Harry Jernigan was about to answer when a red light lit up on the. switchboard behind him and he picked up the phone. “Security, Jernigan here.” He listened for a moment, made a wry face at Rosette, and said into the mouthpiece, “No, ma’am, there are no fire escapes on the outside of this building. In case of emergency, stay in your room until,we notify you or take the plainly marked fire stairs at the end of the corridor. No, ma’am, don’t take the elevator Yes, I know it’s forty-seven floors.”
He winced. “No trouble at all, ma’am.”
He put the phone down and Rosette leaned over the counter, her maid’s blouse stretching taut across her breasts. “Somebody else was watching besides us, huh?”
Jernigan turned off the small portable TV and put it on the floor behind his counter, out of sight. It had been a slow night and for the first time he had been able to take in ‘all of Quantrell’s broadcast without being interrupted or having to hide the set while he played Mr. Cool.
“Everybody else was watching. That was Mrs. Klinger in 4710.
She wants to know how come we don’t have fire escapes.” He shook his head.
“The more money they’ve got, Rosie, the less brains they have to go along with it.”
“I want to know what you thought, Harry.” Something in her voice told him the broadcast had worried her.
“What did I think? I thought he was a bastard, same as you did.”
Jernigan had a possessive feeling about the Glass House and resented criticism of it from outsiders.
“Why the hell pick on us? There must be a dozen buildings in the city, a hundred, that are real firetraps . and he keeps pointing the finger at this one.” He shrugged, irritated. “It’s got to be a pay-off of some kind.”
Rosette looked at him shrewdly. “You believed some of it, huh?”
Jernigan leaned back in his chair, his hands clasped behind his head.
“Yes and no. In some ways, Rosie, he doesn’t know the half of it.
If I were to wander around some of the unfinished floors, for example, you sure as hell wouldn’t catch me smoking any cigarettes.”
“You ever been in some of the furnished apartments?”
She looked thoughtful. “It must be nice to have the money to buy all that furniture and the drapes and the woolly rugs that some folks got, but if that guy on the tube is right, all you’d have to do is drop one match and roof, it’d all go up.”, She cocked her head at him.
“Harry, if there should ever be a fire here, how in the hell would you get out? I’m serious, the reason I’m asking is I keep wondering how the hell I would get out.”
“You’d get out the same way I’d get out, Rosie-you’d walk out.
Look, you fly airplanes, don’t you?”
“You know I got a brother in Nashville and I visit him every couple of months.”
“What would you do if something happened to the airplane?” .
She grinned. “Why, I’d just flap my wings and fly on home alone.”
“Well, you could do the same thing here-you’re high enough up.
Now be quiet, I don’t want to talk about it any more.” Mrs. Klinger hadn’t been the only one who called him for evacuation instructions.
Every time Quantrell was on the air, he’d get a couple of phone calls from tenants wondering how they’d get out if anything should happen.
And wondering how they’d get out was just one step removed from moving out.
“How’s Mamie?”
He looked up at her sharply. “You’ve got nothing to do but stand around and talk?”
Her eyes were innocent. “It’s the Thanksgiving holidays and I’m off duty-so you’re right, I’ve got nothing to do but stand around and talk.
How’s Mamie?”
“Fine, keeping busy-not like some people I know.”
“Leroy still call you the house nigger?”
Jernigan’s lips thinned. Leroy was his younger brother, a college dropout, who had dropped in with a militant group and now spent most of his time hanging around the Black Knights bar a block from the house, daydreaming about what he’d do to whitey when the revolution came.
Cursing Whitey out also included not working for him or even applying for unemployment compensation.
Jernigan remembered with some satisfaction the night he’d set the table with pumpernickel instead of white bread and Leroy’s muttered complaints until he suddenly got the idea and left the table boiling mad.
“He hasn’t changed much.”
Rosette looked sympathetic. “How about Melvin and his wife?”
Melvin was a few years older than Leroy and didn’t have his hang-ups but was still a born loser when it came to finding work. His unemployment checks had run out three months before, though his wife, Estella, almost made up for it-she had a job as a secretary downtown and helped Mamie with the kids and the cooking.
“Yeah, Melvin’s still there, too.” Jernigan took a call and then turned back to Rosette. “You forgot to ask about Jimmie.”
“He hates your guts-” -and wouldn’t be caught dead living with me if I was, the only relative he had. Thank God for small favors.”
There was the slight sound of elevator doors whooshing quietly open and Jernigan turned, his face professionally blank. For security reasons, among others, the sky lobby was the necessary transfer point between the commercial and residential floors. Any tenant or delivery man who wanted to go to the apartments above the thirty-first floor had to change over to the bank of residential elevators in the sky lobby.
It was Jernigan’s job to pass them if he knew them or if they had the proper identification; in the case of strangers, he would call the apartment and ask for clearance.
“Miss Mueller!” His sudden smile faded slightly and a tingue of formality returned to his voice. “And Mr. Claiborne. Good evening, sir.”
He turned his attention back to the stocky woman who had just stepped out of the elevator, red-cheeked and faintly perspiring. Of all the tenants in the building, Lisa Mueller was probably his favorite. She was sixty but looked a good ten years younger, a retired schoolteacher from St. Louis-the kind of teacher Jernigan had often wished he had had when he was a kid. “Out walking in this kind of weather?”
She made a face of mock surprise. “There’s something wrong with this weather, Harry? Nonsense, it’s good weather-though Harlee doesn’t agree with me, do you, Harlee?”
Harlee Claiborne was a slender man, maybe five years younger than Lisa, though he looked older, with a carefully trimmed white mustache and the waxy appearance of a store-window dummy. Jernigan glanced at him and couldn’t help smiling to himself. Claiborne looked a little wilted right now: damp, winded, slightly grouchy, and trying hard not to show any of it. “I think you should take better care of.yourself, Lisolette; many more walks like this and I’ll be visiting you in the hospital.”
“A good brisk walk is good for you, Harlee; it tones the muscles.”
He looked skeptical and she squeezed his arm sympathetically, causing him to wince, then suddenly turned to Rosette, all concern.
“You’re not working this evening, are you, Rosie? The holidays start tomorrow.”
Rosette was as pleased as Jernigan to see her. “No, ma’am, Mr. Harris said I could leave at seven and I was just talking with Harry for a few minutes before changing and going home.”
“Are the Harrises going to be home this evening?”
Rosette nodded. “So far as I know-when Mr. Harris gets home from work, he usually doesn’t care to go anyplace.
“I wanted to drop in to see Sharon-I’ve got an extra ticket for the ballet, the Leningrad-Kirov.” Lisolette glowed. “She’ll love it, don’t you think?”
Jernigan felt slightly uncomfortable. Like most women her age who had no family, Lisa was very lonely and for all practical purposes ‘had adopted fourteen-year-old Sharon Harris. It was fine for Sharon, who shared many of the same cultural enthusiasms that Lisa did and which the older woman did her best to encourage. But he wasn’t sure that Sharon’s parents approved.
He caught Rosie’s eye and knew she was thinking the same thing.
