Enthralled

Enthralled, Chapter Two

Enthralledby ScribeNotes: At this time, direct dialing was still not universal. People often had operators dial for them, especi on on long distance calls, and crossed lines were not unusual. Anecdote: This happened to me once in the eighties. A phone that was NOT supposed to be activated rang late one night (I'd never bothered to unplug it). When I answered it (fool that I was), all I heard was the lonely sound of wind blowing, then someone speaking in Spanish. I hung up quickly, jerked the jack, and hid the phone in a closet. I watched that closet VERY suspiciously for the rest of my time there.

Chapter TwoDecember 24th, 1958

Gil tucked another layer of tissue paper around the rough clay figurine and settled it carefully into the nest of padding in the bright gift bag, then quickly tied the handles together with a length of silver ribbon. The resulting bow was not professional, but somehow it was better than a machine-tied effort. It was casual and elegant, and said 'someone did this just for you'.

He gave it a slight push across the counter. "There you are, Mister Reynolds. I'm sure he'll like it."

The portly middle-aged man took the bag. "Thank you, Gilbert. What is it again?"

The young man smiled at him. "It's just what you always buy your paramours--a pre-Columbian phallic figure."

"And a gifted little fellow he is, too," said Reynolds cheerfully. He lifted salt-and-pepper eyebrows at Gil. "Are you sure you won't let me buy one for you?"

Gilbert laughed. "I have plenty, and if you don't stop, I'll tell William that you're flirting again, you old dog."

Gilbert came around the counter to escort him to the door, and Reynolds shrugged good-naturedly. "Can't blame a man for trying."

"And trying, and trying." Gil opened the door for him. "You ought to try to stay with one lover for more than a couple of months. You're going to run completely through the local community if you don't."

"Then I'll look outside the community." Reynolds winked at the young man. "I'm not prejudiced." He gave a parting nod and stepped out into the light snow.

Gilbert shut the door, but didn't return to the counter. He turned and put his back to the door, letting his eyes roam over the interior of the shop. It was a good location--open, with plenty of display space. There were several freestanding islands displaying groups igurigurines. Other totems and ritual items lined the shelves that were positioned at staggered levels. The walls between the shelves were hung with shields and masks formed from carved wood, or stretched and painted hide. Everywhere one looked there were pop eyes, animalistic features, and bizarre representations of the human form. Many people felt uneasy when they found themselves surrounded by so much that was so completely outside the mainstream. Usually Gilbert found it soothing, but today...

*rrrowr*

He lifted his eyes to where a Siamese cat was sitting on a shoulder level shelf. Gil sighed. "Pye, Pye, Pyewacket." He shook his head, looking around. "What's wrong with me lately? I've had a good life here the last few years. Why do I suddenly feel--restless?"

He walked over and reached up, scratching the cat behind the ears. It began to purr. "Ialwaalways lived my life--special. In the special, of the special, with the special. Do you know what, Pye?" He stood on tiptoe, his nose almost touching the damp, dark velvet of the cat's nose, looking directly into his bright blue eyes. "I'm bored with the special."

He sank down and turned his back. As he continued to speak, the cat carefully stepped down to settle on his shoulder. "I know it doesn't make sense, but I am. I'm in a rut, and I can't seem to get out of it." He reached up and pulled the cat down into his arms, stroking its neck. It squeaked softly. "All right, so I'm feeling sorry for myself. But I'm tired of the same old, same old. I want to do something different, meet someone different." He looked down at the cat. "It's Christmas, Pye. Will you give me something for Christmas--something to cheer me up?"

He was facing the sidewall of the shop--the one with the display window that looked into the lobby of the building. As he spoke, the door to the lobby opened, and a tall man muffled in a coat, hat, and scarf, entered. He paused and removed the hat, shaking snow off it, then plopped it back on his head and unwound the scarf.

Gilbert cocked his head as the handsomely craggy features were revealed. "That's the man from yesterday, Pye--the one from upstairs. Queenie told us about him." Pye grumbled, and Gil jogged him. "Stop it! It's your own fault for coming home so late." He watched as Shep sorted through his mail, intent he ehe envelopes in his hands. "He's rather nice looking, don't you think? And he's not one of us." Gil continued to stroke the cat, studying the other man, then nodded slightly. "I think I like him." Shephard glanced up, meeting Gilbert's gaze. He seemed to start for a moment, then half-raised one hand in a sort of tentative salute. Gilbert tipped his chin in a barely there nod, not changing expression.

Shep found himself staring into a pair of sharp brown eyes, and was startled for a moment till he realized he was looking into the building's downstairs shop, and at the proprietor. *He's going to think I'm some sort of creep, staring in like this.* Shep pretended to notice a figurine on a display right before the window, and gazed at it fixedly.

Gilbert strolled to the window, smiling faintly. He tucked a muttering Pyewacket under one arm and held up the figure for Shep's inspection. The man made a show of looking at it, then blinked suddenly, head movinck sck slightly. It was a phallic figure, the sort that his last customer liked to give the young men he courted. It was a squat wooden figure, most emphatically male. The genitalia were rampant, and almost as large as the figure's entire body, proudly supported in both hands. The carved face wore a smug, sappy grin that seemed to say, "Ha! Look what I've got!" Gil cocked an eyebrow questioningly.

Shep could feel the heat of a blush sweeping up his face. He tried to look as if he was considering, then shook his head. The blonde man shrugged and replaced the figure. Shep waved, backing toward the stairs, and received a small wave in return. He wasn't looking where he was going, and stumbled on the first step, mail fluttering to the floor as he caught the rail for balance. He heard a faint peel of silvery laughter, and didn't dare look toward the window as he quickly gathered the cards and letters. Stuffing them in his coat pocket, he hurried up the stairs.

In the shop, Gilbert was shaking his head. "Oh, my. Yes, that's about as ordinary as you can get." He glanced down at the cat again, smiling, but his voice was thoughtful. "Why don't you give him to me for Christmas, Pye?"

*Stupid, stupid, stupid, Henderson,* Shep thought as he trudged up the stairs. *My God, could you have looked any more pathetic if you'd tried?* It never failed. In business he was perfectly confident, handling temperamental writers agenagents with firm aplomb, but in his private life...

Shep sighed gustily. He'd never been at ease around attractive people--male or female. He'd realized back in high school that he was attracted to both, but had firmly put the lid on his more unorthodox desires. He'd dated the quiet, brainy girls, knowing that he didn't have the flash to compete with the jocks and schoolhouse politicos. Besides, it would have been rather awkward competing with a guy over a cheerleader when he'd just as soon kiss his rival.

Through high school and college, Shep had done what was expected. He'd dated on and off, had 'gotten serious' once or twice, had slept with women, and enjoyed it, but... But he kept finding his eyes caught by young men: racing on a tennis court in white shorts, striding along the city streets--serious in suits and ties, bending over him in restaurants, with aprons wrapped around narrow waists, and asking if there was anything they could do for him, anything at all?

He'd endured the gentle, then not so gentle hints from his parents that it was past time for him to settle down with a suitable girl and start popping out little Hendersons. He had a feeling that was why he'd settled into his present relationship with Merle. She was the daughter of one of his father's friends, and she'd been waiting patiently in the parlor when he'd made one of his visits home. She'd given him an ironic smile, as if to say, 'Yes, you're right--this is a set up, but let's make the best of it, shall we?'

Meras aas attractive, well educated, chic, smooth, and she was from the same social set as their family. In his parents' minds, she was perfect. Shep hadn't minded dating her. He wasn't exactly sure when they'd become engaged. It just seemed that suddenly Merle and his mother were discussing living in the suburbs vs. keeping a city apartment, boarding school vs. private day schools... His father was talking to him about taking out more insurance, and buying a car 'because a married couple shouldn't have to depend on public transportation, son'.

As he had most of his life--Shep went along. He wasn't particularly interested in marrying Merle, but he couldn't come up with any compelling reason why he shouldn't--except that he didn't love her. And he knew if he tried to tell his parents that he would have been met with blank looks, then gentle, patient reasoning about 'growing into love'. His own parents loved each other, he knew that--but it was more affection and familiarity than anything else. At that point in time, they reminded him more of fond siblings than a passionate couple. He'd found himself seemingly falling into matrimony, with nothing to slow the headlong rush.

It had taken tragedy. First his mother, then his father had succumbed to illness. Mother had dropped of a heart attack at a Ladies Club luncheon. His father *Maybe Dad did need her more than I thought* had lingered on, vague and unfocused, for another two months, then passed away in his sleep--probably from a massive stroke. As much as he grieved for the loss of his parents, there was a guilty, sneaking sense of relief--because all talk of a wedding had ceased. But that had been almost six months ago, at the start of summer. And just recently, Merle had begun mentioning it again, until tonight...

He was mulling over this as he unlocked his door and stepped into his apartment. He was desperately wishing for something to distract him from what had happened this evening, and his wish was granted. Someone had broken into his apartment. He was hanging his hat on a peg when he heard a breathy, "Oh!" and whirled around.

The person standing behind his desk didn't resemble his idea of a burglar or housebreaker. He was a very short, very plump middle-aged man, and he had the pudgy, sweet features of a slightly naughty cherub. He smiled brightly, "Oh, you must be Mister Henderson. This is your apartment."

"Yes, it is," agreed Shep, eyeing him carefully. He didn't LOOK dangerous. "So who are you, and what are you doing here?"

The other man looked around cheerfully. "You've done it up very nicely."

"You haven't answered my question."

"Which one?"

Shep stared at him, and received an innocent blink in return. "Both, but feel free to chose which you answer first."

Another beam. "You can call me Queenie--everyone does."

"Queen...?"

"And as to why I'm here, why, it's simple." He began to speak quickly. "I was just going up to my place, and I saw that your door was open, and your window was open, too, and..." he gestured toward the thick flakes drifting past the window, "it was snowing in, so I just..." he made a pulling gesture, "thought I'd close the window for you. So I did."

"The door was locked when I came in."

Queenie looked puzzled. "It was? How peculiar. Oh, well--this is an old house. A lot of odd things happen here."

"Uh-huh."

Queenie's eyebrows arched at the cynical tone. "I was just being neighborly."

"Tell me, neighbor, are you into dramatics?"

One hand went up to pat at Queenie's hair, and he looked pleased. "No. Do I look like an actor?"

"Not really. It's just that I keep hearing you up there, at night. It sounds like you're reciting, or something."

The short man's expression became elaborately casual. "Can you understand any of it?"

"No, it's just words--sounds."

"I'll try to be more quiet from now on." Queenie's mood changed again as he glanced around. "You read a lot--books everywhere. And gosh, don't you have a lot of correspondence?"

"You read my letters?" Shep didn't yell, but his tone definitely rose in volume.

"Oh, not really, not really." Queenie made straightening motions at the piles of letters on Shep's desk. "It was such a mess, I just thought I'd tidy up a bit."

"Being neighborly?"

"Exactly! And some of the letters just sort of... dropped out." He picked up one pale pink sheet. "This one is from a girl." He gave Shep a coy smile. "You're fiance?"

Shep was at the desk in one stride, grabbing the letter. "How did you know that if you didn't read it?"

"Well, I didn't! Not all of it, anyway, but she has very distinctive handwriting, and certain words just sprang out at me. She's very strong willed, isn't she?"

Shep opened his mouth to deny it, then stopped. Strong willed was exactly what Merle was--he'd had ample demonstration of it over the last few months. Still, he wasn't about to launder his dirty sheets in the presence of this odd little intruder. "Look, Duchess..."

The other man giggled--not laughed or chuckled--giggled. "Queenie!"

"Look, can we do the welcome wagon thing some other time?" Shep put down the letter and took hold of Queenie's elbow in a gentle, but firm grip. Guiding the other toward the door. Opening it, he said, "I have some phone calls to make, and I could use a little privacy. Please lock up on your way out."

"Well, if you're going to..." Dismissing him, Shep had gone into his bedroom. Queenie's voice died, and he narrowed his eyes, glaring at the bedroom. Shep might have rethought his first impression of the little man if he'd seen that expression. Queenie looked at the telephone, sitting on a table near the door. "Important calls?"

Shep's voice drifted out. "Yes, important to me, anyway."

Queenie stared at the phone very, very hard, then muttered an incoherent phrase under his breath as he closed his eyes, then shivered slightly, as if a light static electric charge had swept over him. He was nodding in satisfaction as Shep, divested of his coat, came back into the living room and stared at him. Queenie gave Shep a sweet smile. "It's been lovely, but I must be going. You know, the previous tenant of this flat was a theosophist." He paused in the door, hand on the knob and said archly, "He was very pleasant--very pleasant indeed." With a toss of his head, he shut the door.

Shep stared after his unexpected visitor, feeling slightly stunned and (he had to admit) a little amused. Shaking his head, he sat down and picked up the phone to make his first call. There was no dial tone. Instead there was speech--of a sort. At least he thought it was speech. It seemed to be a man's voice, and Shep could almost make out what sounded like words in the gabbled noise. But it made the hair on the back of his neck prickle. He slammed the receiver down quickly.

*Okay. The phone lines in this building are probably old. I must have gotten onto a party line by accident.* He waited a moment, then lifted the receiver again. Brief silence. "Hello?" This time the voice sounded vaguely Oriental, but there seemed to be a lot of burbling and grunting thrown in. He hung up quickly, staring wide-eyed at the machine, then slowly put it back on the table, leery of touching it.

*I've got to make these calls, and I need to notify the phone company so they can do something about... whatever the hell that is.* He sighed, mentally going over his options. The nearest public phone that he knew of was in a diner almost five blocks away. There was his upstairs neighbor... *Oh, sure. I can just imagine how Queenie would take that.* He cocked his head. *There should be a phone in the shop downstairs--if not a business one, then surely a private one in the owner's apartment. He seemed friendly enough.*

Shep got up and headed for the door. *It won't hurt to ask, and this will be a perfect way to introduce myself.* As he started down the stairs, he thought, *I wonder how neighborly this neighbor feels?*