Watch Them Die

at the others who were staring at her. She just kept running.

He didn’t follow Hannah home from the community college. But he came by her apartment building around ten-thirty that night. From the parking lot of a neighboring building, he had a good view of her door and the living- room window. For nearly an hour, he watched. It was a beautiful, unseasonably warm night, with a smell in the air of impending rain. Her windows were open. From the flickering light inside, he could tell she was watching TV.

Her door opened. He hadn’t expected her to be stepping out at this time of night. Hannah came out to the balcony walkway for a minute. She retreated back inside, then reemerged with a straight-back chair and a glass of wine. She wasn’t going anywhere after all. She sat down, gazed out at the Space Needle, and sipped her wine. He saw her wipe her eyes several times, and he realized she was crying.

It began to rain, yet he remained, hiding behind a minivan in the lot. For a moment he thought she’d noticed him, but it was a false alarm. Around midnight, she finally went back inside, taking her chair and wineglass.

Ben stayed until he saw the light go out in her window.

He caught the bus back to his studio apartment in one of the seedier neighborhoods of town. His place was on the first floor. The iron bars somewhat defeated the purpose of his large picture window, but it didn’t matter. He had a view of a dumpster, an abandoned car, and the dirty street.

Ben didn’t bother turning on the light. He flopped down on the daybed sofa, which wasn’t so bad. The place came furnished—early fire-sale stuff. Kicking off his shoes, he glanced over at his answering machine on the beat-up old desk. The message light was blinking.

With a sigh, Ben pulled himself up and pressed the message button. “Ben? Ben, it’s Jennifer….” She sounded as if she’d been crying.

“Are you there? Please pick up. Please? Listen, I’m really worried about you….”

Frowning, he shuffled over to the refrigerator and took out a beer.

“Please, call me, okay? I miss you, honey. I want you to come home. I want to take care of you. We’ll make everything right. I think we should see somebody, don’t you? Get some help? Wouldn’t that be good?”

In the dark, dingy apartment, Ben sat back down on the bed and sipped his beer.

“I have a feeling you’re there, listening to me,” she went on. “Please pick up. Ben? Are you there?”

Six

Hannah knew Paul Gulletti taught another film class at the community college on Friday afternoons. But she hadn’t come to the college during her break to see Paul. In fact, she hoped they wouldn’t run into each other.

Sometimes, when she arrived for class early, she’d spot Paul’s assistant, Seth Stroud, in the cafeteria, sitting alone at a table with a cup of coffee and some film book.

That was where she hoped to find him today. She needed Seth’s help with something. And she didn’t dare ask Paul.

The cafeteria, with its two dozen cafe tables, a counter along the wall, and a painted mural of the Seattle skyline, wasn’t too crowded at twenty to three that Friday afternoon. Hannah could see right away Seth wasn’t there.

She slumped against the cafeteria’s arched entrance. As long as she was on her break, she decided to grab a late lunch. Seth could still show up before Paul’s class.

Hannah got a tray and went to the food counter. She was assessing the entrees on display when someone nudged her arm. Hannah turned to see the young man with spiked brown hair and designer glasses. He had a cup of coffee, a donut, and a copy of Movieline magazine on his tray.

“Hey, Seth,” Hannah said. “I was hoping I’d run into you here.”

“Yeah? Well, steer clear of the hot dogs. Might as well eat a time bomb.”

“Is the salad safe?”

He shrugged. “They can’t screw that up too much.”

She nodded at the food on his tray. “Is that all you’re having?”

“Yeah, just a snack to get me through the next couple of hours. How are you doing? You left class in such a hurry last night, I thought you might be sick or something.”

“Oh, I’m fine,” Hannah said, taking a small plastic container of salad. “Let me pay for yours, okay? I want to hit you up for a favor.”

“Sounds mysterious.” He grinned. “Okay. I’ll get us a table.”

The cafeteria started to fill up while Hannah was paying for the food. She met Seth at a small table in the corner.

“So, what’s going on?” he asked.

“It’s just a little favor,” Hannah said, settling back and opening her salad container. “I was hoping you could save me from going through a lot of red tape. You know Ben Sturges, the tall, blond-haired guy in class?”

“The dude who looks like the Marlboro Man?” Seth nodded over his coffee cup. “Yeah, I know him.”

“Well, I guess he found out I work at a video store. He asked if I knew anyone who deals in out-of-print videos. I found a local dealer who has this video Ben wants, only the guy’s leaving town tomorrow. Anyway, I can’t get a hold of Ben on the phone. I have the information all written down. So I thought I’d go by his place—”

Seth chuckled. “And you’d like me to get his address for you.”

Bewildered, Hannah nodded. “Yeah. What’s so funny?”

“Nothing. It’s just smart you came to me with this instead of Professor G, because he absolutely hates that guy.”

Hannah nibbled at her salad. “Why is that?”

“Because Paul thinks Ben’s making the moves on you. And the Prof has a thing for you. In fact, he’s really kind of obsessed.”

Hannah shrugged. “Well, I’ve never done anything to encourage him. And I’m not interested in Ben Sturges, either. I’m just trying to do him a favor.” She managed to smile. “So—think you could get his address for me?”

Seth nodded. “No sweat, Hannah. What movie?”

“Hmmm?”

“What hard-to-find movie is Ben Sturges looking for?”

“Oh. Bonjour Tristesse.” In the store this morning, Hannah had waited on a customer who wanted to buy the out-of-print video. It was how she came up with the excuse for wanting Ben Sturges’s address.

“Bonjour Tristesse.” Seth nodded with approval. “Good one. Otto Preminger directed, 1958. I saw an interview with Deborah Kerr about making that. She was talking about how Preminger picked on and screamed at Jean Seberg all during the filming. The critics had roasted him the year before for casting her in Saint Joan. She was his discovery, and he was going to show them they were wrong about Jean Seberg—even if it killed her.”

“Interesting,” Hannah said, picking at her salad.

“A lot of great directors put their leading ladies through the wringer, especially when they’ve ‘discovered’ them. You know, the old Svengali and Trilby story. Maybe it’s an artist’s control thing, all part of realizing a vision.”