With little or no wherewithal for being left alone in a room, Mary Jane stood up and walked over to the window. She drew aside the curtain and leaned her wrist on one of the crosspieces between panes, but, feeling grit, she removed it, rubbed it clean with her other hand, and stood up more erectly. Outside, the filthy slush was visibly turning to ice. Mary Jane let go the curtain and wandered back to the blue chair, passing two heavily stocked bookcases without glancing at any of the titles. Seated, she opened her handbag and used the mirror to look at her teeth. She closed her lips and ran her tongue hard over her upper front teeth, then took another look.
“It’s getting so icy out,” she said, turning. “God, that was quick. Didn’t you put any soda in them?”
Eloise, with a fresh drink in each hand, stopped short. She extended both index fingers, gun-muzzle style, and said, “Don’t nobody move. I got the whole damn place surrounded.”
Mary Jane laughed and put away her mirror.
Eloise came forward with the drinks. She placed Mary Jane’s insecurely in its coaster but kept her own in hand. She stretched out on the couch again. “Wuddaya think she’s doing out there?” she said. “She’s sitting on her big, black butt reading `The Robe.’ I dropped the ice trays taking them out. She actually looked up annoyed.”
“This is my last. And I mean it,” Mary Jane said, picking up her drink. “Oh, listen! You know who I saw last week? On the main floor of Lord & Taylor’s?”
“Mm-hm,” said Eloise, adjusting a pillow under her head. “Akim Tamiroff.”
“Who?” said Mary Jane. “Who’s he?”
“Akim Tamiroff. He’s in the movies. He always says, `You make beeg joke—hah?’ I love him… . There isn’t one damn pillow in this house that I can stand. Who’d you see?”
“Jackson. She was—”