“This is it,” she announced, unlocking the door and hefting Cindy’s suitcase over the threshold. “I was on a waiting list six months to get this place.”
“It’s lovely,” Cindy said, looking around at the luxurious apartment. A living room with a cathedral ceiling and a balcony overlooking the street opened into a dining area with a mirrored wall facing them and a gleaming galley kitchen with all the latest appliances. A hall led away from the living room to the bedrooms at the back. The whole place was done in pleasant neutral tones: beige carpeting, furniture and draperies in cocoa, sand and taupe, with warm accents of orange and peach in the throw pillows and in the modern paintings on the walls. “How does a humble nurse afford a place like this?”
“She doesn’t,” Paula replied. “I am also the assistant manager of the complex, for which I get a considerable break on the rent. I collect checks, take complaints, and serve as general dogsbody for the outfit that owns the buildings.”
“I see.”
Paula dropped what she was carrying and headed for the kitchen. “You should have seen this apartment before I took it. I was so anxious to get in here I agreed to take on the mess. I needed two weeks to clean it up before I could move in.”
“It was dirty?” Cindy asked, fingering a china cat on an end table.
“Not exactly. The person who lived here before me had some rather unusual decorating ideas. The walls in the living room were black. When you pulled the drapes closed it was like a full blackout during the London blitz. And as if to make up for that, the master bedroom was fluorescent green, and there were orange flowers all over the bathroom walls.”
“Oh, dear.”
“I almost went blind when the real estate agent showed it to me. I had it all stripped and painted before I brought one stick of furniture through the door.” She pointed to the back of the apartment, at the same time poking around in the freezer for ice. “Just put your things in the guest room on the left.”
Cindy picked up the bag Paula had dropped and lugged her things down the hall, her sandals noiseless on the thick carpeting. The spare bedroom had a single bed with a brass bedstead, covered with a multicolored quilt. It was on the same side of the building as the balcony, which ended about three feet from its window. Cindy dumped her bags on the bed and removed her shoes, wiggling her bare toes blissfully on the cool rug. She ambled back out to the kitchen, where Paula was mixing a pitcher of iced tea.
“It’s instant,” she said to Cindy, when she saw her watching the process. “I can’t be bothered boiling the water for the real stuff. It’s probably full of additives which will kill us both but today I’m too hot to care.”
“Has Andrew Fox always lived in this area?” Cindy asked, leaning on the counter which bordered the dining area.
“Back to him, are we?” Paula said, grinning. “I can see that he made quite an impression. Well, he usually does.”
Cindy merely stared at her until she shrugged and said, “He travels a lot, as I said, but his home base has always been Council Rock. He’s very close to his father’s family, but almost nobody else.” She smiled as she emptied a tray of ice into the plastic pitcher. “He used to live in a lean-to on his uncle’s property, if you can believe that. Then he had an apartment, and now he’s moved into one of those waterfront condominiums on the other side of town. They cost a fortune, and his change of lifestyle has occasioned quite a bit of comment around town. There’s a lot of speculation about his reasons for relocation. It’s rather out of character.”
“Why should it seem unusual?” Cindy inquired. “After all, he must make a lot of money doing what he does. You said so yourself.”
Paula took two tall glasses down from a cupboard and filled them, shaking her head. “That’s not the point. If you knew Fox better, you would know he’d never buy such a place for himself.”
Cindy didn’t respond, mulling that over. She accepted her glass from Paula’s hand and drank deeply, pulling her blouse loose from the waistband of her skirt.
“Do you mind if I take a shower?” she said to Paula. “I’m a little grimy from the trip.”
“Be my guest. There are towels in the bathroom closet and a robe on the back of the door.”
Cindy went into the bathroom and started to strip. As she removed her blouse she noticed that there was a crusted scab just below the short sleeve. The blood had congealed into an irregular mass on the inside of her arm.
She had felt no pain at all. She must have been cut when the window broke.
Shrugging her shoulders philosophically, she took off the rest of her clothes and got into the shower, turning on the taps and adjusting the flow of water. As she washed the cut it began to bleed again and to sting. Annoyed, she finished her ablutions hurriedly and belted the terry robe around her, wadding up some tissue paper and holding it to the cut. Barefoot and dripping, she padded out to find Paula, who was pressing a white uniform on a portable ironing board set up in the living room.
“Look at this,” Cindy said, extending her arm. “I didn’t even know the darn thing was there, and now it’s bleeding all over the place.”
Paula unplugged the iron and moved to take a closer look. “Son of a gun,” she marveled. “That must have happened this afternoon. You mean to tell me you didn’t even feel it?”
“Nope. I didn’t see it until I took off my blouse.”
Paula winked. “Too dazzled by Mr. Andrew Fox, no doubt.”
Cindy sighed. “Do you have a Band-Aid or something?”
“What, are you kidding? You’re talking to Nurse Nancy here. I’ve got the works on hand at all times for just such emergencies. Have a seat and I’ll be right there. I’ll only charge my evening rates. That’s a reduced fee.”
“Very comforting,” Cindy said, settling on the edge of the couch and watching warily as Paula produced a zippered bag from the hall closet.
“First, antiseptic,” Paula announced, kneeling in front of her on the floor. “I love to show off for my friends,” she confided in a lower tone, as she daubed the wound with something from a bottle that looked evil and smelled worse.
“Ouch,” Cindy exclaimed, pulling her arm back.
“Still a sissy, I see,” Paula remarked, taping a patch of gauze in place over the cut. “Remember that time in college when you fell from the ledge outside the boys’ dorm? You moaned about your sprained ankle for the rest of the semester.”
“You’re lucky it wasn’t broken,” Cindy responded sourly. “That’s what I get for going to rescue you when you got stuck up there. I wanted no part of that escapade, if you remember.”
“Pick, pick, pick,” Paula said cheerfully, recapping the bottle and straightening up. “You have to admit that if not for me your college years would have been far less colorful.”
“Far more productive, you mean,” Cindy countered, standing and admiring Paula’s neat, professional handiwork.
“You’re the one who made the dean’s list every marking period,” Paula called from the hall. “I couldn’t have done that much damage.” She walked back into the living room, glancing at her watch. “My turn in the bathroom,” she added. “I’ve got the night shift at the hospital tonight, 7:00 pm to 3:00 am, and I’m running late.” She waved her hand, encompassing the apartment. “Make yourself at home. The refrigerator is full of food; the tv and stereo are self-explanatory. Just make sure you answer the phone because I have to take tenant messages. There’s a pad next to the phone; write down the name and apartment number of anybody who calls and the complaint. The messages are usually complaints.” She grinned, and then vanished down the hall. Seconds later Cindy heard the rushing water of the shower.
She wandered back into her room and fished out some old clothes to wear, things in which she would be comfortable while studying. She planned on spending the evening profitably, organizing her notes. When Paula emerged fifteen minutes later, dressed for work, Cindy was already unpacking her briefcase on the dining room table.