Kirovertrude has to work that night-and I’m sure Sharon would like it, don’t you?”
Schiller, who had almost finished his dinner, purred but made no other comment. No fool Schiller, Lisolette thought. “And I think Sharon would appreciate Prokofiev’s ‘Cinderella,’ too,” Lisolette continued. “Not that I really approve of the modern Russians but Prokofiev should have been German.”
Schiller was now full and drowsy and could sense the chill of the brewing storm outside; he padded back into the living room and curled into a tight ball in his favored corner of the couch. The cushions were warm and feline dreams were only moments away.
Lisolette found a light jacket in the hall closet, one that. she had knitted herself and was properly proud of.
In her younger days-at fifty, for instance-she had won several blue ribbons at the Missouri State Fair in Jefferson City for her knitting and crocheting. She slipped it on, scratched Schiller absently under his chin, and left.
All three of the elevators were in operation at the moment and she waited impatiently. She suspected that the Harrises were planning on going to the movies tonight and she didn’t want to miss them. They were a nice, though somewhat stiff middle-class couple who, she suspected, looked upon her as something of a busybody, particularly when it came’ to Sharon, whom she regarded as the real flower of the Harris household. Sharon, at fourteen, was the middle of the three Harris children, Irene being seventeen and Danny-Daniel, as his father, Aaron, insisted on calling him-being eleven.
Lisolette was fond of all three of the children but had a special liking for Sharon, who was quiet and given to introspection and filled with a questing intelligence. She appealed to the schoolteacher in Lisolette-and also reminded Lisolette very much of herself at that age.
Lisolette had met Sharon and her mother in the park one day, surrounded by three teenage boys who had been taunting them and working up their courage to snatch the mother’s purse. With Lisolette on the scene, the odds had suddenly reversed themselves and the boys had fled while Lisolette had escorted home a frightened Sharon and her badly shaken mother. To her delight, they also lived in the Glass House, a block from the park.
It was an unusual family, Lisolette thought. Ruth Harris was portly and round-faced, almost a caricature of the Jewish middle-class housewife. Gregarious in the extreme, she was very proud of her husband and the three children. Lisolette had liked her instantly, though she wasn’t quite sure that her friendship was returned.
Tolerated, perhaps, she thought sadly, but she was a shade too German to be completely accepted either by Ruth or her husband, Aaron, who was president of an over-the-counter clothing company and on the board of directors of two small corporations. He was verging on being both fat and balding but had a hearty manner and occasionally, Lisolette thought, you could see the small -boy hiding within the large bulk of the man.
The elevator finally came and a moment later she was knocking on the door of the Harris apartment. Ruth opened it and Lisolette said, almost apologetically, “I hope I haven’t caught you at a bad time but I had to stop by and see Sharon.”
“We were just getting ready …” Ruth started, looking harried, then suddenly swung the door wide. Lisolette could almost imagine her mind flicking back to that day in the park. “Come on in, Lisolette-we were going to go out but there’s always time for a cup of coffee.”
Aaron Harris came puffing in from the bedroom, a bow tie canted at an odd angle on his throat. “Ruthie, you know I can’t tie this damned thing. He noticed Lisolette and frowned for a moment, then slid automatically into the role of good host. “You caught us at a bad time, Lisolette; we’re trying to make the early show. We’ll be a few minutes, so help yourself to a cup of coffee; it’s in the breakfast nook.”
“I’ll only be a minute,” Lisolette apologized. “Is Sharon home?”
Irene, the eldest daughter, came in from the kitchen holding a glass of milk. “Honestly, Daddy, we’d better hurry or we’ll be late.”
She nodded at Lisolette, “Hello, Miss Mueller, congratulate us-we finally got Dad to take us out for a night on the town.”
“Some night,” Aaron protested.
“Sharon’s baby-sitting tonight,” Ruth Harris said, busy with the bow tie. “She’s with Danny in the family room.”
“I have this extra ticket to the Kirov’s ‘Cinderella,’ ” Lisolette explained tentatively. “It’s for next Thursday night and I thought she might like to go.”
Ruth Harris hesitated in the middle of tying the bow.
“That’s a school night,” she said, suddenly doubtful. “How late will she be up?”
Lisolette felt uncomfortable. “Rather late, but one doesn’t get a chance to see the Kirov every day.”
“Don’t, be such a kvetch,” Aaron said, the small boy suddenly surfacing. “Let her go. In the meantime, tie the tie and no back talk.”
“Sharon!” Ruth called, turning her attention back to the tie.
Sharon’s voice floated in from the family -room. “Oh, Mama, it’s just at the exciting part!”
“You’ve got company!” Aaron shouted. Then, “For heaven’s sake, Ruth, you’re strangling me!”
Sharon appeared in the hallway, pale-faced and shy; Danny was half hidden behind her.
“Lisa, Lisa!” Danny suddenly chanted, breaking away from his sister.
He ran into the room and clutched at Lisolette’s skirt. She laughed and rumpled his hair.
“Mind your manners, Danny,” Ruth said sharply. ” How many times do I have to warn you about mauling people?”
“He’s a boy,” Lisolette said indulgently, “and boys are like that, right, Danny?” Too late she caught Ruth’s thin-lipped silence and reminded herself that she wasn’t, after all, a member of the family.
She turned to Sharon, keeping her voice more formal. “How are you, Sharon?”
“I’m very fine, Miss Mueller.” For-a second she was all seriousness and then, abruptly, all smiles. “Oh, it’s ever so good to see you!”
Lisolette told her about the ticket and she turned immediately to her father. “Will it be all right, Daddy?”
He was busy fastening the ornate links into his cuffs.
“Why ask me, ask your mother. With me, it’s okay.”
“It’s all right, Sharon,” Ruth said, a trifle reluctantly.
“Only you’ll have-to go to bed early the night before; we can’t have you losing your rest.”
“I’m going back to watch TV,” Danny announced, realizing that none of this concerned him.
“Good night, Danny,” Lisolette said. He was too preoccupied to notice. She turned to the Harrises and made her good-byes, hugging Sharon and doing her best to be nice to Ruth. The rest of the family liked her, she knew well enough, but Ruth was jealous of her position within it and obviously didn’t like the possibility of having a strange maiden aunt grafted on the family tree.
Outside in the corridor she straightened her jacket and suddenly realized that Danny must have been eating chocolate before he came in.
His hands had left thick dark stains on the nubby wool. Boys will be boys, she thought-and sighed wistfully. She missed teaching school, missed all of the children. They had been such a wonderful part of her life….
She glanced down at her small diamond studded wrist watch and hesitated. She had promised the Albrechts that she would stop in but she had taken more time at the Harrises than she had planned. She would have to hurry if she was going to see the Albrechts and still have time to dress for dinner with Harlee. He was a delightful man, she mused, with a worldly poise and sense of culture that suggested he might have been a bit of a rogue in his time.
It was one of the things that made him attractive, she thought; that tiny thrill of danger and distrust. It was too bad that after tonight their brief and pleasant relationship would probably end, though she had learned long ago to accept the bad with the good… .
She made up her mind.
She would drop by the Albrechts; Harlee was the sort of gentleman who would expect his ladies to be fashionably late. In any event, she thought somewhat sadly, tonight he would probably be more than willing to wait.
Tom Albrecht met her at the door in silence, his sensitive hands and fingers signaling his welcome. She replied in the same manner. He could read lips as well as could his wife, Evelyn, but Lisolette preferred to use sign language. He was inviting her in for coffee; her own stubby fingers conveyed her acceptance.
