him, “Jim, did you ever hear me talking about a girl named Jean in New York?”

“Jean? No, I don’t think so.”

“Come on, Jim. I did mention her to you. Don’t you remember the last time you and I and Mike played poker?