Toll Call Page 23

  “The truth about women.”

  The silence that followed his response was long enough to memorialize the occasion.

  “I still don’t understand,” Peggy said finally. “I need to know why you did what you did. It made me feel totally ashamed, you know. It made others feel ashamed for me. It ruined the last two months of my life, and it may have ruined my job, and I think I have a right to know why you did all that to me.”

  He didn’t melt but he softened. “The explanation is simple. If you open your mind, if you really wish to understand, you can.”

  “Tell me. Please.”

  “May I assume you will keep it confidential?”

  “On certain conditions.”

  “What are they?”

  “If you promise not to call me in the middle of the night anymore. Or follow me. Or come to my apartment. Or attack me. Or do anything except talk, politely and calmly, and that only when it’s convenient for me to do so. Do I have that promise from you, John?”

  “I will conform if I can. Unfortunately, my need is such that I can’t promise that I—”

  “We can work it out,” Peggy offered quickly. “If you want to. If you try to understand my position.”

  “I will try. I promise that.”

  “First, tell me something,” Peggy said suddenly, as I dueled with my anger at her easy accommodation with the spider. “How did you learn my new telephone number so fast?”

  His chuckle was round and smug. “I simply read it on your Rolodex. When you were away from your desk. You entered the new number quite promptly, I must say. Presumably so your Mr. Tanner would know how to reach you in an emergency. I was happy to benefit from your efficiency. I only missed one call.”

  “And your voice. You sound so different in here than you do on the phone.”

  “They have many magical machines these days, Margaret. Voice boxes, they call them. The one I used breaks down every element of speech—pitch, timber, inflection, rhythm. It can completely defeat a voiceprint comparison.”

  “Marsh told me there was some sort of spy bug in my picture frame. Did you put it there?”

  “Yes.”

  “When?”

  “Last Christmas.”

  Peggy gasped. “You’ve been listening to me that long?”

  “Yes.”

  “My God. That’s almost worse than the phone calls.”

  “I heard nothing outrageous. Believe me.”

  “You don’t understand. It’s the violation. The invasion. It’s the same as learning I’ve been spied on by a peeping tom.”

  “It’s not like that at all. I—”

  Peggy broke through his easy rationale. “You’ve got to learn respect for people, John. There are certain things you just can’t do to women. Or to anyone, for that matter. Privacy’s the most fundamental right there is. I think you’d better remember that.”

  “I didn’t mean to do what you think I did. My motives were pure. Believe me.”

  “The end can’t justify the means. Not with this. I … There’s one more thing I have to know.”

  “What is that?”

  “The last time we talked, you hinted that you’d had something to do with my friend Lowell’s death. The pilot. Is it true? Did you?”

  “No.”

  “How can I be sure?”

  “Check with the authorities. I’m certain they have no reason to suspect foul play. I hinted at complicity because I wanted you to believe I was all-powerful. So that you would not feel able to resist me. I was glad to see him out of your life, I admit that. But I was not the agent of removal.”

  “I hope not, John. Because if you were I’ll see you jailed for life, if it’s the last thing I do. I mean it. Now tell me why you’ve been torturing me for so long.”

  “It wasn’t torture, Margaret. At least it wasn’t meant to be. Please believe me.” He hesitated once again. “I … this is not easy for me. I have been obsessed with this subject for so long, it has assumed such elephantine proportions, I scarcely know how to begin.”

  “You seem to feel more comfortable on the phone. Maybe if I turn my back. Maybe if I hold this ruler like a telephone, and you pretend you’re calling me, the way you used to. There. Is that better?”

  “It is ridiculous, that much is certain. But you are right. Already I’m more at ease. You see? You are special. It is just that sensitivity I hoped to tap by choosing you as my mentor.”

  “I’ll try to remember that,” Peggy said, with a twist of sarcasm and perhaps a trace of pride.

  “I’m afraid you will find the problem is ludicrous, Margaret. You see, I want a child.”

  “What?” Peggy sounded as startled as I was.

  “A child. Progeny. An heir to the wealth and beauty I’ve so carefully assembled over the years.”

  “But—”

  The spider ignored her. “My possessions are my life—my art, my home, my car, my clothes. I have devoted my every waking hour to the creation of beautiful environments—my office, my apartment in the city, my homes in Glen Ellen and in Cap Ferrat, my gallery. I will be forty-five next month. I’m in good health as far as I know, but who can say for certain. In the past I have engaged in practices that recent revelations indicate entail a greater than normal risk of premature demise. I—”

  “Do you mean AIDS?”

  “Among other possibilities. Those escapades were several years ago, but the incubation period of the virus is uncertain. I …” His voice trailed off.

  “Go on. You mentioned a child.”

  “Yes. I want a child. Badly. It has become my idée fixe. I was an only child myself, you see. My parents are not living. I have no heirs. None. And I can’t bear the thought that my entire fortune would simply escheat to the state upon my demise. The prospect is anathema to me. Worse than death itself. I will do anything to avoid that eventuality.”

  “You could leave it all to someone else. A friend. A colleague.”

  The spider uttered something like a laugh. “Unfortunately, the few people I call friends could be counted on to sell everything I bequeathed to them before grass started growing on my grave.”

  “I can understand that, I guess,” Peggy said. “But I don’t understand how I fit in.”

  “It’s quite simple, actually. Simple and laudable, I believe. If I am blessed with a child I want it to be raised in a wholesome atmosphere. By that I mean I want no divorce, no separation, no messy wrangle over either the child or his inheritance, no single-parent, divorced-father, broken-home type of arrangement.”

  “No one wants their marriage to end in divorce. But wishing isn’t enough sometimes.”

  “I know that. It is not a perfect world, or at least those of us who inhabit it are not. But I operate under a handicap that substantially lessens the odds that any marriage of mine would succeed. A handicap that explains why I’ve not wed before now.”

  “Since you mentioned AIDS, I assume you’re gay.”

  “A natural assumption, but no. True, I have engaged in homosexual affairs from time to time, though not recently. Mostly as an experiment. At one point I thought I was homosexual, actually, but several years of intense personal scrutiny have convinced me I am not. No, the situation is more complex. I am asexual, nonsexual, unsexual. A gelding. A neuter. Call it what you will. The medical terms are abstruse and unenlightening.”

  “I still don’t understand,” Peggy said.

  “It’s very simple. Sex is a foreign tongue to me, its energies and excitements as unfamiliar as Sanskrit. My libido is a shrunken cinder, not a raging flame. I have no erotic impulse, none whatsoever, toward anyone. Things, yes. Sculpture. Painting. Music. I embrace such glories with a vehemence many call obscene.” He spat a bitter laugh. “But alas, none of my treasures are fecund; none can present me with a child. Do you begin to sense my problem?”

  “You don’t know what to do with women.”

  “Correct. I haven’t the faintest idea how to proceed, especially in the ero
genous sense. The few times I have made an effort I have been laughed at, ridiculed, worst of all, pitied. I have read the how-to books and watched the films of the Mitchell brothers and worse, and on occasion I have even tuned in to the amazing Dr. Ruth, but I still don’t understand. I don’t know what things mean. Sexy clothing, for example. And exotic sexual practices and devices. I don’t know how women feel about such things, and so I don’t know what to do to ensure that the sexual component of my marriage would support a lengthy union. So I came to you for help. I selected you to teach me what I felt I had to know.”

  “You could have just asked,” Peggy said softly.

  “Hah. I tried that with others, the candid exchange of views, but honesty was lacking from the first. Everyone lies about sex, in my experience. Everyone. No, after much trial and error I concluded that the phone, the threats, the inquisitorial approach, were all essential to achieve anything approximating truth. You were truthful with me, weren’t you, my dear Margaret?”

  “Yes. I … yes. I was.”

  “So you see, it worked.”

  “At quite a price, at least to me.”

  “Yes. I’m sorry for that.”

  Peggy’s voice stiffened. Her chair squeaked as she turned back to face her nemesis. “If you’re asexual, why did you have me perform that vile striptease? Why did you have to humiliate me?”

  “That was not my intent. Not at all. I—”

  “I don’t believe you, John. I don’t believe this whole thing was just a course in the feminine mystique. You enjoyed tormenting me; you were too brutal, too overbearing. You treated me like a Nazi, John. Torturing out of me the most embarrassing details of my life, then reveling in my shame. I have to tell you that I think you’re totally lying about your motives.”

  “No. No, Margaret. It is as I said. I merely wanted to learn.”

  “No, John. It doesn’t fit. There’s much more to it, whether you know it or not. You want me to believe you’re the meek John Smith, and maybe in real life you are, but on the phone you’re a criminal, John. And I’m still suffering from your crimes.”

  “No.”

  “Yes. There’s something driving you to behave that way. A need to dominate women. To degrade them. Something. Have you ever been in analysis?”

  “How dare you suggest that.”

  “I think you need it.”

  “Nonsense.”

  “It might help, John. If you’re being honest with me now, your problem is bigger than you think. I want you to get help. I want you to promise to see someone. That is, if you want us to continue our talks. That’s the only way I could even think of agreeing to it.”

  “No. I can’t do that. It would be—”

  “Your resistance only proves your need, don’t you see that? Well? Will you do it?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know if I can.”

  “Try. Just try. That’s all I ask.”

  “I’m not sure I can live with what might result, Margaret. I’m not sure I want to know what lies behind my behavior. I have my suspicions, of course. And they are all unbearable.”

  “Try it. Therapy. Just once. To see what it’s like.”

  “I will if I can. Truly. I will do my best. But you don’t understand. You act as though I have never tried to improve my lot. On the contrary, I have been desperate to alter the situation. You mentioned the striptease, as you call it. It was another, perhaps my final, effort to summon forth my lust. I thought if you, the woman I knew better than any other, were to tantalize me in forbidden, bizarre circumstances, perhaps my desires would finally awaken from their slumber.”

  “Oh.”

  “You seem disappointed. But you should not be. My passions were aroused, my blood spurted, my palms grew damp. Alas, I realized it was because you reminded me of my sculpted family, my bloodless brood, my plaster panoply. Do you see? I was inflamed by your form, not your function. And of course any possible evolution of that fervor was destroyed by your clumsy attempt to apprehend me. I was angry at you for that, Margaret. I was not a danger to you. Ever.”

  “That was impossible for me to believe, John. Surely you can see that.”

  “I suppose I can. I apologize for your trepidation. Truly.”

  Peggy paused. “Have you decided who is going to bear your child?”

  “I have a candidate. I doubt that you know her. I met her in New York, at a tax conference. She is a CPA. I intend to propose on my next trip east, in three weeks’ time.”

  “Congratulations.” The word was flat and sour, but the spider seemed not to notice.

  “Thank you. But my knowledge remains incomplete. I am not yet confident of my amatory skills. And I am not yet certain I can interpret women’s actions and intentions accurately enough to judge if Judith is the appropriate selection. So I am hoping you will continue my lessons.”

  Peggy laughed helplessly. “It’s absurd, you know.”

  “Please.”

  “I have to think about it. But whether I help you or not, the harassment has to stop. Right now. Before I lose my mind.”

  “Yes. I went too far. I see that now. But I was desperate. I hope you understand.”

  “And I need time. To get my own life back to normal. To patch up some relationships of my own that have suffered because of you.”

  “Please. You need not remind me. I am sorry, I say again. My methods will change.”

  “If they don’t I will go to the police. I hope you believe that.”

  “Yes. I do.” For the first time he sounded chastened and contrite. I wondered if it was just another con or whether he was serious. I wondered if Peggy could possibly be serious herself. And I wondered what I would do if she told me that she was.

  “You must leave me alone until I contact you,” Peggy was saying.

  “But when will that be?”

  “By the end of next week I’ll call. And let you know whether I’ll go on with this.”

  “Thank you. It’s more than I deserve.”

  Peggy laughed again. “You’re right. I just wish I understood why I think I’m going to let you walk out of here without doing anything to you.”

  “You are an empathetic person. I knew that from the first. You have suffered in life, and you recognize a fellow sufferer.”

  “Maybe that’s it. Or maybe it’s just because I want a man to talk to when I’m lonely.”

  THIRTY

  I stepped into the room the moment he was gone and I heard the microphone switched off. Peggy was sitting at her desk, head bowed, hands clasped. “So he’s the one,” I said. “Good old Arthur-from-down-the-hall.”

  Peggy only nodded. Her eyes were deeply lidded, as though the confrontation had been too bright to bear without a filter.

  “And he’s just going to stroll out of here scot-free.”

  She nodded once again. Her hands retreated beneath the desk, in what might have been a flinch from the unspoken corollary to my accusation.

  “And I’m supposed to sit here and let him go,” I added roughly.

  “Yes.” The word was crisp and challenging. “Yes, you are.”

  “And stand by like a eunuch and let you get mixed up with him all over again.”

  “It won’t be like it was.”

  “How do you know?”

  “He promised.”

  “So what?”

  “He’s an honorable man. I mean basically.”

  “Nonsense. He’s just the opposite.”

  “You don’t understand, Marsh. You never have.”

  “Okay. Indulge me. What if he doesn’t keep his precious promise?”

  “I call the police.”

  “Really? What if he doesn’t give you the chance?”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “I mean what if after he leaves here he decides you’re far too dangerous running around loose? That knowing what you know gives you too much sway over his future. What does he do then?”

  “I don’t know.”

&nbs
p; “I do. He tries to kill you.”

  She recoiled, her body leaning away from me, her hands emerging once again, this time to mask her eyes. “No. He wouldn’t do that.”

  “You thought he wouldn’t shove you down the stairs, but he did.”

  “He wouldn’t try to kill me. I know he wouldn’t.”

  “You don’t know him nearly that well, Peggy. You know only what he wants you to know, what he wants you to believe.”

  She didn’t respond. Her palms dropped away from her eyes, laying bare their reddened, dampened surfaces.

  “What if I go to the police myself?” I asked. “What if I call Charley right now?”

  “You wouldn’t go against my wishes like that.”

  “I would if I thought I had to do it to save your life.”

  “But it’s not that severe. He’s Arthur Constable, Marsh. He’s worked down the hall for years. He’s the guy you make fun of all the time. He’s got a problem, but you know him well enough to know it’s not that kind of problem.”

  “I don’t know any such thing. You don’t, either.”

  “Please, Marsh,” she pleaded with what seemed to be her final store of energy. “Let me do this my way.”

  “I don’t know, Peggy. This whole thing makes me nervous. It has from the beginning and it sure as hell does now. It’s the stairs business that doesn’t fit. You could have been seriously injured in that fall. You keep saying he’s not violent, but his conduct runs counter to your thesis. What’s this evidence you’ve got on him, by the way?”

  She shook her head. “I was lying.”

  “Christ. So all we really have is your testimony.”

  “You were there too.”

  “I know. But I didn’t see him. Not close enough to identify him, at least. If I have to I can always lie, I suppose. It wouldn’t be the first time.”

  Peggy found another cell of strength. “But don’t you see? I won’t have to give any evidence. If I agree to keep talking to him, the way we talked before, he’s bound to get tired of me after a while. Sooner or later he’ll get everything I have to give and we can all get back to normal.”

  “What about the next woman he picks on?”

  “No. Don’t you see? He thinks I have all the answers. When I don’t have any more to give him he’ll go ahead and marry his sweetheart in the East and have the baby and that will be the end of it. Really, Marsh. I’m sure of it.”