There Are Doors

“Not today. Maybe in a few days.”

“Sure, I could do it for ya, any color ya want. Twenty’d cover it.”

“That seems pretty high.”

“Okay, fifteen. But that’s as low as I’ll go. Ya oughta see what the hotel charges me for this place.”

“Then let’s say twenty, and you promise to keep it strictly confidential. Is that a deal?”

“Ya got it. Hey, listen, I never talk about my customers anyhow.”

“And now, do you—” He paused. Slightly to the left of the blonde’s head was a poster advertising shampoo. The woman pictured there was Lara. “Could you tell me if there’s a place down here that sells men’s clothing?”

“There’s three, but I don’t know—”

The door opened behind him; the waitress—Fanny—came in, and she seemed at least as surprised to see him as he was to see her. “Hello,” he said.

“Oh, hi.” She stood silently while he looked from her to the blonde. At last she said, “Are you done?”

“I guess so.”

“I thought maybe I’d get a perm. I’m off now till lunch.”

The blonde told her, “Ya don’t need one yet. Why don’t ya let me just wash it and set it?”

He said, “Well, good-bye, I guess,” and stepped out into the cavernous arcade. He had gone fifty feet before it occurred to him to return quietly to the beauty parlor and listen; for a few seconds he hesitated, vacillating. He had seen people—actors—do it on television and in pictures hundreds of times, and felt somehow that it could not possibly work in real life. The women would hear him, or they would be talking about nothing. But was this real life?

As silently as he could he retraced his steps, glad that he could see no one watching (though someone might be watching) and feeling extremely foolish.

“ … little halfwitted tease.” That was the blonde. Fanny answered resentfully, but so softly he could scarcely hear her, “I talked … at breakfast. I was supposed to check in. You know my orders.”

He crept away.

The first men’s store he came to was run by a woman, which surprised him. He bought a new hat and a heavy overcoat, and at her suggestion a wool sweater-vest to wear under his jacket. He ordered a new pair of wool slacks, too. She measured his legs, marked the seams with chalk, and promised that the slacks would be ready next day. She wore a tape measure about her shoulders like a sash of office, and her gray hair in a bun.

“Do you run this place?” he asked.

“Who else?”

“It must be lonely, especially during the winter.”

“You want to rob me? Go ahead, there isn’t a dime. I’ll tell the insurance, maybe they’ll give me some money. But if you hit me, I’ll kill you.”

He hesitated, aware that she was joking but unsure of how to respond.

She patted him under the arms. “That jacket don’t have room enough for a gun. You want, I’ll make you a better one. Fifty, a hundred dollars, depends on the material.”

“I don’t carry a gun.”

“A strangler, huh?” She scribbled figures on a scrap of paper. “Seventy-seven for the coat, down from one sixty-five. Twenty-five for the hat. Fifteen for the sweater, but for such a good customer, I’m making it ten, there goes my profit. Also you’ve got to pay for the pants in case you don’t come back for them. Twenty-three for your pants, with tailoring. Comes to—let’s make it a hundred and thirty, here’s handkerchiefs, package of five, real Irish linen. Go out and your nose’ll run like the river. You get a free tie.”

He said, “I don’t want one. I’ve got plenty.”

“Okay, I’ll tell you what I’ll do. Since you’re my first customer today and I like you, I’m giving you this lovely all-wool muffler for half off.” She glanced at the tag. “Fifteen ninety-five, one hundred percent pure virgin lambs’ wool. For you, right now, today only, eight bucks.”

“I’ll take it, but I’d like a little information with it. Is there anywhere in the hotel where a woman can get her hair done?”

She shook her head. “There’s a place, Millicent’s, but Millicent ain’t here, this is when she goes on vacation. She won’t be open till the twenty-first.”

“I think I saw her the last time I was here. Blond woman, thin, kind of a long nose?”

“Nah.” The proprietress of the haberdashery was surveying his purchases. “That ain’t her. You’re going to wear the coat, right? And the muffler and the hat. Your slacks’ll be ready tomorrow afternoon. What about the sweater? I’d wear that too, if you’re going to be out much.”

“I will,” he said. He slipped off his jacket.

“Wait a minute, I’ll cut the tags for you. Hey, you got a magic doll. My nephew had one.”

He had laid his jacket on the counter. Tina appeared to be peeping from his pocket.

Not knowing what else to say, he said, “Would you like to look at it? Go ahead.”

She stared at him. “You know, you’re taking a chance, saying something like that. Lots of women don’t like those things.”