Rosemary’sBaby

ByIraLevin:

Novels

SONOFROSEMARY

SLIVER

THEBOYSFROMBRAZIL

THESTEPFORDWIVES

THISPERFECTDAY

ROSEMARY’SBABY

AKISSBEFOREDYING

Plays

DRAT!THECAT!(MusicbyMiltonSchafer)

CRITIC’SCHOICE

GENERALSEEGER

INTERLOCK

NOTIMEFORSERGEANTS(FromthenovelbyMacHyman)

Rosemary’sBaby

IRALEVIN

PEGASUSBOOKSNEWYORK

ROSEMARY’SBABY

PegasusBooksLLC80BroadStreet5thFloorNewYork,NY10004

Copyright©1967byIraLevinIntroductioncopyright©2010byOttoPenzler

Allrightsreserved.Nopartofthisbookmaybereproducedinwholeorinpartwithout written permission from the publisher, except by reviewers whomayquotebriefexcerpts inconnectionwitha review inanewspaper,magazine,orelectronicpublication;normayanypartofthisbookbereproduced,storedinaretrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic,mechanical,photocopying,recording,orother,withoutwrittenpermissionfromthepublisher.

LibraryofCongressCataloging-in-PublicationDataisavailable.

ISBN:978-1-605-98148-2

www.pegasusbooks.us

COMPLETEDINAUGUST,1966,INWILTON,CONNECTICUT,ANDDEDICATEDTOGABRIELLE

Contents

INTRODUCTION

PART1CHAPTER1CHAPTER2CHAPTER3CHAPTER4CHAPTER5CHAPTER6CHAPTER7CHAPTER8CHAPTER9CHAPTER10

PART2CHAPTER1CHAPTER2

CHAPTER3CHAPTER4CHAPTER5CHAPTER6CHAPTER7CHAPTER8CHAPTER9CHAPTER10

PART3CHAPTER1CHAPTER2

INTRODUCTION

byOttoPenzler

TheargumentcouldbemadethatRosemary’sBabyisoneofthehalf-dozenmostinfluentialhorrornovelsofalltime,uptherewithFrankensteinforinventingthegenre,Draculaforcreatingthesinglemosticoniccreaturewhoeverlived…andlived…and lived, and Carrie, for launching the career of Stephen King, thegreatest andmostpopularhorrorwriter inhistory.Thedownside, as IraLevinoftenstated,isthatthenovelandtheexcellentfilmadaptationspurredavirtualflood of exorcists, omens, demon seeds, changelings and other hackneyedcopycats.

“It’sone thing to refer to thebook,”LevinwroteofRosemary’sBaby, “asbeing ‘generally credited or blamed for having sparked the current revival ofoccultism,’andanothertorecognize,asIhaveinthepastfewyears(writingin1990),thattheblamemayberealandweighty.”

The preponderance of horror in fiction and on film led to a time, Levinnoted,“whenpeople,presumablyschooled,detectbackwarddemonicmessagesinrockmusicandSatan’ssymbolonbarsofsoap.”

Levinwasnotabeliever—notinanyorganizedreligion,notSatanism,notwitchcraft, not in any of the myths or charismatic real-life figures who haveengenderedworship. In fact,hehad ratherhoped thathisnovelwouldhelp toincrease the skepticism thathadalways residedwithhim. Itwasn’t tobe.Notonlydidthebookbecomeapublishingphenomenon,rushingtothetopofbest-sellerlists,butitwasthebasisforafaithfulmotionpictureversionthatalsowasa staggering success at the box office and one of the few horror films of the1960sthatholdsuptorepeatedviewing,eventoday.

Hollywood directors are famous for signing on tomake amotion picturebased on a novel and then changing it so dramatically that even the author

wouldn’t recognize it. This was not the case with Roman Polanski, who wasalmost obsessive about following the author’s story. He met regularly withLevin,pagesmarkedinthebook,askingsuchquestionsas,WhatdoyouthinkisthecolorofRosemary’sdressinthisscene?andWhatisthedateoftheissueofThe New Yorker in which Guy Woodhouse sees a shirt he wants?—all veryflattering to the author, who had no idea how to answer. It was uncommonlywise of the director, who also wrote the screenplay for the 1968masterpiecestarringMiaFarrowas theyoungwomanwhoslowlybecomesconvinced thather husband (John Cassavetes) has become involvedwith a coven of witcheswholiveintheirapartmentbuilding.

Ira Levin (1929–2007) was the genius whose brilliant first novel,AKissBeforeDying(1953),wontheEdgarAllanPoeAwardfromtheMysteryWritersofAmericaintheBestFirstNovelcategory.Neveraprolificnovelist,hisnextnovel was Rosemary’s Baby (1967), which he followed with the dystopiansciencefiction thrillerThisPerfectDay (1970).He thenaddedaphrase to thelanguagewithTheStepfordWives(1972)beforewritingthehugebest-seller,TheBoysfromBrazil(1976),thenconcludedhisnovel-writingcareerwithtwolesswell-regarded books,Sliver (1991) and Son of Rosemary (1997).All butThisPerfectDayandSonofRosemaryhavebeenfilmedatleastonce.

Levin’s success as a playwright equaled or exceeded that of his books,notablyhis adaptationofMacHyman’sNoTime for Sergeants to the stage in1955;itstarredAndyGriffith,launchinghiscareer.Healsowrotethebookandlyrics for themusicalDrat!TheCat! (1965).But it is his 1978 tour-de-force,Deathtrap, thatbroughthimhisgreatestacclaim. Itwasnominated foraTonyandwontheEdgar,becomingtheall-timelongestrunningthrillerinthehistoryof the American theater, with 1,809 performances over a four-and-a-half-yearperiod.

Whatacareer!Attheageof23,whilemostrecentcollegegraduatesarestilllivingathomeandtryingtofigureoutwhattheywanttodo,Levinhadwrittenoneofthegreatestmysterynovelsofalltime.Acoupleofyearslater,hehadahitBroadwayplay.Hewrote the lyrics foroneofBarbraStreisand’s signaturesongs,“HeTouchedMe.”Aftersometelevisionwork(LightsOut,TheU.S.SteelHour), he had another hit on Broadway, and then the horror novel to end allhorrornovels.Hewasn’tyetforty.

Althoughsomewhatreclusiveinlaterlife,IraLevinwas,perhapscontrarytoexpectation,adelightfulcompanionwholovedtolaughandhearotherpeople’sstories.WehappenedtobeatthesameChristmaspartyoneyearandhewasas

genialascouldbe.Buthewasalsoalittletroubled.Thepartywasatthehomeof America’s greatest comic crime novelist, Donald E. Westlake, and, notsurprisingly,thereweremanyauthorsandbookpeopleintheroom.IthadbeenalmostfifteenyearssincehehadwrittenTheBoysfromBrazilandhesaidhefeltlike a fraud, that hewas listening to conversations and realized that everyoneelse had books recently published or books onwhich theywereworking. HewenthomeandwroteSliverinafewmonthsand,aswasusualforhim,ithitthebest-sellerlists.

Heshouldhaverealizedthathewasnotafraud,notforaninstant,andthatno one sane could ever have thought he was. He wrote brilliantly in everyliteraryfieldinwhichheworked,hissentencesmodelsofprecision,makingupwhat they lacked invelvety,mandarin,overripeprosewithclarityandforwardmovement,withneverawastedword.Hewasjustlyproudofhisachievements—except, perhaps, in the case ofRosemary’s Baby, because of the books andfilmsbyothersforwhichithadbeenacatalyst.Heoncewrotethatheregardedhis novel the way he might have felt about “an offspring who regularly senthomemoneythatI’dbeguntosuspectwasill-gotten.”Hewasdismayedthat“ithelped boost the universal stupidity quotient.” But, like that hypotheticaloffspring’s offerings, he never felt compelled to send back the money. Norshouldhehave.Heenriched those readers fortunateenough tohavepickedupthisperfectclassic,andwewouldnevergivebacktheexperience.

PART1

CHAPTER1

ROSEMARYANDGUYWOODHOUSE had signed a lease on a five-roomapartmentinageometricwhitehouseonFirstAvenuewhentheyreceivedword,fromawomannamedMrs.Cortez,thatafour-roomapartmentintheBramfordhadbecomeavailable.TheBramford,old,black,andelephantine,isawarrenofhigh-ceilinged apartments prized for their fireplaces and Victorian detail.Rosemary and Guy had been on its waiting list since their marriage but hadfinallygivenup.

Guy relayed the news to Rosemary, stopping the phone against his chest.Rosemarygroaned“Ohno!”andlookedasifshewouldweep.

“It’s too late,” Guy said to the phone. “We signed a lease yesterday.”Rosemary caught his arm. “Couldn’t we get out of it?” she asked him. “Tellthemsomething?”

“Holdonaminute,willyou,Mrs.Cortez?”Guystopped thephoneagain.“Tellthemwhat?”heasked.

Rosemary floundered and raised her hands helplessly. “I don’t know, thetruth.ThatwehaveachancetogetintotheBramford.”

“Honey,”Guysaid,“they’renotgoingtocareaboutthat.”“You’ll think of something, Guy. Let’s just look, all right? Tell her we’ll

look.Please.Beforeshehangsup.”“Wesignedalease,Ro;we’restuck.”“Please!She’llhangup!”Whimperingwithmockanguish,Rosemarypried

thephonefromGuy’schestandtriedtopushituptohismouth.Guylaughedandletthephonebepushed.“Mrs.Cortez?Itturnsoutthere’s

achancewe’llbeabletogetoutofit,becausewehaven’tsignedtheactuallease

yet.Theywereoutoftheformssoweonlysignedaletterofagreement.Canwetakealookattheapartment?”

Mrs. Cortez gave instructions: they were to go to the Bramford betweeneleven and eleven-thirty, findMr.Micklas or Jerome, and tellwhichever theyfoundthattheywerethepartyshehadsenttolookat7E.Thentheyweretocallher.ShegaveGuyhernumber.

“You see howyou can think of things?”Rosemary said, puttingPeds andyellowshoesonherfeet.“You’reamarvelousliar.”

Guy,atthemirror,said,“Christ,apimple.”“Don’tsqueezeit.”“It’sonlyfourrooms,youknow.Nonursery.”“I’dratherhavefourroomsintheBramford,”Rosemarysaid,“thanawhole

floorinthat—thatwhitecellblock.”“Yesterdayyoulovedit.”“Ilikedit.Ineverlovedit.I’llbetnoteventhearchitectlovesit.We’llmake

adiningareainthelivingroomandhaveabeautifulnursery,whenandif.”“Soon,”Guysaid.Herananelectricrazorbackandforthacrosshisupper

lip,lookingintohiseyes,whichwerebrownandlarge.Rosemarysteppedintoayellowdressandsquirmedthezipperupthebackofit.

They were in one room, that had been Guy’s bachelor apartment. It hadpostersofParisandVerona,alargedaybedandapullmankitchen.

ItwasTuesday,thethirdofAugust.

Mr.Micklas was small and dapper but had fingers missing from both hands,whichmade shaking hands an embarrassment, though not apparently for him.“Oh, an actor,” he said, ringing for the elevatorwith amiddle finger. “We’reverypopularwithactors.”HenamedfourwhowerelivingattheBramford,allofthemwellknown.“HaveIseenyouinanything?”

“Let’ssee,”Guysaid.“IdidHamletawhileback,didn’t I,Liz?And thenwemadeTheSandpiper…”

“He’s joking,” Rosemary said. “He was in Luther andNobody Loves AnAlbatrossandalotoftelevisionplaysandtelevisioncommercials.”

“That’swherethemoneyis,isn’tit?”Mr.Micklassaid;“thecommercials.”“Yes,”Rosemarysaid,andGuysaid,“Andtheartisticthrill,too.”Rosemarygavehimapleadinglook;hegavebackoneofstunnedinnocence

andthenmadealeeringvampirefaceatthetopofMr.Micklas’shead.

The elevator—oak-paneled,with a shining brass handrail all around—wasrun by a uniformed Negro boy with a locked-in-place smile. “Seven,” Mr.Micklas told him; to Rosemary and Guy he said, “This apartment has fourrooms,twobaths,andfiveclosets.Originallythehouseconsistedofverylargeapartments—thesmallestwasanine—butnowthey’vealmostallbeenbrokenupintofours,fives,andsixes.SevenEisafourthatwasoriginallythebackpartof a ten. It has the original kitchen andmaster bath, which are enormous, asyou’llsoonsee.Ithastheoriginalmasterbedroomforits livingroom,anotherbedroomforitsbedroom,andtwoservant’sroomsthrowntogetherforitsdiningroomorsecondbedroom.Doyouhavechildren?”

“Weplanto,”Rosemarysaid.“It’s an ideal child’s room, with a full bathroom and a large closet. The

wholeset-upismadetoorderforayoungcouplelikeyourselves.”Theelevatorstoppedand theNegroboy,smiling,chivied itdown,up,and

downagainforacloseralignmentwith thefloorrailoutside;andstillsmiling,pulledinthebrassinnergateandtheouterrollingdoor.Mr.MicklasstoodasideandRosemary andGuy steppedout—into adimly lightedhallwaywalled andcarpetedindarkgreen.Aworkmanatasculpturedgreendoormarked7Blookedatthemandturnedbacktofittingapeepscopeintoitscut-outhole.

Mr. Micklas led the way to the right and then to the left, through shortbranches of dark green hallway. Rosemary and Guy, following, saw rubbed-away places in thewallpaper and a seamwhere it had lifted andwas curlinginward;sawadeadlightbulbinacut-glasssconceandapatchedplaceoflightgreentapeonthedarkgreencarpet.GuylookedatRosemary:Patchedcarpet?Shelookedawayandsmiledbrightly:Iloveit;everything’slovely!

“Theprevioustenant,Mrs.Gardenia,”Mr.Micklassaid,notlookingbackatthem,“passedawayonlyafewdaysagoandnothinghasbeenmovedoutoftheapartmentyet.Hersonaskedmetotellwhoeverlooksatitthattherugs,theairconditioners,andsomeofthefurniturecanbehadpracticallyfortheasking.”Heturnedintoanotherbranchofhallwaypaperedinnewer-lookinggreenandgoldstripes.

“Didshedieintheapartment?”Rosemaryasked.“Notthatit—”“Oh,no,inahospital,”Mr.Micklassaid.“She’dbeeninacomaforweeks.

Shewasveryold andpassedawaywithout everwaking. I’ll begrateful togothatwaymyselfwhenthetimecomes.Shewaschipperrighttotheend;cookedherownmeals,shoppedthedepartmentsstores…ShewasoneofthefirstwomenlawyersinNewYorkState.”

Theycamenowtoastairwellthatendedthehallway.Adjacenttoit,ontheleft,wasthedoorofapartment7E,adoorwithoutsculpturedgarlands,narrowerthan thedoors theyhadpassed.Mr.Micklas pressed thepearl bell button—L.Gardeniawasmountedaboveit inwhitelettersonblackplastic—andturnedakey in the lock. Despite lost fingers he worked the knob and threw the doorsmartly.“Afteryou,please,”hesaid,leaningforwardonhistoesandholdingthedooropenwiththelengthofanoutstretchedarm.

Theapartment’sfourroomsweredividedtwoandtwooneithersideofanarrowcentral hallway that extended in a straight line from the front door. The firstroomontherightwasthekitchen,andatthesightofitRosemarycouldn’tkeepfromgiggling,foritwasaslargeifnotlargerthanthewholeapartmentinwhichtheywerethenliving.Ithadasix-burnergasstovewithtwoovens,amammothrefrigerator,amonumentalsink;ithaddozensofcabinets,awindowonSeventhAvenue,ahighhighceiling,anditevenhad—imaginingawayMrs.Gardenia’schrometableandchairsandropedbalesofFortuneandMusicalAmerica—theperfect place for something like the blue-and-ivory breakfast nook she hadclippedfromlastmonth’sHouseBeautiful.

Opposite thekitchenwas thedining roomorsecondbedroom,whichMrs.Gardeniahadapparentlyusedasacombinationstudyandgreenhouse.Hundredsof small plants, dying and dead, stood on jerry-built shelves under spirals ofunlightedfluorescenttubing;intheirmidstarolltopdeskspilledoverwithbooksandpapers.Ahandsomedesk itwas,broadandgleamingwithage.RosemaryleftGuyandMr.Micklastalkingbythedoorandwenttoit,steppingoverashelfof withered brown fronds. Desks like this were displayed in antique-storewindows;Rosemarywondered,touchingit,ifitwasoneofthethingsthatcouldbehadpracticallyfortheasking.GracefulbluepenmanshiponmauvepapersaidthanmerelytheintriguingpastimeIbelievedittobe.Icannolongerassociatemyself—andshecaughtherselfsnoopingandlookedupatMr.MicklasturningfromGuy.“IsthisdeskoneofthethingsMrs.Gardenia’ssonwantstosell?”sheasked.

“Idon’tknow,”Mr.Micklassaid.“Icouldfindoutforyou,though.”“It’sabeauty,”Guysaid.Rosemarysaid“Isn’t it?”andsmiling,lookedaboutatwallsandwindows.

Theroomwouldaccommodatealmostperfectlythenurseryshehadimagined.Itwasabitdark—thewindowsfacedonanarrowcourtyard—butthewhite-and-

yellowwallpaperwouldbrightenittremendously.Thebathroomwassmallbutabonus,andthecloset,filledwithpottedseedlingsthatseemedtobedoingquitewell,wasagoodone.

Theyturnedtothedoor,andGuyasked,“Whatareallthese?”“Herbs, mostly,” Rosemary said. “There’s mint and basil…I don’t know

whattheseare.”Fartheralongthehallwaytherewasaguestclosetontheleft,andthen,on

the right, a wide archway opening onto the living room. Large bay windowsstoodopposite,twoofthem,withdiamondpanesandthree-sidedwindowseats.Therewasasmallfireplaceintheright-handwall,withascrolledwhitemarblemantel,andtherewerehighoakbookshelvesontheleft.

“Oh, Guy,” Rosemary said, finding his hand and squeezing it. Guy said“Mm”noncommittallybutsqueezedback;Mr.Micklaswasbesidehim.

“Thefireplaceworks,ofcourse,”Mr.Micklassaid.Thebedroom,behindthem,wasadequate—about twelvebyeighteen,with

itswindowsfacingon thesamenarrowcourtyardas thoseof thedining-room-second-bedroom-nursery.Thebathroom,beyond the living room,wasbig, andfullofbulbouswhitebrass-knobbedfixtures.

“It’samarvelousapartment!”Rosemarysaid,backinthelivingroom.Shespunaboutwithopenedarms,asiftotakeandembraceit.“Iloveit!”

“Whatshe’stryingtodo,”Guysaid,“isgetyoutolowertherent.”Mr. Micklas smiled. “We would raise it if we were allowed,” he said.

“Beyond the fifteen-per-cent increase, I mean. Apartments with this kind ofcharmandindividualityareasrareashen’steethtoday.Thenew—”Hestoppedshort,lookingatamahoganysecretaryattheheadofthecentralhallway.“That’sodd,”hesaid.“There’saclosetbehindthatsecretary.I’msurethereis.Therearefive: two in thebedroom,one in the secondbedroom,and two in thehallway,thereandthere.”Hewentclosertothesecretary.

Guystoodhighon tiptoesandsaid,“You’re right. Icansee thecornersofthedoor.”

“Shemoved it,” Rosemary said. “The secretary; it used to be there.” Shepointedtoapeakedsilhouetteleftghost-likeonthewallnearthebedroomdoor,and the deep prints of four ball feet in the burgundy carpet. Faint scuff-trailscurvedandcrossedfromthefourprintstothesecretary’sfeetwheretheystoodnowagainstthenarrowadjacentwall.

“Givemeahand,willyou?”Mr.MicklassaidtoGuy.Betweenthemtheyworkedthesecretarybitbybitbacktowarditsoriginal

place.“Iseewhyshewentintoacoma,”Guysaid,pushing.“She couldn’t have moved this by herself,” Mr. Micklas said; “she was

eighty-nine.”Rosemarylookeddoubtfullyattheclosetdoortheyhaduncovered.“Should

weopenit?”sheasked.“Maybehersonshould.”Thesecretarylodgedneatlyinitsfourfootprints.Mr.Micklasmassagedhis

fingers-missing hands. “I’m authorized to show the apartment,” he said, andwenttothedoorandopenedit.Theclosetwasnearlyempty;avacuumcleanerstoodatonesideofitandthreeorfourwoodboardsattheother.Theoverheadshelfwasstackedwithblueandgreenbathtowels.

“Whoevershelockedingotout,”Guysaid.Mr.Micklassaid,“Sheprobablydidn’tneedfiveclosets.”“But why would she cover up her vacuum cleaner and her towels?”

Rosemaryasked.Mr.Micklasshrugged.“Idon’tsupposewe’lleverknow.Shemayhavebeen

gettingsenileafterall.”Hesmiled.“IsthereanythingelseIcanshowyouortellyou?”

“Yes,”Rosemarysaid.“Whataboutthelaundryfacilities?Aretherewashingmachinesdownstairs?”

TheythankedMr.Micklas,whosawthemoutontothesidewalk,andthentheywalkedslowlyuptownalongSeventhAvenue.

“It’scheaperthantheother,”Rosemarysaid,tryingtosoundasifpracticalconsiderationsstoodforemostinhermind.

“It’soneroomless,honey,”Guysaid.Rosemary walked in silence for a moment, and then said, “It’s better

located.”“God,yes,”Guysaid.“Icouldwalktoallthetheaters.”Heartened,Rosemaryleapedfrompracticality.“OhGuy,let’stakeit!Please!

Please!It’ssuchawonderfulapartment!Shedidn’tdoanythingwithit,oldMrs.Gardenia!Thatlivingroomcouldbe—itcouldbebeautiful,andwarm,and—ohplease,Guy,let’stakeit,allright?”

“Wellsure,”Guysaid,smiling.“Ifwecangetoutoftheotherthing.”Rosemarygrabbedhiselbowhappily.“Wewill!”shesaid.“You’llthinkof

something,Iknowyouwill!”Guy telephoned Mrs. Cortez from a glass-walled booth while Rosemary,

outside, tried to lip-read. Mrs. Cortez said she would give them until threeo’clock;ifshehadn’theardfromthembythenshewouldcallthenextpartyonthewaitinglist.

TheywenttotheRussianTeaRoomandorderedBloodyMary’sandchickensaladsandwichesonblackbread.

“Youcouldtell themI’msickandhavetogointothehospital,”Rosemarysaid.

But thatwasneither convincingnor compelling. InsteadGuy spun a storyabout a call to join a company ofCome Blow Your Horn leaving for a four-month USO tour of Vietnam and the Far East. The actor playing Alan hadbrokenhishipandunlesshe,Guy,whoknewthepartfromstock,steppedinandreplacedhim,thetourwouldhavetobepostponedforatleasttwoweeks.Whichwould be a damn shame, the way those kids over there were slugging awayagainsttheCommies.HiswifewouldhavetostaywithherfolksinOmaha…

Heranittwiceandwenttofindthephone.Rosemarysippedherdrink,keepingher lefthandall-fingers-crossedunder

the table. She thought about the First Avenue apartment she didn’t want andmadeaconscientiousmental listof itsgoodpoints; theshinynewkitchen, thedishwasher,theviewoftheEastRiver,thecentralairconditioning…

Thewaitressbroughtthesandwiches.Apregnantwomanwentbyinanavybluedress.Rosemarywatchedher.She

must have been in her sixth or seventhmonth, talking back happily over hershouldertoanolderwomanwithpackages,probablyhermother.

Someonewavedfromtheoppositewall—thered-hairedgirlwhohadcomeintoCBS a fewweeks beforeRosemary left.Rosemarywaved back. The girlmouthedsomethingand,whenRosemarydidn’tunderstand,moutheditagain.Amanfacingthegirl turnedto lookatRosemary,astarved-lookingwaxen-facedman.

And there came Guy, tall and handsome, biting back his grin, with yesglowingalloverhim.

“Yes?”Rosemaryaskedashetookhisseatoppositeher.“Yes,”hesaid.“Theleaseisvoid;thedepositwillbereturned;I’mtokeep

aneyeopenforLieutenantHartmanoftheSignalCorps.Mrs.Cortezawaitsusattwo.”

“Youcalledher?”“Icalledher.”Thered-hairedgirlwassuddenlywiththem,flushedandbright-eyed.“Isaid

‘Marriagecertainlyagreeswithyou,youlookmarvelous,’”shesaid.Rosemary, ransacking for the girl’s name, laughed and said, “Thank you!

We’recelebrating.WejustgotanapartmentintheBramford!”“TheBram?” thegirlsaid.“I’mmad about it! Ifyoueverwant tosub-let,

I’m first, and don’t you forget it! All those weird gargoyles and creaturesclimbingupanddownbetweenthewindows!”

CHAPTER2

HUTCH,SURPRISINGLY,triedtotalkthemoutofit,onthegroundsthattheBramfordwasa“dangerzone.”

WhenRosemaryhadfirstcometoNewYorkinJuneof1962shehadjoinedanother Omaha girl and two girls from Atlanta in an apartment on lowerLexingtonAvenue.Hutchlivednextdoor,andthoughhedeclinedtobethefull-time father-substitute the girls would have made of him—he had raised twodaughtersofhisownandthatwasquiteenough,thankyou—hewasnonethelessonhand inemergencies, suchasTheNightSomeoneWasonTheFireEscapeandTheTimeJeanneAlmostChokedtoDeath.HisnamewasEdwardHutchins,he was English, he was fifty-four. Under three different pen names he wrotethreedifferentseriesofboys’adventurebooks.

To Rosemary he gave another sort of emergency assistance. She was theyoungest of six children, the other five ofwhomhadmarried early andmadehomes close to their parents; behind her in Omaha she had left an angry,suspiciousfather,asilentmother,andfourresentingbrothersandsisters.(Onlythenext-to-the-oldest,Brian,whohadadrinkproblem,hadsaid,“Goon,Rosie,dowhatyouwanttodo,”andhadslippedheraplastichandbagwitheighty-fivedollarsinit.)InNewYorkRosemaryfeltguiltyandselfish,andHutchbuckedher upwith strong tea and talks about parents and children and one’s duty tooneself.SheaskedhimquestionsthathadbeenunspeakableinCatholicHigh;hesenthertoanightcourseinphilosophyatNYU.“I’llmakeaduchessoutofthiscockney flower girl yet,” he said, and Rosemary had had wit enough to say“Garn!”

Now,everymonthorso,RosemaryandGuyhaddinnerwithHutch,eitherin

theirapartmentor,whenitwashisturn,inarestaurant.GuyfoundHutchabitboringbutalwaystreatedhimcordially;hiswifehadbeenacousinofTerenceRattigan, the playwright, and Rattigan and Hutch corresponded. Connectionsoftenprovedcrucialinthetheater,Guyknew,evenconnectionsatsecondhand.

On the Thursday after they saw the apartment, Rosemary and Guy haddinnerwithHutchatKlube’s,asmallGermanrestaurantonTwenty-thirdStreet.TheyhadgivenhisnametoMrs.CortezonTuesdayafternoonasoneof threereferencesshehadaskedfor,andhehadalreadyreceivedandansweredherletterofinquiry.

“Iwastemptedtosaythatyouweredrugaddictsorlitterbugs,”hesaid,“orsomethingequallyrepellenttomanagersofapartmenthouses.”

Theyaskedwhy.“Idon’tknowwhetherornotyouknowit,”hesaid,butteringaroll,“butthe

Bramfordhad rather anunpleasant reputationearly in the century.”He lookedup,sawthattheydidn’tknowandwenton.(Hehadabroadshinyface,blueeyesthatdartedenthusiastically,andafewstrandsofwetted-downblackhaircombedcrossways over his scalp.) “Along with the Isadora Duncans and TheodoreDreisers,” he said, “the Bramford has housed a considerable number of lessattractivepersonages.It’swheretheTrenchsistersperformedtheirlittledietaryexperiments, andwhereKeithKennedyheldhisparties.AdrianMarcato livedtheretoo;andsodidPearlAmes.”

“WhoweretheTrenchsisters?”Guyasked,andRosemaryasked,“WhowasAdrianMarcato?”

“The Trench sisters,” Hutch said, “were two proper Victorian ladies whowere occasional cannibals. They cooked and ate several young children,includinganiece.”

“Lovely,”Guysaid.HutchturnedtoRosemary.“AdrianMarcatopracticedwitchcraft,”hesaid.

“He made quite a splash in the eighteen-nineties by announcing that he hadsucceededinconjuringupthelivingSatan.Heshowedoffahandfulofhairandsome claw-parings, and apparently people believed him; enough of them, atleast,toformamobthatattackedandnearlykilledhimintheBramfordlobby.”

“You’rejoking,”Rosemarysaid.“I’mquiteserious.AfewyearslatertheKeithKennedybusinessbegan,and

bythetwentiesthehousewashalfempty.”Guysaid,“IknewaboutKeithKennedyandaboutPearlAmes,butIdidn’t

knowAdrianMarcatolivedthere.”

“Andthosesisters,”Rosemarysaidwithashudder.“ItwasonlyWorldWarTwoand thehousing shortage,”Hutch said, “that

filled theplaceupagain,andnowit’sacquiredabitofGrand-Old-Apartment-Houseprestige; but in the twenties itwas calledBlackBramford and sensiblepeoplestayedaway.Themelonisforthelady,isn’tit,Rosemary?”

Thewaiterplacedtheirappetizers.RosemarylookedquestioninglyatGuy;hepursedhisbrowandgaveaquickheadshake:It’snothing,don’tlethimscareyou.

The waiter left. “Over the years,” Hutch said, “the Bramford has had farmorethanitsshareofuglyandunsavoryhappenings.Norhaveallofthembeeninthedistantpast.In1959adeadinfantwasfoundwrappedinnewspaperinthebasement.”

Rosemary said, “But—awful things probably happen in every apartmenthousenowandthen.”

“Now and then,” Hutch said. “The point is, though, that at the Bramfordawfulthingshappenagooddealmorefrequentlythan‘nowandthen.’Thereareless spectacular irregularities too. There’ve been more suicides there, forinstance,thaninhousesofcomparablesizeandage.”

“What’s the answer, Hutch?” Guy said, playing serious-and-concerned.“Theremustbesomekindofexplanation.”

Hutch looked at him for amoment. “I don’t know,” he said. “Perhaps it’ssimplythatthenotorietyofapairofTrenchsistersattractsanAdrianMarcato,andhisnotorietyattractsaKeithKennedy,andeventuallyahousebecomesa—akindofrallyingplaceforpeoplewhoaremorepronethanotherstocertaintypesof behavior. Or perhaps there are things we don’t know yet—aboutmagneticfields or electrons or whatever—ways in which a place can quite literally bemalign.Idoknowthis,though:theBramfordisbynomeansunique.TherewasahouseinLondon,onPraedStreet,inwhichfiveseparatebrutalmurderstookplacewithinsixtyyears.Noneofthefivewasinanywayconnectedwithanyoftheothers;themurderersweren’trelatednorwerethevictims,norwereallthemurderscommittedforthesamemoonstoneorMaltesefalcon.Yetfiveseparatebrutalmurderstookplacewithinsixtyyears.Inasmallhousewithashoponthestreetandanapartmentoverhead.Itwasdemolishedin1954—fornoespeciallypressingpurpose,sinceasfarasIknowtheplotwasleftempty.”

Rosemaryworkedherspooninmelon.“Maybetherearegoodhousestoo,”she said; “houses where people keep falling in love and getting married andhavingbabies.”

“Andbecomingstars,”Guysaid.“Probably there are,”Hutch said. “Only one never hears of them. It’s the

stinkersthatgetthepublicity.”HesmiledatRosemaryandGuy.“IwishyoutwowouldlookforagoodhouseinsteadoftheBramford,”hesaid.

Rosemary’s spoon of melon stopped halfway to her mouth. “Are youhonestlytryingtotalkusoutofit?”sheasked.

“Mydear girl,”Hutch said, “I had a perfectly good datewith a charmingwomanthiseveningandbrokeitsolelytoseeyouandsaymysay.Iamhonestlytryingtotalkyououtofit.”

“Well,Jesus,Hutch—”Guybegan.“Iamnotsaying,”Hutchsaid,“thatyouwillwalkintotheBramfordandbe

hitontheheadwithapianooreatenbyspinstersorturnedtostone.Iamsimplysaying that the record is there and ought to be considered along with thereasonable rent and the working fireplace: the house has a high incidence ofunpleasanthappenings.Whydeliberatelyenteradangerzone?GototheDakotaortheOsborneifyou’redeadsetonnineteenthcenturysplendor.”

“TheDakotaisco-op,”Rosemarysaid,“andtheOsborne’sgoingtobetorndown.”

“Aren’t you exaggerating a little bit,Hutch?”Guy said. “Have there beenanyother‘unpleasanthappenings’inthepastfewyears?Besidesthatbabyinthebasement?”

“An elevator man was killed last winter,” Hutch said. “In a not-at-the-dinner-tablekindofaccident.Iwasat thelibrarythisafternoonwiththeTimesIndexandthreehoursofmicrofilm;wouldyoucaretohearmore?”

RosemarylookedatGuy.Heputdownhisforkandwipedhismouth.“It’ssilly,”hesaid.“All right,a lotofunpleasant thingshavehappened there.Thatdoesn’t mean that more of them are going to happen. I don’t see why theBramfordisanymoreofa‘dangerzone’thananyotherhouseinthecity.Youcanflipacoinandgetfiveheadsinarow;thatdoesn’tmeanthatthenextfiveflipsaregoingtobeheadstoo,anditdoesn’tmeanthatthecoinisanydifferentfromanyothercoin.It’scoincidence,that’sall.”

“If therewere really somethingwrong,”Rosemary said, “wouldn’t it havebeendemolished?LikethehouseinLondon?”

“Thehouse inLondon,”Hutchsaid, “wasownedby the familyof the lastchapmurderedthere.TheBramfordisownedbythechurchnextdoor.”

“There you are,” Guy said, lighting a cigarette; “we’ve got divineprotection.”

“Ithasn’tbeenworking,”Hutchsaid.Thewaiterliftedawaytheirplates.Rosemary said, “I didn’t know itwas ownedby a church,” andGuy said,

“Thewholecityis,honey.”“Have you tried the Wyoming?” Hutch asked. “It’s in the same block, I

think.”“Hutch,” Rosemary said, “we’ve tried everywhere. There’s nothing,

absolutelynothing, except thenew houses,withneat square rooms that are allexactlyalikeandtelevisioncamerasintheelevators.”

“Isthatsoterrible?”Hutchasked,smiling.“Yes,”Rosemarysaid,andGuysaid,“Wewereset togo intoone,butwe

backedouttotakethis.”Hutchlookedatthemforamoment,thensatbackandstruckthetablewith

wide-apartpalms.“Enough,”hesaid.“Ishallmindmyownbusiness,asIoughttohavedonefromtheoutset.Makefiresinyourworkingfireplace!I’llgiveyouaboltforthedoorandkeepmymouthshutfromthisdayforward.I’manidiot;forgiveme.”

Rosemarysmiled.“Thedooralreadyhasabolt,”shesaid.“Andoneofthosechainthingsandapeephole.”

“Well, mind you use all three,” Hutch said. “And don’t go wanderingthroughthehallsintroducingyourselftoallandsundry.You’renotinIowa.”

“Omaha.”Thewaiterbroughttheirmaincourses.

OnthefollowingMondayafternoonRosemaryandGuysignedatwo-yearleaseon apartment 7E at the Bramford. They gave Mrs. Cortez a check for fivehundredandeighty-threedollars—amonth’srentinadvanceandamonth’srentassecurity—andweretoldthatiftheywishedtheycouldtakeoccupancyoftheapartmentearlierthanSeptemberfirst,asitwouldbeclearedbytheendoftheweekandthepainterscouldcomeinonWednesdaytheeighteenth.

LateronMondaytheyreceivedatelephonecallfromMartinGardenia, thesonoftheapartment’sprevioustenant.TheyagreedtomeethimattheapartmentonTuesdayeveningateight,and,doingso,foundhimtobeatallmanpastsixtywith a cheerful openmanner.Hepointed out the things hewanted to sell andnamed his prices, all of which were attractively low. Rosemary and Guyconferred and examined, and bought two air conditioners, a rosewood vanity

with a petit-point bench, the living room’s Persian rug, and the andirons,firescreen,andtools.Mrs.Gardenia’srolltopdesk,disappointingly,wasnotforsale. While Guy wrote a check and helped tag the items to be left behind,Rosemarymeasured the living room and the bedroomwith a six-foot foldingruleshehadboughtthatmorning.

The previousMarch,Guy had played a role onAnotherWorld, a daytimetelevisionseries.Thecharacterwasbacknowfor threedays,sofor therestoftheweekGuywas busy.Rosemarywinnowed a folder of decorating schemesshehad collected sincehigh school, found two that seemed appropriate to theapartment, andwith those to guide herwent looking at furnishingswith JoanJellico, oneof thegirls fromAtlanta shehad roomedwithon coming toNewYork.Joanhadthecardofadecorator,whichgavethementrancetowholesalehouses and showrooms of every sort. Rosemary looked and made shorthandnotes anddrew sketches tobring toGuy, andhurriedhome spillingoverwithfabric andwallpaper samples in time tocatchhimonAnotherWorld and thenrunoutagainandshopfordinner.Sheskippedhersculptureclassandcanceled,happily,adentalappointment.

OnFridayevening theapartmentwas theirs;anemptinessofhighceilingsand unfamiliar dark into which they came with a lamp and a shopping bag,striking echoes from the farthest rooms. They turned on their air conditionersand admired their rug and their fireplace andRosemary’s vanity; admired tootheir bathtub, doorknobs, hinges, molding, floors, stove, refrigerator, baywindows, and view.They picnicked on the rug, on tuna sandwiches and beer,andmadefloorplansofallfourrooms,GuymeasuringandRosemarydrawing.On the rugagain, theyunplugged the lampand strippedandmade love in thenightglowofshadelesswindows.“Shh!”Guyhissedafterwards,wide-eyedwithfear.“Ihear—theTrenchsisterschewing!”Rosemaryhithimonthehead,hard.

They bought a sofa and a king-size bed, a table for the kitchen and twobentwood chairs. They calledConEd and the phone company and stores andworkmenandthePaddedWagon.

ThepainterscameonWednesdaytheeighteenth;patched,spackled,primed,painted,andweregoneonFriday the twentieth, leavingcolorsverymuch likeRosemary’ssamples.Asolitarypaperhangercameinandgrumbledandpaperedthebedroom.

They called stores and workmen and Guy’s mother in Montreal. Theyboughtanarmoireandadiningtableandhi-ficomponentsandnewdishesandsilverware. They were flush. In 1964 Guy had done a series of Anacin

commercialsthat,showntimeandtimeagain,hadearnedhimeighteenthousanddollarsandwasstillproducingasizableincome.

Theyhungwindowshadesandpaperedshelves,watchedcarpetgodowninthebedroomandwhitevinylinthehallway.Theygotaplug-inphonewiththreejacks;paidbillsandleftaforwardingnoticeatthepostoffice.

On Friday, August 27th, they moved. Joan and Dick Jellico sent a largepottedplantandGuy’sagentasmallone.Hutchsentatelegram:TheBramfordwillchangefromabadhousetoagoodhousewhenoneofitsdoorsismarkedR.andG.Woodhouse.

CHAPTER3

ANDTHENROSEMARYwasbusyandhappy.Sheboughtandhungcurtains,found a Victorian glass lamp for the living room, hung pots and pans on thekitchenwall.Oneday she realized that the fourboards in thehall closetwereshelves,fittingacrosstositonwoodcleatsonthesidewalls.Shecoveredthemwithginghamcontact paper and,whenGuycamehome, showedhimaneatlyfilled linen closet. She found a supermarket on Sixth Avenue and a ChineselaundryonFifty-fifthStreetforthesheetsandGuy’sshirts.

Guy was busy too, away every day like other women’s husbands. WithLaborDaypast,hisvocalcoachwasbackintown;Guyworkedwithhimeachmorningandauditionedforplaysandcommercialsmostafternoons.Atbreakfasthewastouchyreadingthetheatricalpage—everyoneelsewasoutoftownwithSkyscraperorDrat!TheCat!orTheImpossibleYearsorHotSeptember;onlyhewas in NewYorkwith residuals-from-Anacin—but Rosemary knew that verysoon he’d get something good, and quietly she set his coffee before him andquietlytookforherselfthenewspaper’sothersection.

The nursery was, for the time being, a den, with off-white walls and thefurniturefromtheoldapartment.Thewhite-and-yellowwallpaperwouldcomelater, clean and fresh. Rosemary had a sample of it lying ready in Picasso’sPicassos,alongwithaSaksadshowingthecribandbureau.

Shewrote to her brotherBrian to share her happiness.Noone else in thefamilywould havewelcomed it; theywere all hostile now—parents, brothers,sisters—not forgivingher forA)marrying aProtestant,B)marrying in only acivil ceremony,andC)havingamother-in-lawwhohadhad twodivorcesandwasmarriednowtoaJewupinCanada.

ShemadeGuychickenMarengoandvitello tonnato, baked amocha layercakeandajarfulofbuttercookies.

They heard Minnie Castevet before they met her; heard her through theirbedroomwall,shoutinginahoarsemidwesternbray.“Roman,cometobed!It’stwentypast eleven!”And fiveminutes later: “Roman?Bringme in some rootbeerwhenyoucome!”

“Ididn’tknowtheywerestillmakingMaandPaKettlemovies,”Guysaid,andRosemary laugheduncertainly.Shewasnineyearsyounger thanGuy,andsomeofhisreferenceslackedclearmeaningforher.

They met the Goulds in 7F, a pleasant elderly couple, and the German-accentedBruhnsandtheirsonWalterin7C.Theysmiledandnoddedinthehallto the Kelloggs, 7G,Mr. Stein, 7H, and theMessrs. Dubin and DeVore, 7B.(Rosemarylearnedeveryone’snameimmediately,fromdoorbellsandfromface-upmail on doormats,which she had no qualms about reading.)TheKapps in7D,unseenandwithnomail,wereapparentlystillawayforthesummer;andtheCastevets in 7A, heard (“Roman! Where’s Terry?”) but unseen, were eitherreclusesorcomers-and-goers-at-odd-hours.Theirdoorwasoppositetheelevator,their doormat supremely readable. They got air mail letters from a surprisingvarietyofplaces:Hawick,Scotland;Langeac,France;Vitória,Brazil;Cessnock,Australia.TheysubscribedtobothLifeandLook.

No sign at all did Rosemary and Guy see of the Trench sisters, AdrianMarcato,KeithKennedy,PearlAmes,ortheirlatter-dayequivalents.DubinandDeVorewerehomosexuals;everyoneelseseemedentirelycommonplace.

Almosteverynightthemidwesternbraycouldbeheard,fromtheapartmentwhich,RosemaryandGuycametorealize,hadoriginallybeenthebiggerfrontpartoftheirown.“Butit’simpossibletobeahundredpercentsure!”thewomanargued, and, “If you wantmy opinion, we shouldn’t tell her at all; that’smyopinion!”

One Saturday night the Castevets had a party, with a dozen or so peopletalkingand singing.Guy fell asleepeasilybutRosemary layawakeuntil aftertwo,hearingflatunmusicalsingingandafluteorclarinetthatpipedalongbesideit.

TheonlytimeRosemaryrememberedHutch’smisgivingsandwasmadeuneasybythemwaswhenshewentdowntothebasementeveryfourthdayorsotodothelaundry.Theserviceelevatorwasinitselfunsettling—small,unmanned,andgiven to sudden creaks and tremors—and the basementwas an eerie place ofonce-whitewashed brick passageways where footfalls whispered distantly andunseen doors thudded closed,where castoff refrigerators faced thewall underglarybulbsinwirecages.

It was here, Rosemary would remember, that a dead baby wrapped innewspaperhadnotso longagobeenfound.Whosebabyhad itbeen,andhowhad it died?Who had found it? Had the person who left it been caught andpunished? She thought of going to the library and reading the story in oldnewspapers asHutch had done; but thatwould havemade itmore real,moredreadfulthanitalreadywas.Toknowthespotwherethebabyhadlain,tohaveperhaps towalkpast it on theway to the laundry roomand againon thewaybacktotheelevator,wouldhavebeenunbearable.Partialignorance,shedecided,waspartialbliss.DamnHutchandhisgoodintentions!

Thelaundryroomwouldhavedonenicelyinaprison:steamybrickwalls,more bulbs in cages, and scores of deep double sinks in iron-mesh cubicles.There were coin-operated washers and dryers and, in most of the padlockedcubicles,privatelyownedmachines.Rosemarycamedownonweekendsorafterfive;earlieronweekdaysabevyofNegrolaundressesironedandgossipedandhad abruptly fallen silent at her one unknowing intrusion. She had smiled allaroundand tried tobe invisible, but theyhadn’t spokenanotherwordand shehadfeltself-conscious,clumsy,andNegro-oppressing.

Oneafternoon,whensheandGuyhadbeenintheBramfordalittleovertwoweeks, Rosemary was sitting in the laundry room at 5:15 reading The NewYorker andwaiting toaddsoftener to the rinsewaterwhenagirlherownagecame in—adark-hairedcameo-facedgirlwho,Rosemary realizedwitha start,wasAnnaMariaAlberghetti.Shewaswearingwhitesandals,blackshorts,andanapricotsilkblouse,andwascarryingayellowplasticlaundrybasket.NoddingatRosemaryandthennotlookingather,shewenttooneofthewashers,openedit,andbeganfeedingdirtyclothesintoit.

Anna Maria Alberghetti, as far as Rosemary knew, did not live at theBramford,butshecouldwellhavebeenvisitingsomeoneandhelpingoutwiththe chores. A closer look, though, told Rosemary that she wasmistaken; thisgirl’snosewastoolongandsharpandtherewereotherlessdefinabledifferencesofexpressionandcarriage.Theresemblance,however,wasaremarkableone—

and suddenly Rosemary found the girl looking at her with an embarrassedquestioningsmile,thewasherbesideherclosedandfilling.

“I’msorry,”Rosemarysaid.“IthoughtyouwereAnnaMariaAlberghetti,soI’vebeenstaringatyou.I’msorry.”

Thegirlblushedandsmiledand lookedat thefloora fewfeet toherside.“Thathappensalot,”shesaid.“Youdon’thavetoapologize.PeoplehavebeenthinkingI’mAnnaMariasinceIwas,oh,justakid,whenshefirststartedoutinHereComesTheGroom.”ShelookedatRosemary,stillblushingbutnolongersmiling. “I don’t see a resemblance at all,” she said. “I’mof Italian parentagelikesheis,butnophysicalresemblance.”

“There’saverystrongone,”Rosemarysaid.“Iguessthereis,”thegirlsaid;“everyone’salwaystellingme.Idon’tseeit

though.IwishIdid,believeme.”“Doyouknowher?”Rosemaryasked.“No.”“Thewayyousaid‘AnnaMaria’Ithought—”“Oh no, I just call her that. I guess from talking about her somuchwith

everyone.”Shewipedherhandonhershortsandsteppedforward,holdingitoutandsmiling.“I’mTerryGionoffrio,”shesaid,“andIcan’tspellitsodon’tyoutry.”

Rosemarysmiledandshookhands.“I’mRosemaryWoodhouse,”shesaid.“We’renewtenantshere.Haveyoubeenherelong?”

“I’mnota tenantatall,” thegirlsaid.“I’mjuststayingwithMr.andMrs.Castevet,upon the seventh floor. I’m theirguest, sortof, since June.Oh,youknowthem?”

“No,”Rosemarysaid,smiling,“butourapartmentisrightbehindtheirsandusedtobethebackpartofit.”

“Oh for goodness’ sake,” the girl said, “you’re the party that took the oldlady’sapartment!Mrs.—theoldladywhodied!”

“Gardenia.”“That’s right. She was a good friend of the Castevets. She used to grow

herbsandthingsandbringtheminforMrs.Castevettocookwith.”Rosemarynodded.“Whenwefirstlookedattheapartment,”shesaid,“one

roomwasfullofplants.”“And now that she’s dead,” Terry said, “Mrs. Castevet’s got a miniature

greenhouseinthekitchenandgrowsthingsherself.”“Excuseme,Ihavetoputsoftenerin,”Rosemarysaid.Shegotupandgot

thebottlefromthelaundrybagonthewasher.“Do you know who you look like?” Terry asked her; and Rosemary,

unscrewingthecap,said,“No,who?”“PiperLaurie.”Rosemarylaughed.“Oh,no,”shesaid.“It’sfunnyyoursayingthat,because

myhusbandusedtodatePiperLauriebeforeshegotmarried.”“Nokidding?InHollywood?”“No, here.” Rosemary poured a capful of the softener. Terry opened the

washerdoorandRosemarythankedherandtossedthesoftenerin.“Isheanactor,yourhusband?”Terryasked.Rosemarynoddedcomplacently,cappingthebottle.“Nokidding!What’shisname?”“GuyWoodhouse,”Rosemarysaid.“HewasinLutherandNobodyLovesAn

Albatross,andhedoesalotofworkintelevision.”“Gee,IwatchTValldaylong,”Terrysaid.“I’llbetI’veseenhim!”Glass

crashedsomewhereinthebasement;abottlesmashingorawindowpane.“Yow,”Terrysaid.

Rosemary hunched her shoulders and looked uneasily toward the laundryroom’sdoorway.“Ihatethisbasement,”shesaid.

“Metoo,”Terrysaid.“I’mgladyou’rehere.IfIwasalonenowI’dbescaredstiff.”

“Adeliveryboyprobablydroppedabottle,”Rosemarysaid.Terrysaid,“Listen,wecouldcomedowntogetherregular.Yourdoor isby

the service elevator, isn’t it? I could ring your bell andwe could come downtogether.Wecouldcalleachotherfirstonthehousephone.”

“Thatwouldbegreat,”Rosemarysaid.“Ihatecomingdownherealone.”Terrylaughedhappily,seemedtoseekwords,andthen,stilllaughing,said,

“I’vegotagoodluckcharmthat’llmaybedoforbothofus!”Shepulledawaythecollarofherblouse,drewoutasilverneckchain,andshowedRosemaryontheendofitasilverfiligreeballalittlelessthananinchindiameter.

“Oh,that’sbeautiful,”Rosemarysaid.“Isn’tit?”Terrysaid.“Mrs.Castevetgaveittomethedaybeforeyesterday.

It’sthreehundredyearsold.Shegrewthestuffinsideitinthatlittlegreenhouse.It’sgoodluck,oranywayit’ssupposedtobe.”

Rosemarylookedmorecloselyat thecharmTerryheldoutbetweenthumbandfingertip.Itwasfilledwithagreenish-brownspongysubstancethatpressedoutagainstthesilveropenwork.AbittersmellmadeRosemarydrawback.

Terrylaughedagain.“I’mnotmadaboutthesmelleither,”shesaid.“Ihopeitworks!”

“It’sabeautifulcharm,”Rosemarysaid.“I’veneverseenanythinglikeit.”“It’sEuropean,”Terrysaid.Sheleanedahipagainstawasherandadmired

theball,turningitonewayandanother.“TheCastevetsarethemostwonderfulpeopleintheworld,barnone,”shesaid.“Theypickedmeupoffthesidewalk—andImeanthatliterally;IconkedoutonEighthAvenue—andtheybroughtmehere and adopted me like a mother and father. Or like a grandmother andgrandfather,Iguess.”

“Youweresick?”Rosemaryasked.“That’sputtingitmildly,”Terrysaid.“Iwasstarvingandondopeanddoing

alotofotherthingsthatI’msoashamedofIcouldthrowupjustthinkingaboutthem.AndMr.andMrs.Castevetcompletelyrehabilitatedme.TheygotmeofftheH,thedope,andgotfoodintomeandcleanclothesonme,andnownothingistoogoodformeasfarasthey’reconcerned.Theygivemeallkindsofhealthfoodandvitamins,theyevenhaveadoctorcomegivemeregularcheck-ups!It’sbecausethey’rechildless.I’mlikethedaughtertheyneverhad,youknow?”

Rosemarynodded.“Ithoughtatfirstthatmaybetheyhadsomekindofulteriormotive,”Terry

said. “Maybe somekindof sex thing theywouldwantme todo, or hewouldwant,or she.But they’ve reallybeen like realgrandparents.Nothing like that.They’regoingtoputmethroughsecretarialschoolinalittlewhileandlateronI’mgoingtopaythemback.Ionlyhadthreeyearsofhighschoolbutthere’sawayofmakingitup.”Shedroppedthefiligreeballbackintoherblouse.

Rosemarysaid,“It’snicetoknowtherearepeoplelikethat,whenyouhearsomuchaboutapathyandpeoplewhoareafraidofgettinginvolved.”

“There aren’t many likeMr. andMrs. Castevet,” Terry said. “I would bedeadnowifitwasn’tforthem.That’sanabsolutefact.Deadorinjail.”

“Youdon’thaveanyfamilythatcouldhavehelpedyou?”“AbrotherintheNavy.Thelesssaidabouthimthebetter.”RosemarytransferredherfinishedwashtoadryerandwaitedwithTerryfor

herstobedone.TheyspokeofGuy’soccasionalroleonAnotherWorld(“SureIremember!You’remarriedtohim?”),theBramford’spast(ofwhichTerryknewnothing), and the coming visit to New York of Pope Paul. Terry was, likeRosemary,Catholicbutnolongerobserving;shewasanxious, though, togetatickettothepapalmasstobecelebratedatYankeeStadium.Whenherwashwasdoneanddryingthetwogirlswalkedtogethertotheserviceelevatorandrodeto

the seventh floor. Rosemary invited Terry in to see the apartment, but Terryaskedifshecouldtakearaincheck;theCastevetsateatsixandshedidn’tliketobe late. She said she would call Rosemary on the house phone later in theeveningsotheycouldgodowntogethertopickuptheirdrylaundry.

Guywashome,eatingabagofFritosandwatchingaGraceKellymovie.“Themsuremustbecleanclothes,”hesaid.

Rosemary told him about Terry and the Castevets, and that Terry hadrememberedhimfromAnotherWorld.Hemadelightofit,butitpleasedhim.Hewas depressed by the likelihood that an actor named Donald Baumgart wasgoing to beat him out for a part in a new comedy forwhich both had read asecond time that afternoon. “Jesus Christ,” he said, “what kind of a name isDonald Baumgart?”His own name, before he changed it, had been ShermanPeden.

RosemaryandTerrypickeduptheirlaundryateighto’clock,andTerrycamein with Rosemary to meet Guy and see the apartment. She blushed and wasflusteredbyGuy,whichspurredhimtoflowerycomplimentsandthebringingofashtraysandthestrikingofmatches.Terryhadneverseentheapartmentbefore;Mrs.Gardeniaand theCastevetshadhadafalling-outshortlyafterherarrival,andsoonafterwardsMrs.Gardeniahadgoneintothecomafromwhichshehadneveremerged.“It’salovelyapartment,”Terrysaid.

“Itwillbe,”Rosemarysaid.“We’renotevenhalfwayfurnishedyet.”“I’vegot it!”Guycriedwithahandclap.HepointedtriumphantlyatTerry.

“AnnaMariaAlberghetti!”

CHAPTER4

A PACKAGECAME fromBonniers, fromHutch; a tall teakwood ice bucketwithabrightorangelining.Rosemarycalledhimatonceandthankedhim.Hehad seen the apartment after the painters left but not since she and Guy hadmovedin;sheexplainedaboutthechairsthatwereaweeklateandthesofathatwasn’t due for another month. “For God’s sake don’t even think yet aboutentertaining,”Hutchsaid.“Tellmehoweverythingis.”

Rosemarytoldhim,inhappydetail.“Andtheneighborscertainlydon’tseemabnormal,”shesaid.“Exceptnormalabnormallikehomosexuals;therearetwoofthem,andacrossthehallfromusthere’saniceoldcouplenamedGouldwitha place in Pennsylvaniawhere they breed Persian cats.We can have one anytimewewant.”

“Theyshed,”Hutchsaid.“And there’s another couple thatwe haven’t actuallymet yetwho took in

this girlwhowas hooked on drugs,whomwehavemet, and they completelycuredherandareputtingherthroughsecretarialschool.”

“It sounds as if you’vemoved into Sunnybrook Farm,” Hutch said; “I’mdelighted.”

“Thebasementiskindofcreepy,”Rosemarysaid.“IcurseyoueverytimeIgodownthere.”

“Whyonearthme?”“Yourstories.”“Ifyoumean theonesIwrite, Icurseme too; ifyoumean theonesI told

you,youmightwithequal justificationcursethefirealarmfor thefireandtheweatherbureauforthetyphoon.”

Rosemary, cowed, said, “It won’t be so bad from now on. That girl Imentionedisgoingdowntherewithme.”

Hutch said, “It’s obvious you’ve exerted the healthy influence I predictedandthehouse isnolongerachamberofhorrors.Havefunwith the icebucketandsayhellotoGuy.”

TheKappsinapartment7Dappeared;astoutcoupleintheirmiddlethirtieswithan inquisitive two-year-old daughter named Lisa. “What’s your name?” Lisaasked,sitting inherstroller.“Didyoueatyouregg?DidyoueatyourCaptainCrunch?”

“MynameisRosemary,”Rosemarysaid.“IatemyeggbutI’veneverevenheardofCaptainCrunch.Whoishe?”

On Friday night, September 17th, Rosemary and Guy went with two othercouplestoapreviewofaplaycalledMrs.Dallyandthentoapartygivenbyaphotographer, Dee Bertillon, in his studio on West Forty-eighth Street. AnargumentdevelopedbetweenGuyandBertillonoverActorsEquity’spolicyofblockingtheemploymentofforeignactors—Guythoughtitwasright,Bertillonthought itwaswrong—and though the others present buried the disagreementunderaquicktideofjokesandgossip,GuytookRosemaryawaysoonafter,atafewminutespasttwelve-thirty.

Thenightwasmildandbalmyandtheywalked;andastheyapproachedtheBramford’sblackenedmasstheysawonthesidewalkbeforeitagroupoftwentyorsopeoplegatheredinasemicircleatthesideofaparkedcar.Twopolicecarswaiteddouble-parked,theirrooflightsspinningred.

Rosemary and Guy walked faster, hand in hand, their senses sharpening.Cars on the avenue slowed questioningly; windows scraped open in theBramford and heads looked out beside gargoyles’ heads. The night doormanToby came from the housewith a tan blanket that a policeman turned to takefromhim.

Theroofofthecar,aVolkswagen,wascrumpledtotheside;thewindshieldwas crazedwith amillion fractures. “Dead,” someone said, and someone elsesaid,“IlookupandIthinkit’ssomekindofabigbirdzoomingdown,likeaneagleorsomething.”

Rosemary andGuy stood on tiptoes, craned over people’s shoulders. “Getbacknow,willyou?”apolicemanatthecentersaid.Theshouldersseparated,asport-shirted back moved away. On the sidewalk Terry lay, watching the skywith one eye, half of her face gone to red pulp.Tan blanket flipped over her.Settling,itreddenedinoneplaceandthenanother.

Rosemarywheeled, eyes shut, right handmaking an automatic cross. Shekepthermouthtightlyclosed,afraidshemightvomit.

Guy winced and drew air in under his teeth. “Oh, Jesus,” he said, andgroaned.“OhmyGod.”

Apolicemansaid,“Getback,willyou?”“Weknowher,”Guysaid.Anotherpolicemanturnedandsaid,“What’shername?”“Terry.”“Terry what?” He was forty or so and sweating. His eyes were blue and

beautiful,withthickblacklashes.Guysaid,“Ro?Whatwashername?Terrywhat?”Rosemary opened her eyes and swallowed. “I don’t remember,” she said.

“Italian,withaG.A longname.Shemadea jokeabout spelling it.Notbeingableto.”

Guysaidtotheblue-eyedpoliceman,“ShewasstayingwithpeoplenamedCastevet,inapartmentsevenA.”

“We’vegotthatalready,”thepolicemansaid.Anotherpolicemancameup,holdingasheetofpaleyellownotepaper.Mr.

Micklas was behind him, tight-mouthed, in a raincoat over striped pajamas.“Shortandsweet,”thepolicemansaidtotheblue-eyedone,andhandedhimtheyellowpaper. “She stuck it to thewindowsillwithaBand-Aid so itwouldn’tblowaway.”

“Anybodythere?”Theothershookhishead.The blue-eyed policeman read what was written on the sheet of paper,

sucking thoughtfully at his front teeth. “Theresa Gionoffrio,” he said. HepronounceditasanItalianwould.Rosemarynodded.

Guy said, “Wednesday night you wouldn’t have guessed she had a sadthoughtinhermind.”

“Nothingbutsadthoughts,”thepolicemansaid,openinghispadholder.Helaidthepaperinsideitandclosedtheholderwithawidthofyellowstickingout.

“Didyouknowher?”Mr.MicklasaskedRosemary.

“Onlyslightly,”shesaid.“Oh,ofcourse,”Mr.Micklassaid;“you’reonseventoo.”GuysaidtoRosemary,“Comeon,honey,let’sgoupstairs.”Thepolicemansaid,“Doyouhaveanyideawherewecanfindthesepeople

Castevet?”“No,noneatall,”Guysaid.“We’veneverevenmetthem.”“They’reusuallyathomenow,”Rosemarysaid.“Wehearthemthroughthe

wall.Ourbedroomisnexttotheirs.”Guy put his hand on Rosemary’s back. “Come on, hon,” he said. They

noddedtothepolicemanandMr.Micklas,andstartedtowardthehouse.“Here theycomenow,”Mr.Micklas said.RosemaryandGuystoppedand

turned. Coming from downtown, as they themselves had come, were a tall,broad, white-haired woman and a tall, thin, shuffling man. “The Castevets?”Rosemaryasked.Mr.Micklasnodded.

Mrs.Castevetwaswrapped in lightblue,with snow-whitedabsofgloves,purse, shoes, andhat.Nurselike she supportedher husband’s forearm.Hewasdazzling, inanevery-colorseersucker jacket, redslacks,apinkbowtie,andagrayfedorawithapinkband.Hewasseventy-fiveorolder;shewassixty-eightor-nine. They came closer with expressions of young alertness, with friendlyquizzicalsmiles.Thepolicemansteppedforwardtomeetthemandtheirsmilesfaltered and fell away.Mrs.Castevet said somethingworryingly;Mr.Castevetfrownedand shookhishead.Hiswide, thin-lippedmouthwas rosy-pink, as iflipsticked;hischeekswerechalky,hiseyessmallandbrightindeepsockets.Shewasbig-nosed,withasullenfleshyunderlip.Sheworepinkrimmedeyeglassesonaneckchainthatdippeddownfrombehindplainpearlearrings.

Thepolicemansaid,“AreyoufolkstheCastevetsontheseventhfloor?”“Weare,”Mr.Castevetsaidinadryvoicethathadtobelistenedfor.“YouhaveayoungwomannamedTheresaGionoffriolivingwithyou?”“Wedo,”Mr.Castevetsaid.“What’swrong?Hastherebeenanaccident?”“You’dbetterbraceyourselvesforsomebadnews,”thepolicemansaid.He

waited,lookingateachoftheminturn,andthenhesaid,“She’sdead.Shekilledherself.” He raised a hand, the thumb pointing back over his shoulder. “Shejumpedoutofthewindow.”

They looked at him with no change of expression at all, as if he hadn’tspokenyet;thenMrs.Castevetleanedsideways,glancedbeyondhimatthered-stainedblanket,andstoodstraightagainandlookedhimintheeyes.“That’snotpossible,” she said in her loud midwestern Roman-bring-me-some-root-beer

voice.“It’samistake.Somebodyelseisunderthere.”The policeman, not turning from her, said, “Artie, would you let these

peopletakealook,please?”Mrs.Castevetmarchedpasthim,herjawset.Mr. Castevet stayed where he was. “I knew this would happen,” he said.

“Shegotdeeplydepressedeverythreeweeksorso.Inoticeditandtoldmywife,butshepooh-poohedme.She’sanoptimistwhorefusestoadmitthateverythingdoesn’talwaysturnoutthewayshewantsitto.”

Mrs.Castevet cameback. “Thatdoesn’tmean that shekilledherself,” shesaid.“Shewasaveryhappygirlwithnoreasonforself-destruction.Itmusthavebeenanaccident.Shemusthavebeencleaningthewindowsandlostherhold.Shewasalwayssurprisingusbycleaningthingsanddoingthingsforus.”

“Shewasn’tcleaningwindowsatmidnight,”Mr.Castevetsaid.“Whynot?”Mrs.Castevetsaidangrily.“Maybeshewas!”Thepolicemanheldoutthepaleyellowpaper,havingtakenitfromhispad

holder.Mrs.Castevet hesitated, then took it and turned it around and read it.Mr.

Castevet tipped his head in over her arm and read it too, his thin vivid lipsmoving.

“Isthatherhandwriting?”thepolicemanasked.Mrs.Castevetnodded.Mr.Castevetsaid,“Definitely.Absolutely.”ThepolicemanheldouthishandandMrs.Castevetgavehimthepaper.He

said,“Thankyou.I’llseeyougetitbackwhenwe’redonewithit.”Shetookoffherglasses,droppedthemontheirneckchain,andcoveredboth

hereyeswithwhite-glovedfingertips.“Idon’tbelieveit,”shesaid.“Ijustdon’tbelieveit.Shewassohappy.Allhertroubleswereinthepast.”Mr.Castevetputhishandonhershoulderandlookedatthegroundandshookhishead.

“Doyouknowthenameofhernext-of-kin?”thepolicemanasked.“She didn’t have any,”Mrs.Castevet said. “Shewas all alone. She didn’t

haveanyone,onlyus.”“Didn’tshehaveabrother?”Rosemaryasked.Mrs.Castevetputonherglassesandlookedather.Mr.Castevetlookedup

fromtheground,hisdeep-socketedeyesglintingunderhishatbrim.“Didshe?”thepolicemanasked.“Shesaidshedid,”Rosemarysaid.“IntheNavy.”ThepolicemanlookedtotheCastevets.“It’s news tome,”Mrs.Castevet said, andMr.Castevet said, “Toboth of

us.”The policeman asked Rosemary, “Do you know his rank or where he’s

stationed?”“No,Idon’t,”shesaid,andtotheCastevets:“Shementionedhimtomethe

otherday,inthelaundryroom.I’mRosemaryWoodhouse.”Guysaid,“We’reinsevenE.”“Ifeeljustthewayyoudo,Mrs.Castevet,”Rosemarysaid.“Sheseemedso

happyandfullof—ofgoodfeelingsaboutthefuture.Shesaidwonderfulthingsaboutyouandyourhusband;howgratefulshewastobothofyouforallthehelpyouweregivingher.”

“Thankyou,”Mrs.Castevetsaid,andMr.Castevetsaid,“It’sniceofyoutotellusthat.Itmakesitalittleeasier.”

The policeman said, “You don’t know anything else about this brotherexceptthathe’sintheNavy?”

“That’sall,”Rosemarysaid.“Idon’tthinkshelikedhimverymuch.”“Itshouldbeeasytofindhim,”Mr.Castevetsaid,“withanuncommonname

likeGionoffrio.”GuyputhishandonRosemary’sbackagainandtheywithdrewtowardthe

house.“I’msostunnedandsosorry,”RosemarysaidtotheCastevets;andGuysaid,“It’ssuchapity.It’s—”

Mrs.Castevetsaid,“Thankyou,”andMr.Castevetsaidsomethinglongandsibilantofwhichonlythephrase“herlastdays”wasunderstandable.

Theyrodeupstairs(“Oh,my!”thenightelevatormanDiegosaid;“Oh,my!Oh,my!”),lookedruefullyatthenow-haunteddoorof7A,andwalkedthroughthebranchinghallway to theirownapartment.Mr.Kellogg in7Gpeeredout frombehind his chained door and askedwhat was going on downstairs. They toldhim.

They sat on the edge of their bed for a few minutes, speculating aboutTerry’sreasonforkillingherself.OnlyiftheCastevetstoldthemsomedaywhatwasinthenote,theyagreed,wouldtheyeverlearnforcertainwhathaddrivenhertotheviolentdeaththeyhadnearlywitnessed.Andevenknowingwhatwasinthenote,Guypointedout,theymightstillnotknowthefullanswer,forpartofithadprobablybeenbeyondTerry’sownunderstanding.Somethinghadledhertodrugsandsomethinghadledhertodeath;whatthatsomethingwas,itwastoolatenowforanyonetoknow.

“RememberwhatHutch said?”Rosemaryasked. “About therebeingmoresuicidesherethaninotherbuildings?”

“Ah,Ro,”Guysaid,“that’scrap,honey,that‘dangerzone’business.”“Hutchbelievesit.”“Well,it’sstillcrap.”“Icanimaginewhathe’sgoingtosaywhenhehearsaboutthis.”“Don’t tell him,” Guy said. “He sure as hell won’t read about it in the

papers.”AstrikeagainsttheNewYorknewspapershadbegunthatmorning,andtherewererumorsthatitmightcontinueamonthorlonger.

Theyundressed,showered,resumedastoppedgameofScrabble,stoppedit,madelove,andfoundmilkandadishofcoldspaghetti intherefrigerator.Justbefore they put the lights out at two-thirty, Guy remembered to check theanswering service and found that he had got a part in a radio commercial forCrestaBlancawines.

Soon he was asleep, but Rosemary lay awake beside him, seeing Terry’spulpedfaceandheroneeyewatchingthesky.Afterawhile,though,shewasatOurLady.SisterAgneswasshakingherfistather,oustingherfromleadershipofthesecond-floormonitors.“SometimesIwonderhowcomeyou’retheleaderofanything!” she said.Abumpon theother sideof thewallwokeRosemary,and Mrs. Castevet said, “And please don’t tell me what Laura-Louise saidbecause I’m not interested!” Rosemary turned over and burrowed into herpillow.

Sister Agnes was furious. Her piggy-eyes were squeezed to slits and hernostrils were bubbling the way they always did at such moments. Thanks toRosemaryithadbeennecessarytobrickupallthewindows,andnowOurLadyhadbeentakenoutofthebeautiful-schoolcompetitionbeingrunbytheWorld-Herald.“Ifyou’dlistenedtome,wewouldn’thavehad todoit!”SisterAgnescriedinahoarsemidwesternbray.“We’dhavebeenallsettogonowinsteadofstarting all over from scratch!” Uncle Mike tried to hush her. He was theprincipalofOurLady,whichwasconnectedbypassagewaystohisbodyshopinSouth Omaha. “I told you not to tell her anything in advance,” Sister Agnescontinued lower, piggy-eyes glinting hatefully at Rosemary. “I told you shewouldn’tbeopen-minded.Timeenoughlatertoletherinonit.”(RosemaryhadtoldSisterVeronicaaboutthewindowsbeingbrickedupandSisterVeronicahadwithdrawn the school from the competition; otherwise no one would havenoticedandtheywouldhavewon.Ithadbeenrighttotell,though,SisterAgnesnotwithstanding. A Catholic school shouldn’t win by trickery.) “Anybody!

Anybody!” SisterAgnes said. “All she has to be is young, healthy, and not avirgin. She doesn’t have to be a no-good drug-addictwhore out of the gutter.Didn’tIsaythatinthebeginning?Anybody.Aslongasshe’syoungandhealthyandnotavirgin.”Whichdidn’tmakesenseatall,noteven toUncleMike;soRosemary turned over and it was Saturday afternoon, and she and Brian andEddieandJeanwereatthecandycounterintheOrpheum,goingintoseeGaryCooperandPatriciaNealinTheFountainhead,onlyitwaslive,notamovie.

CHAPTER5

ONTHEFOLLOWINGMONDAYMORNINGRosemarywasputtingawaythelastofadoublearmloadofgrocerieswhenthedoorbellrang;andthepeepholeshowedMrs. Castevet, white hair in curlers under a blue-and-white kerchief,looking solemnly straight ahead as if waiting for the click of a passportphotographer’scamera.

Rosemaryopenedthedoorandsaid,“Hello.Howareyou?”Mrs. Castevet smiled bleakly. “Fine,” she said. “May I come in for a

minute?”“Yes,ofcourse;pleasedo.”Rosemarystoodbackagainstthewallandheld

the door wide open. A faint bitter smell brushed across her asMrs. Castevetcamein,thesmellofTerry’ssilvergoodluckcharmfilledwithspongygreenish-brown.Mrs.Castevetwaswearingtoreadorpantsandshouldn’thavebeen;herhipsand thighsweremassive, slabbedwithwidehandsof fat.Thepantswerelimegreenunderablueblouse; thebladeofascrewdriverpokedfromherhippocket.Stoppingbetweenthedoorwaysofthedenandkitchen,sheturnedandputonherneckchainedglassesandsmiledatRosemary.AdreamRosemaryhadhadanightor twoearliersparked inhermind—somethingaboutSisterAgnesbawling her out for bricking upwindows—and she shook it away and smiledattentively,readytohearwhatMrs.Castevetwasabouttosay.

“Ijustcameovertothankyou,”Mrs.Castevetsaid,“forsayingthosenicethingstoustheothernight,poorTerrytellingyoushewasgratefultousforwhatwedone.You’llneverknowhowcomfortingitwastohearsomethinglikethatin such a shockmoment, because in both of our minds was the thought thatmaybewe had failed her in someway anddrove her to it, although her note

madeitcrystalclear,ofcourse,thatshediditofherownfreewill;butanywayitwasablessing tohear thewordsspokenout loud like thatbysomebodyTerryhadconfidedinjustbeforetheend.”

“Please,there’snoreasontothankme,”Rosemarysaid.“AllIdidwastellyouwhatshesaidtome.”

“Alotofpeoplewouldn’thavebothered,”Mrs.Castevetsaid.“They’dhavejust walked away without wanting to spend the air and the little bit ofmusclepower.Whenyou’reolderyou’llcometorealizethatactsofkindnessarefewandfarbetweeninthisworldofours.SoIdothankyou,andRomandoestoo.Romanismyhubby.”

Rosemary ducked her head in concession, smiled, and said, “You’rewelcome.I’mgladthatIhelped.”

“She was cremated yesterday morning with no ceremony,”Mrs. Castevetsaid. “That’s the way she wanted it. Now we have to forget and go on. Itcertainly won’t be easy; we took a lot of pleasure in having her around, nothavingchildrenofourown.Doyouhaveany?”

“No,wedon’t,”Rosemarysaid.Mrs.Castevetlookedintothekitchen.“Oh,that’snice,”shesaid,“thepans

hanging on the wall that way. And look how you put the table, isn’t thatinteresting.”

“Itwasinamagazine,”Rosemarysaid.“Youcertainlygotanicepaint job,”Mrs.Castevetsaid,fingeringthedoor

jamb appraisingly. “Did the house do it? You must have been mightyopenhandedwiththepainters;theydidn’tdothiskindofworkforus.”

“Allwegavethemwasfivedollarseach,”Rosemarysaid.“Oh,isthatall?”Mrs.Castevetturnedaroundandlookedintotheden.“Oh,

that’snice,”shesaid,“aTVroom.”“It’sonlytemporary,”Rosemarysaid.“AtleastIhopeitis.It’sgoingtobea

nursery.”“Areyoupregnant?”Mrs.Castevetasked,lookingather.“Notyet,”Rosemarysaid,“butIhopetobe,assoonaswe’resettled.”“That’s wonderful,” Mrs. Castevet said. “You’re young and healthy; you

oughttohavelotsofchildren.”“Weplantohavethree,”Rosemarysaid.“Wouldyouliketoseetherestof

theapartment?”“I’dloveto,”Mrs.Castevetsaid.“I’mdyingtoseewhatyou’vedonetoit.I

used tobe inherealmosteveryday.Thewomanwhohad itbeforeyouwasa

dearfriendofmine.”“Iknow,”Rosemarysaid,easingpastMrs.Castevettoleadtheway;“Terry

toldme.”“Oh,didshe,”Mrs.Castevetsaid,followingalong.“Itsoundslikeyoutwo

hadsomelongtalkstogetherdownthereinthelaundryroom.”“Onlyone,”Rosemarysaid.The living roomstartledMrs.Castevet. “Mygoodness!” she said. “I can’t

getoverthechange!Itlookssomuchbrighter!Ohandlookatthatchair.Isn’tthathandsome?”

“ItjustcameFriday,”Rosemarysaid.“Whatdidyoupayforachairlikethat?”Rosemary, disconcerted, said, “I’m not sure. I think it was about two

hundreddollars.”“Youdon’tmindmy asking, do you?”Mrs.Castevet said, and tapped her

nose.“That’showIgotabignose,bybeingnosy.”Rosemarylaughedandsaid,“No,no,it’sallright.Idon’tmind.”Mrs. Castevet inspected the living room, the bedroom, and the bathroom,

asking howmuchMrs. Gardenia’s son had charged them for the rug and thevanity,wheretheyhadgotthenight-tablelamps,exactlyhowoldRosemarywas,andifanelectrictoothbrushwasreallyanybetter thantheoldkind.Rosemaryfoundherselfenjoyingthisopenforthrightoldwomanwithherloudvoiceandherbluntquestions.Sheofferedcoffeeandcaketoher.

“Whatdoesyourhubbydo?”Mrs.Castevetasked,sittingatthekitchentableidlycheckingpricesoncansofsoupandoysters.Rosemary,foldingaChemexpaper,toldher.“Iknewit!Mrs.Castevetsaid.“IsaidtoRomanyesterday,“He’ssogood-looking I’llbethe’samovieactor’!There’s three-fourof them in thebuilding,youknow.Whatmovieswashein?”

“No movies,” Rosemary said. “He was in two plays called Luther andNobodyLovesAnAlbatrossandhedoesalotofworkintelevisionandradio.”

Theyhad the coffee andcake in thekitchen,Mrs.Castevet refusing to letRosemarydisturbthelivingroomonheraccount.“Listen,Rosemary,”shesaid,swallowing cake and coffee at once, “I’ve got a two-inch-thick sirloin steaksittingdefrostingrightthisminute,andhalfofit’sgoingtogotowastewithjustRoman andme there to eat it.Why don’t you and Guy come over and havesupperwithustonight,whatdoyousay?”

“Oh,no,wecouldn’t,”Rosemarysaid.“Sureyoucould;whynot?”

“No,really,I’msureyoudon’twantto—”“Itwouldbeabighelptousifyouwould,”Mrs.Castevetsaid.Shelooked

intoher lap, then lookedup atRosemarywith a hard-to-carry smile. “Wehadfriendswithus lastnightandSaturday,”shesaid,“but this’llbe thefirstnightwe’llbealonesince—theothernight.”

Rosemary leaned forward feelingly. “Ifyou’re sure itwon’tbe trouble foryou,”shesaid.

“Honey,ifitwastroubleIwouldn’taskyou,”Mrs.Castevetsaid.“Believeme,I’masselfishasthedayislong.”

Rosemarysmiled.“Thatisn’twhatTerrytoldme,”shesaid.“Well,”Mrs.Castevet saidwith a pleased smile, “Terry didn’t knowwhat

shewastalkingabout.”“I’llhavetocheckwithGuy,”Rosemarysaid,“butyougoaheadandcount

onus.”Mrs. Castevet said happily, “Listen! You tell him I won’t take no for an

answer!IwanttobeabletotellfolksIknewhimwhen!”Theyatetheircakeandcoffee,talkingoftheexcitementsandhazardsofan

actingcareer,thenewseason’stelevisionshowsandhowbadtheywere,andthecontinuingnewspaperstrike.

“Willsix-thirtybetooearlyforyou?”Mrs.Castevetaskedatthedoor.“It’llbeperfect,”Rosemarysaid.“Romandon’t like toeatany later than that,”Mrs.Castevet said. “Hehas

stomachtroubleandifheeatstoolatehecan’tgettosleep.Youknowwhereweare,don’tyou?SevenA,atsix-thirty.We’llbelookingforward.Oh,here’syourmail,dear;I’llgetit.Ads.Well,it’sbetterthangettingnothing,isn’tit?”

Guycamehomeattwo-thirtyinabadmood;hehadlearnedfromhisagentthat,ashehadfeared,thegrotesquelynamedDonaldBaumgarthadwontheparthehadcomewithinahairofgetting.Rosemarykissedhimandinstalledhiminhisneweasychairwithameltedcheesesandwichandaglassofbeer.Shehadreadthescriptoftheplayandnotlikedit; itwouldprobablycloseoutoftown,shetoldGuy,andDonaldBaumgartwouldneverbeheardofagain.

“Even if it folds,”Guysaid, “it’s thekindofpart thatgetsnoticed.You’llsee;he’llgetsomethingelserightafter.”Heopenedthecornerofhissandwich,lookedinbitterly,closedit,andstartedeating.

“Mrs.Castevetwas here thismorning,”Rosemary said. “To thankme for

tellingthemthatTerrywasgratefultothem.Ithinkshereallyjustwantedtoseethe apartment.She’s absolutely thenosiestperson I’ve ever seen.Sheactuallyaskedthepricesofthings.”

“Nokidding,”Guysaid.“Shecomesrightoutandadmitsshe’snosy,though,soit’skindoffunnyand

forgivableinsteadofannoying.Sheevenlookedintothemedicinechest.”“Justlikethat?”“Justlikethat.Andguesswhatshewaswearing.”“APillsburysackwiththreeX’sonit.”“No,toreadorpants.”“Toreadorpants?”“Lime-greenones.”“Yegods.”Kneelingon thefloorbetweenthebaywindows,Rosemarydrewa lineon

brown paperwith crayon and a yardstick and thenmeasured the depth of thewindowseats.“Sheinvitedustohavedinnerwiththemthisevening,”shesaid,and looked at Guy. “I told her I’d have to checkwith you, but that it wouldprobablybeokay.”

“Ah,Jesus,Ro,”Guysaid,“wedon’twanttodothat,dowe?”“Ithinkthey’relonely,”Rosemarysaid.“BecauseofTerry.”“Honey,”Guy said, “ifwe get friendlywith an old couple like thatwe’re

nevergoingtogetthemoffournecks.They’rerighthereonthesamefloorwithus,they’llbelookinginsixtimesaday.Especiallyifshe’snosytobeginwith.”

“Itoldhershecouldcountonus,”Rosemarysaid.“Ithoughtyoutoldheryouhadtocheckfirst.”“Idid,butItoldhershecouldcountonustoo.”Rosemarylookedhelplessly

atGuy.“Shewassoanxiousforustocome.”“Wellit’snotmynightforbeingkindtoMaandPaKettle,”Guysaid.“I’m

sorry,honey,callherupandtellherwecan’tmakeit.”“Allright,Iwill,”Rosemarysaid,anddrewanotherlinewiththecrayonand

theyardstick.Guyfinishedhissandwich.“Youdon’thavetosulkaboutit,”hesaid.“I’mnotsulking,”Rosemarysaid.“Iseeexactlywhatyoumeanaboutthem

beingon the same floor. It’savalidpointandyou’reabsolutely right. I’mnotsulkingatall.”

“Ohhell,”Guysaid,“we’llgo.”“No,no,whatfor?Wedon’thaveto.Ishoppedfordinnerbeforeshecame,

sothat’snoproblem.”“We’llgo,”Guysaid.“Wedon’thave to ifyoudon’twant to.Thatsoundssophonybut I really

meanit,reallyIdo.”“We’llgo.It’llbemygooddeedfortheday.”“Allright,butonlyifyouwantto.Andwe’llmakeitverycleartothemthat

it’sonlythisonetimeandnotthebeginningofanything.Right?”“Right.”

CHAPTER6

ATAFEWMINUTES past six-thirtyRosemary andGuy left their apartmentandwalked throughthebranchesofdarkgreenhallwayto theCastevets’door.AsGuyrangthedoorbelltheelevatorbehindthemclangedopenandMr.DubinorMr.DeVore (they didn’t knowwhichwaswhich) came out carrying a suitswathed in cleaner’s plastic.He smiled and, unlocking the door of 7Bnext tothem,said,“You’re in thewrongplace,aren’tyou?”RosemaryandGuymadefriendlylaughsandhelethimselfin,calling“Me!”andallowingthemaglimpseofablacksideboardandred-and-goldwallpaper.

The Castevets’ door opened and Mrs. Castevet was there, powdered androugedandsmilingbroadlyinlightgreensilkandafrilledpinkapron.“Perfecttiming!”shesaid.“Comeonin!Roman’smakingVodkaBlushesintheblender.My,I’mgladyoucouldcome,Guy!I’mfixingtotellpeopleIknewyouwhen!‘Had dinner right off that plate, he did—GuyWoodhouse in person!’ I’m notgoingtowashitwhenyou’redone;I’mgoingtoleaveitjustasis!”

Guy andRosemary laughed and exchanged glances;Your friend, his said,andherssaid,WhatcanIdo?

Therewasalargefoyerinwhicharectangulartablewassetforfour,withanembroideredwhitecloth,platesthatdidn’tallmatch,andbrightranksofornatesilver. To the left the foyer opened on a living room easily twice the size ofRosemaryandGuy’sbutotherwisemuch like it. It hadone largebaywindowinstead of two smaller ones, and a huge pink marble mantel sculptured withlavishscrollwork.Theroomwasoddlyfurnished;atthefireplaceendtherewereasetteeandalamptableandafewchairs,andattheoppositeendanofficelikeclutter of file cabinets, bridge tables piled with newspapers, overfilled

bookshelves, and a typewriter on ametal stand. Between the two ends of theroom was a twenty-foot field of brown wall-to-wall carpet, deep and new-looking,markedwith the trailofavacuumcleaner. In thecenterof it,entirelyalone,asmallroundtablestoodholdingLifeandLookandScientificAmerican.

Mrs.Castevetshowedthemacrossthebrowncarpetandseatedthemonthesettee;andastheysatMr.Castevetcamein,holdinginbothhandsasmalltrayonwhichfourcocktailglassesranoverwithclearpinkliquid.Staringattherimsoftheglassesheshuffledforwardacrossthecarpet,lookingasifwitheverynextstephewouldtripandfalldisastrously.“Iseemtohaveoverfilledtheglasses,”hesaid.“No,no,don’tgetup.Please.GenerallyIpourtheseoutaspreciselyasabartender,don’tI,Minnie?”

Mrs.Castevetsaid,“Justwatchthecarpet.”“But thisevening,”Mr.Castevetcontinued,comingcloser,“Imadea little

toomuch,andratherthanleavethesurplusintheblender,I’mafraidIthoughtI…Thereweare.Please,sitdown.Mrs.Woodhouse?”

Rosemary took a glass, thankedhim, and sat.Mrs.Castevet quicklyput apapercocktailnapkininherlap.

“Mr.Woodhouse?AVodkaBlush.Haveyouevertastedone?”“No,”Guysaid,takingoneandsitting.“Minnie,”Mr.Castevetsaid.“Itlooksdelicious,”Rosemarysaid,smilingvividlyasshewipedthebaseof

herglass.“They’re very popular in Australia,”Mr. Castevet said. He took the final

glassandraisedittoRosemaryandGuy.“Toourguests,”hesaid.“Welcometoourhome.”Hedrankandcockedhisheadcritically,oneeyepartwayclosed,thetrayathissidedrippingonthecarpet.

Mrs.Castevetcoughedinmid-swallow.“Thecarpet!”shechoked,pointing.Mr. Castevet looked down. “Oh dear,” he said, and held the tray up

uncertainly.Mrs.Castevet thrustasideherdrink,hurried toherknees,and laidapaper

napkin carefully over the wetness. “Brand-new carpet,” she said. “Brand-newcarpet.Thismanissoclumsy!”

TheVodkaBlushesweretartandquitegood.“DoyoucomefromAustralia?”Rosemaryasked,whenthecarpethadbeen

blotted, the tray safely kitchened, and the Castevets seated in straight-backedchairs.

“Oh no,”Mr. Castevet said, “I’m from right here inNewYorkCity. I’ve

been there though. I’ve been everywhere. Literally.” He sipped Vodka Blush,sitting with his legs crossed and a hand on his knee. He was wearing blackloafers with tassels, gray slacks, a white blouse, and a blue-and-gold stripedascot.“Everycontinent,everycountry,”hesaid.“Everymajorcity.YounameaplaceandI’vebeenthere.Goahead.Nameaplace.”

Guysaid,“Fairbanks,Alaska.”“I’vebeenthere,”Mr.Castevetsaid.“I’vebeenalloverAlaska;Fairbanks,

Juneau,Anchorage,Nome,Seward;Ispentfourmonthstherein1938andI’vemade a lot of one-day stop-overs in Fairbanks andAnchorage onmyway toplacesintheFarEast.I’vebeeninsmall townsinAlaskatoo;DillinghamandAkulurak.”

“Where are you folks from?”Mrs. Castevet asked, fixing the folds at thebosomofherdress.

“I’mfromOmaha,”Rosemarysaid,“andGuyisfromBaltimore.”“Omahaisagoodcity,”Mr.Castevetsaid.“Baltimoreistoo.”“Didyoutravelforbusinessreasons?”Rosemaryaskedhim.“Businessandpleasureboth,”hesaid.“I’mseventy-nineyearsoldandI’ve

beengoingoneplaceoranothersinceIwasten.Younameit,I’vebeenthere.”“Whatbusinesswereyouin?”Guyasked.“Justabouteverybusiness,”Mr.Castevetsaid.“Wool,sugar,toys,machine

parts,marineinsurance,oil…”Abellpingedinthekitchen.“Steak’sready,”Mrs.Castevetsaid,standingup

withherglassinherhand.“Don’trushyourdrinksnow;takethemalongtothetable.Roman,takeyourpill.”

“ItwillendonOctoberthird,”Mr.Castevetsaid;“thedaybeforethePopegetshere.NoPopeevervisitsacitywherethenewspapersareonstrike.”

“I heard on TV that he’s going to postpone and wait till it’s over,”Mrs.Castevetsaid.

Guysmiled.“Well,”hesaid,“that’sshowbiz.”Mr.andMrs.Castevetlaughed,andGuyalongwiththem.Rosemarysmiled

and cut her steak. Itwas overdone and juiceless, flanked by peas andmashedpotatoesunderflour-ladengravy.

Still laughing,Mr. Castevet said, “It is, you know! That’s just what it is;showbiz!”

“Youcansaythatagain,”Guysaid.

“The costumes, the rituals,” Mr. Castevet said; “every religion, not onlyCatholicism.Pageantsfortheignorant.”

Mrs.Castevetsaid,“Ithinkwe’reoffendingRosemary.”“No,no,notatall,”Rosemarysaid.“Youaren’treligious,mydear,areyou?”Mr.Castevetasked.“Iwasbroughtuptobe,”Rosemarysaid,“butnowI’managnostic.Iwasn’t

offended.ReallyIwasn’t.”“Andyou,Guy?”Mr.Castevetasked.“Areyouanagnostictoo?”“I guess so,” Guy said. “I don’t see how anyone can be anything else. I

mean,there’snoabsoluteproofonewayortheother,isthere?”“No,thereisn’t,”Mr.Castevetsaid.Mrs.Castevet,studyingRosemary,said,“Youlookeduncomfortablebefore,

whenwewerelaughingatGuy’slittlejokeaboutthePope.”“WellheisthePope,”Rosemarysaid.“IguessI’vebeenconditionedtohave

respectforhimandIstilldo,evenifIdon’tthinkhe’sholyanymore.”“If you don’t think he’s holy,” Mr. Castevet said, “you should have no

respect for him at all, because he’s going around deceiving people andpretendingheisholy.”

“Goodpoint,”Guysaid.“WhenIthinkwhattheyspendonrobesandjewels,”Mrs.Castevetsaid.“Agoodpictureof thehypocrisybehindorganized religion,”Mr.Castevet

said,“wasgiven,Ithought,inLuther.Didyouevergettoplaytheleadingpart,Guy?”

“Me?No,”Guysaid.“Weren’tyouAlbertFinney’sunderstudy?”Mr.Castevetasked.“No,”Guysaid,“thefellowwhoplayedWeinandwas.Ijustcoveredtwoof

thesmallerparts.”“That’s strange,”Mr.Castevet said; “Iwasquite certain thatyouwerehis

understudy.Irememberbeingstruckbyagestureyoumadeandcheckingintheprogram to seewho youwere; and I could swear youwere listed as Finney’sunderstudy.”

“Whatgesturedoyoumean?”Guyasked.“I’mnotsurenow;amovementofyour—”“I used to do a thing with my arms when Luther had the fit, a sort of

involuntaryreaching—”“Exactly,”Mr.Castevetsaid.“That’sjustwhatImeant.Ithadawonderful

authenticitytoit.Incontrast,mayIsay,toeverythingMr.Finneywasdoing.”

“Oh,comeonnow,”Guysaid.“Ithoughthisperformancewasconsiderablyoverrated,”Mr.Castevetsaid.

“I’dbemostcurioustoseewhatyouwouldhavedonewiththepart.”Laughing,Guysaid,“Thatmakestwoofus,”andcastabright-eyedglance

atRosemary.Shesmiledback,pleasedthatGuywaspleased;therewouldbenoreproofsfromhimnowforaneveningwastedtalkingwithMaandPaSettle.No,Kettle.

“My father was a theatrical producer,” Mr. Castevet said, “and my earlyyears were spent in the company of such people as Mrs. Fiske and Forbes-Robertson,OtisSkinnerandModjeska.Itend,therefore,tolookforsomethingmorethanmerecompetenceinactors.Youhaveamostinterestinginnerquality,Guy. It appears in your televisionwork too, and it should carry you very farindeed;provided,ofcourse,thatyougetthoseinitial‘breaks’uponwhicheventhegreatestactorsaretosomedegreedependent.Areyoupreparingforashownow?”

“I’mupforacoupleofparts,”Guysaid.“Ican’tbelievethatyouwon’tgetthem,”Mr.Castevetsaid.“Ican,”Guysaid.Mr.Castevetstaredathim.“Areyouserious?”heasked.DessertwasahomemadeBostoncreampiethat,thoughbetterthanthesteak

and vegetables, had for Rosemary a peculiar and unpleasant sweetness. Guy,however, praised it heartily and ate a second helping. Perhaps he was onlyacting,Rosemarythought;repayingcomplimentswithcompliments.

After dinner Rosemary offered to help with the cleaning up. Mrs. CastevetacceptedtheofferinstantlyandthetwowomenclearedthetablewhileGuyandMr.Castevetwentintothelivingroom.

Thekitchen,openingoffthefoyer,wassmall,andmadesmallerstillbytheminiaturegreenhouseTerryhadmentioned.Somethreefeet long,itstoodonalargewhitetableneartheroom’sonewindow.Gooseneckedlampsleanedclosearoundit,theirbrightbulbsreflectingintheglassandmakingitblindingwhiterather than transparent. In the remainingspace thesink, stove,and refrigeratorstoodclosetogetherwithcabinetsjuttingoutabovethemonallsides.RosemarywipeddishesatMrs.Castevet’selbow,workingdiligentlyandconscientiouslyinthe pleasing knowledge that her own kitchen was larger andmore graciouslyequipped.“Terrytoldmeaboutthatgreenhouse,”shesaid.

“Ohyes,”Mrs.Castevetsaid.“It’sanicehobby.Yououghttodoittoo.”“I’dliketohaveaspicegardensomeday,”Rosemarysaid.“Outofthecity,

ofcourse.IfGuyevergetsamovieofferwe’regoingtograbitandgoliveinLosAngeles.I’macountrygirlatheart.”

“Doyoucomefromabigfamily?”Mrs.Castevetasked.“Yes,”Rosemarysaid.“Ihavethreebrothersandtwosisters.I’mthebaby.”“Areyoursistersmarried?”“Yes,theyare.”Mrs.Castevetpushedasoapyspongeupanddowninsideaglass.“Dothey

havechildren?”sheasked.“Onehastwoandtheotherhasfour,”Rosemarysaid.“Atleastthatwasthe

countthelastIheard.Itcouldbethreeandfivebynow.”“Wellthat’sagoodsignforyou,”Mrs.Castevetsaid,stillsoapingtheglass.

She was a slow and thorough washer. “If your sisters have lots of children,chancesareyouwilltoo.Thingslikethatgoinfamilies.”

“Oh,we’re fertile,all right,”Rosemarysaid,waiting towel inhandfor theglass.“MybrotherEddiehaseightalreadyandhe’sonlytwenty-six.”

“My goodness!” Mrs. Castevet said. She rinsed the glass and gave it toRosemary.

“All told I’ve got twenty nieces andnephews,”Rosemary said. “I haven’tevenseenhalfofthem.”

“Don’tyougohomeeveryonceinawhile?”Mrs.Castevetasked.“No,Idon’t,”Rosemarysaid.“I’mnotonthebestoftermswithmyfamily,

exceptonebrother.TheyfeelI’mtheblacksheep.”“Oh?Howisthat?”“BecauseGuyisn’tCatholic,andwedidn’thaveachurchwedding.”“Tsk,”Mrs. Castevet said. “Isn’t it something the way people fuss about

religion?Well,it’stheirloss,notyours;don’tyouletitbotheryouany.”“That’smoreeasilysaidthandone,”Rosemarysaid,puttingtheglassona

shelf.“Wouldyoulikemetowashandyouwipeforawhile?”“No,thisisfine,dear,”Mrs.Castevetsaid.Rosemarylookedoutsidethedoor.Shecouldseeonlytheendoftheliving

roomthatwasbridgetablesandfilecabinets;GuyandMr.Castevetwereattheotherend.Aplaneofbluecigarettesmokelaymotionlessintheair.

“Rosemary?”She turned.Mrs.Castevet,smiling,heldoutawetplate inagreenrubber-

glovedhand.

Ittookalmostanhourtodothedishesandpansandsilver,althoughRosemaryfelt shecouldhavedone themalone in less thanhalf that time.WhensheandMrs.Castevet cameout of the kitchen and into the living room,Guy andMr.Castevetweresittingfacingeachotheronthesettee,Mr.Castevetdrivinghomepointafterpointwithrepeatedstrikingsofhisforefingeragainsthispalm.

“Now Roman, you stop bending Guy’s ear with your Modjeska stories,”Mrs.Castevetsaid.“He’sonlylistening’causehe’spolite.”

“No,it’sinteresting,Mrs.Castevet,”Guysaid.“Yousee?”Mr.Castevetsaid.“Minnie,”Mrs. Castevet toldGuy. “I’mMinnie and he’s Roman; okay?”

Shelookedmock-defiantlyatRosemary.“Okay?”Guylaughed.“Okay,Minnie,”hesaid.TheytalkedabouttheGouldsandtheBruhnsandDubin-and-DeVore;about

Terry’ssailorbrotherwhohadturnedouttobeinacivilianhospitalinSaigon;and, becauseMr. Castevet was reading a book critical of theWarren Report,abouttheKennedyassassination.Rosemary,inoneofthestraight-backedchairs,feltoddlyoutof things,as if theCastevetswereoldfriendsofGuy’stowhomshehadjustbeenintroduced.“Doyou think itcouldhavebeenaplotofsomekind?” Mr. Castevet asked her, and she answered awkwardly, aware that aconsiderate host was drawing a left-out guest into conversation. She excusedherself and followedMrs. Castevet’s directions to the bathroom, where therewerefloweredpapertowelsinscribedForOurGuestandabookcalledJokesforTheJohnthatwasn’tespeciallyfunny.

Theyleftatten-thirty,saying“Good-by,Roman”and“Thankyou,Minnie”and shaking hands with an enthusiasm and an implied promise of more sucheveningstogetherthat,onRosemary’spart,wascompletelyfalse.Roundingthefirstbendinthehallwayandhearingthedoorclosebehindthem,sheblewoutarelievedsighandgrinnedhappilyatGuywhenshesawhimdoingexactly thesame.

“Naow Roman,” he said, working his eyebrows comically, “yew stopbendin’Guy’see-yurswiththemtharMojeskysto-rees!”

Laughing,Rosemarycringedandhushedhim,andtheyranhandinhandonultra-quiet tiptoes to their own door, which they unlocked, opened, slammed,locked,bolted,chained;andGuynaileditoverwithimaginarybeams,pushedupthree imaginary boulders, hoisted an imaginary drawbridge, and mopped his

browandpantedwhileRosemarybentoverdoubleandlaughedintobothhands.“Aboutthatsteak,”Guysaid.“OhmyGod!”Rosemarysaid.“Thepie!Howdidyoueattwopiecesofit?

Itwasweird!”“Dear girl,” Guy said, “that was an act of superhuman courage and self-

sacrifice.Isaidtomyself,‘Yegods,I’llbetnobody’severaskedthisoldbatforsecondsonanything inherentire life!’SoIdid it.”Hewavedahandgrandly.“NowandagainIgetthesenobleurges.”

Theywentintothebedroom.“Sheraisesherbsandspices,”Rosemarysaid,“andwhenthey’refull-grownshethrowsthemoutthewindow.”

“Shh,thewallshaveears,”Guysaid.“Hey,howaboutthatsilverware?”“Isn’t that funny?” Rosemary said, working her feet against the floor to

unshoethem;“onlythreedinnerplatesthatmatch,andthey’vegotthatbeautiful,beautifulsilver.”

“Let’sbenice;maybethey’llwillittous.”“Let’sbenastyandbuyourown.Didyougotothebathroom?”“There?No.”“Guesswhatthey’vegotinit.”“Abidet.”“No,JokesforTheJohn.”“No.”Rosemaryshuckedoffherdress.“Abookonahook,”shesaid.“Rightnext

tothetoilet.”Guysmiledandshookhishead.Hebegantakingouthiscufflinks,standing

beside the armoire. “Those stories ofRoman’s, though,” he said, “were prettydamninteresting,actually.I’dneverevenheardofForbes-Robertsonbefore,buthewasaverybigstarinhisday.”Heworkedatthesecondlink,havingtroublewithit.“I’mgoingtogooverthereagaintomorrownightandhearsomemore,”hesaid.

Rosemarylookedathim,disconcerted.“Youare?”sheasked.“Yes,”hesaid,“heaskedme.”Heheldouthishandtoher.“Canyougetthis

offforme?”Shewenttohimandworkedatthelink,feelingsuddenlylostanduncertain.

“IthoughtweweregoingtodosomethingwithJimmyandTiger,”shesaid.“Wasthatdefinite?”heasked.Hiseyeslookedintohers.“Ithoughtwewere

justgoingtocallandsee.”“Itwasn’tdefinite,”shesaid.

Heshrugged.“We’llseethemWednesdayorThursday.”Shegotthelinkoutandhelditonherpalm.Hetookit.“Thanks,”hesaid.

“Youdon’thavetocomealongifyoudon’twantto;youcanstayhere.”“IthinkIwill,”shesaid.“Stayhere.”Shewenttothebedandsatdown.“HeknewHenryIrvingtoo,”Guysaid.“It’sreallyterrificallyinteresting.”Rosemaryunhookedherstockings.“Whydidtheytakedownthepictures,”

shesaid.“Whatdoyoumean?”“Theirpictures;theytookthemdown.Inthelivingroomandinthehallway

leadingbacktothebathroom.Therearehooksinthewallandcleanplaces.Andtheonepicturethatisthere,overthemantel,doesn’tfit.Therearetwoinchesofcleanatbothsidesofit.”

Guylookedather.“Ididn’tnotice,”hesaid.“Andwhydo theyhaveall those filesand things in the living room?”she

asked.“Thathetoldme,”Guysaid,takingoffhisshirt.“Heputsoutanewsletter

for stampcollectors.Allover theworld.That’swhy theyget somuch foreignmail.”

“Yes,butwhyinthelivingroom?”Rosemarysaid.“Theyhavethreeorfourotherrooms,allwiththedoorsclosed.Whydoesn’theuseoneofthose?”

Guywent toher, shirt inhand,andpressedhernosewitha firmfingertip.“You’regettingnosier thanMinnie,”hesaid,kissedairather,andwentout tothebathroom.

Ten or fifteenminutes later, while in the kitchen putting onwater for coffee,Rosemarygotthesharppaininhermiddlethatwasthenight-beforesignalofherperiod.Sherelaxedwithonehandagainstthecornerofthestove,lettingthepainhaveitsbriefway,andthenshegotoutaChemexpaperandthecanofcoffee,feelingdisappointedandforlorn.

She was twenty-four and they wanted three children two years apart; butGuy“wasn’treadyyet”—norwouldheeverbeready,shefeared,untilhewasasbig asMarlon Brando andRichard Burton put together. Didn’t he know howhandsome and talented hewas, how sure to succeed? So her planwas to getpregnantby“accident”thepillsgaveherheadaches,shesaid,andrubbergadgetswererepulsive.GuysaidthatsubconsciouslyshewasstillagoodCatholic,andshe protested enough to support the explanation. Indulgently he studied the

calendar andavoided the“dangerousdays,” and she said, “No, it’s safe today,darling;I’msureitis.”

And again this month he had won and she had lost, in this undignifiedcontestinwhichhedidn’tevenknowtheywereengaged.“Damn!”shesaid,andbanged the coffee can down on the stove. Guy, in the den, called, “Whathappened?”

“Ibumpedmyelbow!”shecalledback.Atleastsheknewnowwhyshehadbecomedepressedduringtheevening.Doubledamn!Iftheywerelivingtogetherandnotmarriedshewouldhave

beenpregnantfiftytimesbynow!

CHAPTER7

THEFOLLOWINGEVENING after dinnerGuywent over to theCastevets’.Rosemarystraightenedupthekitchenandwasdebatingwhethertoworkonthewindow-seat cushions or get into bed withManchild in The Promised Landwhen the doorbell rang. It was Mrs. Castevet, and with her another woman,short,plump,andsmiling,withaBuckley-for-Mayorbuttonontheshoulderofagreendress.

“Hi, dear, we’re not bothering you, are we?” Mrs. Castevet said whenRosemaryhadopenedthedoor.“ThisismydearfriendLaura-LouiseMcBurney,wholivesupontwelve.Laura-Louise,thisisGuy’swifeRosemary.”

“Hello,Rosemary!WelcometotheBram!”“Laura-Louise justmetGuyover toourplaceandshewantedtomeetyou

too,sowecameonover.Guysaidyouwerestayinginnotdoinganything.Canwecomein?”

WithresignedgoodgraceRosemaryshowedthemintothelivingroom.“Oh,you’vegotnewchairs,”Mrs.Castevetsaid.“Aren’ttheybeautiful!”“Theycamethismorning,”Rosemarysaid.“Areyouallright,dear?Youlookworn.”“I’mfine,”Rosemarysaidandsmiled.“It’sthefirstdayofmyperiod.”“Andyou’reupandaround?”Laura-Louiseasked,sitting.“Onmyfirstdays

IexperiencedsuchpainthatIcouldn’tmoveoreatoranything.Danhadtogiveme gin through a straw to kill the pain and we were one-hundred-per-centTemperanceatthetime,withthatoneexception.”

“Girls today take thingsmore in their stride than we did,”Mrs. Castevetsaid,sittingtoo.“They’rehealthierthanwewere,thankstovitaminsandbetter

medicalcare.”Bothwomen had brought identical green sewing bags and, toRosemary’s

surprise,wereopeningthemnowandtakingoutcrocheting(Laura-Louise)anddarning (Mrs. Castevet); settling down for a long evening of needlework andconversation.“What’sthatoverthere?”Mrs.Castevetasked.“Seatcovers?”

“Cushionsforthewindowseats,”Rosemarysaid,andthinkingOhallright,Iwill,wentoverandgottheworkandbroughtitbackandjoinedthem.

Laura-Louise said, “You’ve certainly made a tremendous change in theapartment,Rosemary.”

“Oh,beforeIforget,”Mrs.Castevetsaid,“thisisforyou.FromRomanandme.”SheputasmallpacketofpinktissuepaperintoRosemary’shand,withahardnessinsideit.

“Forme?”Rosemaryasked.“Idon’tunderstand.”“It’s just a littlepresent is all,”Mrs.Castevet said,dismissingRosemary’s

puzzlementwithquickhand-waves.“Formovingin.”“Butthere’snoreasonforyouto…”Rosemaryunfoldedtheleavesofused-

beforetissuepaper.WithinthepinkwasTerry’ssilverfiligreeball-charmanditsclustered-togetherneckchain.Thesmelloftheball’sfillingmadeRosemarypullherheadaway.

“It’srealold,”Mrs.Castevetsaid.“Overthreehundredyears.”“It’slovely,”Rosemarysaid,examiningtheballandwonderingwhethershe

shouldtellthatTerryhadshownittoher.Themomentfordoingsoslippedby.“Thegreeninsideiscalledtannisroot,”Mrs.Castevetsaid.“It’sgoodluck.”Not forTerry, Rosemary thought, and said, “It’s lovely, but I can’t accept

sucha—”“You already have,” Mrs. Castevet said, darning a brown sock and not

lookingatRosemary.“Putiton.”Laura-Louisesaid,“You’llgetusedtothesmellbeforeyouknowit.”“Goon,”Mrs.Castevetsaid.“Well, thank you,”Rosemary said; and uncertainly she put the chain over

her head and tucked the ball into the collar of her dress. It dropped downbetweenherbreasts,coldforamomentandobtrusive.I’lltakeitoffwhentheygo,shethought.

Laura-Louisesaid,“Afriendofoursmadethechainentirelybyhand.He’saretired dentist and his hobby ismaking jewelry out of silver and gold.You’llmeet him atMinnie andRoman’s on—on somenight soon, I’m sure, becausetheyentertainsomuch.You’llprobablymeetalltheirfriends,allourfriends.”

Rosemary looked up from her work and saw Laura-Louise pink with anembarrassment thathadhurriedandconfusedher lastwords.Minniewasbusydarning,unaware.Laura-LouisesmiledandRosemarysmiledback.

“Doyoumakeyourownclothes?”Laura-Louiseasked.“No,Idon’t,”Rosemarysaid,lettingthesubjectbechanged.“Itrytoevery

onceinawhilebutnothingeverhangsright.”It turned out to be a fairly pleasant evening. Minnie told some amusing

stories about her girlhood in Oklahoma, and Laura-Louise showed RosemarytwousefulsewingtricksandexplainedfeelinglyhowBuckley,theConservativemayoralcandidate,couldwinthecomingelectiondespitethehighoddsagainsthim.

Guycamebackat eleven,quiet andoddly self-contained.Hesaidhello tothewomenand,byRosemary’s chair, bent andkissedher cheek.Minnie said,“Eleven? My land! Come on, Laura-Louise.” Laura-Louise said, “Come andvisitmeanytimeyouwant,Rosemary;I’mintwelveF.”Thetwowomenclosedtheirsewingbagsandwentquicklyaway.

“Werehisstoriesasinterestingaslastnight?”Rosemaryasked.“Yes,”Guysaid.“Didyouhaveanicetime?”“Allright.Igotsomeworkdone.”“SoIsee.”“Igotapresenttoo.”Sheshowedhimthecharm.“ItwasTerry’s,”shesaid.“Theygaveittoher;

sheshowedittome.Thepolicemusthave—givenitback.”“Sheprobablywasn’tevenwearingit,”Guysaid.“I’llbetshewas.Shewasasproudofitas—asifitwasthefirstgiftanyone

hadevergivenher.”Rosemary lifted the chainoffoverherheadandheld thechainandthecharmonherpalm,jigglingthemandlookingatthem.

“Aren’tyougoingtowearit?”Guyasked.“Itsmells,”shesaid.“There’sstuffinitcalledtannisroot.”Sheheldouther

hand.“Fromthefamousgreenhouse.”Guysmelledandshrugged.“It’snotbad,”hesaid.Rosemarywentintothebedroomandopenedadrawerinthevanitywhere

shehada tinLouisSherrybox fullofoddsandends. “Tannis, anybody?” sheaskedherself in themirror,andput thecharmin thebox,closedit,andclosedthedrawer.

Guy,inthedoorway,said,“Ifyoutookit,yououghttowearit.”

That nightRosemary awoke and foundGuy sitting beside her smoking in thedark.Sheaskedhimwhatwasthematter.“Nothing,”hesaid.“Alittleinsomnia,that’sall.”

Roman’sstoriesofold-timestars,Rosemarythought,mighthavedepressedhimby remindinghim that his own careerwas lagging behindHenry Irving’sandForbes-Whosit’s.Hisgoingbackformoreofthestoriesmighthavebeenaformofmasochism.

Shetouchedhisarmandtoldhimnottoworry.“Aboutwhat?”“Aboutanything.”“Allright,”hesaid,“Iwon’t.”“You’re thegreatest,”shesaid.“Youknow?Youare.And it’sallgoing to

come out right. You’re going to have to learn karate to get rid of thephotographers.”

Hesmiledintheglowofhiscigarette.“Anydaynow,”shesaid.“Somethingbig.Somethingworthyofyou.”“Iknow,”hesaid.“Gotosleep,honey.”“Okay.Watchthecigarette.”“Iwill.”“Wakemeifyoucan’tsleep.”“Sure.”“Iloveyou.”“Iloveyou,Ro.”

A day or two laterGuy brought home a pair of tickets for theSaturday nightperformanceofTheFantasticks,given tohim,heexplained,byDominick,hisvocalcoach.Guyhadseentheshowyearsbeforewhenitfirstopened;Rosemaryhadalwaysbeenmeaningtoseeit.“GowithHutch,”Guysaid;“it’llgivemeachancetoworkontheWaitUntilDarkscene.”

Hutch had seen it too, though, so Rosemary went with Joan Jellico, whoconfidedduringdinnerattheBijouthatsheandDickwereseparating,nolongerhavinganythingincommonexcepttheiraddress.ThenewsupsetRosemary.FordaysGuy had been distant and preoccupied, wrapped in something hewouldneitherputasidenorshare.HadJoanandDick’sestrangementbeguninthesame

way? She grew angry at Joan, who was wearing too much make-up andapplaudingtooloudlyinthesmalltheater.NowondersheandDickcouldfindnothing incommon; shewas loudandvulgar,hewas reserved, sensitive; theyshouldneverhavemarriedinthefirstplace.

When Rosemary came home Guy was coming out of the shower, morevivaciousand there thanhehadbeenallweek.Rosemary’sspirits leaped.Theshowhadbeenevenbetterthansheexpected,shetoldhim,andbadnews,Joanand Dick were separating. They really were birds of completely differentfeathersthough,weren’tthey?HowhadtheWaitUntilDarkscenegone?Great.Hehaditdowncold.

“Damnthattannisroot,”Rosemarysaid.Thewholebedroomsmelledofit.The bitter prickly odor had even found its way into the bathroom. She got apieceofaluminumfoil fromthekitchenandwound thecharmina tight triplewrapping,twistingtheendstosealthem.

“It’llprobablyloseitsstrengthinafewdays,”Guysaid.“It better,” Rosemary said, spraying the airwith a deodorant bomb. “If it

doesn’t,I’mgoingtothrowitawayandtellMinnieIlostit.”Theymade love—Guywaswild anddriving—and later, through thewall,

Rosemary heard a party in progress at Minnie and Roman’s; the same flatunmusicalsingingshehadheardthelasttime,almostlikereligiouschanting,andthesamefluteorclarinetweavinginandaroundandunderneathit.

Guykept his keyed-upvivacity all throughSunday, building shelves and shoeracksinthebedroomclosetsandinvitingabunchofLutherpeopleoverforMooGooGaiWoodhouse;andonMondayhepaintedtheshelvesandshoeracksandstainedabenchRosemaryhadfoundinathriftshop,cancelinghissessionwithDominick andkeepinghis ear stretched for thephone,whichhe caught everytimebefore the first ringwas finished.At three in theafternoon it rangagain,and Rosemary, trying out a different arrangement of the living room chairs,heardhimsay,“OhGod,no.Oh,thepoorguy.”

Shewenttothebedroomdoor.“OhGod,”Guysaid.Hewas sittingon thebed, thephone inonehandanda canofRedDevil

paintremoverintheother.Hedidn’tlookather.“Andtheydon’thaveanyideawhat’scausingit?”hesaid.“MyGod,that’sawful,justawful.”Helistened,andstraightenedashesat.“Yes,Iam,”hesaid.Andthen,“Yes,Iwould.I’dhateto

getitthisway,butI—”Helistenedagain.“Well,you’dhavetospeaktoAllanaboutthatendofit,”hesaid—AllanStone,hisagent—“butI’msuretherewon’tbeanyproblem,Mr.Weiss,notasfaraswe’reconcerned.”

Hehadit.TheSomethingBig.Rosemaryheldherbreath,waiting.“Thankyou,Mr.Weiss,”Guysaid.“Andwillyouletmeknowifthere’sany

news?Thanks.”Hehungup and shut his eyes.He satmotionless, his hand staying on the

phone.Hewaspaleanddummylike,aPopArtwaxstatuewithrealclothesandprops,realphone,realcanofpaintremover.

“Guy?”Rosemarysaid.Heopenedhiseyesandlookedather.“Whatisit?”sheasked.Heblinkedandcamealive.“DonaldBaumgart,”hesaid.“He’sgoneblind.

Hewokeupyesterdayand—hecan’tsee.”“Ohno,”Rosemarysaid.“He tried to hang himself this morning. He’s in Bellevue now, under

sedation.”Theylookedpainfullyateachother.“I’vegotthepart,”Guysaid.“It’sahellofawaytogetit.”Helookedatthe

paintremoverinhishandandputitonthenighttable.“Listen,”hesaid,“I’vegottogetoutandwalkaround.”Hestoodup.“I’msorry.I’vegottogetoutsideandabsorbthis.”

“Iunderstand,goahead,”Rosemarysaid,standingbackfromthedoorway.Hewentashewas,downthehallandout thedoor, lettingitswingclosed

afterhimwithitsownsoftslam.Shewentintothelivingroom,thinkingofpoorDonaldBaumgartandlucky

Guy;luckyshe-and-Guy,withthegoodpartthatwouldgetattentioneveniftheshow folded, would lead to other parts, to movies maybe, to a house in LosAngeles,aspicegarden,threechildrentwoyearsapart.PoorDonaldBaumgartwithhisclumsynamethathedidn’tchange.Hemusthavebeengood, tohavewon out over Guy, and there he was in Bellevue, blind and wanting to killhimself,undersedation.

Kneeling on awindow seat, Rosemary looked out the side of its bay andwatched the house’s entrance far below, waiting to see Guy come out.Whenwouldrehearsalsbegin?shewondered.Shewouldgooutoftownwithhim,ofcourse; what fun it would be! Boston? Philadelphia? Washington would beexciting.Shehadneverbeen there.WhileGuywas rehearsingafternoons, she

couldsightsee;andevenings,after theperformance,everyonewouldmeet inarestaurantorclubtogossipandexchangerumors…

She waited and watched but he didn’t come out. He must have used theFifty-fifthStreetdoor.

Now,whenheshouldhavebeenhappy,hewasdourand troubled,sittingwithnothingmoving except his cigarette hand and his eyes.His eyes followed heraround theapartment; tensely, as if sheweredangerous. “What’swrong?” sheaskedadozentimes.

“Nothing,”hesaid.“Don’tyouhaveyoursculptureclasstoday?”“Ihaven’tgoneintwomonths.”“Whydon’tyougo?”She went; tore away old plasticine, reset the armature, and began anew,

doinganewmodelamongnewstudents. “Where’veyoubeen?” the instructorasked.HehadeyeglassesandanAdam’sappleandmademiniaturesofhertorsowithoutwatchinghishands.

“InZanzibar,”shesaid.“Zanzibarisnomore,”hesaid,smilingnervously.“It’sTanzania.”OneafternoonshewentdowntoMacy’sandGimbels,andwhenshecame

hometherewererosesinthekitchen,rosesinthelivingroom,andGuycomingoutofthebedroomwithoneroseandaforgive-mesmile,likeareadinghehadoncedoneforherofChanceWayneinSweetBird.

“I’ve been a living turd,” he said. “It’s from sitting around hoping thatBaumgartwon’tregainhissight,whichiswhatI’vebeendoing,ratthatIam.”

“That’snatural,”shesaid.“You’reboundtofeeltwowaysabout—”“Listen,” he said, pushing the rose to her nose, “even if this thing falls

through,evenifI’mCharleyCrestaBlancafortherestofmydays,I’mgoingtostopgivingyoutheshortendofthestick.”

“Youhaven’t—”“Yes I have. I’ve been so busy tearingmy hair out overmy career that I

haven’tgivenThoughtOnetoyours.Let’shaveababy,okay?Let’shavethree,oneatatime.”

Shelookedathim.“Ababy,”hesaid.“Youknow.Goo,goo?Diapers?Waa,waa?”“Doyoumeanit?”sheasked.“Sure Imean it,” he said. “I even figuredout the right time to start.Next

MondayandTuesday.Redcirclesonthecalendar,please.”“Youreallymeanit,Guy?”sheasked,tearsinhereyes.“No,I’mkidding,”hesaid.“SureImeanit.Look,Rosemary,forGod’ssake

don’tcry,allright?Please.It’sgoingtoupsetmeverymuchifyoucry,sostoprightnow,allright?”

“Allright,”shesaid.“Iwon’tcry.”“I really went rose-nutty, didn’t I?” he said, looking around brightly.

“There’sabunchinthebedroomtoo.”

CHAPTER8

SHE WENT to upper Broadway for swordfish steaks and across town toLexington Avenue for cheeses; not because she couldn’t get swordfish steaksandcheesesrightthereintheneighborhoodbutsimplybecauseonthatsnappybright-bluemorningshewantedtobealloverthecity,walkingbrisklywithhercoat flying,drawingsecondglances forherprettiness, impressing toughclerkswiththeprecisionandknow-howofherorders.ItwasMonday,October4th,theday ofPopePaul’s visit to the city, and the sharing of the eventmade peoplemore open and communicative than they ordinarily were; How nice it is,Rosemarythought,thatthewholecityishappyonadaywhenI’msohappy.

ShefollowedthePope’sroundsontelevisionduringtheafternoon,movingthesetout fromthewallof theden(soonnursery)and turning it soshecouldwatchfromthekitchenwhilereadyingthefishandvegetablesandsaladgreens.His speech at the UN moved her, and she was sure it would help ease theVietnamsituation.“Warneveragain,”hesaid;wouldn’thiswordsgivepausetoeventhemosthard-headedstatesman?

At four-thirty, while she was setting the table before the fireplace, thetelephonerang.

“Rosemary?Howareyou?”“Fine,” she said. “How are you?” It was Margaret, the older of her two

sisters.“Fine,”Margaretsaid.“Whereareyou?”“InOmaha.”Theyhadnevergotonwell.Margarethadbeenasullen,resentfulgirl, too

oftenusedbytheirmotherasthecaretakeroftheyoungerchildren.Tobecalledbyherlikethiswasstrange;strangeandfrightening.

“Is everyone all right?” Rosemary asked. Someone’s dead, she thought.Who?Ma?Pa?Brian?

“Yes,everyone’sfine.”“Theyare?”“Yes.Areyou?”“Yes;IsaidIwas.”“I’ve had the funniest feeling all day long, Rosemary. That something

happenedtoyou.Likeanaccidentorsomething.Thatyouwerehurt.Maybeinthehospital.”

“Well,I’mnot,”Rosemarysaid,andlaughed.“I’mfine.ReallyIam.”“It was such a strong feeling,”Margaret said. “I was sure something had

happened.FinallyGenesaidwhydon’tIcallyouandfindout.”“Howishe?”“Fine.”“Andthechildren?”“Oh, theusualscrapesandscratches,but they’re fine too. I’vegotanother

oneontheway,youknow.”“No, Ididn’tknow.That’swonderful.When is itdue?”We’llhaveoneon

thewaysoontoo.“TheendofMarch.How’syourhusband,Rosemary?”“He’s fine. He’s got an important part in a new play that’s going into

rehearsalsoon.”“Say,didyougetagoodlookatthePope?”Margaretasked.“Theremustbe

terrificexcitementthere.”“There is,” Rosemary said. “I’ve been watching it on television. It’s in

Omahatoo,isn’tit?”“Notlive?Youdidn’tgooutandseehimlive?”“No,Ididn’t.”“Really?”“Really.”“Honesttogoodness,Rosemary,”Margaretsaid.“DoyouknowMaandPa

weregoingtoflytheretoseehimbuttheycouldn’tbecausethere’sgoingtobeastrikevoteandPa’s seconding themotion?Lotsofpeopledid fly, though; theDonovans,andDotandSandyWallingford;andyou’rerightthere,living there,anddidn’tgooutandseehim?”

“Religiondoesn’tmeanasmuchtomenowasitdidbackhome,”Rosemarysaid.

“Well,” Margaret said, “I guess that’s inevitable,” and Rosemary heard,unspoken,whenyou’remarriedtoaProtestant.Shesaid,“Itwasniceofyoutocall,Margaret.There’snothingforyoutoworryabout.I’veneverbeenhealthierorhappier.”

“Itwassuchastrongfeeling,”Margaretsaid.“FromtheminuteIwokeup.I’msousedtotakingcareofyoulittlebrats…”

“Givemylovetoeveryone,willyou?AndtellBriantoanswermyletter.”“Iwill.Rosemary—”“Yes?”“Istillhavethefeeling.Stayhometonight,willyou?”“That’sjustwhatwe’replanningtodo,”Rosemarysaid,lookingoveratthe

partiallysettable.“Good,”Margaretsaid.“Takecareofyourself.”“Iwill,”Rosemarysaid.“Youtoo,Margaret.”“Iwill.Good-by.”“Good-by.”Shewentback tosetting the table, feelingpleasantlysadandnostalgic for

MargaretandBrianandtheotherkids,forOmahaandtheirretrievablepast.Withthetableset,shebathed;thenpowderedandperfumedherself,didher

eyesandlipsandhair,andputonapairofburgundysilkloungingpajamasthatGuyhadgivenherthepreviousChristmas.

He came home late, after six. “Mmm,” he said, kissing her, “you look goodenoughtoeat.Shallwe?Damn!”

“What?”“Iforgotthepie.”Hehadtoldhernottomakeadessert;hewouldbringhomehisabsoluteall-

timefavorite,aHornandHardartpumpkinpie.“Icouldkickmyself,”hesaid.“Ipassedtwoofthosedamnretailstores;not

onebuttwo.”“It’s all right,” Rosemary said. “We can have fruit and cheese. That’s the

bestdessertanyway,really.”“Itisnot;HornandHardartpumpkinpieis.”Hewentintowashupandsheputatrayofstuffedmushroomsintotheoven

andmixedthesaladdressing.InafewminutesGuycametothekitchendoor,buttoningthecollarofablue

velourshirt.Hewasbright-eyedandabitonedge,thewayhehadbeenthefirsttime they slept together, when he knew it was going to happen. It pleasedRosemarytoseehimthatway.

“YourpalthePopereallylouseduptraffictoday,”hesaid.“Did you see any of the television?” she asked. “They’ve had fantastic

coverage.”“IgotaglimpseupatAllan’s,”hesaid.“Glassesinthefreezer?”“Yes.Hemade awonderful speech at theUN. ‘War never again,’ he told

them.”“Rotsaruck.Hey,thoselookgood.”TheyhadGibsonsand thestuffedmushrooms in the living room.Guyput

crumplednewspaperand sticksofkindlingon the fireplacegrate, and twobigchunksofcannelcoal.“Heregoesnothing,”hesaid,andstruckamatchandlitthepaper.Itflamedhighandcaughtthekindling.Darksmokebeganspillingoutoverthefrontofthemantelanduptowardtheceiling.“Goodgrief,”Guysaid,andgropedinsidethefireplace.“Thepaint,thepaint!”Rosemarycried.

Hegottheflueopened;andtheairconditioner,setatexhaust,drewoutthesmoke.

“Nobody,butnobody,hasafiretonight,”Guysaid.Rosemary, kneeling with her drink and staring into the spitting flame-

wrapped coals, said, “Isn’t it gorgeous? I hopewe have the coldest winter ineightyyears.”

GuyputonEllaFitzgeraldsingingColePorter.Theywere halfway through the swordfishwhen the doorbell rang. “Shit,”

Guysaid.Hegotup,tosseddownhisnapkin,andwenttoanswerit.Rosemarycockedherheadandlistened.

The door opened and Minnie said, “Hi, Guy!” and more that wasunintelligible.Oh, no, Rosemary thought.Don’t let her in,Guy. Not now, nottonight.

Guy spoke, and thenMinnie again: “…extra.We don’t need them.” GuyagainandMinnieagain.Rosemaryeasedoutheld-inbreath;itdidn’tsoundasifshewascomingin,thankGod.

The door closed andwas chained (Good!) and bolted (Good!). Rosemarywatchedandwaited,andGuysidledintothearchway,smilingsmugly,withbothhandsbehindhisback.“Whosaysthere’snothingtoESP?”hesaid,andcoming

towardthetablebroughtforthhishandswithtwowhitecustardcupssittingoneoneachpalm.“MadameandMonsieurshallhavezedessairtafterall,”hesaid,settingonecupbyRosemary’swineglassandtheotherbyhisown.“Mousseauchocolat,”hesaid,“or‘chocolatemouse,’asMinniecallsit.Ofcoursewithheritcouldbechocolatemouse,soeatwithcare.”

Rosemary laughed happily. “That’swonderful,” she said. “It’swhat I wasgoingtomake.”

“See?”Guy said, sitting. “ESP.”He replaced his napkin and pouredmorewine.

“I was afraid she was going to come charging in and stay all evening,”Rosemarysaid,forkingupcarrots.

“No,”Guy said, “she justwantedus to try her chocolatemouse, seein’ ashowit’soneofherspeci-al-ities.”

“Itlooksgood.”“Itdoes,doesn’tit.”Thecupswerefilledwithpeakedswirlsofchocolate.Guy’swastoppedwith

asprinklingofchoppednuts,andRosemary’swithahalfwalnut.“It’ssweetofher,really,”Rosemarysaid.“Weshouldn’tmakefunofher.”“You’reright,”Guysaid,“you’reright.”

The mousse was excellent, but it had a chalky undertaste that remindedRosemary of blackboards and grade school. Guy tried but could find no“undertaste”atall,chalkyorotherwise.Rosemaryputherspoondownaftertwoswallows.Guysaid,“Aren’tyougoingtofinishit?That’ssilly,honey;there’sno‘undertaste.’”

Rosemarysaidtherewas.“Comeon,”Guysaid,“theoldbatslavedalldayoverahotstove;eatit.”“ButIdon’tlikeit,”Rosemarysaid.“It’sdelicious.”“Youcanhavemine.”Guyscowled.“All right,don’t eat it,”he said;“youdon’twear thecharm

shegaveyou,youmightaswellnoteatherdesserttoo.”Confused,Rosemarysaid,“Whatdoesonethinghavetodowiththeother?”“They’re both examples of—well, unkindness, that’s all.”Guy said. “Two

minutesagoyousaidweshouldstopmakingfunofher.That’saformofmakingfuntoo,acceptingsomethingandthennotusingit.”

“Oh—”Rosemarypickedupherspoon.“Ifit’sgoingtoturnintoabigscene—”Shetookafullspoonfulofthemousseandthrustitintohermouth.

“Itisn’tgoingtoturnintoabigscene,”Guysaid.“Look,ifyoureallycan’tstandit,don’teatit.”

“Delicious,”Rosemarysaid,full-mouthedandtakinganotherspoonful,“noundertasteatall.Turntherecordsover.”

Guygotupandwenttotherecordplayer.Rosemarydoubledhernapkininher lap and plopped two spoonfuls of the mousse into it, and another half-spoonful for good measure. She folded the napkin closed and then showilyscrapedclean the insideof thecupandswalloweddown the scrapingsasGuycamebacktothetable.“There,Daddy,”shesaid,tiltingthecuptowardhim.“DoIgetagoldstaronmychart?”

“Twoofthem,”hesaid.“I’msorryifIwasstuffy.”“Youwere.”“I’msorry.”Hesmiled.Rosemary melted. “You’re forgiven,” she said. “It’s nice that you’re

considerateofoldladies.Itmeansyou’llbeconsiderateofmewhenI’mone.”Theyhadcoffeeandcrèmedementhe.“Margaretcalledthisafternoon,”Rosemarysaid.“Margaret?”“Mysister.”“Oh.Everythingokay?”“Yes.Shewasafraidsomethinghadhappenedtome.Shehadafeeling.”“Oh?”“We’retostayhometonight.”“Drat.AndImadeareservationatNedick’s.IntheOrangeRoom.”“You’llhavetocancelit.”“Howcomeyouturnedoutsanewhentherestofyourfamilyisnutty?”

ThefirstwaveofdizzinesscaughtRosemaryatthekitchensinkasshescrapedtheuneatenmoussefromhernapkin into thedrain.Sheswayedforamoment,thenblinkedandfrowned.Guy,intheden,said,“Heisn’tthereyet.Christ,whatamob.”ThePopeatYankeeStadium.

“I’llbeininaminute,”Rosemarysaid.Shakingherheadtoclearit,sherolledthenapkinsupinsidethetablecloth

andputthebundleasideforthehamper.Sheputthestopperinthedrain,turned

on the hotwater, squeezed in some Joy, and began loading in the dishes andpans.Shewoulddotheminthemorning,letthemsoakovernight.

The second wave came as she was hanging up the dish towel. It lastedlonger,and this time the roomturnedslowlyaroundandher legsalmostsluedoutfromunderher.Shehungontotheedgeofthesink.

Whenitwasovershesaid“Ohboy,”andaddeduptwoGibsons,twoglassesofwine(orhaditbeenthree?),andonecrèmedementhe.Nowonder.

Shemadeittothedoorwayofthedenandkeptherfootingthroughthenextwavebyholdingontotheknobwithonehandandthejambwiththeother.

“Whatisit?”Guyasked,standingupanxiously.“Dizzy,”shesaid,andsmiled.Hesnappedoff theTVandcame toher, tookherarmandheldher surely

around thewaist.“Nowonder,”hesaid.“All thatbooze.Youprobablyhadanemptystomach,too.”

Hehelpedhertowardthebedroomand,whenherlegsbuckled,caughtherupandcarriedher.Heputherdownon thebedandsatbesideher, takingherhand and strokingher forehead sympathetically. She closedher eyes.Thebedwasaraftthatfloatedongentleripples,tiltingandswayingpleasantly.“Nice,”shesaid.

“Sleepiswhatyouneed,”Guysaid,strokingherforehead.“Agoodnight’ssleep.”

“Wehavetomakeababy.”“Wewill.Tomorrow.There’splentyoftime.”“Missingthemass.”“Sleep.Getagoodnight’ssleep.Goon…”“Justanap,”shesaid,andwassittingwithadrinkinherhandonPresident

Kennedy’s yacht. It was sunny and breezy, a perfect day for a cruise. ThePresident,studyingalargemap,gaveterseandknowinginstructionstoaNegromate.

Guyhadtakenoffthetopofherpajamas.“Whyareyoutakingthemoff?”sheasked.

“Tomakeyoumorecomfortable,”hesaid.“I’mcomfortable.”“Sleep,Ro.”Heundidthesnapsathersideandslowlydrewoffthebottoms.Thoughtshe

wasasleepanddidn’tknow.Nowshehadnothingonatallexceptaredbikini,but the other women on the yacht—Jackie Kennedy, Pat Lawford, and Sarah

Churchill—werewearing bikinis too, so it was all right, thank goodness. ThePresident was in his Navy uniform. He had completely recovered from theassassinationandlookedbetterthanever.Hutchwasstandingonthedockwitharmloads of weather-forecasting equipment. “Isn’t Hutch coming with us?”RosemaryaskedthePresident.

“Catholics only,” he said, smiling. “I wish we weren’t bound by theseprejudices,butunfortunatelyweare.”

“ButwhataboutSarahChurchill?”Rosemaryasked.Sheturnedtopoint,butSarahChurchillwas gone and the familywas there in her place:Ma, Pa, andeverybody,withthehusbands,wives,andchildren.Margaretwaspregnant,andsowereJeanandDodieandErnestine.

Guywastakingoffherweddingring.Shewonderedwhy,butwastootiredtoask.“Sleep,”shesaid,andslept.

ItwasthefirsttimetheSistineChapelhadbeenopenedtothepublicandshewasinspectingtheceilingonanewelevatorthatcarriedthevisitorthroughthechapel horizontally, making it possible to see the frescoes exactly asMichelangelo,paintingthem,hadseenthem.Howglorioustheywere!ShesawGodextendinghisfingertoAdam,givinghimthedivinesparkoflife;andtheunderside of a shelf partly covered with gingham contact paper as she wascarriedbackward through the linen closet. “Easy,”Guy said, and anothermansaid,“You’vegothertoohigh.”

“Typhoon!”Hutch shouted from thedockamidallhisweather-forecastingequipment.“Typhoon!Itkilledfifty-fivepeopleinLondonandit’sheadingthisway!”AndRosemaryknewhewasright.ShemustwarnthePresident.Theshipwasheadingfordisaster.

ButthePresidentwasgone.Everyonewasgone.Thedeckwasinfiniteandbare,exceptfor,faraway,theNegromateholdingthewheelunremittinglyonitscourse.

Rosemarywenttohimandsawatoncethathehatedallwhitepeople,hatedher.“You’dbettergodownbelow,Miss,”hesaid,courteousbuthatingher,notevenwaitingtohearthewarningshehadbrought.

Belowwasahugeballroomwhereononesideachurchburnedfiercelyandontheotherablack-beardedmanstoodglaringather.Inthecenterwasabed.Shewent to itand laydown,andwassuddenlysurroundedbynakedmenandwomen, tenoradozen,withGuyamong them.Theywereelderly, thewomengrotesque and slack-breasted.Minnie and her friend Laura-Louisewere there,andRomaninablackmiterandablacksilkrobe.Withathinblackwandhewas

drawingdesignsonherbody,dippingthewand’spointinacupofredheldforhimbyasun-brownedmanwithawhitemoustache.Thepointmovedbackandforth acrossher stomachanddown ticklingly to the insidesofher thighs.Thenakedpeoplewerechanting—flat,unmusical,foreign-tonguedsyllables—andafluteorclarinetaccompaniedthem.“She’sawake,shesees!”GuywhisperedtoMinnie.Hewaslarge-eyed,tense.“Shedon’tsee,”Minniesaid.“Aslongassheatethemouseshecan’tseenorhear.She’slikedead.Nowsing.”

JackieKennedycameintotheballroominanexquisitegownofivorysatinembroideredwithpearls.“I’msosorrytohearyouaren’tfeelingwell,”shesaid,hurryingtoRosemary’sside.

Rosemaryexplainedaboutthemouse-bite,minimizingitsoJackiewouldn’tworry.

“You’d better have your legs tied down,” Jackie said, “in case ofconvulsions.”

“Yes,Isupposeso,”Rosemarysaid.“There’salwaysachanceitwasrabid.”Shewatchedwithinterestaswhite-smockedinternstiedherlegs,andherarmstoo,tothefourbedposts.

“If the music bothers you,” Jackie said, “let me know and I’ll have itstopped.”

“Oh,no,”Rosemarysaid.“Pleasedon’tchangetheprogramonmyaccount.Itdoesn’tbothermeatall,reallyitdoesn’t.”

Jackiesmiledwarmlyather.“Trytosleep,”shesaid.“We’llbewaitingupondeck.”Shewithdrew,hersatingownwhispering.

Rosemary slept awhile, and thenGuycame in andbeganmaking love toher.Hestrokedherwithbothhands—along,relishingstrokethatbeganatherbound wrists, slid down over her arms, breasts, and loins, and became avoluptuousticklingbetweenherlegs.Herepeatedtheexcitingstrokeagainandagain, his hands hot and sharp-nailed, and then, when she was ready-ready-more-than-ready, he slipped ahand inunderher buttocks, raised them, lodgedhishardnessagainsther,andpusheditpowerfullyin.Biggerhewasthanalways;painfully,wonderfullybig.Helayforwarduponher,hisotherarmslidingunderher back to hold her, his broad chest crushing her breasts. (He was wearing,becauseitwastobeacostumeparty,asuitofcoarseleatheryarmor.)Brutally,rhythmically,hedrovehisnewhugeness.Sheopenedhereyesandlookedintoyellow furnace-eyes, smelled sulphur and tannis root, felt wet breath on hermouth,heardlust-gruntsandthebreathingofonlookers.

Thisisnodream,shethought.Thisisreal,thisishappening.Protestwokein

hereyesandthroat,butsomethingcoveredherface,smotheringherinasweetstench.

Thehugenesskeptdrivinginher,theleatherybodybangingitselfagainstheragainandagainandagain.

ThePopecameinwithasuitcase inhishandandacoatoverhisarm.“Jackietellsmeyou’vebeenbittenbyamouse,”hesaid.

“Yes,”Rosemarysaid.“That’swhyIdidn’tcomeseeyou.”Shespokesadly,sohewouldn’tsuspectshehadjusthadanorgasm.

“That’s all right,” he said. “We wouldn’t want you to jeopardize yourhealth.”

“AmIforgiven,Father?”sheasked.“Absolutely,”hesaid.Heheldouthishandforhertokissthering.Itsstone

wasasilverfiligreeballlessthananinchindiameter;insideit,verytiny,AnnaMariaAlberghettisatwaiting.

RosemarykisseditandthePopehurriedouttocatchhisplane.

CHAPTER9

“HEY,IT’SAFTERNINE,”Guysaid,shakinghershoulder.She pushed his hand away and turned over onto her stomach. “Five

minutes,”shesaid,deepinthepillow.“No,”hesaid,andyankedherhair.“I’vegottobeatDominick’satten.”“Eatout.”“ThehellIwill.”Heslappedherbehindthroughtheblanket.Everythingcameback: thedreams, thedrinks,Minnie’schocolatemousse,

thePope,thatawfulmomentofnot-dreaming.Sheturnedbackoverandraisedherselfonherarms,lookingatGuy.Hewaslightingacigarette,sleep-rumpled,needingashave.Hehadpajamason.Shewasnude.

“Whattimeisit?”sheasked.“Tenafternine.”“WhattimedidIgotosleep?”Shesatup.“Abouteight-thirty,”hesaid.“Andyoudidn’tgotosleep,honey;youpassed

out.Fromnowonyougetcocktailsorwine,notcocktailsandwine.”“The dreams I had,” she said, rubbing her forehead and closing her eyes.

“PresidentKennedy,thePope,MinnieandRoman…”Sheopenedhereyesandsawscratchesonherleftbreast;twoparallelhairlinesofredrunningdownintothenipple.Her thighs stung; shepushed theblanket from themand sawmorescratches,sevenoreightgoingthiswayandthat.

“Don’t yell,” Guy said. “I already filed them down.” He showed shortsmoothfingernails.

Rosemarylookedathimuncomprehendingly.“Ididn’twanttomissBabyNight,”hesaid.

“Youmeanyou—”“Andacoupleofmynailswereragged.”“WhileIwas—out?”Henoddedandgrinned.“Itwaskindoffun,”hesaid,“inanecrophilesortof

way.”She looked away, her hands pulling the blanket back over her thighs. “I

dreamedsomeonewas—rapingme,”shesaid.“Idon’tknowwho.Someone—unhuman.”

“Thanksalot,”Guysaid.“Youwerethere,andMinnieandRoman,otherpeople…Itwassomekindof

ceremony.”“Itriedtowakeyou,”hesaid,“butyouwereoutlikealight.”Sheturnedfurtherawayandswungherlegsoutontheothersideofthebed.“What’sthematter?”Guyasked.“Nothing,”shesaid,sittingthere,notlookingaroundathim.“IguessIfeel

funnyaboutyourdoingitthatway,withmeunconscious.”“Ididn’twanttomissthenight,”hesaid.“Wecouldhavedoneitthismorningortonight.Lastnightwasn’ttheonly

splitsecondinthewholemonth.Andevenifithadbeen…”“Ithoughtyouwouldhavewantedmeto,”hesaid,andranafingerupher

back.Shesquirmedawayfromit.“It’ssupposedtobeshared,notoneawakeand

oneasleep,”shesaid.Then:“Oh,IguessI’mbeingsilly.”Shegotupandwenttotheclosetforherhousecoat.

“I’msorryIscratchedyou,”Guysaid.“Iwasaweebitloadedmyself.”Shemadebreakfastand,whenGuyhadgone,didthesinkfulofdishesand

putthekitchentorights.Sheopenedwindowsinthelivingroomandbedroom—thesmellof lastnight’sfirestill lingeredin theapartment—madethebed,andtook a shower; a long one, first hot and then cold. She stood capless andimmobileunderthedownpour,waitingforherheadtoclearandherthoughtstofindanorderandconclusion.

Hadlastnightreallybeen,asGuyhadputit,BabyNight?Wasshenow,atthis moment, actually pregnant? Oddly enough, she didn’t care. She wasunhappy—whetherornot itwas silly tobe so.Guyhad takenherwithoutherknowledge, had made love to her as a mindless body (“kind of fun in anecrophilesortofway”)ratherthanasthecompletemind-and-bodypersonshewas; and had done so, moreover, with a savage gusto that had produced

scratches, aching soreness, and a nightmare so real and intense that she couldalmost see on her stomach the designsRoman had drawnwith his red-dippedwand.Shescrubbedsoaponherselfvigorously,resentfully.True,hehaddoneitfor thebestmotivein theworld, tomakeababy,andtruetoohehaddrunkasmuchasshehad;butshewishedthatnomotiveandnonumberofdrinkscouldhaveenabledhimtotakeherthatway,takingonlyherbodywithouthersoulorselforshe-ness—whateveritwashepresumablyloved.Now,lookingbackoverthepastweeksandmonths,shefeltadisturbingpresenceofoverlookedsignalsjustbeyondmemory,signalsofashortcominginhisloveforher,ofadisparitybetweenwhat he said andwhat he felt.Hewas an actor; could anyone knowwhenanactorwastrueandnotacting?

Itwouldtakemorethanashowertowashawaythesethoughts.Sheturnedthewateroffand,betweenbothhands,pressedoutherstreaminghair.

On theway out to shop she rang theCastevets’ doorbell and returned thecups from themousse. “Didyou like it, dear?”Minnie asked. “I think I put alittletoomuchcreamdecocoainit.”

“Itwasdelicious,”Rosemarysaid.“You’llhavetogivemetherecipe.”“I’d love to.You goingmarketing?Would you dome a teeny favor? Six

eggsandasmallInstantSanka;I’llpayyoulater.Ihategoingoutforjustoneortwothings,don’tyou?”

TherewasdistancenowbetweenherandGuy,butheseemednottobeawareofit.Hisplaywasgoing intorehearsalNovemberfirst—Don’t IKnowYouFromSomewhere?wasthenameofit—andhespentagreatdealoftimestudyinghispart,practicingtheuseof thecrutchesandleg-braces itcalledfor,andvisitingthe Highbridge section of the Bronx, the play’s locale. They had dinner withfriendsmoreevenings thannot;when theydidn’t, theymadenatural-soundingconversationaboutfurnitureandtheending-any-day-nownewspaperstrikeandtheWorldSeries.Theywenttoapreviewofanewmusicalandascreeningofanew movie, to parties and the opening of a friend’s exhibit of metalconstructions.Guyseemednevertobelookingather,alwaysatascriptorTVoratsomeoneelse.Hewasinbedandasleepbeforeshewas.OneeveninghewenttotheCastevets’tohearmoreofRoman’stheaterstories,andshestayedintheapartmentandwatchedFunnyFaceonTV.

“Don’tyou thinkweought to talk about it?” she said thenextmorningatbreakfast.

“Aboutwhat?”She looked at him; he seemed genuinely unknowing. “The conversations

we’vebeenmaking,”shesaid.“Whatdoyoumean?”“Thewayyouhaven’tbeenlookingatme.”“Whatareyoutalkingabout?I’vebeenlookingatyou.”“Noyouhaven’t.”“Ihaveso.Honey,whatisit?What’sthematter?”“Nothing.Nevermind.”“No,don’tsaythat.Whatisit?What’sbotheringyou?”“Nothing.”“Ahlook,honey,IknowI’vebeenkindofpreoccupied,withthepartandthe

crutchesandall;isthatit?Wellgeewhiz,Ro,it’simportant,youknow?Butitdoesn’t mean I don’t love you, just because I’m not riveting you with apassionategazeallthetime.I’vegottothinkaboutpracticalmatterstoo.”Itwasawkwardandcharmingandsincere,likehisplayingofthecowboyinBusStop.

“Allright,”Rosemarysaid.“I’msorryI’mbeingpesty.”“You?Youcouldn’tbepestyifyoutried.”Heleanedacrossthetableandkissedher.

Hutch had a cabin near Brewster where he spent occasional weekends.Rosemary called him and asked if she might use it for three or four days,possiblyaweek.“Guy’sgettingintohisnewpart,”sheexplained,“andIreallythinkit’llbeeasierforhimwithmeoutoftheway.”

“It’s yours,” Hutch said, and Rosemary went down to his apartment onLexingtonAvenueandTwenty-fourthStreettopickupthekey.

Shelookedinfirstatadelicatessenwheretheclerkswerefriendsfromherown days in the neighborhood, and then she went up to Hutch’s apartment,whichwassmallanddarkandneatasapin,withaninscribedphotoofWinstonChurchill and a sofa that had belonged to Madame Pompadour. Hutch wassittingbarefootbetweentwobridgetables,eachwithitstypewriterandpilesofpaper.Hispracticewastowritetwobooksatonce,turningtothesecondwhenhestruckasnagonthefirst,andbacktothefirstwhenhestruckasnagonthesecond.

“I’m really looking forward to it,” Rosemary said, sitting on MadamePompadour’ssofa.“IsuddenlyrealizedtheotherdaythatI’veneverbeenalone

inmywhole life—not formore thana fewhours, that is.The ideaof threeorfourdaysisheaven.”

“Achance tositquietlyandfindoutwhoyouare;whereyou’vebeenandwhereyou’regoing.”

“Exactly.”“Allright,youcanstopforcingthatsmile,”Hutchsaid.“Didhehityouwith

alamp?”“Hedidn’thitmewithanything,”Rosemarysaid.“It’saverydifficultpart,a

crippled boywhopretends that he’s adjusted to his crippled-ness.He’s got towork with crutches and leg-braces, and naturally he’s preoccupied and—and,well,preoccupied.”

“I see,” Hutch said. “We’ll change the subject. The News had a lovelyrundowntheotherdayofall thegorewemissedduringthestrike.Whydidn’tyoutellmeyou’dhadanothersuicideupthereatHappyHouse?”

“Oh,didn’tItellyou?”Rosemaryasked.“No,youdidn’t,”Hutchsaid.“Itwassomeoneweknew.ThegirlItoldyouabout;theonewho’dbeena

drugaddictandwasrehabilitatedbytheCastevets,thesepeoplewholiveonourfloor.I’msureItoldyouthat.”

“Thegirlwhowasgoingtothebasementwithyou.”“That’sright.”“They didn’t rehabilitate her very successfully, it would seem. Was she

livingwiththem?”“Yes,” Rosemary said. “We’ve gotten to know them fairly well since it

happened.Guygoesoverthereonceinawhiletohearstoriesaboutthetheater.Mr.Castevet’sfatherwasaproduceraroundtheturnofthecentury.”

“Ishouldn’thavethoughtGuywouldbeinterested,”Hutchsaid.“Anelderlycouple,Itakeit?”

“He’sseventy-nine;she’sseventyorso.”“It’sanoddname,”Hutchsaid.“Howisitspelled?”Rosemaryspelleditforhim.“I’veneverhearditbefore,”hesaid.“French,Isuppose.”“Thenamemaybebut theyaren’t,”Rosemarysaid.“He’s fromrighthere

andshe’sfromaplacecalled—believeitornot—Bushyhead,Oklahoma.”“MyGod,”Hutchsaid.“I’mgoingtousethatinabook.Thatone.Iknow

justwhere toput it.Tellme,howareyouplanning toget to thecabin?You’llneedacar,youknow.”

“I’mgoingtorentone.”“Takemine.”“Ohno,Hutch,Icouldn’t.”“Do,please,”Hutchsaid.“AllIdoismoveitfromonesideofthestreetto

theother.Please.You’llsavemeagreatdealofbother.”Rosemarysmiled. “All right,” she said. “I’lldoyoua favorand takeyour

car.”Hutchgaveherthekeystothecarandthecabin,asketch-mapoftheroute,

and a typed list of instructions concerning the pump, the refrigerator, and avarietyofpossibleemergencies.Thenheputonshoesandacoatandwalkedherdown to where the car, an old light-blue Oldsmobile, was parked. “Theregistrationpapersare in theglovecompartment,”hesaid.“Please feel free tostay as long as you like. I have no immediate plans for either the car or thecabin.”

“I’msureIwon’tstaymorethanaweek,”Rosemarysaid.“Guymightnotevenwantmetostaythatlong.”

Whenshewassettledinthecar,Hutchleanedinatthewindowandsaid,“Ihave all kinds of good advice to give you but I’m going to mind my ownbusinessifitkillsme.”

Rosemarykissedhim.“Thankyou,”shesaid.“Forthatandforthisandforeverything.”

She lefton themorningofSaturday,October16th,andstayedfivedaysat thecabin.Thefirst twodayssheneveroncethoughtaboutGuy—afittingrevengefor thecheerfulnesswithwhichhehadagreed tohergoing.Didshe lookas ifsheneededagoodrest?Verywell,shewouldhaveone,alongone,neveroncethinkingabouthim.Shetookwalksthroughdazzlingyellow-and-orangewoods,went to sleep early and slept late, read Flight of The Falcon by Daphne duMaurier,andmadeglutton’smealsonthebottled-gasstove.Neveroncethinkingabouthim.

Onthethirddayshethoughtabouthim.Hewasvain,self-centered,shallow,anddeceitful.Hehadmarriedhertohaveanaudience,notamate.(LittleMissJust-out-of-Omaha, what a goop she had been! “Oh, I’m used to actors; I’vebeen here almost a year now.” And she had all but followed him around thestudiocarryinghisnewspaperinhermouth.)Shewouldgivehimayeartoshapeupandbecomeagoodhusband;ifhedidn’tmakeitshewouldpullout,andwith

noreligiousqualmswhatever.Andmeanwhileshewouldgobacktoworkandgetagainthatsenseofindependenceandself-sufficiencyshehadbeensoeagertogetridof.Shewouldbestrongandproudandreadytogoifhefailedtomeetherstandards.

Those glutton’smeals—man-size cans of beef stew and chili con carne—begantodisagreewithher,andonthatthirddayshewasmildlynauseatedandcouldeatonlysoupandcrackers.

On the fourthday she awokemissinghimand cried.Whatwas shedoingthere,aloneinthatcoldcrummycabin?Whathadhedonethatwassoterrible?HehadgottendrunkandhadgrabbedherwithoutsayingmayI.Well thatwasreallyanearth-shakingoffense,nowwasn’tit?Therehewas,facingthebiggestchallengeofhiscareer,andshe—insteadofbeingtheretohelphim,tocueandencourage him—was off in the middle of nowhere, eating herself sick andfeeling sorry for herself. Sure hewas vain and self-centered; hewas an actor,wasn’t he?LaurenceOlivierwas probably vain and self-centered.Andyes hemightlienowandthen;wasn’tthatexactlywhathadattractedherandstilldid?—thatfreedomandnonchalancesodifferentfromherownboxed-inpropriety?

She drove into Brewster and called him. Service answered, the FriendlyOne:“Ohhi,dear,areyoubackfromthecountry?Oh.Guyisout,dear;canhecallyou?You’llcallhimatfive.Right.You’vecertainlygotlovelyweather.Areyouenjoyingyourself?Good.”

Atfivehewasstillout,hermessagewaitingforhim.Sheateinadinerandwenttotheonemovietheater.AtninehewasstilloutandServicewassomeonenewandautomaticwithamessageforher:sheshouldcallhimbeforeeightthenextmorningoraftersixintheevening.

Thatnextdayshereachedwhatseemedlikeasensibleandrealisticviewofthings.Theywerebothatfault;heforbeingthoughtlessandself-absorbed,sheforfailingtoexpressandexplainherdiscontent.Hecouldhardlybeexpectedtochangeuntilsheshowedhimthatchangewascalledfor.Shehadonlytotalk—no,theyhadonlytotalk,forhemightbeharboringasimilardiscontentofwhichshe was similarly unaware—and matters couldn’t help but improve. Like somanyunhappinesses,thisonehadbegunwithsilenceintheplaceofhonestopentalk.

ShewentintoBrewsteratsixandcalledandhewasthere.“Hi,darling,”hesaid.“Howareyou?”

“Fine.Howareyou?”“Allright.Imissyou.”

She smiled at the phone. “I miss you,” she said. “I’m coming hometomorrow.”

“Good,that’sgreat,”hesaid.“Allkindsofthingshavebeengoingonhere.RehearsalshavebeenpostponeduntilJanuary.”

“Oh?”“Theyhaven’tbeenabletocastthelittlegirl.It’sabreakformethough;I’m

goingtodoapilotnextmonth.Ahalf-hourcomedyseries.”“Youare?”“It fell intomylap,Ro.Andit really looksgood.ABCloves the idea. It’s

calledGreenwichVillage;it’sgoingtobefilmedthere,andI’maway-outwriter.It’spracticallythelead.”

“That’smarvelous,Guy!”“AllansaysI’msuddenlyveryhot.”“That’swonderful!”“Listen, I’ve got to shower and shave; he’s takingme to a screening that

StanleyKubrickisgoingtobeat.Whenareyougoingtogetin?”“Aroundnoon,maybeearlier.”“I’llbewaiting.Loveyou.”“Loveyou!”ShecalledHutch,whowasout,andleftwordwithhisservicethatshewould

returnthecarthefollowingafternoon.The next morning she cleaned the cabin, closed it up and locked it, and

drovebacktothecity.TrafficontheSawMillRiverParkwaywasbottleneckedbyathree-carcollision,anditwasclosetooneo’clockwhensheparkedthecarhalf-inhalf-out-ofthebusstopinfrontoftheBramford.Withhersmallsuitcaseshehurriedintothehouse.

The elevatorman hadn’t takenGuy down, but he had been off duty fromeleven-fifteentotwelve.

Hewas there, though.TheNoStrings albumwasplaying.Sheopenedhermouthtocallandhecameoutofthebedroominafreshshirtandtie,headedforthekitchenwithausedcoffeecupinhishand.

They kissed, lovingly and fully, he hugging her one-armed because of thecup.

“Haveagoodtime?”heasked.“Terrible.Awful.Imissedyouso.”“Howareyou?”“Fine.HowwasStanleyKubrick?”

“Didn’tshow,thefink.”Theykissedagain.She brought her suitcase into the bedroom and opened it on the bed. He

cameinwithtwocupsofcoffee,gaveherone,andsatonthevanitybenchwhileshe unpacked. She told him about the yellow-and-orange woods and the stillnights; he told her aboutGreenwich Village, who else was in it and who theproducers,writers,anddirectorwere.

“Are you really fine?” he asked when she was zipping closed the emptycase.

Shedidn’tunderstand.“Yourperiod,”hesaid.“ItwasdueonTuesday.”“Itwas?”Henodded.“Wellit’sjusttwodays,”shesaid—matter-of-factly,asifherheartweren’t

racing,leaping.“It’sprobablythechangeofwater,orthefoodIateupthere.”“You’veneverbeenlatebefore,”hesaid.“It’llprobablycometonight.Ortomorrow.”“Youwanttobet?”“Yes.”“Aquarter?”“Okay.”“You’regoingtolose,Ro.”“Shut up. You’re getting me all jumpy. It’s only two days. It’ll probably

cometonight.”

CHAPTER10

ITDIDN’TCOMEthatnightor thenextday.Or thedayafter thator thedayafter that.Rosemarymoved gently,walked lightly, so as not to dislodgewhatmightpossiblyhavetakenholdinsideher.

TalkwithGuy?No,thatcouldwait.Everythingcouldwait.Shecleaned, shopped,andcooked,breathingcarefully.Laura-Louisecame

downonemorningandaskedhertovoteforBuckley.Shesaidshewould,togetridofher.

“Givememyquarter,”Guysaid.“Shutup,”shesaid,givinghisarmabackhandpunch.Shemade an appointmentwith an obstetrician and, on Thursday,October

28th,wenttoseehim.HisnamewasDr.Hill.Hehadbeenrecommendedtoherby a friend, Elise Dunstan, who had used him through two pregnancies andsworebyhim.HisofficewasonWestSeventy-secondStreet.

HewasyoungerthanRosemaryhadexpected—Guy’sageorevenless—andhelookedalittlebitlikeDr.Kildareontelevision.Shelikedhim.Heaskedherquestions slowly and with interest, examined her, and sent her to a lab onSixtiethStreetwhereanursedrewbloodfromherrightarm.

Hecalledthenextafternoonatthree-thirty.“Mrs.Woodhouse?”“Dr.Hill?”“Yes.Congratulations.”“Really?”“Really.”

Shesatdownonthesideofthebed,smilingpastthephone.Really,really,really,really,really.

“Areyouthere?”“Whathappensnow?”sheasked.“Verylittle.Youcomeinandseemeagainnextmonth.Andyougetthose

Natalinpillsandstarttakingthem.Oneaday.AndyoufilloutsomeformsthatI’mgoingtomailyou—forthehospital;it’sbesttogetthereservationinassoonaspossible.”

“Whenwillitbe?”sheasked.“If your last periodwasSeptember twenty-first,”he said, “itworksout to

Junetwenty-eighth.”“Thatsoundssofaraway.”“It is. Oh, onemore thing,Mrs.Woodhouse. The lab would like another

bloodsample.CouldyoudropbytheretomorroworMondayandletthemhaveit?”

“Yes,ofcourse,”Rosemarysaid.“Whatfor?”“Thenursedidn’ttakeasmuchassheshouldhave.”“But—I’mpregnant,aren’tI?”“Yes,theydidthattest,”Dr.Hillsaid,“butIgenerallyhavethemrunafew

othersbesides—bloodsugarandsoforth—andthenursedidn’tknowandonlytookenoughfortheone.It’snothingtobeconcernedabout.You’repregnant.Igiveyoumyword.”

“Allright,”shesaid.“I’llgobacktomorrowmorning.”“Doyouremembertheaddress?”“Yes,Istillhavethecard.”“I’llput thoseformsin themail,and let’sseeyouagain—the lastweek in

November.”TheymadeanappointmentforNovember29thatoneo’clockandRosemary

hungupfeelingthatsomethingwaswrong.Thenurseatthelabhadseemedtoknow exactly what she was doing, and Dr. Hill’s offhandedness in speakingaboutherhadn’tquiterungtrue.Weretheyafraidamistakehadbeenmade?—vialsofbloodmixedupandwronglylabeled?—andwastherestillapossibilitythatshewasn’tpregnant?Butwouldn’tDr.Hillhavetoldhersofranklyandnothavebeenasdefiniteashehad?

Shetriedtoshakeitaway.Ofcourseshewaspregnant;shehadtobe,withher period so long overdue. Shewent into the kitchen,where awall calendarhung,andinthenextday’ssquarewroteLab;andin thesquareforNovember

29th,Dr.Hill—1:00.

WhenGuycameinshewenttohimwithoutsayingawordandputaquarterinhis hand. “What’s this for?” he asked, and then caught on. “Oh, that’s great,honey!” he said. “Just great!”—and taking her by the shoulders he kissed hertwiceandthenathirdtime.

“Isn’tit?”shesaid.“Justgreat.I’msohappy.”“Father.”“Mother.”“Guy,listen,”shesaid,andlookedupathim,suddenlyserious.“Let’smake

thisanewbeginning,okay?Anewopennessandtalking-to-each-other.Becausewehaven’tbeenopen.You’vebeensowrappedupintheshowandthepilotandthewaythingshavebeenbreakingforyou—I’mnotsayingyoushouldn’tbe;itwouldn’tbenormalifyouweren’t.Butthat’swhyIwenttothecabin,Guy.Tosettleinmymindwhatwasgoingwrongbetweenus.Andthat’swhatitwas,andis:alackofopenness.Onmyparttoo.Onmypartasmuchasyours.”

“It’s true,”hesaid,hishandsholdingher shoulders,hiseyesmeetinghersearnestly.“It’s true.Ifelt it too.Notasmuchasyoudid,Iguess.I’msoGod-damnedself-centered,Ro.That’swhatthewholetroubleis.Iguessit’swhyI’minthisidiotnuttyprofessiontobeginwith.YouknowIloveyouthough,don’tyou?Ido,Ro.I’lltrytomakeitplainerfromnowon,IsweartoGodIwill.I’llbeasopenas—”

“It’smyfaultasmuchas—”“Bull.It’smine.Meandmyself-centeredness.Bearwithme,willyou,Ro?

I’lltrytodobetter.”“Oh,Guy,”shesaidinatideofremorseandloveandforgiveness,andmet

hiskisseswithferventkissesofherown.“Finewayforparentstobecarryingon,”hesaid.Shelaughed,wet-eyed.“Gee,honey,”hesaid,“doyouknowwhatI’dlovetodo?”“What?”“Tell Minnie and Roman.” He raised a hand. “I know, I know; we’re

supposedtokeepitadeepdarksecret.ButItoldthemweweretryingandtheyweresopleased,and,well,withpeoplethatold”—hespreadhishandsruefully—“ifwewaittoolongtheymightnevergettoknowatall.”

“Tellthem,”shesaid,lovinghim.Hekissedhernose.“Backintwominutes,”hesaid,andturnedandhurried

to the door. Watching him go, she saw that Minnie and Roman had becomedeeply important to him. It wasn’t surprising; his mother was a busy self-involvedchattererandnoneofhisfathershadbeentrulyfatherly.TheCastevetswerefillinganeed inhim,aneedofwhichhehimselfwasprobablyunaware.Shewasgratefultothemandwouldthinkmorekindlyoftheminthefuture.

Shewentintothebathroomandsplashedcoldwateronhereyesandfixedherhairandlips.“You’repregnant,”shetoldherselfinthemirror.(Butthelabwantsanotherbloodsample.Whatfor?)

Asshecamebackouttheycameinatthefrontdoor:Minnieinahousedress,Romanholdinginbothhandsabottleofwine,andGuybehindthemflushedandsmiling.“Nowthat’swhatIcallgoodnews!”Minniesaid.“Congrat-u-lations!”SheboredownonRosemary, tookher by the shoulders, andkissedher cheekhardandloud.

“Our best wishes to you, Rosemary,” Roman said, putting his lips to herothercheek.“We’remorepleasedthanwecansay.Wehavenochampagneonhand,butthis1961SaintJulien,Ithink,willdojustasnicelyforatoast.”

Rosemarythankedthem.“Whenareyoudue,dear?”Minnieasked.“Junetwenty-eighth.”“It’sgoingtobesoexciting,”Minniesaid,“betweennowandthen.”“We’lldoallyourshoppingforyou,”Romansaid.“Oh,no,”Rosemarysaid.“Really.”Guy brought glasses and a corkscrew, andRoman turnedwith him to the

openingof thewine.Minnie tookRosemary’selbowand theywalked togetherintothelivingroom.“Listen,dear,”Minniesaid,“doyouhaveagooddoctor?”

“Yes,averygoodone,”Rosemarysaid.“OneofthetopobstetriciansinNewYork,”Minniesaid,“isadearfriendof

ours.AbeSapirstein.AJewishman.Hedelivers all theSocietybabies andhewould deliver yours too ifwe asked him.And he’d do it cheap, so you’d besavingGuysomeofhishard-earnedmoney.”

“Abe Sapirstein?” Roman asked from across the room. “He’s one of thefinest obstetricians in the country, Rosemary. You’ve heard of him, haven’tyou?”

“I think so,” Rosemary said, recalling the name from an article in anewspaperormagazine.

“Ihave,”Guysaid.“Wasn’theonOpenEndacoupleofyearsago?”“That’s right,” Roman said. “He’s one of the finest obstetricians in the

country.”“Ro?”Guysaid.“ButwhataboutDr.Hill?”sheasked.“Don’tworry,I’lltellhimsomething,”Guysaid.“Youknowme.”Rosemary thought about Dr. Hill, so young, so Kildare, with his lab that

wantedmorebloodbecausethenursehadgoofedorthetechnicianhadgoofedorsomeonehadgoofed,causingherneedlessbotherandconcern.

Minniesaid,“I’mnotgoingto letyougotonoDr.Hill thatnobodyheardof! The best is what you’re going to have, young lady, and the best is AbeSapirstein!”

GratefullyRosemarysmiledherdecisionatthem.“Ifyou’resurehecantakeme,”shesaid.“Hemightbetoobusy.”

“He’lltakeyou,”Minniesaid.“I’mgoingtocallhimrightnow.Where’sthephone?”

“Inthebedroom,”Guysaid.Minnie went into the bedroom. Roman poured glasses of wine. “He’s a

brilliantman,”hesaid,“withallthesensitivityofhismuch-tormentedrace.”HegaveglassestoRosemaryandGuy.“Let’swaitforMinnie,”hesaid.

Theystoodmotionless,eachholdingafullwineglass,Romanholdingtwo.Guysaid,“Sitdown,honey,”butRosemaryshookherheadandstayedstanding.

Minnie in the bedroom said, “Abe?Minnie. Fine. Listen, a dear friend ofoursjustfoundouttodaythatshe’spregnant.Yes,isn’tit?I’minherapartmentnow.Wetoldheryou’dbegladtotakecareofherandthatyouwouldn’tchargenone of your fancy Society prices neither.” Shewas silent, then said “Wait aminute,” and raised her voice. “Rosemary? Can you go see him tomorrowmorningateleven?”

“Yes,thatwouldbefine,”Rosemarycalledback.Romansaid,“Yousee?”“Eleven’sfine,Abe,”Minniesaid.“Yes.Youtoo.No,notatall.Let’shope

so.Good-by.”Shecameback.“Thereyouare,”shesaid.“I’llwritedownhisaddressfor

youbeforewego.He’sonSeventy-ninthStreetandParkAvenue.”“Thanks amillion,Minnie,”Guy said, andRosemary said, “I don’t know

howtothankyou.Bothofyou.”MinnietooktheglassofwineRomanheldouttoher.“It’seasy,”shesaid.

“Just do everythingAbe tells you and have a fine healthy baby; that’s all thethankswe’lleveraskfor.”

Romanraisedhisglass.“Toafinehealthybaby,”hesaid.“Hear,hear,”Guysaid,andtheyalldrank;Guy,Minnie,Rosemary,Roman.“Mmm,”Guysaid.“Delicious.”“Isn’tit?”Romansaid.“Andnotatallexpensive.”“Ohmy,”Minniesaid,“Ican’twaittotellthenewstoLaura-Louise.”Rosemarysaid,“Oh,please.Don’ttellanyoneelse.Notyet.It’ssoearly.”“She’sright,”Romansaid.“There’llbeplentyoftimelateronforspreading

thegoodtidings.”“Wouldanyonelikesomecheeseandcrackers?”Rosemaryasked.“Sitdown,honey,”Guysaid.“I’llgetit.”

ThatnightRosemarywas toofiredwith joyandwonder to fallasleepquickly.Withinher,underthehandsthatlayalertlyonherstomach,atinyegghadbeenfertilized by a tiny seed. Ohmiracle, it would grow to be Andrew or Susan!(“Andrew”shewasdefiniteabout;“Susan”wasopen todiscussionwithGuy.)WhatwasAndrew-or-Susannow,apinpointspeck?No,surelyitwasmorethanthat;afterall,wasn’t she inhersecondmonthalready?Indeedshewas. Ithadprobablyreachedtheearlytadpolestage.Shewouldhavetofindachartorbookthat told month by month exactly what was happening. Dr. Sapirstein wouldknowofone.

Afireenginescreamedby.Guyshiftedandmumbled,andbehind thewallMinnieandRoman’sbedcreaked.

There were so many dangers to worry about in the months ahead; fires,fallingobjects,carsoutofcontrol;dangers thathadneverbeendangersbeforebutweredangersnow,nowthatAndrew-or-Susanwasbegunand living. (Yes,living!)Shewouldgiveupheroccasionalcigarette,ofcourse.AndcheckwithDr.Sapirsteinaboutcocktails.

Ifonlyprayerwere stillpossible!Hownice itwouldbe toholdacrucifixagain and have God’s ear: ask Him for safe passage through the eight moremonthsahead;noGermanmeasles,please,nogreatnewdrugswithThalidomidesideeffects.Eightgoodmonths,please,freeofaccidentandillness,fullofironandmilkandsunshine.

Suddenlysherememberedthegoodluckcharm,theballoftannisroot;andfoolish or not,wanted it—no, needed it—aroundher neck. She slippedout of

bed,tiptoedtothevanity,andgotitfromtheLouisSherrybox,freeditfromitsaluminum-foilwrapping.Thesmellof the tannis roothadchanged; itwasstillstrongbutnolongerrepellent.Sheputthechainoverherhead.

With the ball tickling between her breasts, she tiptoed back to bed andclimbedin.Shedrewuptheblanketand,closinghereyes,settledherheaddownintothepillow.Shelaybreathingdeeplyandwassoonasleep,herhandsonherstomachshieldingtheembryoinsideher.

PART2

CHAPTER1

NOW SHE WAS ALIVE; was doing, was being, was at last herself andcomplete.Shedidwhatshehaddonebefore—cooked,cleaned,ironed,madethebed,shopped,tooklaundrytothebasement,wenttohersculptureclass—butdideverything against a new and serene background of knowing thatAndrew-or-Susan (or Melinda) was every day a little bit bigger inside her than the daybefore,alittlebitmoreclearlydefinedandclosertoreadiness.

Dr. Sapirsteinwaswonderful; a tall sunburnedmanwithwhite hair and ashaggywhitemoustache(shehadseenhimsomewherebeforebutcouldn’tthinkwhere;maybeonOpenEnd)whodespitetheMiësvanderRohechairsandcoolmarble tables of his waiting room was reassuringly old-fashioned and direct.“Please don’t read books,” he said. “Every pregnancy is different, and a bookthat tellsyouwhatyou’regoing tofeel in the thirdweekof the thirdmonth isonly going tomake youworry. No pregnancywas ever exactly like the onesdescribedinthebooks.Anddon’tlistentoyourfriendseither.They’llhavehadexperiencesverydifferentfromyoursandthey’llbeabsolutelycertainthattheirpregnancieswerethenormalonesandthatyoursisabnormal.”

SheaskedhimaboutthevitaminpillsDr.Hillhadprescribed.“No,nopills,”hesaid.“MinnieCastevethasaherbariumandablender;I’m

goingtohavehermakeadailydrinkforyouthatwillbefresher,safer,andmorevitamin-rich thananypillon themarket.Andanother thing:don’tbeafraid tosatisfyyourcravings.Thetheorytodayisthatpregnantwomeninventcravingsbecausetheyfeelit’sexpectedofthem.Idon’tholdwiththat.Isayifyouwantpicklesinthemiddleofthenight,makeyourpoorhusbandgooutandgetsome,just like in the old jokes.Whatever you want, be sure you get it. You’ll be

surprisedatsomeofthestrangethingsyourbodywillaskforinthesenextfewmonths.And any questions youhave, callmenight or day.Callme, not yourmotheroryourAuntFanny.That’swhatI’mherefor.”

Shewastocomeinonceaweek,whichwascertainlycloserattentionthanDr.Hillgavehispatients,andhewouldmakeareservationatDoctorsHospitalwithoutanybotheroffillingoutforms.

Everythingwasrightandbrightandlovely.ShegotaVidalSassoonhaircut,finishedwith the dentist, voted onElectionDay (forLindsay formayor), andwent down to Greenwich Village to watch some of the outdoor shooting ofGuy’s pilot. Between takes—Guy runningwith a stolen hot-dogwagon downSullivanStreet—shecrouchedonherheelstotalktosmallchildrenandsmiledMetooatpregnantwomen.

Salt, she found, even a fewgrains of it,made food inedible. “That’s perfectlynormal,”Dr.Sapirsteinsaidonhersecondvisit.“Whenyoursystemneedsit,theaversionwilldisappear.Meanwhile,obviously,nosalt.Trustyouraversionsthesameasyoudoyourcravings.”

Shedidn’thaveanycravings though.Herappetite, in fact, seemedsmallerthanusual.Coffeeandtoastwasenoughforbreakfast,avegetableandasmallpieceofraremeatfordinner.EachmorningatelevenMinniebroughtoverwhatlookedlikeawaterypistachiomilkshake.Itwascoldandsour.

“What’sinit?”Rosemaryasked.“Snipsandsnailsandpuppy-dogs’tails,”Minniesaid,smiling.Rosemarylaughed.“That’sfine,”shesaid,“butwhatifwewantagirl?”“Doyou?”“Wellofcoursewe’lltakewhatweget,butitwouldbeniceifthefirstone

wereaboy.”“Wellthereyouare,”Minniesaid.Finisheddrinking,Rosemarysaid,“No,really,what’sinit?”“Arawegg,gelatin,herbs…”“Tannisroot?”“Someofthat,someofsomeotherthings.”Minniebroughtthedrinkeverydayinthesameglass,alargeonewithblue

andgreenstripes,andstoodwaitingwhileRosemarydrainedit.

OnedayRosemarygot into a conversationby the elevatorwithPhyllisKapp,youngLisa’smother.TheendofitwasabrunchinvitationforGuyandheronthefollowingSunday,butGuyvetoedtheideawhenRosemarytoldhimofit.InalllikelihoodhewouldbeinSunday’sshooting,heexplained,andifheweren’thewouldneedthedayforrestandstudy.Theywerehavinglittlesociallifejustthen. Guy had broken a dinner-and-theater date they had made a few weeksearlier with Jimmy and Tiger Haenigsen, and he had asked Rosemary if shewouldmindputtingoffHutchfordinner.Itwasbecauseofthepilot,whichwastakinglongertoshootthanhadbeenintended.

It turned out to be just as well though, for Rosemary began to developabdominal pains of an alarming sharpness. She called Dr. Sapirstein and heaskedher to come in.Examiningher, he said that therewasnothing toworryabout; the pains came from an entirely normal expansion of her pelvis. Theywould disappear in a day or two, and meanwhile she could fight them withordinarydosesofaspirin.

Rosemary,relieved,said,“Iwasafraiditmightbeanectopicpregnancy.”“Ectopic?”Dr.Sapirsteinasked,andlookedskepticallyather.Shecolored.

Hesaid,“Ithoughtyouweren’tgoingtoreadbooks,Rosemary.”“Itwasstaringmerightinthefaceatthedrugstore,”shesaid.“And all it did was worry you. Will you go home and throw it away,

please?”“Iwill.Ipromise.”“Thepainswill be gone in twodays,” he said. “‘Ectopic pregnancy.’”He

shookhishead.But thepainsweren’tgone in twodays; theywereworse,andgrewworse

still,asifsomethinginsideherwereencircledbyawirebeingdrawntighterandtightertocutitintwo.Therewouldbepainforhourafterhour,andthenafewminutesofrelativepainlessnessthatwasonlythepaingatheringitselfforanewassault.Aspirin did little good, and shewas afraid of taking toomany. Sleep,whenitfinallycame,broughtharrieddreamsinwhichshefoughtagainsthugespidersthathadcorneredherinthebathroom,or tuggeddesperatelyatasmallblackbush thathad takenroot in themiddleof the livingroomrug.Shewoketired,toevensharperpain.

“Thishappenssometimes,”Dr.Sapirsteinsaid.“It’llstopanydaynow.Areyousureyouhaven’tbeenlyingaboutyourage?Usually it’s theolderwomenwithlessflexiblejointswhohavethissortofdifficulty.”

Minnie,bringinginthedrink,said,“Youpoorthing.Don’tfret,dear;anieceof mine in Toledo had exactly the same kind of pains and so did two otherwomen I know of.And their deliverieswere real easy and they had beautifulhealthybabies.”

“Thanks,”Rosemarysaid.Minniedrewbackrighteously.“Whatdoyoumean?That’sthegospeltruth!

IsweartoGoditis,Rosemary!”Herfacegrewpinchedandwanandshadowed;shelookedawful.ButGuy

insistedotherwise.“Whatareyoutalkingabout?”hesaid.“Youlookgreat.It’sthat haircut that looks awful, if youwant the truth, honey. That’s the biggestmistakeyouevermadeinyourwholelife.”

The pain settled down to a constant presence, with no respite whatever. Sheendureditandlivedwithit,sleepingafewhoursanightandtakingoneaspirinwhereDr.Sapirsteinallowedtwo.TherewasnogoingoutwithJoanorElise,nosculpture classor shopping.Sheorderedgroceriesbyphoneand stayed in theapartment,makingnurserycurtainsandstarting,finally,onTheDeclineandFallofTheRomanEmpire.SometimesMinnieorRomancameinofanafternoon,totalk a while and see if there was anything she wanted. Once Laura-Louisebroughtdownatrayofgingerbread.Shehadn’tbeentoldyetthatRosemarywaspregnant. “Oh my, I do like that haircut, Rosemary,” she said. “You look soprettyandup-to-date.”Shewassurprisedtohearshewasn’tfeelingwell.

WhenthepilotwasfinallyfinishedGuystayedhomemostofthetime.Hehad stopped studying with Dominick, his vocal coach, and no longer spentafternoonsauditioningandbeingseen.Hehadtwogoodcommercialsondeck—for Pall Mall and Texaco—and rehearsals of Don’t I Know You FromSomewhere? were definitely scheduled to begin in mid-January. He gaveRosemary ahandwith the cleaning, and theyplayed time-limitScrabble for adollar a game.He answered the phone and,when itwas forRosemary,madeplausibleexcuses.

She had planned to give a Thanksgiving dinner for some of their friendswho,likethemselves,hadnofamilynearby;withtheconstantpain,though,andthe constant worry over Andrew-or-Melinda’s well-being, she decided not to,andtheyendedupgoingtoMinnieandRoman’sinstead.

CHAPTER2

ONE AFTERNOON in December, while Guy was doing the Pall Mallcommercial, Hutch called. “I’m around the corner at City Center picking uptickets for Marcel Marceau,” he said. “Would you and Guy like to come onFridaynight?”

“Idon’t thinkso,Hutch,”Rosemarysaid.“Ihaven’tbeen feeling toowelllately.AndGuy’sgottwocommercialsthisweek.”

“What’sthematterwithyou?”“Nothing,really.I’vejustbeenabitundertheweather.”“MayIcomeupforafewminutes?”“Ohdo;I’dlovetoseeyou.”Shehurriedintoslacksandajerseytop,putonlipstickandbrushedherhair.

The pain sharpened—locking her for a moment with shut eyes and clenchedteeth—andthenitsankbacktoitsusuallevelandshebreathedoutgratefullyandwentonbrushing.

Hutch,whenhesawher,staredandsaid,“MyGod.”“It’sVidalSassoonandit’sveryin,”shesaid.“What’swrongwithyou?”hesaid.“Idon’tmeanyourhair.”“DoIlookthatbad?”Shetookhiscoatandhatandhungthemaway,smiling

afixedbrightsmile.“Youlookterrible,”Hutchsaid.“You’velostGod-knows-how-manypounds

andyouhavecirclesaroundyoureyesthatapandawouldenvy.Youaren’tononeofthose‘Zendiets,’areyou?”

“No.”“Thenwhatisit?Haveyouseenadoctor?”

“IsupposeImightaswelltellyou,”Rosemarysaid.“I’mpregnant.I’minmythirdmonth.”

Hutch looked at her, nonplussed. “That’s ridiculous,” he said. “Pregnantwomengainweight,theydon’tloseit.Andtheylookhealthy,not—”

“There’s a slight complication,” Rosemary said, leading the way into theliving room. “I have stiff joints or something, so I have pains that keep meawakemostofthenight.Well,onepain,really;itjustsortofcontinues.It’snotserious,though.It’llprobablystopanydaynow.”

“Ineverheardof‘stiffjoints’beingaproblem,”Hutchsaid.“Stiffpelvicjoints.It’sfairlycommon.”Hutch sat inGuy’s easy chair. “Well, congratulations,” he said doubtfully.

“Youmustbeveryhappy.”“Iam,”Rosemarysaid.“Webothare.”“Who’syourobstetrician?”“HisnameisAbrahamSapirstein.He’s—”“Iknowhim,”Hutchsaid.“Orofhim.HedeliveredtwoofDoris’sbabies.”

DoriswasHutch’selderdaughter.“He’soneofthebestinthecity,”Rosemarysaid.“Whendidyouseehimlast?”“The day before yesterday. And he said just what I told you; it’s fairly

commonand it’ll probably stopanydaynow.Ofcoursehe’sbeen saying thatsinceitstarted…”

“Howmuchweighthaveyoulost?”“Onlythreepounds.Itlooks—”“Nonsense!You’velostfarmorethanthat!”Rosemary smiled. “You sound like our bathroom scale,” she said. “Guy

finallythrewitout,itwasscaringmeso.No,I’velostonlythreepoundsandonelittle spacemore.And it’s perfectlynormal to lose a little during the first fewmonths.LateronI’llbegaining.”

“Icertainlyhopeso,”Hutchsaid.“Youlookasifyou’rebeingdrainedbyavampire. Are you sure there aren’t any puncture marks?” Rosemary smiled.“Well,” Hutch said, leaning back and smiling too, “we’ll assume that Dr.Sapirsteinknowswhereofhespeaks.Godknowsheshould;hechargesenough.Guymustbedoingsensationally.”

“Heis,”Rosemarysaid.“Butwe’regettingbargainrates.OurneighborstheCastevetsareclosefriendsofhis;theysentmetohimandhe’schargingushisspecialnon-Societyprices.”

“Does that mean Doris and Axel are Society?” Hutch said. “They’ll bedelightedtohearaboutit.”

The doorbell rang. Hutch offered to answer it but Rosemarywouldn’t lethim.“HurtslesswhenImovearound,”shesaid,goingoutoftheroom;andwenttothefrontdoortryingtorecalliftherewasanythingshehadorderedthathadn’tbeendeliveredyet.

It was Roman, looking slightly winded. Rosemary smiled and said, “Imentionedyournametwosecondsago.”

“In a favorable context, I hope,” he said. “Do you need anything fromoutside?Minnieisgoingdowninawhileandourhousephonedoesn’tseemtobefunctioning.”

“No,nothing,”Rosemarysaid.“Thankssomuchforasking.Iphonedoutforthingsthismorning.”

Romanglancedbeyondher foran instant,and then, smiling,asked ifGuywashomealready.

“No,hewon’tbebackuntilsixattheearliest,”Rosemarysaid;and,becauseRoman’spallidfacestayedwaitingwithitsquestioningsmile,added,“Afriendofoursishere.”Thequestioningsmilestayed.Shesaid,“Wouldyouliketomeethim?”

“Yes,Iwould,”Romansaid.“IfIwon’tbeintruding.”“Ofcourseyouwon’t.”Rosemaryshowedhimin.Hewaswearingablack-

and-white checked jacket over a blue shirt and a wide paisley tie. He passedclosetoherandshenoticedforthefirsttimethathisearswerepierced—thattheleftonewas,atanyrate.

She followedhim to the living-roomarchway.“This isEdwardHutchins,”shesaid,and toHutch,whowas risingandsmiling,“This isRomanCastevet,theneighbor I justmentioned.”Sheexplained toRoman:“Iwas tellingHutchthatitwasyouandMinniewhosentmetoDr.Sapirstein.”

Thetwomenshookhandsandgreetedeachother.Hutchsaid,“OneofmydaughtersusedDr.Sapirsteintoo.Ontwooccasions.”

“He’sabrilliantman,”Romansaid.“Wemethimonlylastspringbuthe’sbecomeoneofourclosestfriends.”

“Sit down, won’t you?” Rosemary said. The men seated themselves andRosemarysatbyHutch.

Romansaid,“SoRosemaryhastoldyouthegoodnews,hasshe?”“Yes,shehas,”Hutchsaid.“We must see that she gets plenty of rest,” Roman said, “and complete

freedomfromworryandanxiety.”Rosemarysaid,“Thatwouldbeheaven.”“Iwasabitalarmedbyherappearance,”Hutchsaid,lookingatRosemaryas

hetookoutapipeandastripedreptobaccopouch.“Wereyou?”Romansaid.“But now that I know she’s in Dr. Sapirstein’s care I feel considerably

relieved.”“She’s only lost two or three pounds,” Roman said. “Isn’t that so,

Rosemary?”“That’sright,”Rosemarysaid.“And that’s quite normal in the earlymonths of pregnancy,”Roman said.

“Lateronshe’llgain—probablyfartoomuch.”“SoIgather,”Hutchsaid,fillinghispipe.Rosemarysaid,“Mrs.Castevetmakesavitamindrinkformeeveryday,with

araweggandmilkandfreshherbsthatshegrows.”“AllaccordingtoDr.Sapirstein’sdirections,ofcourse,”Romansaid.“He’s

inclinedtobesuspiciousofcommerciallypreparedvitaminpills.”“Ishereally?”Hutchasked,pocketinghispouch.“Ican’tthinkofanything

I’d be less suspicious of; they’re surelymanufactured under every imaginablesafeguard.” He struck two matches as one and sucked flame into his pipe,blowingoutpuffsofaromaticwhitesmoke.Rosemaryputanashtraynearhim.

“That’s true,” Roman said, “but commercial pills can sit for months in awarehouse or on a druggist’s shelf and lose a great deal of their originalpotency.”

“Yes,Ihadn’tthoughtofthat,”Hutchsaid;“Isupposetheycan.”Rosemarysaid,“I like the ideaofhavingeverythingfreshandnatural. I’ll

betexpectantmotherschewedbitsoftannisroothundredsandhundredsofyearsagowhennobody’devenheardofvitamins.”

“Tannisroot?”Hutchsaid.“It’soneoftheherbsinthedrink,”Rosemarysaid.“Orisitanherb?”She

lookedtoRoman.“Canarootbeanherb?”ButRomanwaswatchingHutchanddidn’thear.

“‘Tannis?’”Hutchsaid.“I’veneverheardofit.Areyousureyoudon’tmean‘anise’or‘orrisroot’?”

Romansaid,“Tannis.”“Here,” Rosemary said, drawing out her charm. “It’s good luck too,

theoretically.Braceyourself; the smell takes a little getting-used-to.”Sheheld

thecharmout,leaningforwardtobringitclosertoHutch.Hesniffedatitanddrewaway,grimacing.“Ishouldsayitdoes,”hesaid.He

tookthechainedballbetweentwofingertipsandsquintedatitfromadistance.“Itdoesn’tlooklikerootmatteratall,”hesaid;“itlookslikemoldorfungusofsomekind.”HelookedatRoman.“Isitevercalledbyanothername?”heasked.

“Nottomyknowledge,”Romansaid.“Ishalllookitupintheencyclopediaandfindoutallaboutit,”Hutchsaid.

“Tannis.Whataprettyholderorcharmorwhatever-it-is.Wheredidyougetit?”WithaquicksmileatRoman,Rosemarysaid,“TheCastevetsgaveittome.”

Shetuckedthecharmbackinsidehertop.HutchsaidtoRoman,“Youandyourwifeseemtobetakingbettercareof

Rosemarythanherownparentswould.”Romansaid,“We’reveryfondofher,andofGuytoo.”Hepushedagainst

thearmsofhischairandraisedhimselftohisfeet.“Ifyou’llexcuseme,Ihavetogonow,”hesaid.“Mywifeiswaitingforme.”

“Ofcourse,”Hutchsaid,rising.“It’sapleasuretohavemetyou.”“We’llmeetagain,I’msure,”Romansaid.“Don’tbother,Rosemary.”“It’snobother.”Shewalkedalongwithhimtothefrontdoor.Hisrightear

waspierced too, she saw, and thereweremany small scars onhis neck like aflightofdistantbirds.“Thanksagainforstoppingby,”shesaid.

“Don’tmentionit,”Romansaid.“IlikeyourfriendMr.Hutchins;heseemsextremelyintelligent.”

Rosemary,openingthedoor,said,“Heis.”“I’mgladImethim,”Romansaid.Withasmileandahand-wavehestarted

downthehall.“’By,”Rosemarysaid,wavingback.

Hutch was standing by the bookshelves. “This room is glorious,” he said.“You’redoingabeautifuljob.”

“Thanks,” Rosemary said. “I was until my pelvis intervened. Roman haspiercedears.Ijustnoticeditforthefirsttime.”

“Pierced ears and piercing eyes,” Hutch said. “What was he before hebecameaGoldenAger?”

“Just about everything. And he’s been everywhere in the world. Reallyeverywhere.”

“Nonsense;nobodyhas.Whydidhe ringyourbell?—if I’mnotbeing too

inquisitive.”“ToseeifIneededanythingfromoutside.Thehousephoneisn’tworking.

They’refantasticneighbors.They’dcomeinanddothecleaningifIletthem.”“What’sshelike?”Rosemary told him. “Guy’s gotten very close to them,” she said. “I think

they’vebecomesortofparent-figuresforhim.”“Andyou?”“I’mnotsure.SometimesI’msogratefulIcouldkissthem,andsometimesI

getasortofsmotheryfeeling,as if they’rebeing too friendlyandhelpful.YethowcanIcomplain?Yourememberthepowerfailure?”

“ShallIeverforgetit?Iwasinanelevator.”“No.”“Yes indeed. Five hours in total darkness with three women and a John

BircherwhowereallsurethattheBombhadfallen.”“Howawful.”“Youweresaying?”“Wewerehere,GuyandI,andtwominutesafterthelightswentoutMinnie

was at the door with a handful of candles.” She gestured toward the mantel.“Nowhowcanyoufindfaultwithneighborslikethat?”

“You can’t, obviously,”Hutch said, and stood looking at themantel. “Arethose the ones?” he asked. Two pewter candlesticks stood between a bowl ofpolishedstonesandabrassmicroscope;inthemwerethree-inchlengthsofblackcandleribbedwithdrippings.

“Thelastsurvivors,”Rosemarysaid.“Shebroughtawholemonth’sworth.Whatisit?”

“Weretheyallblack?”heasked.“Yes,”shesaid.“Why?”“Justcurious.”Heturnedfromthemantel,smilingather.“Offermecoffee,

will you?And tellmemore aboutMrs.Castevet.Where does she grow thoseherbsofhers?Inwindowboxes?”

TheyweresittingovercupsatthekitchentablesometenminuteslaterwhenthefrontdoorunlockedandGuyhurriedin.“Hey,whatasurprise,”hesaid,comingover and grabbing Hutch’s hand before he could rise. “How are you, Hutch?Goodtoseeyou!”HeclaspedRosemary’sheadinhisotherhandandbentandkissedhercheekand lips. “Howyoudoing,honey?”Hestillhadhismake-up

on;hisfacewasorange,hiseyesblack-lashedandlarge.“You’rethesurprise,”Rosemarysaid.“Whathappened?”“Ah, theystopped in themiddle fora rewrite, thedumbbastards.Westart

againinthemorning.Staywhereyouare,nobodymove;I’lljustgetridofmycoat.”Hewentouttothecloset.

“Wouldyoulikesomecoffee?”Rosemarycalled.“Lovesome!”Shegotupandpouredacup,andrefilledHutch’scupandherown.Hutch

suckedathispipe,lookingthoughtfullybeforehim.GuycamebackinwithhishandsfullofpacksofPallMall.“Loot,”hesaid,

dumpingthemonthetable.“Hutch?”“No,thanks.”Guytoreapackopen,jammedcigarettesup,andpulledoneout.Hewinked

atRosemaryasshesatdownagain.Hutchsaid,“Itseemscongratulationsareinorder.”Guy, lightingup, said,“Rosemary toldyou? It’swonderful, isn’t it?We’re

delighted.OfcourseI’mscaredstiffthatI’llbealousyfather,butRosemary’llbesuchagreatmotherthatitwon’tmakemuchdifference.”

“Whenisthebabydue?”Hutchasked.Rosemary toldhim, and toldGuy thatDr.Sapirsteinhaddelivered twoof

Hutch’sgrandchildren.Hutchsaid,“Imetyourneighbor,RomanCastevet.”“Oh, did you?” Guy said. “Funny old duck, isn’t he? He’s got some

interestingstories,though,aboutOtisSkinnerandModjeska.He’squiteatheaterbuff.”

Rosemarysaid,“Didyouevernoticethathisearsarepierced?”“You’rekidding,”Guysaid.“NoI’mnot;Isaw.”They drank their coffee, talking of Guy’s quickening career and of a trip

HutchplannedtomakeinthespringtoGreeceandTurkey.“It’s a shamewehaven’t seenmoreofyou lately,”Guy said,whenHutch

hadexcusedhimselfandrisen.“WithmesobusyandRobeingthewaysheis,wereallyhaven’tseenanyone.”

“Perhapswecanhavedinnertogethersoon,”Hutchsaid;andGuy,agreeing,wenttogethiscoat.

Rosemarysaid,“Don’tforgettolookuptannisroot.”“Iwon’t,”Hutchsaid.“AndyoutellDr.Sapirsteintocheckhisscale;Istill

thinkyou’velostmorethanthreepounds.”“Don’tbesilly,”Rosemarysaid.“Doctors’scalesaren’twrong.”Guy,holdingopenacoat,said,“It’snotmine,itmustbeyours.”“Right you are,”Hutch said.Turning, he put his armsback into it. “Have

youthoughtaboutnamesyet,”heaskedRosemary,“orisittoosoon?”“AndreworDouglasifit’saboy,”shesaid.“MelindaorSarahifit’sagirl.”“‘Sarah?’”Guysaid.“Whathappenedto‘Susan’?”HegaveHutchhishat.RosemaryofferedhercheekforHutch’skiss.“Idohopethepainstopssoon,”hesaid.“Itwill,”shesaid,smiling.“Don’tworry.”Guysaid,“It’saprettycommoncondition.”Hutchfelthispockets.“Isthereanotheroneofthesearound?”heasked,and

showedthemabrownfur-linedgloveandfelthispocketsagain.RosemarylookedaroundatthefloorandGuywenttotheclosetandlooked

downonthefloorandupontotheshelf.“Idon’tseeit,Hutch,”hesaid.“Nuisance,” Hutch said. “I probably left it at City Center. I’ll stop back

there.Let’sreallyhavethatdinner,shallwe?”“Definitely,”Guysaid,andRosemarysaid,“Nextweek.”Theywatchedhimaroundthefirstturnofthehallwayandthensteppedback

insideandclosedthedoor.“Thatwasanicesurprise,”Guysaid.“Washeherelong?”“Notvery,”Rosemarysaid.“Guesswhathesaid.”“What?”“Ilookterrible.”“Good old Hutch,” Guy said, “spreading cheer wherever he goes.”

Rosemarylookedathimquestioningly.“Wellheisaprofessionalcrepe-hanger,honey,”hesaid.“Rememberhowhetriedtosourusonmovinginhere?”

“He isn’t a professional crepe-hanger,” Rosemary said, going into thekitchentoclearthetable.

Guyleanedagainst thedoor jamb.“Thenhesure isoneof the top-rankingamateurs,”hesaid.

Afewminuteslaterheputhiscoatonandwentoutforanewspaper.

The telephone rang at ten-thirty that evening, when Rosemary was in bedreadingandGuywasinthedenwatchingtelevision.Heansweredthecallandaminutelaterbroughtthephoneintothebedroom.“Hutchwantstospeaktoyou,”

hesaid,puttingthephoneonthebedandcrouchingtoplugitin.“Itoldhimyouwererestingbuthesaiditcouldn’twait.”

Rosemarypickedupthereceiver.“Hutch?”shesaid.“Hello,Rosemary,”Hutchsaid.“Tellme,dear,doyougooutatallordoyou

stayinyourapartmentallday?”“Well I haven’t been going out,” she said, looking at Guy; “but I could.

Why?”Guylookedbackather,frowning,listening.“There’s something I want to speak to you about,”Hutch said. “Can you

meetmetomorrowmorningateleveninfrontoftheSeagramBuilding?”“Yes,ifyouwantmeto,”shesaid.“Whatisit?Can’tyoutellmenow?”“I’drathernot,”hesaid.“It’snothingterriblyimportantsodon’tbroodabout

it.Wecanhavealatebrunchorearlylunchifyou’dlike.”“Thatwouldbenice.”“Good.Eleveno’clockthen,infrontoftheSeagramBuilding.”“Right.Didyougetyourglove?”“No, they didn’t have it,” he said, “but it’s time I got some new ones

anyway.Goodnight,Rosemary.Sleepwell.”“Youtoo.Goodnight.”Shehungup.“Whatwasthat?”Guyasked.“Hewantsmetomeethimtomorrowmorning.Hehassomethinghewants

totalktomeabout.”“Andhedidn’tsaywhat?”“Notaword.”Guyshookhishead,smiling.“Ithinkthoseboys’adventurestoriesaregoing

tohishead,”hesaid.“Whereareyoumeetinghim?”“InfrontoftheSeagramBuildingateleveno’clock.”Guy unplugged the phone and went out with it to the den; almost

immediately, though, hewas back. “You’re the pregnant one and I’m the onewithyens,”hesaid,pluggingthephonebackinandputtingitonthenighttable.“I’mgoingtogooutandgetanicecreamcone.Doyouwantone?”

“Okay,”Rosemarysaid.“Vanilla?”“Fine.”“I’llbeasquickasIcan.”Hewentout,andRosemaryleanedbackagainstherpillows,lookingahead

atnothingwithherbookforgotteninherlap.WhatwasitHutchwantedtotalk

about?Nothing terribly important, he had said. But it must be something notunimportant too, or else he wouldn’t have summoned her as he had. Was itsomethingaboutJoan?—oroneoftheothergirlswhohadsharedtheapartment?

FarawaysheheardtheCastevets’doorbellgiveoneshortring.ProbablyitwasGuy,askingthemiftheywantedicecreamoramorningpaper.Niceofhim.

Thepainsharpenedinsideher.

CHAPTER3

THEFOLLOWINGMORNINGRosemary calledMinnie on the house phoneandaskedhernottobringthedrinkoverateleveno’clock;shewasonherwayoutandwouldn’tbebackuntiloneortwo.

“Why,that’sfine,dear,”Minniesaid.“Don’tyouworryaboutathing.Youdon’thavetotakeitatnofixedtime;justsoyoutakeitsometime,that’sall.Yougoonout.It’sanicedayandit’lldoyougoodtogetsomefreshair.BuzzmewhenyougetbackandI’llbringthedrinkinthen.”

It was indeed a nice day; sunny, cold, clear, and invigorating. Rosemarywalked through it slowly, ready to smile, as if she weren’t carrying her paininside her. SalvationArmySantaClauseswere on every corner, shaking theirbells in their fool-nobody costumes. Stores all had their Christmas windows;ParkAvenuehaditscenterlineoftrees.

She reached theSeagramBuildingat aquarterofelevenand,because shewasearlyandtherewasnosignyetofHutch,satforawhileonthelowwallatthesideofthebuilding’sforecourt,takingthesunonherfaceandlisteningwithpleasuretobusyfootstepsandsnatchesofconversation,tocarsandtrucksandahelicopter’s racketing.Thedressbeneathher coatwas—for the first satisfyingtime—snug over her stomach; maybe after lunch she would go toBloomingdale’s and look atmaternity dresses. Shewas gladHutch had calledheroutthisway(butwhatdidhewanttotalkabout?);pain,evenconstantpain,wasnoexcuseforstayingindoorsasmuchasshehad.Shewouldfightitfromnowon,fightitwithairandsunlightandactivity,notsuccumbtoitinBramfordgloomunderthewell-meantpamperingsofMinnieandGuyandRoman.Pain,begone! she thought; Iwillhavenomoreof thee!Thepain stayed, immune to

PositiveThinking.At five of eleven shewent and stoodby the building’s glass doors, at the

edge of their heavy flow of traffic. Hutch would probably be coming frominside,shethought,fromanearlierappointment;orelsewhyhadhechosenhereratherthansomeplaceelsefortheirmeeting?Shescoutedtheoutcomingfacesasbestshecould,sawhimbutwasmistaken,thensawamanshehaddatedbeforeshemetGuyandwasmistakenagain.Shekeptlooking,stretchingnowandthenontiptoes;notanxiously,forsheknewthatevenifshefailedtoseehim,Hutchwouldseeher.

Hehadn’tcomebyfiveaftereleven,norbytenafter.Ataquarteraftershewent inside to look at the building’s directory, thinking shemight see a nametherethathehadmentionedatonetimeoranotherandtowhichshemightmakeacallof inquiry.Thedirectoryproved tobefar too largeandmany-namedforcareful reading, though; she skimmed over its crowded columns and, seeingnothingfamiliar,wentoutsideagain.

Shewentback to the lowwallandsatwhereshehadsatbefore, this timewatchingthefrontofthebuildingandglancingoveroccasionallyattheshallowstepsleadingupfromthesidewalk.Menandwomenmetothermenandwomen,buttherewasnosignofHutch,whowasrarelyifeverlateforappointments.

At eleven-forty Rosemarywent back into the building andwas sent by amaintenancemandowntothebasement,whereattheendofawhiteinstitutionalcorridortherewasapleasantloungeareawithblackmodernchairs,anabstractmural,andasinglestainless-steelphonebooth.ANegrogirlwasin thebooth,butshefinishedsoonandcameoutwithafriendlysmile.Rosemaryslippedinanddialedthenumberattheapartment.AfterfiveringsServiceanswered;therewerenomessagesforRosemary,andtheonemessageforGuywasfromaRudyHorn, not a Mr. Hutchins. She had another dime and used it to call Hutch’snumber,thinkingthathisservicemightknowwherehewasorhaveamessagefrom him. On the first ring a woman answered with a worried non-service“Yes?”

“IsthisEdwardHutchins’apartment?”Rosemaryasked.“Yes.Whoisthis,please?”Shesoundedlikeawomanneitheryoungnorold

—inherforties,perhaps.Rosemarysaid,“MynameisRosemaryWoodhouse.Ihadaneleveno’clock

appointmentwithMr.Hutchinsandhehasn’t shownupyet.Doyouhaveanyideawhetherhe’scomingornot?”

Therewassilence,andmoreofit.“Hello?”Rosemarysaid.

“Hutchhas toldme about you,Rosemary,” thewoman said. “Myname isGrace Cardiff. I’m a friend of his. He was taken ill last night. Or early thismorning,tobeexact.”

Rosemary’sheartdropped.“Takenill?”shesaid.“Yes.He’s in a deep coma.The doctors haven’t been able to find out yet

what’scausingit.He’satSt.Vincent’sHospital.”“Oh, that’sawful,”Rosemary said. “I spoke to him last night around ten-

thirtyandhesoundedfine.”“I spoke to him not much later than that,” Grace Cardiff said, “and he

soundedfinetometoo.Buthiscleaningwomancameinthismorningandfoundhimunconsciousonthebedroomfloor.”

“Andtheydon’tknowwhatfrom?”“Not yet. It’s early though, and I’m sure they’ll find out soon.Andwhen

theydo,they’llbeabletotreathim.Atthemomenthe’stotallyunresponsive.”“How awful,” Rosemary said. “And he’s never had anything like this

before?”“Never,” Grace Cardiff said. “I’m going back to the hospital now, and if

you’llgivemeanumberwhereIcanreachyou,I’llletyouknowwhenthere’sanychange.”

“Oh, thankyou,”Rosemarysaid.Shegavetheapartmentnumberandthenaskediftherewasanythingshecoulddotohelp.

“Not really,”GraceCardiff said.“I just finishedcallinghisdaughters, andthatseemstobethesumtotalofwhathastobedone,atleastuntilhecomesto.IfthereshouldbeanythingelseI’llletyouknow.”

Rosemary came out of the SeagramBuilding andwalked across the forecourtanddownthestepsandnorthtothecornerofFifty-thirdStreet.ShecrossedParkAvenue andwalked slowly towardMadison,wonderingwhetherHutchwouldlive or die, and if he died, whether she (selfishness!) would ever again haveanyone on whom she could so effortlessly and completely depend. ShewonderedtooaboutGraceCardiff,whosoundedsilver-grayandattractive;hadsheandHutchbeenhavingaquietmiddle-agedaffair?Shehopedso.Maybethisbrushwithdeath—that’swhatitwouldbe,abrushwithdeath,notdeathitself;itcouldn’t be—maybe this brush with death would nudge them both towardmarriage, and turn out in the end to have been a disguised blessing.Maybe.Maybe.

She crossed Madison, and somewhere between Madison and Fifth foundherself looking into a window in which a small crèche was spotlighted, withexquisiteporcelainfiguresofMaryandtheInfantandJoseph,theMagiandtheshepherds and the animals of the stable.She smiled at the tender scene, ladenwithmeaning and emotion that survived her agnosticism; and then saw in thewindowglass, likeaveilhungbefore theNativity,herownreflectionsmiling,withtheskeletalcheeksandblack-circledeyesthatyesterdayhadalarmedHutchandnowalarmedher.

“Well this iswhat I call the long armof coincidence!”Minnie exclaimed,andcame smiling toherwhenRosemary turned, in awhitemock-leather coatand a red hat and her neckchained eyeglasses. “I said tomyself, ‘As long asRosemary’sout,Imightaswellgoout,anddothelastlittlebitofmyChristmasshopping.’AndhereyouareandhereIam!Itlookslikewe’rejusttwoofakindthatgothesameplacesanddothesamethings!Why,what’s thematter,dear?Youlooksosadanddowncast.”

“Ijustheardsomebadnews,”Rosemarysaid.“Afriendofmineisverysick.Inthehospital.”

“Oh,no,”Minniesaid.“Who?”“HisnameisEdwardHutchins,”Rosemarysaid.“The one Romanmet yesterday afternoon?Why, hewas going on for an

houraboutwhataniceintelligentmanhewas!Isn’tthatapity!What’stroublinghim?”

Rosemarytoldher.“Myland,”Minniesaid,“Ihopeitdoesn’t turnoutthewayitdidforpoor

LilyGardenia!And the doctors don’t even know?Well at least they admit it;usuallytheycoverupwhattheydon’tknowwithalotofhigh-flownLatin.Ifthemoney spentputting those astronautsupwhere they arewas spentonmedicalresearchdownhere,we’dallbealotbetteroff,ifyouwantmyopinion.Doyoufeelallright,Rosemary?”

“Thepainisalittleworse,”Rosemarysaid.“Youpoorthing.YouknowwhatIthink?Ithinkweoughttobegoinghome

now.Whatdoyousay?”“No,no,youhavetofinishyourChristmasshopping.”“Oh shoot,” Minnie said, “there’s two whole weeks yet. Hold onto your

ears.”Sheputherwristtohermouthandblewstabbingshrillnessfromawhistleonagold-chainbracelet.Ataxiveeredtowardthem.“How’s thatforservice?”shesaid.“AnicebigCheckeronetoo.”

Soonafter,Rosemarywas in theapartmentagain.Shedrank thecoldsourdrinkfromtheblue-and-green-stripedglasswhileMinnielookedonapprovingly.

CHAPTER4

SHEHADBEENEATINGhermeat rare; now she ate it nearly raw—broiledonlylongenoughtotakeawaytherefrigerator’schillandsealinthejuices.

Theweeks before the holidays and the holiday season itself were dismal.Thepaingrewworse,grewsogrindingthatsomethingshutdowninRosemary—some center of resistance and remembered well-being—and she stoppedreacting, stopped mentioning pain to Dr. Sapirstein, stopped referring to paineven inher thoughts.Untilnow ithadbeen insideher;nowshewas inside it;painwastheweatheraroundher,was time,wastheentireworld.Numbedandexhausted,shebegantosleepmore,andtoeatmoretoo—morenearlyrawmeat.

Shedidwhathad tobedone:cookedandcleaned,sentChristmascards tothe family—she hadn’t the heart for phone calls—and put new money intoenvelopesfortheelevatormen,doormen,porters,andMr.Micklas.Shelookedatnewspapersandtriedtobeinterestedinstudentsburningdraftcardsandthethreatofacity-widetransitstrike,butshecouldn’t:thiswasnewsfromaworldof fantasy; nothing was real but her world of pain. Guy bought ChristmaspresentsforMinnieandRoman;foreachothertheyagreedtobuynothingatall.MinnieandRomangavethemcoasters.

Theywenttonearbymoviesafewtimes,butmosteveningstheystayedinorwentaroundthehalltoMinnieandRoman’s,wheretheymetcouplesnamedFountain and Gilmore andWees, a woman namedMrs. Sabatini who alwaysbroughthercat,andDr.Shand, theretireddentistwhohadmade thechainforRosemary’stannis-charm.ThesewereallelderlypeoplewhotreatedRosemarywith kindness and concern, seeing, apparently, that she was less than well.Laura-Louise was there too, and sometimes Dr. Sapirstein joined the group.

Roman was an energetic host, filling glasses and launching new topics ofconversation. On New Year’s Eve he proposed a toast—“To 1966, The YearOne”—that puzzled Rosemary, although everyone else seemed to understandandapproveofit.Shefeltasifshehadmissedaliteraryorpoliticalreference—notthatshereallycared.SheandGuyusuallyleftearly,andGuywouldseeherintobedandgoback.Hewasthefavoriteofthewomen,whogatheredaroundhimandlaughedathisjokes.

Hutchstayedashewas,inhisdeepandbafflingcoma.GraceCardiffcalledeveryweekorso.“Nochange,nochangeatall,”shewouldsay.“Theystilldon’tknow.Hecouldwakeuptomorrowmorningorhecouldsinkdeeperandneverwakeupatall.”

TwiceRosemarywenttoSt.Vincent’sHospitaltostandbesideHutch’sbedandlookdownpowerlesslyattheclosedeyes,thescarcelydiscerniblebreathing.Thesecond time,early in January,hisdaughterDoriswas there, sittingby thewindowworkingapieceofneedlepoint.RosemaryhadmetherayearearlieratHutch’sapartment;shewasashortpleasantwomaninherthirties,marriedtoaSwedishborn psychoanalyst. She looked, unfortunately, like a youngerwiggedHutch.

Doris didn’t recognize Rosemary, and when Rosemary had re-introducedherselfshemadeadistressedapology.

“Pleasedon’t,”Rosemarysaid,smiling.“Iknow.Ilookawful.”“No, you haven’t changed at all,” Doris said. “I’m terrible with faces. I

forgetmychildren,reallyIdo.”SheputasideherneedlepointandRosemarydrewupanotherchairandsat

withher.TheytalkedaboutHutch’sconditionandwatchedanursecomeinandreplacethehangingbottlethatfedintohistapedarm.

“Wehaveanobstetrician incommon,”Rosemarysaidwhen thenursehadgone;andthentheytalkedaboutRosemary’spregnancyandDr.Sapirstein’sskillandeminence.Doriswassurprised tohear thathewasseeingRosemaryeveryweek.“Heonlysawmeonceamonth,”shesaid.“Tillneartheend,ofcourse.Thenitwaseverytwoweeks,andtheneveryweek,butonlyinthelastmonth.Ithoughtthatwasfairlystandard.”

Rosemarycould findnothing to say, andDoris suddenly lookeddistressedagain. “But I suppose every pregnancy is a law unto itself,” she said, with asmilemeanttorectifytactlessness.

“That’swhathetoldme,”Rosemarysaid.That evening she toldGuy thatDr. Sapirstein had only seenDoris once a

month.“Somethingiswrongwithme,”shesaid.“Andheknewitrightfromthebeginning.”

“Don’tbesilly,”Guysaid.“Hewouldtellyou.Andevenifhewouldn’t,hewouldcertainlytellme.”

“Hashe?Hashesaidanythingtoyou?”“Absolutelynot,Ro.IsweartoGod.”“ThenwhydoIhavetogoeveryweek?”“Maybe that’s the way he does it now. Or maybe he’s giving you better

treatment,becauseyou’reMinnieandRoman’sfriend.”“No.”“Well I don’t know; ask him,” Guy said. “Maybe you’re more fun to

examinethanshewas.”

SheaskedDr.Sapirsteintwodayslater.“Rosemary,Rosemary,”hesaidtoher;“what did I tell you about talking to your friends? Didn’t I say that everypregnancyisdifferent?”

“Yes,but—”“And the treatment has to be different too. Doris Allert had had two

deliveries before she ever came to me, and there had been no complicationswhatever.Shedidn’trequirethecloseattentionafirst-timerdoes.”

“Doyoualwaysseefirst-timerseveryweek?”“I try to,” he said. “Sometimes I can’t. There’s nothing wrong with you,

Rosemary.Thepainwillstopverysoon.”“I’vebeeneatingrawmeat,”shesaid.“Justwarmedalittle.”“Anythingelseoutoftheordinary?”“No,”shesaid,takenaback;wasn’tthatenough?“Whatever youwant, eat it,” he said. “I told you you’d get some strange

cravings.I’vehadwomeneatpaper.Andstopworrying.Idon’tkeepthingsfrommypatients;itmakeslifetooconfusing.I’mtellingyouthetruth.Okay?”

Shenodded.“SayhellotoMinnieandRomanforme,”hesaid.“AndGuytoo.”

ShebeganthesecondvolumeofTheDeclineandFall,andbeganknittingared-and-orangestripedmufflerforGuytoweartorehearsals.Thethreatenedtransit

strikehadcomeaboutbut it affected them little since theywereboth athomemostofthetime.Lateintheafternoontheywatchedfromtheirbaywindowstheslow-movingcrowdsfarbelow.“Walk,youpeasants!”Guysaid.“Walk!Home,home,andbequickaboutit!”

Not long after tellingDr. Sapirstein about the nearly rawmeat,Rosemaryfoundherselfchewingonarawanddrippingchickenheart—inthekitchenonemorningatfour-fifteen.Shelookedatherselfinthesideofthetoaster,wherehermovingreflectionhadcaughthereye,andthenlookedatherhand,atthepartoftheheartshehadn’tyeteatenheldinred-drippingfingers.Afteramomentshewentoverandput theheart inthegarbage,andturnedonthewaterandrinsedherhand.Then,withthewaterstillrunning,shebentoverthesinkandbegantovomit.

Whenshewasfinishedshedranksomewater,washedher faceandhands,andcleanedtheinsideofthesinkwiththesprayattachment.Sheturnedoffthewateranddriedherselfandstoodforawhile,thinking;andthenshegotamemopadandapencilfromoneofthedrawersandwenttothetableandsatdownandbegantowrite.

Guycameinjustbeforeseveninhispajamas.ShehadtheLifeCookbookopenonthetableandwascopyingarecipeoutofit.“Whatthehellareyoudoing?”heasked.

Shelookedathim.“Planningthemenu,”shesaid.“Foraparty.We’regivinga party on January twenty-second. A week from next Saturday.” She lookedamong several slips of paper on the table and picked one up. “We’re invitingEliseDunstanandherhusband,”shesaid,“Joanandadate, JimmyandTiger,Allanandadate,LouandClaudia,theChens,theWendells,DeeBertillonandadateunlessyoudon’twanthim,MikeandPedro,BobandTheaGoodman,theKapps”—she pointed in the Kapps’ direction—“andDoris andAxel Allert, ifthey’llcome.That’sHutch’sdaughter.”

“Iknow,”Guysaid.She put down the paper. “Minnie and Roman are not invited,” she said.

“Neither is Laura-Louise.Neither are the Fountains and theGilmores and theWeeses.Neither isDr.Sapirstein.This is a very special party.Youhave tobeundersixtytogetin.”

“Whew,”Guysaid.“ForaminutethereIdidn’tthinkIwasgoingtomakeit.”

“Oh,youmakeit,”Rosemarysaid.“You’rethebartender.”“Swell,”Guysaid.“Doyoureallythinkthisissuchagreatidea?”“Ithinkit’sthebestideaI’vehadinmonths.”“Don’tyouthinkyououghttocheckwithSapirsteinfirst?”“Why? I’m just going to give a party; I’mnot going to swim theEnglish

ChannelorclimbAnnapurna.”Guywenttothesinkandturnedonthewater.Heheldaglassunderit.“I’ll

beinrehearsalthen,youknow,”hesaid.“Westartontheseventeenth.”“Youwon’t have to do a thing,”Rosemary said. “Just comehome andbe

charming.”“Andtendbar.”Heturnedoffthewaterandraisedhisglassanddrank.“We’llhire a bartender,”Rosemary said. “The one Joan andDick used to

have.Andwhenyou’rereadytogotosleepI’llchaseeveryoneout.”Guyturnedaroundandlookedather.“Iwanttoseethem,”shesaid.“NotMinnieandRoman.I’mtiredofMinnie

andRoman.”Helookedawayfromher,andthenatthefloor,andthenathereyesagain.

“Whataboutthepain?”heasked.Shesmileddrily.“Haven’tyouheard?”shesaid.“It’sgoingtobegoneina

dayortwo.Dr.Sapirsteintoldmeso.”

EveryonecouldcomeexcepttheAllerts,becauseofHutch’scondition,andtheChens,whoweregoingtobeinLondontakingpicturesofCharlieChaplin.Thebartender wasn’t available but knew another one who was. Rosemary took aloosebrownvelvethostessgown to thecleaner,madeanappointment tohaveherhairdone,andorderedwineandliquorandicecubesandtheingredientsofaChileanseafoodcasserolecalledchupe.

On the Thursday morning before the party, Minnie came with the drinkwhile Rosemary was picking apart crabmeat and lobster tails. “That looksinteresting,”Minniesaid,glancingintothekitchen.“Whatisit?”

Rosemarytoldher,standingat thefrontdoorwiththestripedglasscoldinherhand.“I’mgoing tofreeze itand thenbake itSaturdayevening,”shesaid.“We’rehavingsomepeopleover.”

“Oh,youfeeluptoentertaining?”Minnieasked.“Yes,Ido,”Rosemarysaid.“Theseareoldfriendswhomwehaven’tseenin

alongtime.Theydon’tevenknowyetthatI’mpregnant.”

“I’dbegladtogiveyouahandifyou’dlike,”Minniesaid.“Icouldhelpyoudishthingsout.”

“Thankyou,that’ssweetofyou,”Rosemarysaid,“butIreallycanmanagebymyself.It’sgoingtobebuffet,andthere’llbeverylittletodo.”

“Icouldhelpyoutakethecoats.”“No,really,Minnie,youdoenoughformeasitis.Really.”Minniesaid,“Well,letmeknowifyouchangeyourmind.Drinkyourdrink

now.”Rosemary looked at the glass in her hand. “I’d rather not,” she said, and

lookedupatMinnie.“Notthisminute.I’lldrinkitinalittlewhileandbringtheglassbacktoyou.”

Minniesaid,“Itdoesn’tdotoletitstand.”“Iwon’twaitlong,”Rosemarysaid.“Goon.YougobackandI’llbringthe

glasstoyoulateron.”“I’llwaitandsaveyouthewalk.”“You’ll do no such thing,” Rosemary said. “I get very nervous if anyone

watchesmewhile I’mcooking. I’mgoingout later, so I’llbepassing rightbyyourdoor.”

“Goingout?”“Shopping.Scootnow,goon.You’retoonicetome,reallyyouare.”Minniebackedaway.“Don’twaittoolong,”shesaid.“It’sgoingtoloseits

vitamins.”Rosemaryclosedthedoor.Shewentintothekitchenandstoodforamoment

withtheglassinherhand,andthenwenttothesinkandtippedoutthedrinkinapalegreenspiredrillingstraightdownintothedrain.

Shefinishedthechupe,hummingandfeelingpleasedwithherself.Whenitwas covered and stowed away in the freezer compartment shemade her owndrinkoutofmilk,cream,anegg,sugar,andsherry.Shaken inacovered jar, itpouredouttawnyanddelicious-looking.“Hangon,David-or-Amanda,”shesaid,andtasteditandfounditgreat.

CHAPTER5

FORALITTLEWHILEaroundhalfpastnineitlookedasifnoonewasgoingtocome.Guyputanotherchunkofcannelcoalonthefire,thenrackedthetongsandbrushedhishandswithhishandkerchief;Rosemarycamefromthekitchenand stoodmotionless inher pain andher just-right hair andher brownvelvet;andthebartender,bythebedroomdoor,foundthingstodowithlemonpeelandnapkins and glasses and bottles. He was a prosperous-looking Italian namedRenatowhogavetheimpressionthathetendedbaronlyasapastimeandwouldleaveifhegotmoreboredthanhealreadywas.

Then the Wendells came—Ted and Carole—and a minute later EliseDunstan and her husband Hugh, who limped. And then Allan Stone, Guy’sagent,withabeautifulNegromodelnamedRainMorgan,andJimmyandTiger,andLouandClaudiaComfortandClaudia’sbrotherScott.

Guy put the coats on the bed; Renato mixed drinks quickly, looking lessbored. Rosemary pointed and gave names: “Jimmy, Tiger, Rain, Allan, Elise,Hugh,Carole,Ted—ClaudiaandLouandScott.”

Bob and Thea Goodman brought another couple, Peggy and Stan Keeler.“Ofcourseit’sallright,”Rosemarysaid;“don’tbesilly,themorethemerrier!”TheKappscamewithoutcoats.“Whata trip!”Mr.Kapp(“It’sBernard”)said.“Abus,threetrains,andaferry!Weleftfivehoursago!”

“CanI lookaround?”Claudiaasked.“If the restof it’sasniceas this I’mgoingtocutmythroat.”

MikeandPedrobroughtbouquetsofbrightredroses.Pedro,withhischeekagainst Rosemary’s, murmured, “Make him feed you, baby; you look like abottleofiodine.”

Rosemary said, “Phyllis, Bernard, Peggy, Stan, Thea, Bob, Lou, Scott,Carole…”

She took the roses into thekitchen.Elise came inwithadrinkanda fakecigarette for breaking the habit. “You’re so lucky,” she said; “it’s the greatestapartmentI’veeverseen.Willyoulookatthiskitchen?Areyouallright,Rosie?Youlookalittletired.”

“Thanksfortheunderstatement,”Rosemarysaid.“I’mnotallrightbutIwillbe.I’mpregnant.”

“Youaren’t!Howgreat!When?”“Junetwenty-eighth.IgointomyfifthmonthonFriday.”“That’s great!” Elise said. “How do you like C. C. Hill? Isn’t he the

dreamboyofthewesternworld?”“Yes,butI’mnotusinghim,”Rosemarysaid.“No!”“I’vegotadoctornamedSapirstein,anolderman.”“Whatfor?Hecan’tbebetterthanHill!”“He’s fairly well known and he’s a friend of some friends of ours,”

Rosemarysaid.Guylookedin.Elisesaid,“Wellcongratulations,Dad.”“Thanks,”Guysaid.“Weren’tnothin’toit.Doyouwantmetobringinthe

dip,Ro?”“Oh,yes,wouldyou?Lookattheseroses!MikeandPedrobroughtthem.”Guy took a tray of crackers and a bowl of pale pink dip from the table.

“Wouldyougettheotherone?”heaskedElise.“Sure,”shesaid,andtookasecondbowlandfollowedafterhim.“I’llbeoutinaminute,”Rosemarycalled.DeeBertillonbroughtPortiaHaynes,anactress,andJoancalledtosaythat

she andher date hadgot stuck at another party andwouldbe there in half anhour.

Tiger said, “Youdirty stinking secret-keeper!”ShegrabbedRosemary andkissedher.

“Who’spregnant?”someoneasked,andsomeoneelsesaid,“Rosemaryis.”Sheputonevaseofroseson themantel—“Congratulations,”RainMorgan

said, “I understand you’re pregnant”—and the other in the bedroom on thedressingtable.WhenshecameoutRenatomadeaScotchandwaterforher.“Imake the first ones strong,” he said, “to get them happy. Then I go light and

conserve.”Mikewig-waggedoverheadsandmouthedCongratulations.Shesmiledand

mouthedThanks.“The Trench sisters lived here,” someone said; and Bernard Kapp said,

“AdrianMarcatotoo,andKeithKennedy.”“AndPearlAmes,”PhyllisKappsaid.“TheTrentsisters?”Jimmyasked.“Trench,”Phyllissaid.“Theyatelittlechildren.”“Andshedoesn’tmeanjustatethem,”Pedrosaid;“shemeansatethem!”Rosemary shut her eyes and held her breath as the pain wound tighter.

Maybebecauseofthedrink;sheputitaside.“Areyouallright?”Claudiaaskedher.“Yes,fine,”shesaid,andsmiled.“Ihadacrampforamoment.”Guywas talkingwithTiger and PortiaHaynes andDee. “It’s too soon to

say,”hesaid;“we’veonlybeeninrehearsalsixdays.Itplaysmuchbetterthanitreads,though.”

“Itcouldn’tplaymuchworse,”Tigersaid.“Hey,whateverhappenedtotheotherguy?Ishestillblind?”

“Idon’tknow,”Guysaid.Portia said, “DonaldBaumgart?You knowwhohe is, Tiger; he’s the boy

ZöePiperliveswith.”“Oh, is he the one?” Tiger said. “Gee, I didn’t know he was someone I

knew.”“He’swriting a great play,” Portia said. “At least the first two scenes are

great.Reallyburninganger,likeOsbornebeforehemadeit.”Rosemarysaid,“Ishestillblind?”“Oh, yes,” Portia said. “They’ve pretty much given up hope. He’s going

throughhelltryingtomaketheadjustment.Butthisgreatplayiscomingoutofit.HedictatesandZöewrites.”

Joancame.Herdatewasoverfifty.ShetookRosemary’sarmandpulledheraside, looking frightened. “What’s thematter with you?” she asked. “What’swrong?”

“Nothing’swrong,”Rosemarysaid.“I’mpregnant,that’sall.”

ShewasinthekitchenwithTiger,tossingthesalad,whenJoanandElisecameinandclosedthedoorbehindthem.

Elisesaid,“Whatdidyousayyourdoctor’snamewas?”“Sapirstein,”Rosemarysaid.Joansaid,“Andhe’ssatisfiedwithyourcondition?”Rosemarynodded.“Claudiasaidyouhadacrampawhileago.”“Ihaveapain,”shesaid.“Butit’sgoingtostopsoon;it’snotabnormal.”Tigersaid,“Whatkindofapain?”“A—apain.Asharppain,that’sall.It’sbecausemypelvisisexpandingand

myjointsarealittlestiff.”Elise said, “Rosie, I’ve had that—two times—and all it evermeantwas a

fewdaysoflikeaCharleyhorse,anachethroughthewholearea.”“Well, everyone is different,” Rosemary said, lifting salad between two

woodenspoonsandlettingitdropbackintothebowlagain.“Everypregnancyisdifferent.”

“Notthatdifferent,”Joansaid.“YoulooklikeMissConcentrationCampof1966.Areyousurethisdoctorknowswhathe’sdoing?”

Rosemary began to sob, quietly and defeatedly, holding the spoons in thesalad.Tearsranfromhercheeks.

“Oh,God,”Joansaid,andlookedforhelptoTiger,whotouchedRosemary’sshoulderandsaid,“Shh,ah,shh,don’tcry,Rosemary.Shh.”

“It’sgood,”Elisesaid.“It’sthebestthing.Lether.She’sbeenwoundupallnightlike—likeI-don’t-know-what.”

Rosemarywept,blackstreakssmearingdownhercheeks.Eliseputherintoachair;Tigertookthespoonsfromherhandsandmovedthesaladbowltothefarsideofthetable.

ThedoorstartedtoopenandJoanrantoitandstoppedandblockedit.ItwasGuy.“Hey,letmein,”hesaid.

“Sorry,”Joansaid.“Girlsonly.”“LetmespeaktoRosemary.”“Can’t;she’sbusy.”“Look,”hesaid,“I’vegottowashglasses.”“Use the bathroom.” She shouldered the door click-closed and leaned

againstit.“Damnit,openthedoor,”hesaidoutside.Rosemarywentoncrying,herheadbowed,hershouldersheaving,herhands

limpinherlap.Elise,crouching,wipedathercheekseveryfewmomentswiththeendofatowel;Tigersmoothedherhairandtriedtostillhershoulders.

Thetearsslowed.“Ithurtssomuch,”shesaid.Sheraisedherfacetothem.“AndI’msoafraid

thebabyisgoingtodie.”“Ishedoinganythingforyou?”Eliseasked.“Givingyouanymedicine,any

treatment?”“Nothing,nothing.”Tigersaid,“Whendiditstart?”Shesobbed.Eliseasked,“Whendidthepainstart,Rosie?”“BeforeThanksgiving,”shesaid.“November.”Elisesaid,“InNovember?”andJoanatthedoorsaid,“What?”Tigersaid,

“You’vebeeninpainsinceNovemberandheisn’tdoinganythingforyou?”“Hesaysit’llstop.”Joansaid,“Hashebroughtinanotherdoctortolookatyou?”Rosemary shookher head. “He’s a very gooddoctor,” she saidwithElise

wipingathercheeks.“He’swellknown.HewasonOpenEnd.”Tigersaid,“Hesoundslikeasadisticnut,Rosemary.”Elisesaid,“Painlikethatisawarningthatsomething’snotright.I’msorry

toscareyou,Rosie,butyougoseeDr.Hill.Seesomebodybesidesthat—”“Thatnut,”Tigersaid.Elisesaid,“Hecan’tberight,lettingyoujustgoonsuffering.”“Iwon’thaveanabortion,”Rosemarysaid.Joanleanedforwardfromthedoorandwhispered,“Nobody’stellingyouto

haveanabortion!Justgoseeanotherdoctor,that’sall.”RosemarytookthetowelfromEliseandpressedittoeacheyeinturn.“He

said thiswouldhappen,” she said, looking atmascaraon the towel. “Thatmyfriendswouldthinktheirpregnancieswerenormalandminewasn’t.”

“Whatdoyoumean?”Tigerasked.Rosemarylookedather.“Hetoldmenottolistentowhatmyfriendsmight

say,”shesaid.Tiger said, “Well youdo listen!What kind of sneaky advice is that for a

doctortogive?”Elisesaid,“Allwe’retellingyoutodoischeckwithanotherdoctor.Idon’t

think any reputable doctor would object to that, if it would help his patient’speaceofmind.”

“Youdoit,”Joansaid.“FirstthingMondaymorning.”“Iwill,”Rosemarysaid.

“Youpromise?”Eliseasked.Rosemarynodded.“Ipromise.”ShesmiledatElise,andatTigerandJoan.

“Ifeelalotbetter,”shesaid.“Thankyou.”“Wellyoulookalotworse,”Tigersaid,openingherpurse.“Fixyoureyes.

Fixeverything.”SheputlargeandsmallcompactsonthetablebeforeRosemary,andtwolongtubesandashortone.

“Lookatmydress,”Rosemarysaid.“Adampcloth,”Elisesaid,takingthetowelandgoingtothesinkwithit.“Thegarlicbread!”Rosemarycried.“Inorout?”Joanasked.“In.”Rosemarypointedwithamascarabrushattwofoil-wrappedloaveson

topoftherefrigerator.Tiger began tossing the salad and Elise wiped at the lap of Rosemary’s

gown.“Nexttimeyou’replanningtocry,”shesaid,“don’twearvelvet.”Guycameinandlookedatthem.Tigersaid,“We’retradingbeautysecrets.Youwantsome?”“Areyouallright?”heaskedRosemary.“Yes,fine,”shesaidwithasmile.“Alittlespilledsaladdressing,”Elisesaid.Joansaid,“Couldthekitchenstaffgetaroundofdrinks,doyouthink?”

Thechupewasasuccessandsowas thesalad. (Tigersaidunderherbreath toRosemary,“It’sthetearsthatgiveittheextrazing.”)

Renato approved of the wine, opened it with a flourish, and served itsolemnly.

Claudia’sbrotherScott,inthedenwithaplateonhisknee,said,“HisnameisAltizerandhe’sdownin—Atlanta,Ithink;andwhathesaysisthatthedeathofGodisaspecifichistoriceventthathappenedrightnow,inourtime.ThatGodliterallydied.”TheKappsandRainMorganandBobGoodmansatlisteningandeating.

Jimmy, at one of the living-room windows, said, “Hey, it’s beginning tosnow!”

StanKeelertoldastringofwickedPolish-jokesandRosemarylaughedoutloudatthem.“Carefulofthebooze,”Guymurmuredathershoulder.Sheturnedandshowedhimherglass,andsaid,stilllaughing,“It’sonlygingerale!”

Joan’sover-fiftydatesatonthefloorbyherchair,talkinguptoherearnestly

and fondling her feet and ankles. Elise talked to Pedro; he nodded, watchingMikeandAllanacrosstheroom.Claudiabeganreadingpalms.

TheywerelowonScotchbuteverythingelsewasholdingupfine.Sheservedcoffee,emptiedashtrays,andrinsedoutglasses.TigerandCarole

Wendellhelpedher.Latershesat inabaywithHughDunstan,sippingcoffeeandwatchingfat

wet snowflakes shear down, an endless army of them,with now and then anoutriderstrikingoneofthediamondpanesandslidingandmelting.

“Year after year I swear I’mgoing to leave the city,”HughDunstan said;“getawayfromthecrimeandthenoiseandalltherestofit.AndeveryyearitsnowsortheNewYorkerhasaBogartFestivalandI’mstillhere.”

Rosemary smiled and watched the snow. “This is why I wanted thisapartment,”shesaid;“tosithereandwatchthesnow,withthefiregoing.”

Hughlookedatherandsaid,“I’llbetyoustillreadDickens.”“OfcourseIdo,”shesaid.“NobodystopsreadingDickens.”Guycamelookingforher.“BobandTheaareleaving,”hesaid.

Bytwoo’clockeveryonehadgoneandtheywerealoneinthelivingroom,withdirty glasses and used napkins and spilling-over ashtrays all around. (“Don’tforget,”Elisehadwhispered,leaving.Notverylikely.)

“Thethingtodonow,”Guysaid,“ismove.”“Guy.”“Yes?”“I’mgoingtoDr.Hill.Mondaymorning.”Hesaidnothing,lookingather.“Iwanthimtoexamineme,”shesaid.“Dr.Sapirsteiniseitherlyingorelse

he’s—Idon’tknow,outofhismind.Painlikethisisawarningthatsomethingiswrong.”

“Rosemary,”Guysaid.“AndI’mnotdrinkingMinnie’sdrinkanymore,”shesaid.“Iwantvitamins

inpills,likeeverybodyelse.Ihaven’tdrunkitforthreedaysnow.I’vemadeherleaveithereandI’vethrownitaway.”

“You’ve—”“I’vemademyowndrinkinstead,”shesaid.He drew together all his surprise and anger and, pointing back over his

shoulder toward the kitchen, cried it at her. “Is that what those bitches were

givingyouinthere?Isthattheirhintfortoday?Changedoctors?”“They’remyfriends,”shesaid;“don’tcallthembitches.”“They’re a bunch of not-very-brightbitcheswho ought tomind their own

God-damnedbusiness.”“Alltheysaidwasgetasecondopinion.”“You’vegotthebestdoctorinNewYork,Rosemary.DoyouknowwhatDr.

Hillis?CharleyNobody,that’swhatheis.”“I’mtiredofhearinghowgreatDr.Sapirstein is,”shesaid,starting tocry,

“whenI’vegotthispaininsidemesincebeforeThanksgivingandallhedoesistellmeit’sgoingtostop!”

“You’renotchangingdoctors,”Guysaid.“We’llhavetopaySapirsteinandpayHilltoo.It’soutofthequestion.”

“I’m not going to change,” Rosemary said; “I’m just going to let Hillexaminemeandgivehisopinion.”

“Iwon’tletyou,”Guysaid.“It’s—it’snotfairtoSapirstein.”“Notfairto—Whatareyoutalkingabout?Whataboutwhat’sfairtome?”“Youwantanotheropinion?Allright.TellSapirstein;lethimbetheonewho

decideswho gives it. At least have thatmuch courtesy to the topman in hisfield.”

“IwantDr.Hill,” she said. “Ifyouwon’tpay I’llpaymy—”She stoppedshort and stoodmotionless, paralyzed,nopartofhermoving.A tear slidonacurvedpathtowardthecornerofhermouth.

“Ro?”Guysaid.Thepainhadstopped.Itwasgone.Likeastuckautohornfinallyputright.

Likeanythingthatstopsandisgoneandisgoneforgoodandwon’teverbebackagain, thankmerciful heaven.Gone and finishedandoh,howgood shemightpossiblyfeelassoonasshecaughtherbreath!

“Ro?”Guysaid,andtookastepforward,worried.“Itstopped,”shesaid.“Thepain.”“Stopped?”hesaid.“Justnow.”Shemanaged to smile athim. “It stopped. Just like that.”She

closed her eyes and took a deep breath, and deeper still, deeper than she hadbeenallowedtobreatheforagesandages.SincebeforeThanksgiving.

WhensheopenedhereyesGuywasstilllookingather,stilllookingworried.“Whatwasinthedrinkyoumade?”heasked.Herheartdroppedoutofher.Shehadkilledthebaby.Withthesherry.Ora

badegg.Orthecombination.Thebabyhaddied,thepainhadstopped.Thepain

wasthebabyandshehadkilleditwithherarrogance.“Anegg,”shesaid.“Milk.Cream.Sugar.”Sheblinked,wipedathercheek,

lookedathim.“Sherry,”shesaid,tryingtomakeitsoundnon-toxic.“Howmuchsherry?”heasked.Somethingmovedinher.“Alot?”Again,wherenothinghadevermovedbefore.Aripplinglittlepressure.She

giggled.“Rosemary,forChrist’ssake,howmuch?”“It’salive,” shesaid,andgiggledagain.“It’smoving. It’sall right; it isn’t

dead. It’smoving.”She lookeddownatherbrown-velvetstomachandputherhandsonitandpressedin lightly.Nowtwothingsweremoving, twohandsorfeet;onehere,onethere.

ShereachedforGuy,notlookingathim;snappedherfingersquicklyforhishand.Hecamecloserandgaveit.Sheputittothesideofherstomachandheldit there. Obligingly themovement came. “You feel it?” she asked, looking athim.“There,again;youfeelit?”

Hejerkedhishandaway,pale.“Yes,”hesaid.“Yes.Ifeltit.”“It’snothingtobeafraidof,”shesaid,laughing.“Itwon’tbiteyou.”“It’swonderful,”hesaid.“Isn’t it?”Sheheld her stomach again, lookingdown at it. “It’s alive. It’s

kicking.It’sinthere.”“I’llcleanupsomeofthismess,”Guysaid,andpickedupanashtrayanda

glassandanotherglass.“All right now, David-or-Amanda,” Rosemary said, “you’ve made your

presenceknown, sokindly settle downand letMommyattend to the cleaningup.”Shelaughed.“MyGod,”shesaid,“it’ssoactive!Thatmeansaboy,doesn’tit?”

Shesaid,“Allright,you,justtakeiteasy.You’vegotfivemoremonthsyet,sosaveyourenergy.”

And laughing, “Talk to it, Guy; you’re its father. Tell it not to be soimpatient.”

Andshelaughedandlaughedandwascryingtoo,holdingherstomachwithbothhands.

CHAPTER6

ASBADasithadbeenbefore,thatwashowgooditwasnow.Withthestoppingofthepaincamesleep,greatdreamlessten-hourspansofit;andwiththesleepcame hunger, formeat thatwas cooked, not raw, for eggs and vegetables andcheeseandfruitandmilk.WithindaysRosemary’sskull-facehadlostitsedgesandsunkbackbehindfilling-inflesh;withinweeksshelookedthewaypregnantwomenaresupposedtolook:lustrous,healthy,proud,prettierthanever.

ShedrankMinnie’sdrinkassoonasitwasgiventoher,anddrankittothelastchilldrop,drivingawayasbyaritualtherememberedguiltofI-killed-the-baby.Withthedrinknowcameacakeofwhitegrittysweetstufflikemarzipan;thistoosheateatonce,asmuchfromenjoymentofitscandyliketasteasfromaresolvetobethemostconscientiousexpectantmotherinalltheworld.

Dr. Sapirstein might have been smug about the pain’s stopping, but hewasn’t, blesshim.He simply said “It’s about time”andputhis stethoscope toRosemary’sreally-showing-nowbelly.Listeningtothestirringbaby,hebetrayedan excitement that was unexpected in a man who had guided hundreds uponhundredsofpregnancies.Itwasthisundimmedfirst-timeexcitement,Rosemarythought,thatprobablymarkedthedifferencebetweenagreatobstetricianandamerelygoodone.

She boughtmaternity clothes; a two-piece black dress, a beige suit, a reddresswithwhitepolkadots.Twoweeksaftertheirownparty,sheandGuywenttoonegivenbyLouandClaudiaComfort.“Ican’tgetoverthechangeinyou!”Claudiasaid,holdingontobothRosemary’shands.“Youlookahundredpercentbetter,Rosemary!Athousandpercent!”

AndMrs.Gouldacrossthehallsaid,“Youknow,wewerequiteconcerned

aboutyouafewweeksago;youlookedsodrawnanduncomfortable.Butnowyoulooklikeanentirelydifferentperson,reallyyoudo.Arthurremarkedonthechangejustlastevening.”

“I feelmuchbetternow,”Rosemarysaid.“Somepregnanciesstartoutbadandturngood,andsomegotheotherwayaround.I’mgladI’vehadthebadfirstandhavegottenitoutoftheway.”

She was aware now of minor pains that had been overshadowed by themajor one—aches in her spinal muscles and her swollen breasts—but thesediscomfortshadbeenmentionedastypicalinthepaperbackbookDr.Sapirsteinhadmadeher throwaway; they felt typical too,and they increased rather thanlessened her sense ofwell-being. Saltwas still nauseating, butwhat, after all,wassalt?

Guy’sshow,withitsdirectorchangedtwiceanditstitlechangedthreetimes,openedinPhiladelphiainmid-February.Dr.Sapirsteindidn’tallowRosemarytogo along on the try-out-tour, and so on the afternoon of the opening, she andMinnie and Roman drove to Philadelphia with Jimmy and Tiger, in Jimmy’santique Packard. The drivewas a less than joyous one.Rosemary and JimmyandTigerhadseenabarestagerun-throughoftheplaybeforethecompanyleftNewYorkand theyweredoubtfulof itschances.Thebest theyhopedforwasthatGuywouldbesingledout forpraisebyoneormoreof thecritics,ahopeRomanencouragedbycitinginstancesofgreatactorswhohadcometonoticeinplaysoflittleornodistinction.

Withsetsandcostumesandlightingtheplaywasstilltediousandverbose;thepartyafterwardswasbrokenupintosmallseparateenclavesofsilentgloom.Guy’smother, having flown down fromMontreal, insisted to their group thatGuy was superb and the play was superb. Small, blonde, and vivacious, shechirpedherconfidencetoRosemaryandAllanStoneandJimmyandTigerandGuyhimself andMinnie andRoman.Minnie andRoman smiled serenely; theothers sat andworried.Rosemary thought thatGuy had been even better thansuperb,butshehadthoughtsotooonseeinghiminLutherandNobodyLovesAnAlbatross,inneitherofwhichhehadattractedcriticalattention.

Tworeviewscameinaftermidnight;bothpannedtheplayandlavishedGuywithenthusiasticpraise, inonecase twosolidparagraphsof it.Athirdreview,which appeared the next morning, was headedDazzling Performance SparksNewComedy-DramaandspokeofGuyas“avirtuallyunknownyoungactorofslashingauthority”whowas“suretogoontobiggerandbetterproductions.”

TheridebacktoNewYorkwasfarhappierthantherideout.

RosemaryfoundmuchtokeepherbusywhileGuywasaway.Therewasthewhite-and-yellownurserywallpaper finally tobeordered,and thecriband thebureau and the bathinette. There were long-postponed letters to be written,telling the family all the news; there were baby clothes and more maternityclothestobeshoppedfor;therewereassorteddecisionstobemade,aboutbirthannouncementsandbreast-or-bottleandthename,thename,thename.AndreworDouglasorDavid;AmandaorJennyorHope.

And there were exercises to be done, morning and evening, for she washavingthebabybynaturalchildbirth.ShehadstrongfeelingsonthesubjectandDr. Sapirstein concurred with them wholeheartedly. He would give her ananestheticonlyifattheverylastmomentsheaskedforone.Lyingonthefloor,sheraisedherlegsstraightupintheairandheldthemthereforacountoften;she practiced shallowbreathing and panting, imagining the sweaty triumphantmomentwhenshewouldseewhatever-its-name-wascominginchbyinchoutofhereffectivelyhelpingbody.

ShespenteveningsatMinnieandRoman’s,oneattheKapps’,andanotheratHughandEliseDunstan’s.(“Youdon’thaveanurseyet?”Eliseasked.“Youshouldhavearrangedforonelongago; they’llallbebookedbynow.”ButDr.Sapirstein,whenshecalledhimaboutitthenextday,toldherthathehadlinedup a fine nurse whowould staywith her for as long as shewanted after thedelivery.Hadn’thementioneditbefore?MissFitzpatrick;oneofthebest.)

Guycalledeverysecondorthirdnightaftertheshow.HetoldRosemaryofthechangesthatwerebeingmadeandoftheravehehadgotinVariety;shetoldhimaboutMissFitzpatrickandthewallpaperandtheshaped-all-wrongbooteesthatLaura-Louisewasknitting.

TheshowfoldedafterfifteenperformancesandGuywashomeagain,onlyto leave two days later forCalifornia and aWarnerBrothers screen test.Andthenhewashomeforgood,withtwogreatnext-seasonpartstochoosefromandthirteenhalf-hourGreenwichVillage’stodo.WarnerBrothersmadeanofferandAllanturneditdown.

Thebabykickedlikeademon.Rosemarytoldit tostoporshewouldstartkickingback.

Her sisterMargaret’s husband called to tell of the birth of an eight-poundboy,KevinMichael, and later a too-cute announcement came—an impossiblyrosy baby megaphoning his name, birth date, weight, and length. (Guy said,“What,nobloodtype?”)Rosemarydecidedonsimpleengravedannouncements,with nothing but the baby’s name, their name, and the date.And it would be

AndrewJohnorJenniferSusan.Definitely.Breast-fed,notbottle-fed.Theymovedthetelevisionsetintothelivingroomandgavetherestofthe

denfurnituretofriendswhocoulduseit.Thewallpapercame,wasperfect,andwashung;thecribandbureauandbathinettecameandwereplacedfirstonewayand thenanother. Into thebureauRosemaryput receivingblankets,waterproofpants,andshirtssotinythat,holdingoneup,shecouldn’tkeepfromlaughing.

“Andrew John Woodhouse,” she said, “stop it! You’ve got two wholemonthsyet!”

They celebrated their second anniversary and Guy’s thirty-third birthday;they gave another party—a sit-down dinner for the Dunstans, the Chens, andJimmyandTiger;theysawMorgan!andapreviewofMame.

Bigger and bigger Rosemary grew, her breasts lifting higher atop herballooningbellythatwasdrum-solidwithitsnavelflattenedaway, thatrippledand jutted with the movements of the baby inside it. She did her exercisesmorning and evening, lifting her legs, sitting on her heels, shallow-breathing,panting.

AttheendofMay,whenshewentintoherninthmonth,shepackedasmallsuitcase with the things she would need at the hospital—nightgowns, nursingbrassieres,anewquiltedhousecoat,andsoon—andsetitreadybythebedroomdoor.

OnFriday,June3rd,HutchdiedinhisbedatSt.Vincent’sHospital.AxelAllert,his son-in-law, called Rosemary on Saturday morning and told her the news.TherewouldbeamemorialserviceonTuesdaymorningateleven,hesaid,attheEthicalCultureCenteronWestSixty-fourthStreet.

Rosemarywept,partlybecauseHutchwasdeadandpartlybecauseshehadallbutforgottenhiminthepastfewmonthsandfeltnowasifshehadhastenedhisdying.OnceortwiceGraceCardiffhadcalledandonceRosemaryhadcalledDorisAllert;butshehadn’tgonetoseeHutch;therehadseemednopointinitwhenhewasstillfrozenincoma,andhavingbeenrestoredtohealthherself,shehad been averse to being near someone sick, as if she and the baby mightsomehowhavebeenendangeredbythenearness.

Guy,whenheheardthenews,turnedbloodlessgrayandwassilentandself-enclosedforseveralhours.Rosemarywassurprisedbythedepthofhisreaction.

Shewentaloneto thememorialservice;Guywasfilmingandcouldn’tgetfree and Joan begged off with a virus. Some fifty people were there, in a

handsome paneled auditorium. The service began soon after eleven and wasquiteshort.AxelAllertspoke,andthenanothermanwhoapparentlyhadknownHutch for many years. Afterwards Rosemary followed the general movementtoward the frontof theauditoriumand saidawordof sympathy to theAllertsand toHutch’s other daughter, Edna, and her husband.Awoman touched herarmandsaid,“Excuseme,you’reRosemary,aren’tyou?”—astylishlydressedwomaninherearlyfifties,withgrayhairandanexceptionallyfinecomplexion.“I’mGraceCardiff.”

Rosemarytookherhandandgreetedherandthankedherforthephonecallsshehadmade.

“Iwasgoingtomailthislastevening,”GraceCardiffsaid,holdingabook-sizebrown-paperpackage,“andthenIrealizedthatI’dprobablybeseeingyouthismorning.”ShegaveRosemary thepackage;Rosemarysawherownnameandaddressprintedonit,andGraceCardiff’sreturnaddress.

“Whatisit?”sheasked.“It’sabookHutchwantedyoutohave;hewasveryemphaticaboutit.”Rosemarydidn’tunderstand.“He was conscious at the end for a fewminutes,” Grace Cardiff said. “I

wasn’t there, but he told a nurse to tellme to give you the bookon his desk.Apparentlyhewas reading it thenighthewasstricken.Hewasvery insistent,toldthenursetwoorthreetimesandmadeherpromisenottoforget.AndI’mtotellyouthat‘thenameisananagram.’”

“Thenameofthebook?”“Apparently.Hewasdelirious,soit’shardtobesure.Heseemedtofighthis

wayoutofthecomaandthendieoftheeffort.Firsthethoughtitwasthenextmorning,themorningafterthecomabegan,andhespokeabouthavingtomeetyouateleveno’clock—”

“Yes,wehadanappointment,”Rosemarysaid.“Andthenheseemedtorealizewhathadhappenedandhebegantellingthe

nursethatIwastogiveyouthebook.Herepeatedhimselfafewtimesandthatwastheend.”GraceCardiffsmiledasifsheweremakingpleasantconversation.“It’sanEnglishbookaboutwitchcraft,”shesaid.

Rosemary,lookingdoubtfullyatthepackage,said,“Ican’timaginewhyhewantedmetohaveit.”

“Hedidthough,sothereyouare.Andthenameisananagram.SweetHutch.Hemadeeverythingsoundlikeaboy’sadventure,didn’the?”

Theywalkedtogetheroutoftheauditoriumandoutofthebuildingontothe

sidewalk.“I’mgoinguptown;canIdropyouanywhere?”GraceCardiffasked.“No,thankyou,”Rosemarysaid.“I’mgoingdownandacross.”Theywent to the corner. Other people who had been at the service were

hailing taxis; one pulled up, and the two men who had got it offered it toRosemary.She tried todeclineand,when themen insisted,offered it toGraceCardiff, who wouldn’t have it either. “Certainly not,” she said. “Take fulladvantageofyourlovelycondition.Whenisthebabydue?”

“June twenty-eighth,” Rosemary said. Thanking themen, she got into thecab.Itwasasmalloneandgettingintoitwasn’teasy.

“Goodluck,”GraceCardiffsaid,closingthedoor.“Thankyou,”Rosemary said, “and thankyou for thebook.”To thedriver

shesaid,“TheBramford,please.”ShesmiledthroughtheopenwindowatGraceCardiffasthecabpulledaway.

CHAPTER7

SHETHOUGHTofunwrappingthebookthereinthecab,butitwasacabthathadbeenfittedoutbyitsdriverwithextraashtraysandmirrorsandhand-letteredpleasforcleanlinessandconsideration,andthestringandthepaperwouldhavebeentoomuchofanuisance.Soshewenthomefirstandgotoutofhershoes,dress,andgirdle,andintoslippersandanewgiganticpeppermint-stripedsmock.

The doorbell rang and she went to answer it holding the still-unopenedpackage; itwasMinniewith the drink and the littlewhite cake. “I heard youcomein,”shesaid.“Itcertainlywasn’tverylong.”

“Itwasnice,”Rosemarysaid,takingtheglass.“Hisson-in-lawandanothermantalkedalittleaboutwhathewaslikeandwhyhe’llbemissed,andthatwasit.”Shedranksomeofthethinpale-green.

“That sounds likea sensiblewayofdoing it,”Minnie said. “Yougotmailalready?”

“No,someonegaveittome,”Rosemarysaid,anddrankagain,decidingnottogointowhoandwhyandthewholestoryofHutch’sreturntoconsciousness.

“Here, I’ll hold it,” Minnie said, and took the package—“Oh, thanks,”Rosemarysaid—sothatRosemarycouldtakethewhitecake.

Rosemaryateanddrank.“Abook?”Minnieasked,weighingthepackage.“Mm-hmm.Shewasgoingtomailitandthensherealizedshe’dbeseeing

me.”Minnie read the return address. “Oh, I know that house,” she said. “The

Gilmoresusedtolivetherebeforetheymovedovertowheretheyarenow.”“Oh?”

“I’vebeentherelotsoftimes.‘Grace.’That’soneofmyfavoritenames.Oneofyourgirlfriends?”

“Yes,” Rosemary said; it was easier than explaining and it made nodifferencereally.

Shefinishedthecakeandthedrink,andtookthepackagefromMinnieandgavehertheglass.“Thanks,”shesaid,smiling.

“Say listen,”Minniesaid,“Roman’sgoingdownto thecleaner inawhile;doyouhaveanythingtogoorpickup?”

“No,nothing,thanks.Willweseeyoulater?”“Sure.Takeanap,whydon’tyou?”“I’mgoingto.’By.”Sheclosedthedoorandwent into thekitchen.Withaparingknifeshecut

thestringofthepackageandundiditsbrownpaper.ThebookwithinwasAllOfThemWitchesbyJ.R.Hanslet.Itwasablackbook,notnew,itsgoldletteringallbut worn away. On the flyleaf was Hutch’s signature, with the inscriptionTorquay,1934 beneath it.At the bottom of the inside coverwas a small bluestickerimprintedJ.Waghorn&Son,Booksellers.

Rosemarytookthebookintothelivingroom,rifflingitspagesasshewent.Therewereoccasionalphotographsofrespectable-lookingVictorians,and,inthetext, several of Hutch’s underlinings and marginal checkmarks that sherecognized from books he had lent her in the Higgins-Eliza period of theirfriendship.Oneunderlinedphrasewas“thefungustheycall‘Devil’sPepper.’”

Shesatinoneofthewindowbaysandlookedatthetableofcontents.ThenameAdrianMarcato jumped tohereye; itwas the titleof the fourthchapter.Otherchaptersdealtwithotherpeople—allofthem,itwastobepresumedfromthe book’s title, witches: Gilles de Rais, Jane Wenham, Aleister Crowley,Thomas Weir. The final chapters were Witch Practices and Witchcraft andSatanism.

Turningtothefourthchapter,Rosemaryglancedoveritstwenty-oddpages;MarcatowasborninGlasgowin1846,hewasbroughtsoonaftertoNewYork(underlined),andhediedontheislandofCorfuin1922.Therewereaccountsofthe1896tumultwhenheclaimedtohavecalledforthSatanandwasattackedbyamoboutsidetheBramford(notinthelobbyasHutchhadsaid),andofsimilarhappenings in Stockholm in 1898 and Paris in 1899.Hewas a hypnotic-eyedblack-bearded man who, in a standing portrait, looked fleetingly familiar toRosemary.OverleaftherewasalessformalphotographofhimsittingataPariscafétablewithhiswifeHessiaandhissonSteven(underlined).

WasthiswhyHutchhadwantedhertohavethebook;sothatshecouldreadindetail aboutAdrianMarcato?Butwhy?Hadn’the issuedhiswarnings longago,andacknowledgedlateronthattheywereunjustified?Sheflippedthroughthe rest of the book, pausing near the end to read other underlinings. “Thestubborn fact remains,” one read, “that whether or notwe believe, they mostassuredlydo.”Andafewpageslater:“theuniversallyheldbeliefinthepoweroffresh blood.” And “surrounded by candles, which needless to say are alsoblack.”

TheblackcandlesMinniehadbroughtoveronthenightofthepowerfailure.Hutchhadbeen struckby themandhadbegunaskingquestions aboutMinnieandRoman.Wasthisthebook’smeaning;thattheywerewitches?Minniewithherherbsandtannis-charms,Romanwithhispiercingeyes?Buttherewerenowitches,werethere?Notreally.

SherememberedthentheotherpartofHutch’smessage,thatthenameofthebookwasananagram.AllOfThemWitches.Shetriedtojugglethelettersinherhead, to transpose them into something meaningful, revealing. She couldn’t;thereweretoomanyofthemtokeeptrackof.Sheneededapencilandpaper.Orbetteryet,theScrabbleset.

Shegotitfromthebedroomand,sittinginthebayagain,puttheunopenedboardonherkneesandpickedoutfromtheboxbesidehertheletterstospellAllOf ThemWitches. The baby, which had been still allmorning, beganmovinginsideher.You’regoing to beabornScrabble-player, she thought, smiling. Itkicked.“Hey,easy,”shesaid.

WithAllOfThemWitcheslaidoutontheboard,shejumbledthelettersandmixed themaround, then looked to seewhatelsecouldbemadeof them.Shefoundcomeswiththefalland,afterafewminutesofrearrangingtheflatwoodtiles,howishellfactmet.Neitherofwhichseemedtomeananything.Norwasthererevelationinwhoshallmeetit,wethatchoseill,andifheshallcome,allofwhich weren’t real anagrams anyway, since they used less than the fullcomplementofletters.Itwasfoolishness.Howcouldthetitleofabookhaveahiddenanagrammessageforherandheralone?Hutchhadbeendelirious;hadn’tGraceCardiffsaidso?Time-wasting.Elfshotlamewitch.Tellmewhichfatso.

But maybe it was the name of the author, not the book, that was theanagram.MaybeJ.R.Hansletwasapenname;itdidn’tsoundlikearealone,whenyoustoppedtothinkaboutit.

Shetooknewletters.Thebabykicked.

J.R.HansletwasJanShrelt.OrJ.H.Snartle.Nowthatreallymadesense.PoorHutch.Shetookuptheboardandtiltedit,spillingthelettersbackintothebox.Thebook,whichlayopenonthewindowseatbeyondthebox,hadturnedits

pagestothepictureofAdrianMarcatoandhiswifeandson.PerhapsHutchhadpressedhardthere,holdingitopenwhileheunderlined“Steven.”

Thebabylayquietinher,notmoving.Sheput theboardonherkneesagainand took from thebox the lettersof

StevenMarcato.When the name lay spelled before her, she looked at it for amoment and then began transposing the letters. With no false moves and nowastedmotionshemadethemintoRomanCastevet.

AndthenagainintoStevenMarcato.AndthenagainintoRomanCastevet.Thebabystirredeversoslightly.

ShereadthechapteronAdrianMarcatoandtheonecalledWitchPractices,andthenshewentintothekitchenandatesometunasaladandlettuceandtomatoes,thinkingaboutwhatshehadread.

ShewasjustbeginningthechaptercalledWitchcraftandSatanismwhenthefrontdoorunlockedandwaspushedagainstthechain.Thedoorbellrangasshewenttoseewhoitwas.ItwasGuy.

“What’swiththechain?”heaskedwhenshehadlethimin.Shesaidnothing,closingthedoorandrechainingit.“What’sthematter?”HehadabunchofdaisiesandaboxfromBronzini.“I’lltellyouinside,”shesaidashegaveherthedaisiesandakiss.“Areyouallright?”heasked.“Yes,”shesaid.Shewentintothekitchen.“Howwasthememorial?”“Verynice.Veryshort.”“IgottheshirtthatwasinTheNewYorker,”hesaid,goingtothebedroom.

“Hey,”hecalled,“OnAClearDayandSkyscraperarebothclosing.”Sheputthedaisiesinabluepitcherandbroughtthemintothelivingroom.

Guycameinandshowedhertheshirt.Sheadmiredit.Thenshesaid,“DoyouknowwhoRomanreallyis?”Guylookedather,blinked,andfrowned.“Whatdoyoumean,honey?”he

said.“He’sRoman.”“He’sAdrianMarcato’sson,”shesaid.“Themanwhosaidheconjuredup

Satanandwasattackeddownstairsbyamob.RomanishissonSteven.‘RomanCastevet’is‘StevenMarcato’rearranged—ananagram.”

Guysaid,“Whotoldyou?”“Hutch,” Rosemary said. She told Guy about All Of Them Witches and

Hutch’smessage.Sheshowedhimthebook,andheputasidehisshirtandtookit and looked at it, looked at the title page and the table of contents and thensprungthepagesoutslowlyfromunderhisthumb,lookingatallofthem.

“Thereheiswhenhewasthirteen,”Rosemarysaid.“Seetheeyes?”“Itmightjustpossiblybeacoincidence,”Guysaid.“Andanother coincidence that he’s livinghere? In the samehouseSteven

Marcatowasbroughtupin?”Rosemaryshookherhead.“Theagesmatchtoo,”she said. “StevenMarcatowas born inAugust, 1886,whichwouldmake himseventy-ninenow.WhichiswhatRomanis.It’snocoincidence.”

“No, I guess it’s not,” Guy said, springing outmore pages. “I guess he’sStevenMarcato,allright.Thepooroldgeezer.Nowonderheswitchedhisnamearound,withacrazyfatherlikethat.”

Rosemary looked atGuyuncertainly and said, “Youdon’t thinkhe’s—thesameashisfather?”

“What do you mean?” Guy said, and smiled at her. “A witch? A devilworshiper?”

Shenodded.“Ro,”hesaid.“Areyoukidding?Doyoureally—”Helaughedandgavethe

bookbacktoher.“Ah,Ro,honey,”hesaid.“It’s a religion,” she said. “It’s an early religion that got—pushed into the

corner.”“Allright,”hesaid,“buttoday?”“Hisfatherwasamartyrtoit,”shesaid.“That’showitmustlooktohim.Do

youknowwhereAdrianMarcatodied?Inastable.OnCorfu.Whereverthatis.Becausetheywouldn’tlethimintothehotel.Really.‘Noroomattheinn.’Sohediedinthestable.Andhewaswithhim.Roman.Doyouthinkhe’sgivenitupafterthat?”

“Honey,it’s1966,”Guysaid.“Thisbookwaspublishedin1933,”Rosemarysaid;“therewerecovens in

Europe—that’swhat they’re called, the groups, the congregations; covens—inEurope,inNorthandSouthAmerica,inAustralia;doyouthinkthey’vealldied

outinjustthirty-threeyears?They’vegotacovenhere,MinnieandRoman,withLaura-LouiseandtheFountainsandtheGilmoresandtheWeeses;thosepartieswith thefluteand thechanting, thosearesabbathsoresbatsorwhatever-they-are!”

“Honey,”Guysaid,“don’tgetexcited.Let’s—”“Read what they do, Guy,” she said, holding the book open at him and

jabbing a page with her forefinger. “They use blood in their rituals, becausebloodhaspower,andthebloodthathasthemostpowerisababy’sblood,ababythathasn’tbeenbaptized;andtheyusemore than theblood, theyuse the fleshtoo!”

“ForGod’ssake,Rosemary!”“Whyhavetheybeensofriendlytous?”shedemanded.“Becausethey’refriendlypeople!Whatdoyouthinktheyare,maniacs?”“Yes!Yes.Maniacswho think they havemagic power,who think they’re

real storybook witches,who perform all sorts of crazy rituals and practicesbecausethey’re—sickandcrazymaniacs!”

“Honey—”“ThoseblackcandlesMinniebroughtuswerefromtheblackmass!That’s

howHutchcaughton.Andtheirlivingroomisclearinthemiddlesothattheyhaveroom.”

“Honey,”Guysaid,“they’reoldpeopleandtheyhaveabunchofoldfriends,and Dr. Shand happens to play the recorder. You can get black candles rightdown in the hardware store, and red ones andgreenones andblue ones.Andtheir living room is clearbecauseMinnie is a lousydecorator.Roman’s fatherwasanut,okay;butthat’snoreasontothinkthatRomanistoo.”

“They’re not setting foot in this apartment ever again,” Rosemary said.“Either one of them. Or Laura-Louise or any of the others. And they’re notcomingwithinfiftyfeetofthebaby.”

“ThefactthatRomanchangedhisnameprovesthathe’snotlikehisfather,”Guysaid.“Ifhewerehe’dbeproudofthenameandwouldhavekeptit.”

“Hedidkeepit,”Rosemarysaid.“Heswitcheditaround,buthedidn’treallychange it for something else.And thisway he can get into hotels.” ShewentawayfromGuy,tothewindowwheretheScrabblesetlay.“Iwon’tlettheminagain,”shesaid.“Andassoonas thebabyisoldenoughIwant tosub-letandmove.Idon’twantthemnearus.Hutchwasright;wenevershouldhavemovedinhere.”Shelookedoutthewindow,holdingthebookclampedinbothhands,trembling.

Guywatchedherforamoment.“WhataboutDr.Sapirstein?”hesaid.“Isheinthecoventoo?”

Sheturnedandlookedathim.“After all,”he said, “there’vebeenmaniacdoctors,haven’t there?Hisbig

ambitionisprobablytomakehousecallsonabroomstick.”Sheturnedtothewindowagain,herfacesober.“No,Idon’tthinkhe’sone

ofthem,”shesaid.“He’s—toointelligent.”“Andbesides,he’sJewish,”Guysaidandlaughed.“Well, I’mgladyou’ve

exempted somebody from your McCarthy-type smear campaign. Talk aboutwitch-hunting,wow!Andguiltbyassociation.”

“I’m not saying they’re really witches,” Rosemary said. “I know theyhaven’tgotrealpower.Buttherearepeoplewhodobelieve,even ifwedon’t;justthewaymyfamilybelievesthatGodhearstheirprayersandthatthewaferistheactualbodyofJesus.MinnieandRomanbelievetheirreligion,believeitandpractice it, I know they do; and I’m not going to take any chances with thebaby’ssafety.”

“We’renotgoingtosub-letandmove,”Guysaid.“Yesweare,”Rosemarysaid,turningtohim.Hepickeduphisnewshirt.“We’lltalkaboutitlater,”hesaid.“He lied to you,” she said. “His fatherwasn’t a producer.He didn’t have

anythingtodowiththetheateratall.”“Allright,sohe’sabullthrower,”Guysaid;“whothehell isn’t?”Hewent

intothebedroom.Rosemary sat down next to the Scrabble set. She closed it and, after a

moment,openedthebookandbeganagaintoreadthefinalchapter,WitchcraftandSatanism.

Guy came back inwithout the shirt. “I don’t think you ought to read anymoreofthat,”hesaid.

Rosemarysaid,“Ijustwanttoreadthislastchapter.”“Nottoday,honey,”Guysaid,comingtoher;“you’vegotyourselfworked

upenoughasit is.It’snotgoodforyouor thebaby.”Heputhishandoutandwaitedforhertogivehimthebook.

“I’mnotworkedup,”shesaid.“You’re shaking,” he said. “You’ve been shaking for five minutes now.

Comeon,giveittome.You’llreadittomorrow.”“Guy—”“No,”hesaid.“Imeanit.Comeon,giveittome.”

She said “Ohh” and gave it to him. He went over to the bookshelves,stretched up, and put it as high as he could reach, across the tops of the twoKinseyReports.

“You’llreadittomorrow,”hesaid.“You’vehadtoomuchstirring-uptodayalready,withthememorialandall.”

CHAPTER8

DR. SAPIRSTEIN was amazed. “Fantastic,” he said. “Absolutely fantastic.Whatdidyousaythenamewas,‘Machado’?”

“Marcato,”Rosemarysaid.“Fantastic,”Dr.Sapirsteinsaid.“Ihadnoideawhatsoever.Ithinkhetoldme

oncethathisfatherwasacoffeeimporter.Yes,Irememberhimgoingonaboutdifferentgradesanddifferentwaysofgrindingthebeans.”

“HetoldGuythathewasaproducer.”Dr.Sapirsteinshookhishead.“It’snowonderhe’sashamedofthetruth,”he

said.“Andit’snowonderthatyou’reupsetathavingdiscoveredit.I’massureasIamofanythingonearththatRomandoesn’tholdanyofhisfather’sweirdbeliefs,butIcanunderstandcompletelyhowdisturbedyoumustbetohavehimforacloseneighbor.”

“I don’t want anything more to do with him orMinnie,” Rosemary said.“Maybe I’m being unfair, but I don’t want to take even the slightest chancewherethebaby’ssafetyisconcerned.”

“Absolutely,”Dr.Sapirsteinsaid.“Anymotherwouldfeelthesameway.”Rosemary leaned forward. “Is there any chance at all,” she said, “that

Minnieputsomethingharmfulinthedrinkorinthoselittlecakes?”Dr.Sapirsteinlaughed.“I’msorry,dear,”hesaid;“Idon’tmeantolaugh,but

really, she’s such a kind old woman and so concerned for the baby’s well-being…No,there’snochanceatallthatshegaveyouanythingharmful.Iwouldhaveseenevidenceofitlongago,inyouorinthebaby.”

“IcalledheronthehousephoneandtoldherIwasn’tfeelingwell.Iwon’ttakeanythingelsefromher.”

“Youwon’thaveto,”Dr.Sapirsteinsaid.“Icangiveyousomepillsthatwillbemorethanadequateintheselastfewweeks.InawaythismaybetheanswertoMinnieandRoman’sproblemtoo.”

“Whatdoyoumean?”Rosemarysaid.“Theywanttogoaway,”Dr.Sapirsteinsaid,“andrathersoon.Romanisn’t

well, youknow. In fact, and in the strictest of confidence, he hasn’t gotmorethan amonth or two left to him.Hewants to pay a last visit to a few of hisfavoritecitiesandtheywereafraidyoumighttakeoffenseattheirleavingontheeveofthebaby’sbirth,sotospeak.Theybroachedthesubjecttomethenightbeforelast,wantedtoknowhowIthoughtyouwouldtakeit.Theydon’twanttoupsetyoubytellingyoutherealreasonforthetrip.”

“I’msorrytohearthatRomanisn’twell,”Rosemarysaid.“Butgladattheprospectofhisleaving?”Dr.Sapirsteinsmiled.“Aperfectly

reasonable reaction,” he said, “all things considered. Suppose we do this,Rosemary:I’lltellthemthatI’vesoundedyououtandyouaren’tatalloffendedby the ideaof theirgoing; anduntil theydogo—theymentionedSundayas apossibility—youcontinueasbefore,notlettingRomanknowthatyou’velearnedhistrueidentity.I’msurehewouldbeembarrassedandunhappyifheknew,andit seems a shame to upset himwhen it’s only amatter of three or fourmoredays.”

Rosemarywassilentforamoment,andthenshesaid,“Areyousurethey’llbeleavingonSunday?”

“Iknowthey’dliketo,”Dr.Sapirsteinsaid.Rosemaryconsidered.“All right,” shesaid;“I’llgoonasbefore,butonly

untilSunday.”“Ifyou’dlike,”Dr.Sapirsteinsaid,“Icanhavethosepillssentovertoyou

tomorrowmorning;youcangetMinnietoleavethedrinkandthecakewithyouandthrowthemawayandtakeapillinstead.”

“Thatwouldbewonderful,”Rosemarysaid.“I’dbemuchhappierthatway.”“That’s the main thing at this stage,” Dr. Sapirstein said, “keeping you

happy.”Rosemarysmiled.“If it’saboy,”shesaid,“ImayjustnamehimAbraham

SapirsteinWoodhouse.”“Godforbid,”Dr.Sapirsteinsaid.Guy, when he heard the news, was as pleased as Rosemary. “I’m sorry

Romanisonhislastlap,”hesaid,“butI’mgladforyoursakethatthey’regoingaway.I’msureyou’llfeelmorerelaxednow.”

“Oh,Iwill,”Rosemarysaid.“Ifeelbetteralready,justknowingaboutit.”

Apparently Dr. Sapirstein didn’t waste any time in telling Roman aboutRosemary’s supposed feelings, for that same evening Minnie and Romanstopped by and broke the news that they were going to Europe. “Sundaymorningat ten,”Romansaid. “We flydirectly toParis,wherewe’ll stay foraweekorso,andthenwe’llgoontoZürich,Venice,andtheloveliestcityinalltheworld,Dubrovnik,inYugoslavia.”

“I’mgreenwithenvy,”Guysaid.Roman said to Rosemary, “I gather this doesn’t come as a complete bolt

fromtheblue,doesit,mydear?”Aconspirator’sgleamwinkedfromhisdeep-socketedeyes.

“Dr.Sapirsteinmentionedyouwerethinkingofgoing,”Rosemarysaid.Minniesaid,“We’dhavelovedtostaytillthebabycame—”“You’dbefoolishto,”Rosemarysaid,“nowthatthehotweatherishere.”“We’llsendyouallkindsofpictures,”Guysaid.“But when Roman gets the wanderlust,” Minnie said, “there’s just no

holdinghim.”“It’strue,it’strue,”Romansaid.“AfteralifetimeoftravelingIfinditallbut

impossibletostayinonecityformorethanayear;andit’sbeenfourteenmonthsnowsincewecamebackfromJapanandthePhilippines.”

HetoldthemaboutDubrovnik’sspecialcharms,andMadrid’s,andtheIsleofSkye’s.Rosemarywatchedhim,wonderingwhichhereallywas,anamiableoldtalkerorthemadsonofamadfather.

The next dayMinniemade no fuss at all about leaving the drink and thecake; she was on her way out with a long list of going-away jobs to do.Rosemaryofferedtopickupadressatthecleaner’sforherandbuytoothpasteanddramamine.Whenshe threwawaythedrinkand thecakeand tookoneofthe large white capsules Dr. Sapirstein had sent, she felt just the slightest bitridiculous.

On Saturday morning Minnie said, “You know, don’t you, about whoRoman’sfatherwas.”

Rosemarynodded,surprised.“I could tell by thewayyou turned sort of cool tous,”Minnie said. “Oh,

don’tapologize,dear;you’renotthefirstandyouwon’tbethelast.Ican’tsaythat I really blameyou.Oh, I couldkill that crazy oldman if hewasn’t dead

already!He’sbeenthebaneinpoorRoman’sexistence!That’swhyhelikestotravelsomuch;healwayswantstoleaveaplacebeforepeoplecanfindoutwhoheis.Don’tletontohimthatyouknow,willyou?He’ssofondofyouandGuy,itwouldnearaboutbreakhisheart.Iwanthimtohavearealhappytripwithnosorrows,becausetherearen’tlikelytobemanymore.Trips,Imean.Wouldyouliketheperishablesinmyicebox?SendGuyoverlateronandI’llloadhimup.”

Laura-LouisegaveabonvoyagepartySaturdaynightinhersmalldarktannis-smellingapartmentonthetwelfthfloor.TheWeesesandtheGilmorescame,andMrs.SabatiniwithhercatFlash,andDr.Shand. (HowhadGuyknown that itwasDr.Shandwhoplayedtherecorder?Rosemarywondered.Andthatitwasarecorder,notafluteoraclarinet?Shewouldhavetoaskhim.)RomantoldofhisandMinnie’s planned itinerary, surprisingMrs. Sabatini,who couldn’t believethey were bypassing Rome and Florence. Laura-Louise served home-madecookiesandamildlyalcoholicfruitpunch.Conversationturnedtotornadoesandcivil rights.Rosemary,watchingand listening to thesepeoplewhoweremuchlikeherauntsandunclesinOmaha,foundithardtomaintainherbeliefthattheywereinfactacovenofwitches.LittleMr.Wees,listeningtoGuytalkingaboutMartinLutherKing;couldsuchafeebleoldman,eveninhisdreams, imaginehimself a caster of spells, a maker of charms? And dowdy old women likeLaura-LouiseandMinnieandHelenWees;couldtheyreallybringthemselvestocavortnakedinmock-religiousorgies?(Yethadn’tsheseenthemthatway,seenallofthemnaked?No,no,thatwasadream,awilddreamthatshe’dhadalong,longtimeago.)

The Fountains phoned a good-by to Minnie and Roman, and so did Dr.Sapirstein and twoor threeotherpeoplewhosenamesRosemarydidn’tknow.Laura-Louise brought out a gift that everyone had chipped in for, a transistorradioinapigskincarryingcase,andRomanaccepteditwithaneloquentthank-youspeech,hisvoicebreaking.Heknowshe’sgoingtodie,Rosemarythought,andwasgenuinelysorryforhim.

GuyinsistedonlendingahandthenextmorningdespiteRoman’sprotests;hesetthealarmclockforeight-thirtyand,whenitwentoff,hoppedintochinosandaTshirtandwentaroundtoMinnieandRoman’sdoor.Rosemarywentwithhiminherpeppermint-stripedsmock.Therewaslittletocarry;twosuitcasesandahatbox.MinnieworeacameraandRomanhisnewradio.“Anyonewhoneedsmorethanonesuitcase,”hesaidashedouble-lockedtheirdoor,“isatourist,not

atraveler.”On the sidewalk, while the doorman blew his whistle at oncoming cars,

Roman checked through tickets, passport, traveler’s checks, and Frenchcurrency.Minnie tookRosemaryby the shoulders. “Nomatterwhereweare,”shesaid,“ourthoughtsaregoingtobewithyoueveryminute,darling,tillyou’reall happy and thin again with your sweet little boy or girl lying safe in yourarms.”

“Thank you,” Rosemary said, and kissedMinnie’s cheek. “Thank you foreverything.”

“YoumakeGuy send us lots of pictures, you hear?”Minnie said, kissingRosemaryback.

“Iwill.Iwill,”Rosemarysaid.Minnie turned to Guy. Roman took Rosemary’s hand. “I won’t wish you

luck,”hesaid,“becauseyouwon’tneedit.You’regoingtohaveahappy,happylife.”

Shekissedhim.“Haveawonderfultrip,”shesaid,“andcomebacksafely.”“Perhaps,”hesaid,smiling.“ButImaystayoninDubrovnik,orPescaraor

maybeMallorca.Weshallsee,weshallsee…”“Comeback,”Rosemarysaid,andfoundherselfmeaningit.Shekissedhim

again.A taxi came.Guyand thedoorman stowed the suitcasesbeside thedriver.

Minnieshoulderedandgruntedherwayin,sweatingunderthearmsofherwhitedress. Roman folded himself in beside her. “Kennedy Airport,” he said; “theTWABuilding.”

There were more good-by’s and kisses through open windows, and thenRosemaryandGuystoodwavingatthetaxithatspedawaywithhandsunglovedandwhite-glovedwavingfromeithersideofit.

Rosemaryfeltlesshappythanshehadexpected.

That afternoon she looked forAll Of ThemWitches, to reread parts of it andperhaps find it foolish and laughable. The bookwas gone. It wasn’t atop theKinseyReportsoranywhereelsethatshecouldsee.SheaskedGuyandhetoldherhehadputitinthegarbageThursdaymorning.

“I’msorry,honey,”hesaid,“butIjustdidn’twantyoureadinganymoreofthatstuffandupsettingyourself.”

Shewassurprisedandannoyed.“Guy,”shesaid,“Hutchgavemethatbook.

Heleftittome.”“I didn’t think about that part of it,” Guy said. “I just didn’t want you

upsettingyourself.I’msorry.”“That’saterriblethingtodo.”“I’msorry.Iwasn’tthinkingaboutHutch.”“Even ifhehadn’t given it tome, you don’t throw away another person’s

books.IfIwanttoreadsomething,Iwanttoreadit.”“I’msorry,”hesaid.Itbotheredheralldaylong.Andshehadforgottensomethingthatshemeant

toaskhim;thatbotheredhertoo.She remembered it in theevening,while theywerewalkingback fromLa

Scala,arestaurantnotfarfromthehouse.“HowdidyouknowDr.Shandplaystherecorder?”shesaid.

Hedidn’tunderstand.“Theotherday,”shesaid,“whenIreadthebookandwearguedaboutit;you

saidthatDr.Shandjusthappenedtoplaytherecorder.Howdidyouknow?”“Oh,”Guysaid.“Hetoldme.Alongtimeago.AndIsaidwe’dheardaflute

orsomethingthroughthewallonceortwice,andhesaidthatwashim.HowdidyouthinkIknew?”

“Ididn’tthink,”Rosemarysaid.“Ijustwondered,that’sall.”

Shecouldn’tsleep.Shelayawakeonherbackandfrownedattheceiling.Thebaby inside her was sleeping fine, but she couldn’t; she felt unsettled andworried,withoutknowingwhatshewasworriedabout.

Wellthebabyofcourse,andwhethereverythingwouldgothewayitshould.Shehadcheatedonherexerciseslately.Nomoreofthat;solemnpromise.

ItwasreallyMondayalready,thethirteenth.Fifteenmoredays.Twoweeks.Probably all women felt edgy and unsettled two weeks before. And couldn’tsleep frombeing sick and tiredof sleepingon their backs!The first thing shewasgoing todoafter itwasalloverwas sleep twenty-four solidhoursonherstomach,huggingapillow,withherfacesnuggleddeepdownintoit.

SheheardasoundinMinnieandRoman’sapartment,butitmusthavebeenfromtheflooraboveorthefloorbelow.Soundsweremaskedandconfusedwiththeairconditionergoing.

TheywereinParisalready.Luckythem.SomedaysheandGuywouldgo,withtheirthreelovelychildren.

Thebabywokeupandbeganmoving.

CHAPTER9

SHE BOUGHT cotton balls and cotton swabs and talcum powder and babylotion;engagedadiaperserviceandrearrangedthebaby’sclothinginthebureaudrawers. She ordered the announcements—Guywould phone in the name anddate later—andaddressedandstampedaboxfulof small ivoryenvelopes.Sheread a book called Summerhill that presented a seemingly irrefutable case forpermissive child-rearing, and discussed it at Sardi’s Eastwith Elise and Joan,theirtreat.

Shebegan to feel contractions;oneoneday,one thenext, thennone, thentwo.

Apostcard came fromParis,with apictureof theArcdeTriompheand aneatlywrittenmessage:Thinking of you both. Lovely weather, excellent food.Theflightoverwasperfect.Love,Minnie.

Thebabydroppedlowinsideher,readytobeborn.

EarlyintheafternoonofFriday,June24th,atthestationerycounteratTiffany’swhere shehadgone for twenty-fivemore envelopes,RosemarymetDominickPozzo,who in the past had beenGuy’s vocal coach.A short, swarthy, hump-backedmanwithavoicethatwasraspingandunpleasant,heseizedRosemary’shandandcongratulatedheronherappearanceandonGuy’srecentgoodfortune,for which he disavowed all credit. Rosemary told him of the play Guy wassigning for and of the latest offerWarner Brothers had made. Dominick wasdelighted; now, he said, was when Guy could truly benefit from intensivecoaching. He explained why, made Rosemary promise to have Guy call him,

and,with finalgoodwishes, turned toward theelevators.Rosemarycaughthisarm.“Inever thankedyou for the tickets toTheFantasticks,” she said. “I justloved it. It’s going to go on and on forever, like that Agatha Christie play inLondon.”

“TheFantasticks?”Dominicksaid.“You gaveGuy a pair of tickets.Oh, long ago. In the fall. I wentwith a

friend.Guyhadseenitalready.”“InevergaveGuyticketsforTheFantasticks,”Dominicksaid.“Youdid.Lastfall.”“No,mydear.InevergaveanybodyticketstoTheFantasticks;Ineverhad

anytogive.You’remistaken.”“I’msurehesaidhegotthemfromyou,”Rosemarysaid.“Thenhewasmistaken,”Dominicksaid.“You’lltellhimtocallme,yes?”“Yes.Yes,Iwill.”It was strange, Rosemary thought when she was waiting to cross Fifth

Avenue.GuyhadsaidthatDominickhadgivenhimthetickets,shewascertainofit.SherememberedwonderingwhetherornottosendDominickathank-younoteanddecidingfinallythatitwasn’tnecessary.Shecouldn’tbemistaken.

Walk,thelightsaid,andshecrossedtheavenue.ButGuycouldn’thavebeenmistakeneither.Hedidn’tgetfreeticketsevery

day of the week; hemust have remembered who gave them to him. Had hedeliberatelyliedtoher?Perhapshehadn’tbeengiventheticketsatall,buthadfound and kept them. No, there might have been a scene at the theater; hewouldn’thaveexposedhertothat.

She walked west on Fifty-seventh Street, walked very slowly with thebignessofthebabyhangingbeforeherandherbackachingfromwithstandingitsforward-pullingweight.Thedaywashotandhumid;ninety-twoalreadyandstillrising.Shewalkedveryslowly.

Hadhewanted togetheroutof theapartment thatnight forsomereason?Hadhegonedownandboughttheticketshimself?Tobefreetostudythescenehewasworkingon?Buttherewouldn’thavebeenanyneedfortrickeryif thathadbeenthecase;morethanonceintheoldone-roomapartmenthehadaskedher togooutforacoupleofhoursandshehadgonegladly.Mostof the time,though,hewantedhertostay,tobehisline-feeder,hisaudience.

Wasitagirl?Oneofhisoldflamesforwhomacoupleofhourshadn’tbeenenough,andwhoseperfumehehadbeenwashingoffintheshowerwhenshegothome?No,itwastannisrootnotperfumethattheapartmenthadsmelledofthat

night;shehadhadtowrapthecharminfoilbecauseofit.AndGuyhadbeenfartoo energetic and amorous to have spent the earlier part of the night withsomeoneelse.Hehadmadeunusuallyviolentlovetoher,sheremembered;later,whileheslept,shehadheardthefluteandthechantingatMinnieandRoman’s.

No,nottheflute.Dr.Shand’srecorder.Was that howGuy knew about it? Had he been there that evening?At a

sabbath…ShestoppedandlookedinHenriBendel’swindows,becauseshedidn’twant

to think anymore aboutwitches and covens and baby’s blood andGuybeingoverthere.WhyhadshemetthatstupidDominick?Sheshouldneverhavegoneouttodayatall.Itwastoohotandsticky.

Therewasagreat raspberrycrepedress that lookedlikeaRudiGernreich.AfterTuesday,aftershewasherownrealshapeagain,maybeshewouldgoinandpriceit.Andapairoflemon-yellowhip-huggersandaraspberryblouse…

Eventually, though,shehadtogoon.Goonwalking,goonthinking,withthebabysquirminginsideher.

Thebook(whichGuyhadthrownaway)hadtoldofinitiationceremonies,ofcovens inducting novicememberswith vows and baptism,with anointing andtheinflictionofa“witchmark.”Wasitpossible(theshowertowashawaythesmell of a tannis anointing) that Guy had joined the coven? That he (no, hecouldn’tbe!)wasoneofthem,withasecretmarkofmembershipsomewhereonhisbody?

Therehadbeenaflesh-coloredBand-Aidonhisshoulder.IthadbeenthereinhisdressingroominPhiladelphia(“Thatdamnpimple,”hehadsaidwhenshehadaskedhim)andithadbeenthereafewmonthsbefore(“Notthesameone!”shehadsaid).Wasitstilltherenow?

She didn’t know. He didn’t sleep naked any more. He had in the past,especiallyinhotweather.Butnotanymore,notformonthsandmonths.Nowheworepajamaseverynight.Whenhadshelastseenhimnaked?

Acarhonkedather;shewascrossingSixthAvenue.“ForGod’ssake,lady,”amanbehindhersaid.

Butwhy,why?HewasGuy,hewasn’tacrazyoldmanwithnothingbetterto do,with no otherway to find purpose and self-esteem!He had acareer, abusy, exciting, every-day-getting-better career!What did he need with wandsandwitchknivesandcensersand—andjunk;withtheWeesesandtheGilmoresand Minnie and Roman? What could they give him that he couldn’t getelsewhere?

She had known the answer before she asked herself the question.Formulatingthequestionhadbeenawaytoputofffacingtheanswer.

TheblindnessofDonaldBaumgart.Ifyoubelieved.Butshedidn’t.Shedidn’t.YetthereDonaldBaumgartwas,blind,onlyadayortwoafterthatSaturday.

With Guy staying home to grab the phone every time it rang. Expecting thenews.

TheblindnessofDonaldBaumgart.Outofwhichhadcomeeverything;theplay,thereviews,thenewplay,the

movie offer…Maybe Guy’s part inGreenwich Village, too, would have beenDonaldBaumgart’sifhehadn’tgoneinexplicablyblindadayortwoafterGuyhadjoined(maybe)acoven(maybe)ofwitches(maybe).

Therewerespellstotakeanenemy’ssightorhearing,thebookhadsaid.AllOf ThemWitches. (NotGuy!) The unitedmental force of thewhole coven, aconcentrated battery of malevolent wills, could blind, deafen, paralyze, andultimatelykillthechosenvictim.

Paralyzeandultimatelykill.“Hutch?”sheaskedaloud,standingmotionlessinfrontofCarnegieHall.A

girllookedupather,clingingtohermother’shand.Hehadbeenreadingthebookthatnightandhadaskedhertomeethimthe

nextmorning.TotellherthatRomanwasStevenMarcato.AndGuyknewoftheappointment, andknowing,wentout for—what, ice cream?—and rangMinnieandRoman’s bell.Was a hastymeeting called?Theunitedmental force…Buthow had they known what Hutch would be telling her? She hadn’t knownherself;onlyhehadknown.

Suppose,though,that“tannisroot”wasn’t“tannisroot”atall.Hutchhadn’theardofit,hadhe?Supposeitwas—thatotherstuffheunderlinedinthebook,Devil’sFungusorwhateveritwas.HehadtoldRomanhewasgoingtolookintoit;wouldn’tthathavebeenenoughtomakeRomanwaryofhim?Andrightthenand thereRomanhad takenoneofHutch’sgloves, because the spells can’t becast without one of the victim’s belongings! And then, when Guy told themabout theappointmentfor thenextmorning, theytooknochancesandwent towork.

But no,Roman couldn’t have takenHutch’s glove; she had shownhim inandshownhimout,walkingalongwithhimbothtimes.

Guyhadtakentheglove.Hehadrushedhomewithhismake-upstillon—

whichheneverdid—andhadgonebyhimself to thecloset.Romanmusthavecalledhim,musthavesaid,“ThismanHutchisgettingsuspiciousabout‘tannisroot’gohomeandgetoneofhisbelongings,justincase!”AndGuyhadobeyed.TokeepDonaldBaumgartblind.

Waiting for the light at Fifty-fifth Street, she tucked her handbag and theenvelopesunderherarm,unhookedthechainatthebackofherneck,drewthechain and the tannis-charm out of her dress and dropped them together downthroughthesewergrating.

Somuchfor“tannisroot.”Devil’sFungus.Shewassofrightenedshewantedtocry.BecausesheknewwhatGuywasgivingtheminexchangeforhissuccess.Thebaby.Touseintheirrituals.He had neverwanted a baby until after Donald Baumgart was blind. He

didn’t like to feel itmoving;hedidn’t like to talkabout it;hekepthimself asdistantandbusyasifitweren’thisbabyatall.

Becauseheknewwhattheywereplanningtodotoitassoonashegaveittothem.

Intheapartment,intheblessedly-coolshadedapartment,shetriedtotellherselfthatshewasmad.You’regoingtohaveyourbabyinfourdays,IdiotGirl.Maybeeven less. So you’re all tense and nutty and you’ve built up a whole lunaticpersecutionthingoutofabunchofcompletelyunrelatedcoincidences.Therearenorealwitches.Therearenorealspells.Hutchdiedanaturaldeath,evenifthedoctorscouldn’tgiveanametoit.DittoforDonaldBaumgart’sblindness.Andhow, pray tell, didGuy get one of Donald Baumgart’s belongings for the bigspell-casting?See,IdiotGirl?Itallfallsapartwhenyoupickatit.

Butwhyhadheliedaboutthetickets?She undressed and took a long cool shower, turned clumsily around and

around and then pushed her face up into the spray, trying to think sensibly,rationally.

Theremust be another reasonwhyhehad lied.Maybehe’d spent thedayhangingaroundDowney’s,yes,andhadgottentheticketsfromoneofthegangthere;wouldn’thethenhavesaidDominickhadgiventhemtohim,soasnottoletherknowhe’dbeengoofingoff?

Ofcoursehewouldhave.There,yousee,IdiotGirl?

Butwhyhadn’theshownhimselfnakedinsomanymonthsandmonths?Shewasglad, anyway, that shehad thrownaway thatdamnedcharm.She

shouldhavedoneitlongago.ShenevershouldhavetakenitfromMinnieinthefirst place.What a pleasure it was to be rid of its revolting smell! She driedherselfandsplashedoncologne,lotsandlotsofit.

Hehadn’tshownhimselfnakedbecausehehadalittlerashofsomekindandwasembarrassedaboutit.Actorsarevain,aren’tthey?Elementary.

Butwhyhadhethrownoutthebook?AndspentsomuchtimeatMinnieandRoman’s? And waited for the news of Donald Baumgart’s blindness? Andrushedhomewearinghismake-upjustbeforeHutchmissedhisglove?

Shebrushedherhairandtiedit,andputonabrassiereandpanties.Shewentintothekitchenanddranktwoglassesofcoldmilk.

Shedidn’tknow.Shewent into the nursery,moved the bathinette away from thewall, and

thumbtacked a sheet of plastic over thewallpaper to protect itwhen the babysplashedinitsbath.

Shedidn’tknow.Shedidn’tknowifshewasgoingmadorgoingsane,ifwitcheshadonlythe

longing for power or power that was real and strong, if Guy was her lovinghusbandorthetreacherousenemyofthebabyandherself.

Itwasalmostfour.Hewouldbehomeinanhourorso.

ShecalledActorsEquityandgotDonaldBaumgart’stelephonenumber.

Thephonewasansweredonthefirstringwithaquickimpatient“Yeh?”“IsthisDonaldBaumgart?”“That’sright.”“ThisisRosemaryWoodhouse,”shesaid.“GuyWoodhouse’swife.”“Oh?”“Iwanted—”“My God,” he said, “you must be a happy little lady these days! I hear

you’re living in baronial splendor in the ‘Bram,’ sipping vintage wine fromcrystalgoblets,withscoresofuniformedlackeysinattendance.”

Shesaid,“Iwantedtoknowhowyouare;ifthere’sbeenanyimprovement.”Helaughed.“Whyblessyourheart,GuyWoodhouse’swife,”hesaid,“I’m

fine! I’m splendid! There’s been enormous improvement! I only broke sixglasses today, only fell down three flights of stairs, and only went tap-a-tap-

tapping in front of two speeding fire engines! Every day in every way I’mgettingbetterandbetterandbetterandbetter.”

Rosemary said, “Guy and I are both very unhappy that he got his breakbecauseofyourmisfortune.”

DonaldBaumgartwassilentforamoment,andthensaid,“Oh,whatthehell.That’s theway itgoes.Somebody’sup, somebody’sdown.Hewould’vemadeoutallrightanyway.Totellyouthetruth,afterthatsecondauditionwedidforTwoHoursofSolidCrap, Iwasdeadcertainhewasgoing toget thepart.Hewasterrific.”

“Hethoughtyouweregoingtogetit,”Rosemarysaid.“Andhewasright.”“Briefly.”“I’m sorry I didn’t come along that day he came to visit you,”Rosemary

said.“Heaskedmeto,butIcouldn’t.”“Visitme?Youmeanthedaywemetfordrinks?”“Yes,”shesaid.“That’swhatImeant.”“It’sgoodyoudidn’tcome,”hesaid;“theydon’tallowwomen,dothey?No,

after four they do, that’s right; and it was after four. Thatwas awfully good-natured of Guy. Most people wouldn’t have had the—well, class, I guess. Iwouldn’thavehadit,Icantellyouthat.”

“Theloserbuyingthewinneradrink,”Rosemarysaid.“Andlittledidweknowthataweeklater—lessthanaweek,infact—”“That’sright,”Rosemarysaid.“Itwasonlyafewdaysbeforeyou—”“Wentblind.Yes. Itwas aWednesdayorThursday, because I’dbeen to a

matinee—Wednesday,Ithink—andthefollowingSundaywaswhenithappened.Hey”—helaughed—“Guydidn’tputanythinginthatdrink,didhe?”

“No,hedidn’t,”Rosemarysaid.Hervoicewasshaking.“Bytheway,”shesaid,“hehassomethingofyours,youknow.”

“Whatdoyoumean?”“Don’tyouknow?”“No,”hesaid.“Didn’tyoumissanythingthatday?”“No.NotthatIremember.”“You’resure?”“Youdon’tmeanmytie,doyou?”“Yes,”shesaid.“Wellhe’sgotmineandI’vegothis.Doeshewanthisback?Hecanhaveit;

itdoesn’tmattertomewhattieI’mwearing,orifI’mwearingoneatall.”

“No, he doesn’t want it back,” Rosemary said. “I didn’t understand. Ithoughthehadonlyborrowedit.”

“No,itwasatrade.Itsoundedasifyouthoughthehadstolenit.”“Ihavetohangupnow,”Rosemarysaid.“Ijustwantedtoknowiftherewas

anyimprovement.”“No,thereisn’t.Itwasniceofyoutocall.”Shehungup.Itwasnineminutesafterfour.She put on her girdle and a dress and sandals. She took the emergency

moneyGuykeptunderhisunderwear—anotverythickfoldofbills—andputitintoherhandbag,putinheraddressbooktooandthebottleofvitamincapsules.Acontractioncameandwent, thesecondoftheday.Shetookthesuitcasethatstoodbythebedroomdoorandwentdownthehallwayandoutoftheapartment.

Halfwaytotheelevator,sheturnedanddoubledback.Sherodedownintheserviceelevatorwithtwodeliveryboys.OnFifty-fifthStreetshegotataxi.

MissLark,Dr.Sapirstein’sreceptionist,glancedatthesuitcaseandsaid,smiling,“Youaren’tinlabor,areyou?”

“No,”Rosemarysaid,“butIhavetoseethedoctor.It’sveryimportant.”MissLark glanced at herwatch. “He has to leave at five,” she said, “and

there’sMrs.Byron…”—shelookedoveratawomanwhosatreadingandthensmiledatRosemary—“but I’msurehe’ll seeyou.Sitdown. I’ll lethimknowyou’rehereassoonashe’sfree.”

“Thankyou,”Rosemarysaid.Sheputthesuitcasebythenearestchairandsatdown.Thehandbag’swhite

patentwasdampinherhands.Sheopened it, tookouta tissue,andwipedherpalmsandthenherupperlipandtemples.Herheartwasracing.

“Howisitoutthere?”MissLarkasked.“Terrible,”Rosemarysaid.“Ninety-four.”MissLarkmadeapainedsound.AwomancameoutofDr.Sapirstein’soffice,awomaninherfifthorsixth

monthwhomRosemaryhadseenbefore.Theynoddedateachother.MissLarkwentin.

“You’redueanydaynow,aren’tyou?”thewomansaid,waitingbythedesk.“Tuesday,”Rosemarysaid.

“Goodluck,”thewomansaid.“You’resmarttogetitoverwithbeforeJulyandAugust.”

MissLarkcameoutagain.“Mrs.Byron,”shesaid,andtoRosemary,“He’llseeyourightafter.”

“Thankyou,”Rosemarysaid.Mrs.ByronwentintoDr.Sapirstein’sofficeandclosedthedoor.Thewoman

bythedeskconferredwithMissLarkaboutanotherappointmentandthenwentout,sayinggood-bytoRosemaryandwishingherluckagain.

MissLarkwrote.RosemarytookupacopyofTimethatlayatherelbow.IsGodDead? itasked in red lettersonablackbackground.Shefound the indexandturnedtoShowBusiness.TherewasapieceonBarbraStreisand.Shetriedtoreadit.

“Thatsmellsnice,”MissLarksaid,sniffinginRosemary’sdirection.“Whatisit?”

“It’scalled‘Detchema,’”Rosemarysaid.“It’sabigimprovementoveryourregular,ifyoudon’tmindmysaying.”“Thatwasn’tacologne,”Rosemarysaid.“Itwasagoodluckcharm.Ithrew

itaway.”“Good,”MissLarksaid.“Maybethedoctorwillfollowyourexample.”Rosemary,afteramoment,said,“Dr.Sapirstein?”MissLarksaid,“Mm-hmm.Hehastheafter-shave.Butitisn’t,isit?Then

he has a good luck charm. Only he isn’t superstitious. I don’t think he is.Anyway,hehasthesamesmellonceinawhile,whateveritis,andwhenhedoes,Ican’tcomewithinfivefeetofhim.Muchstrongerthanyourswas.Haven’tyouevernoticed?”

“No,”Rosemarysaid.“I guess you haven’t been here on the right days,” Miss Lark said. “Or

maybeyouthoughtitwasyourownyouweresmelling.What is it,achemicalthing?”

Rosemary stood up and put down Time and picked up her suitcase. “Myhusband is outside; I have to tell him something,” she said. “I’ll be back in aminute.”

“Youcanleaveyoursuitcase,”MissLarksaid.Rosemarytookitwithherthough.

CHAPTER10

SHEWALKEDupPark toEighty-firstStreet,where she foundaglass-walledphonebooth.ShecalledDr.Hill.Itwasveryhotinthebooth.

A service answered. Rosemary gave her name and the phone number.“Pleaseaskhim tocallmebackrightaway,”shesaid.“It’sanemergencyandI’minaphonebooth.”

“Allright,”thewomansaidandclickedtosilence.Rosemaryhungupandthenliftedthereceiveragainbutkeptahiddenfinger

onthehook.Sheheldthereceivertoherearasiflistening,sothatnooneshouldcomealongandaskher togiveup thephone.Thebabykickedand twisted inher.Shewassweating.Quickly,please,Dr.Hill.Callme.Rescueme.

Allof them.Allof them.Theywereall in it together.Guy,Dr.Sapirstein,Minnie, andRoman.All of themwitches.AllOf ThemWitches. Using her toproduceababyforthem,sothattheycouldtakeitand—Don’tyouworry,Andy-or-Jenny,I’llkillthembeforeIletthemtouchyou!

Thephonerang.Shejumpedherfingerfromthehook.“Yes?”“IsthisMrs.Woodhouse?”Itwastheserviceagain.“Where’sDr.Hill?”shesaid.“Did I get the name right?” the woman asked. “Is it ‘Rosemary

Woodhouse’?”“Yes!”“Andyou’reDr.Hill’spatient?”Sheexplainedabouttheonevisitbackinthefall.“Please,please,”shesaid,

“hehastospeaktome!It’simportant!It’s—please.Pleasetellhimtocallme.”“Allright,”thewomansaid.

Holdingthehookagain,Rosemarywipedherforeheadwiththebackofherhand.Please, Dr. Hill. She cracked open the door for air and then pushed itclosed again as a woman came near and waited. “Oh, I didn’t know that,”Rosemarysaidtothemouthpiece,herfingeronthehook.“Really?Whatelsedidhe say?” Sweat trickled down her back and from under her arms. The babyturnedandrolled.

It had been amistake to use a phone so near Dr. Sapirstein’s office. SheshouldhavegonetoMadisonorLexington.“That’swonderful,”shesaid.“Didhe say anything else?”At this verymoment hemight be out of the door andlooking for her, andwouldn’t the nearest phone booth be the first place he’dlook?Sheshouldhavegottenrightintoataxi,gottenfaraway.Sheputherbackas much as she could in the direction he would come from if he came. Thewomanoutsidewaswalkingaway,thankGod.

Andnow,too,Guywouldbecominghome.HewouldseethesuitcasegoneandcallDr.Sapirstein, thinkingshewas in thehospital.Soonthe twoof themwouldbelookingforher.Andalltheotherstoo;theWeeses,the—

“Yes?”—stoppingtheringinitsmiddle.“Mrs.Woodhouse?”It was Dr. Hill, Dr. Savior-Rescuer-Kildare-Wonderful-Hill. “Thank you,”

shesaid.“Thankyouforcallingme.”“IthoughtyouwereinCalifornia,”hesaid.“No,”shesaid.“Iwenttoanotherdoctor,onesomefriendssentmeto,and

heisn’tgood,Dr.Hill;he’sbeenlyingtomeandgivingmeunusualkindsof—drinksandcapsules.ThebabyisdueonTuesday—remember,youtoldme,Junetwenty-eighth?—and Iwantyou todeliver it. I’ll payyouwhateveryouwant,thesameasifI’dbeencomingtoyouallalong.”

“Mrs.Woodhouse—”“Please, letme talk to you,” she said, hearing refusal. “Letme come and

explainwhat’sbeengoingon. Ican’t stay too longwhere Iamrightnow.Myhusband and this doctor and the peoplewho sentme to him, they’ve all beeninvolved in—well, in a plot; I know that sounds crazy, Doctor, and you’reprobablythinking,‘MyGod,thispoorgirlhascompletelyflipped,’butIhaven’tflipped,Doctor,IswearbyallthesaintsIhaven’t.Nowandthenthereareplotsagainstpeople,aren’tthere?”

“Yes,Isupposethereare,”hesaid.“There’soneagainstmeandmybaby,”shesaid,“andifyou’llletmecome

talk toyou I’ll tellyouabout it.AndI’mnotgoing toaskyou todoanything

unusualorwrongoranything;allIwantyoutodoisgetmeintoahospitalanddelivermybabyforme.”

Hesaid,“Cometomyofficetomorrowafter—”“Now,”shesaid.“Now.Rightnow.They’regoingtobelookingforme.”“Mrs.Woodhouse,”hesaid,“I’mnotatmyofficenow,I’mhome.I’vebeen

upsinceyesterdaymorningand—”“Ibegyou,”shesaid.“Ibegyou.”Hewassilent.Shesaid,“I’llcomethereandexplaintoyou.Ican’tstayhere.”“Myofficeateighto’clock,”hesaid.“Willthatbeallright?”“Yes,”shesaid.“Yes.Thankyou.Dr.Hill?”“Yes?”“MyhusbandmaycallyouandaskifIcalled.”“I’mnotgoingtospeaktoanyone,”hesaid.“I’mgoingtotakeanap.”“Wouldyoutellyourservice?NottosaythatIcalled?Doctor?”“Allright,Iwill,”hesaid.“Thankyou,”shesaid.“Eighto’clock.”“Yes.Thankyou.”Amanwith his back to the booth turned as she came out; hewasn’t Dr.

Sapirsteinthough,hewassomebodyelse.

ShewalkedtoLexingtonAvenueanduptowntoEighty-sixthStreet,whereshewentintothetheaterthere,usedtheladies’room,andthensatnumblyinthesafecooldarknessfacingaloudcolormovie.Afterawhileshegotupandwentwithhersuitcasetoaphonebooth,wheresheplacedaperson-to-personcollectcalltoherbrotherBrian.Therewasnoanswer.Shewentbackwithhersuitcaseandsatin a different seat. The baby was quiet, sleeping. The movie changed tosomethingwithKeenanWynn.

AttwentyofeightsheleftthetheaterandtookataxitoDr.Hill’sofficeonWestSeventy-secondStreet.Itwouldbesafetogoin,shethought;theywouldbewatchingJoan’splaceandHughandElise’s,butnotDr.Hill’sofficeateighto’clock, not if his service had said she hadn’t called. To be sure, though, sheaskedthedrivertowaitandwatchuntilshewasinsidethedoor.

Nobodystoppedher.Dr.Hillopenedthedoorhimself,morepleasantlythanshe had expected after his reluctance on the telephone. He had grown a

moustache,blondandhardlynoticeable,buthestilllookedlikeDr.Kildare.Hewaswearingablue-and-yellow-plaidsportshirt.

They went into his consulting room, which was a quarter the size of Dr.Sapirstein’s,and thereRosemary toldhimherstory.Shesatwithherhandsonthe chair arms and her ankles crossed and spoke quietly and calmly, knowingthat any suggestion of hysteria wouldmake him disbelieve her and think hermad. She told him about AdrianMarcato andMinnie and Roman; about themonthsofpainshehadsufferedandtheherbaldrinksandthelittlewhitecakes;about Hutch and All Of Them Witches and the Fantasticks tickets and blackcandlesandDonaldBaumgart’snecktie.She tried tokeepeverythingcoherentand in sequence but she couldn’t. She got it all outwithout getting hystericalthough;Dr.Shand’srecorderandGuythrowingawaythebookandMissLark’sfinalunwittingrevelation.

“Maybethecomaandtheblindnesswereonlycoincidences,”shesaid,“ormaybe they do have some kind of ESPway of hurting people. But that’s notimportant.Theimportantthingisthattheywantthebaby.I’msuretheydo.”

“Itcertainlyseemsthatway,”Dr.Hillsaid,“especiallyinlightoftheinterestthey’vetakeninitrightfromthebeginning.”

Rosemary shut her eyes and could have cried.He believed her.He didn’tthink shewasmad.Sheopenedher eyes and lookedathim, stayingcalmandcomposed.Hewaswriting.Didallhispatientslovehim?Herpalmswerewet;sheslidthemfromthechairarmsandpressedthemagainstherdress.

“Thedoctor’snameisShand,yousay,”Dr.Hillsaid.“No,Dr.Shandisjustoneofthegroup,”Rosemarysaid.“Oneofthecoven.

ThedoctorisDr.Sapirstein.”“AbrahamSapirstein?”“Yes,”Rosemarysaiduneasily.“Doyouknowhim?”“I’vemethimonceortwice,”Dr.Hillsaid,writingmore.“Lookingathim,”Rosemarysaid,“oreventalkingtohim,youwouldnever

thinkhe—”“Never in amillionyears,”Dr.Hill said, puttingdownhis pen, “which is

whywe’re toldnot to judgebooksby their covers.Wouldyou like togo intoMountSinairightnow,thisevening?”

Rosemarysmiled.“Iwouldloveto,”shesaid.“Isitpossible?”“It’lltakesomewire-pullingandarguing,”Dr.Hillsaid.Heroseandwentto

the open door of his examining room. “Iwant you to lie down and get somerest,”hesaid,reachingintothedarkenedroombehindhim.Itblinkedintoice-

bluefluorescentlight.“I’llseewhatIcandoandthenI’llcheckyouover.”Rosemaryheftedherselfupandwentwithherhandbagintotheexamining

room.“Anythingthey’vegot,”shesaid.“Evenabroomcloset.”“I’msurewecandobetterthanthat,”Dr.Hillsaid.Hecameinafterherand

turnedonanairconditionerintheroom’sblue-curtainedwindow.Itwasanoisyone.

“ShallIundress?”Rosemaryasked.“No,notyet,”Dr.Hillsaid.“Thisisgoingtotakeagoodhalf-hourofhigh-

poweredtelephoning.Justliedownandrest.”Hewentoutandclosedthedoor.Rosemary went to the day bed at the far end of the room and sat down

heavilyonitsblue-coveredsoftness.Sheputherhandbagonachair.GodblessDr.Hill.Shewouldmakeasamplertothateffectsomeday.Sheshookoffhersandalsandlaybackgratefully.Theairconditionersenta

small stream of coolness to her; the baby turned over slowly and lazily, as iffeelingit.

Everything’sokaynow,Andy-or-Jenny.We’regoingtobeinanicecleanbedatMountSinaiHospital,withnovisitorsand—

Money.She sat up, openedherhandbag, and foundGuy’smoney that shehadtaken.Therewasahundredandeightydollars.Plussixteen-and-changeofherown.Itwouldbeenough,certainly,foranyadvancepaymentsthathadtobemade, and ifmorewereneededBrianwouldwire it orHughandElisewouldlendittoher.OrJoan.OrGraceCardiff.Shehadplentyofpeopleshecouldturnto.

Shetookthecapsulesout,put themoneybackin,andclosedthehandbag;andthenshelaybackagainonthedaybed,withthehandbagandthebottleofcapsules on the chair beside her. Shewould give the capsules toDr. Hill; hewould analyze themandmake sure therewasnothingharmful in them.Therecouldn’t be. Theywouldwant the baby to be healthy,wouldn’t they, for theirinsanerituals?

Sheshivered.The—monsters.AndGuy.Unspeakable,unspeakable.Hermiddle hardened in a straining contraction, the strongest one yet. She

breathedshallowlyuntilitended.Makingthreethatday.

ShewouldtellDr.Hill.

She was living with Brian and Dodie in a large contemporary house in LosAngeles,andAndyhadjuststartedtalking(thoughonlyfourmonthsold)whenDr.Hilllookedinandshewasinhisexaminingroomagain,lyingonthedaybedin thecoolnessof theairconditioner.Sheshieldedhereyeswithherhandandsmiledathim.“I’vebeensleeping,”shesaid.

Hepushedthedoorallthewayopenandwithdrew.Dr.SapirsteinandGuycamein.

Rosemarysatup,loweringherhandfromhereyes.They came and stood close to her. Guy’s face was stony and blank. He

lookedatthewalls,onlyatthewalls,notather.Dr.Sapirsteinsaid,“Comewithusquietly,Rosemary.Don’targueormakeascene,becauseifyousayanythingmore about witches or witchcraft we’re going to be forced to take you to amentalhospital.Thefacilitiestherefordeliveringthebabywillbelessthanthebest.Youdon’twantthat,doyou?Soputyourshoeson.”

“We’rejustgoingtotakeyouhome,”Guysaid,finallylookingather.“Noone’sgoingtohurtyou.”

“Or thebaby,”Dr.Sapirstein said. “Put your shoeson.”Hepickedup thebottleofcapsules,lookedatit,andputitinhispocket.

Sheputhersandalsonandhegaveherherhandbag.They went out, Dr. Sapirstein holding her arm, Guy touching her other

elbow.Dr.Hillhadhersuitcase.HegaveittoGuy.“She’sfinenow,”Dr.Sapirsteinsaid.“We’regoingtogohomeandrest.”Dr.Hillsmiledather.“That’sallittakes,ninetimesoutoften,”hesaid.Shelookedathimandsaidnothing.“Thankyouforyourtrouble,Doctor,”Dr.Sapirsteinsaid,andGuysaid,“It’s

ashameyouhadtocomeinhereand—”“I’mgladIcouldbeofhelp,sir,”Dr.HillsaidtoDr.Sapirstein,openingthe

frontdoor.

Theyhadacar.Mr.Gilmorewasdrivingit.RosemarysatbetweenGuyandDr.Sapirsteininback.

Nobodyspoke.TheydrovetotheBramford.

The elevatorman smiled at her as they crossed the lobby toward him.Diego.Smiledbecausehelikedher,favoredheroversomeoftheothertenants.

The smile, reminding her of her individuality, wakened something in her,revivedsomething.

Shesnickedopenherhandbagatherside,workedafingerthroughherkeyring,and,near theelevatordoor, turned thehandbagall thewayover, spillingouteverythingexceptthekeys.Rollinglipstick,coins,Guy’stensandtwentiesfluttering,everything.Shelookeddownstupidly.

They picked things up, Guy and Dr. Sapirstein, while she stood mute,pregnant-helpless.Diegocameoutof theelevator,makingtongue-teethsoundsof concern. He bent and helped. She backed in to get out of the way and,watching them, toed the big round floor button. The rolling door rolled. Shepulledclosedtheinnergate.

Diegograbbedforthedoorbutsavedhisfingers;smackedontheoutsideofit.“Hey,Mrs.Woodhouse!”

Sorry,Diego.Shepushedthehandleandthecarlurchedupward.ShewouldcallBrian.OrJoanorEliseorGraceCardiff.Someone.We’renotthroughyet,Andy!Shestopped thecaratnine, thenat six, thenhalfwaypast seven,and then

closeenoughtoseventoopenthegateandthedoorandstepfourinchesdown.She walked through the turns of hallway as quickly as she could. A

contractioncamebutshemarchedrightthroughit,payingnoheed.The service elevator’s indicator blinked from four to five and she knew it

wasGuyandDr.Sapirsteincominguptointercepther.Soofcoursethekeywouldn’tgointothelock.Butfinallydid,andshewasinside,slammingthedoorastheelevatordoor

opened, hooking in the chain asGuy’s keywent into the lock.She turned thebolt and the key turned it right back again. The door opened and pushed inagainstthechain.

“Openup,Ro,”Guysaid.“Gotohell,”shesaid.“I’mnotgoingtohurtyou,honey.”

“Youpromisedthemthebaby.Getaway.”“I didn’t promise them anything,” he said. “What are you talking about?

Promisedwho?”“Rosemary,”Dr.Sapirsteinsaid.“Youtoo.Getaway.”“Youseemtohaveimaginedsomesortofconspiracyagainstyou.”“Getaway,”shesaid,andpushedthedoorshutandboltedit.Itstayedbolted.Shebackedaway,watchingit,andthenwentintothebedroom.Itwasnine-thirty.Shewasn’tsureofBrian’snumberandheraddressbookwasinthelobbyor

Guy’spocket,sotheoperatorhadtogetOmahaInformation.Whenthecallwasfinallyput through therewasstillnoanswer.“Doyouwantme to tryagain intwentyminutes?”theoperatorasked.

“Yes,please,”Rosemarysaid;“infiveminutes.”“Ican’ttryagaininfiveminutes,”theoperatorsaid,“butI’lltryintwenty

minutesifyouwantmeto.”“Yes,please,”Rosemarysaidandhungup.ShecalledJoan,andJoanwasouttoo.EliseandHugh’snumberwas—shedidn’tknow.Informationtookforeverto

answer but, having answered, supplied it quickly. She dialed it and got anansweringservice.Theywereawayfortheweekend.“AretheyanywherewhereIcanreachthem?Thisisanemergency.”

“IsthisMr.Dunstan’ssecretary?”“No,I’maclosefriend.It’sveryimportantthatIspeaktothem.”“They’reonFireIsland,”thewomansaid.“Icangiveyouanumber.”“Please.”Shememorizedit,hungup,andwasabouttodialitwhensheheardwhispers

outsidethedoorwayandfootstepsonthevinylfloor.Shestoodup.GuyandMr.Fountaincameintotheroom—“Honey,we’renotgoingtohurt

you,”Guysaid—andbehindthemDr.Sapirsteinwithaloadedhypodermic,theneedle up and dripping, his thumb at the plunger. And Dr. Shand and Mrs.FountainandMrs.Gilmore.“We’reyourfriends,”Mrs.Gilmoresaid,andMrs.Fountainsaid,“There’snothingtobeafraidof,Rosemary;honestandtrulythereisn’t.”

“This is nothing but a mild sedative,” Dr. Sapirstein said. “To calm youdownsothatyoucangetagoodnight’ssleep.”

Shewasbetweenthebedandthewall,andtoogrosstoclimboverthebedandevadethem.

Theycametowardher—“YouknowIwouldn’tletanyonehurtyou,Ro”—and she picked up the phone and struck with the receiver at Guy’s head. HecaughtherwristandMr.Fountaincaughtherotherarmandthephonefellashepulledheraroundwithstartlingstrength.“Helpme,somebod—”shescreamed,andahandkerchieforsomethingwasjammedintohermouthandheldtherebyasmallstronghand.

TheydraggedherawayfromthebedsoDr.Sapirsteincouldcomeinfrontofherwiththehypodermicandadabofcotton,andacontractionfarmoregruelingthananyoftheothersclampedhermiddleandclenchedshuthereyes.Sheheldherbreath,thensuckedairinthroughhernostrilsinquicklittlepulls.Ahandfelther belly, deft all-over finger-tipping, andDr. Sapirstein said, “Wait aminute,waitaminutenow;wehappentobeinlaborhere.”

Silence; and someone outside the room whispered the news: “She’s inlabor!”

Sheopenedhereyesand staredatDr.Sapirstein,draggingair throughhernostrils,hermiddlerelaxing.Henoddedtoher,andsuddenlytookherarmthatMr.Fountainwasholding,toucheditwithcotton,andstabbeditwiththeneedle.

Shetooktheinjectionwithouttryingtomove,tooafraid,toostunned.Hewithdrewtheneedleandrubbedthespotwithhis thumbandthenwith

thecotton.Thewomen,shesaw,wereturningdownthebed.Here?Here?ItwassupposedtobeDoctorsHospital!DoctorsHospital,withequipment

andnursesandeverythingcleanandsterile!They held her while she struggled, Guy saying in her ear, “You’ll be all

right, honey, I swear to God you will! I swear to God you’re going to beperfectlyallright!Don’tgoonfightinglikethis,Ro,pleasedon’t!Igiveyoumyabsolutewordofhonoryou’regoingtobeperfectlyallright!”

Andthentherewasanothercontraction.And then she was on the bed, with Dr. Sapirstein giving her another

injection.AndMrs.Gilmorewipedherforehead.Andthephonerang.AndGuysaid,“No,justcancelit,operator.”

Andtherewasanothercontraction,faintanddisconnectedfromherfloatingeggshellhead.

All the exercises had been for nothing. All wasted energy. This wasn’tnaturalchildbirthatall;shewasn’thelping,shewasn’tseeing.

Oh,Andy,Andy-or-Jenny!I’msorry,mylittledarling!Forgiveme!

PART3

CHAPTER1

LIGHT.Theceiling.Andpainbetweenherlegs.AndGuy. Sitting beside the bed,watching herwith an anxious, uncertain

smile.“Hi,”hesaid.“Hi,”shesaidback.Thepainwasterrible.Andthensheremembered.Itwasover.Itwasover.Thebabywasborn.“Isitallright?”sheasked.“Yes,fine,”hesaid.“Whatisit?”“Aboy.”“Really?Aboy?”Henodded.“Andit’sallright?”“Yes.”Shelethereyesclose,thenmanagedtoopenthemagain.“DidyoucallTiffany’s?”sheasked.“Yes,”hesaid.Shelethereyescloseandslept.

Later she rememberedmore. Laura-Louisewas sitting by the bed reading the

Reader’sDigestwithamagnifyingglass.“Whereisit?”sheasked.Laura-Louisejumped.“Mygoodness,dear,”shesaid,themagnifyingglass

atherbosomshowingredropesinterwoven,“whatastartyougaveme,wakingupsosuddenly!Mygoodness!”Sheclosedhereyesandbreatheddeeply.

“Thebaby;whereisit?”sheasked.“Youjustwaithereaminute,”Laura-Louisesaid,gettingupwiththeDigest

closedonafinger.“I’llgetGuyandDoctorAbe.They’rerightinthekitchen.”“Where’sthebaby?”sheasked,butLaura-Louisewentoutthedoorwithout

answering.She tried to get up but fell back, her arms boneless. And there was pain

betweenherlegslikeabundleofknifepoints.Shelayandwaited,remembering,remembering.

Itwasnight.Fiveafternine,theclocksaid.Theycamein,GuyandDr.Sapirstein,lookinggraveandresolute.“Where’sthebaby?”sheaskedthem.Guy came around to the side of the bed and croucheddown and tookher

hand.“Honey,”hesaid.“Whereisit?”“Honey…”Hetriedtosaymoreandcouldn’t.Helookedacrossthebedfor

help.Dr.Sapirsteinstoodlookingdownather.Ashredofcoconutwascaughtin

his moustache. “There were complications, Rosemary,” he said, “but nothingthatwillaffectfuturebirths.”

“It’s—”“Dead,”hesaid.Shestaredathim.Henodded.SheturnedtoGuy.Henoddedtoo.“Itwasinthewrongposition,”Dr.Sapirsteinsaid.“InthehospitalImight

havebeenabletodosomething,buttheresimplywasn’t timetogetyouthere.Tryinganythingherewouldhavebeen—toodangerousforyou.”

Guysaid,“Wecanhaveothers,honey,andwewill, justassoonasyou’rebetter.Ipromiseyou.”

Dr. Sapirstein said, “Absolutely. You can start on another in a very fewmonthsandtheoddsarethousandstooneagainstanythingsimilarhappening.It

was a tragic one-in-ten-thousandmishap; the baby itselfwas perfectly healthyandnormal.”

Guysqueezedherhandandsmiledencouraginglyather.“Assoonasyou’rebetter,”hesaid.

Shelookedatthem,atGuy,atDr.Sapirsteinwiththeshredofcoconutinhismoustache.“You’relying,”shesaid.“Idon’tbelieveyou.You’rebothlying.”

“Honey,”Guysaid.“Itdidn’tdie,”shesaid.“Youtookit.You’relying.You’rewitches.You’re

lying.You’relying!You’relying!You’relying!You’relying!You’relying!”GuyheldhershoulderstothebedandDr.Sapirsteingaveheraninjection.

Sheate soupand trianglesofbutteredwhitebread.Guy saton the sideof thebed,nibblingatoneofthetriangles.“Youwerecrazy,”hesaid.“Youwerereallyka-pow out of your mind. It happens sometimes in the last couple of weeks.That’swhatAbesays.Hehasanameforit.PrepartumI-don’t-know,somekindofhysteria.Youhadit,honey,andwithavengeance.”

Shesaidnothing.Shetookaspoonfulofsoup.“Listen,”hesaid,“Iknowwhereyougot the idea thatMinnieandRoman

werewitches,butwhatmadeyouthinkAbeandIhadjoinedtheparty?”Shesaidnothing.“That’s stupid of me, though,” he said. “I guess prepartum whatever-it-is

doesn’tneedreasons.”Hetookanotherofthetrianglesandbitofffirstonepointandthenanother.

Shesaid,“WhydidyoutradetieswithDonaldBaumgart?”“WhydidI—wellwhathasthatgottodowithanything?”“Youneededoneofhispersonalbelongings,”shesaid,“sotheycouldcast

thespellandmakehimblind.”He stared at her. “Honey,” he said, “for God’s sake what are you talking

about?”“Youknow.”“Holymackerel,” he said. “I traded tieswith him because I liked his and

didn’tlikemine,andhelikedmineanddidn’tlikehis.Ididn’ttellyouaboutitbecauseafterwardsitseemedlikeaslightlyfaggythingtohavedoneandIwasalittleembarrassedaboutit.”

“WheredidyougettheticketsforTheFantasticks?”sheaskedhim.“What?”

“YousaidyougotthemfromDominick,”shesaid;“youdidn’t.”“Boyohboy,”hesaid.“Andthatmakesmeawitch?Igotthemfromagirl

namedNorma-something that Imet at an audition and had a couple of drinkswith.WhatdidAbedo?Tiehisshoelacesthewrongway?”

“Heusestannisroot,”shesaid.“It’sawitchthing.Hisreceptionisttoldmeshesmelleditonhim.”

“MaybeMinniegavehimagoodluckcharm,justthewayshegaveyouone.Youmeanonlywitchesuseit?Thatdoesn’tsoundverylikely.”

Rosemarywassilent.“Let’sfaceit,darling,”Guysaid,“youhadtheprepartumcrazies.Andnow

you’regoing to rest andgetover them.”He leanedcloser toher and tookherhand.“Iknowthishasbeentheworstthingthateverhappenedtoyou,”hesaid,“butfromnowoneverything’sgoingtoberoses.Warners iswithinaninchofwherewewantthem,andsuddenlyUniversalisinterestedtoo.I’mgoingtogetsomemoregoodreviewsandthenwe’regoingtoblowthistownandbeinthebeautiful hills of Beverly, with the pool and the spice garden and the wholeschmeer.And the kids too,Ro. Scout’s honor.You heardwhatAbe said.”Hekissedherhand.“Gottorunnowandgetfamous.”

Hegotupandstartedforthedoor.“Letmeseeyourshoulder,”shesaid.Hestoppedandturned.“Letmeseeyourshoulder,”shesaid.“Areyoukidding?”“No,”shesaid.“Letmeseeit.Yourleftshoulder.”Helookedatherandsaid,“Allright,whateveryousay,honey.”He undid the collar of his shirt, a short-sleeved blue knit, and peeled the

bottom of it up and over his head. He had a white T shirt on underneath. “Igenerallypreferdoing this tomusic,”hesaid,and tookoff theTshirt too.Hewentclose to thebedand, leaning, showedRosemaryhis left shoulder. Itwasunmarked.Therewasonlythefaintscarofaboilorpimple.Heshowedherhisothershoulderandhischestandhisback.

“ThisisasfarasIgowithoutabluelight,”hesaid.“Allright,”shesaid.Hegrinned.“Thequestionnow,”hesaid,“isdoIputmyshirtbackonordo

IgooutandgiveLaura-Louisethethrillofalifetime.”

Her breasts filled with milk and it was necessary to relieve them, so Dr.Sapirsteinshowedherhowtousearubber-bulbedbreastpump,likeaglassautohorn;andseveraltimesadayLaura-LouiseorHelenWeesorwhoeverwastherebroughtitintoherwithaPyrexmeasuringcup.Shedrewfromeachbreastanounceor twoof thin faintly-green fluid that smelled ever so slightly of tannisroot—in a process that was a final irrefutable demonstration of the baby’sabsence.Whenthecupandthepumphadbeencarriedfromtheroomshewouldlieagainstherpillowsbrokenandlonelybeyondtears.

Joan and Elise and Tiger came to see her, and she spoke with Brian fortwentyminutesonthephone.Flowerscame—rosesandcarnationsandayellowazalea plant—from Allan, and Mike and Pedro, and Lou and Claudia. Guyboughtanewremote-controltelevisionsetandputitatthefootofthebed.Shewatchedandateandtookpillsthatweregiventoher.

A letter of sympathy came fromMinnie andRoman, a page from each ofthem.TheywereinDubrovnik.

Thestitchesgraduallystoppedhurting.

Onemorning,when twoor threeweekshadgoneby, she thought sheheard ababycrying.Sherayedoffthetelevisionandlistened.Therewasafrailfarawaywailing.Orwasthere?Sheslippedoutofbedandturnedofftheairconditioner.

FlorenceGilmorecameinwiththepumpandthecup.“Doyouhearababycrying?”Rosemaryaskedher.Bothofthemlistened.Yes,thereitwas.Ababycrying.“No,dear,Idon’t,”Florencesaid.“Getbackintobednow;youknowyou’re

not supposed tobewalking around.Didyou turnoff the air conditioner?Youmustn’tdothat;it’saterribleday.Peopleareactuallydying,it’ssohot.”

She heard it again that afternoon, and mysteriously her breasts began toleak…

“Somenewpeoplemovedin,”Guysaidoutofnowherethatevening.“Uponeight.”

“Andtheyhaveababy,”shesaid.“Yes.Howdidyouknow?”Shelookedathimforamoment.“Ihearditcrying,”shesaid.Shehearditthenextday.Andthenext.

Shestoppedwatchingtelevisionandheldabookinfrontofher,pretendingtoreadbutonlylistening,listening…

Itwasn’tuponeight;itwasrightthereonseven.Andmoreoftenthannot, thepumpandthecupwerebrought toherafew

minutesafter thecryingbegan;and thecryingstoppedafewminutesafterhermilkwastakenaway.

“Whatdoyoudowithit?”sheaskedLaura-Louiseonemorning,givingherbackthepumpandthecupandsixouncesofmilk.

“Why,throwitaway,ofcourse,”Laura-Louisesaid,andwentout.Thatafternoon,asshegaveLaura-Louisethecup,shesaid,“Waitaminute,”

andstartedtoputausedcoffeespoonintoit.Laura-Louisejerkedthecupaway.“Don’tdothat,”shesaid,andcaughtthe

spooninafingerofthehandholdingthepump.“Whatdifferencedoesitmake?”Rosemaryasked.“It’sjustmessy,that’sall,”Laura-Louisesaid.

CHAPTER2

ITWASALIVE.ItwasinMinnieandRoman’sapartment.Theywerekeepingitthere,feedingithermilkandpleaseGodtakingcareof

it,because,aswellassherememberedfromHutch’sbook,Augustfirstwasoneof their special days, Lammas or Leamas, with special maniacal rituals. Ormaybe theywerekeeping ituntilMinnieandRomancameback fromEurope.Fortheirshare.

Butitwasstillalive.Shestopped taking thepills theygaveher.She tucked themdowninto the

fold between her thumb and her palm and faked the swallowing, and laterpushed the pills as far as she could between the mattress and the box springbeneathit.

Shefeltstrongerandmorewide-awake.Hangon,Andy!I’mcoming!ShehadlearnedherlessonwithDr.Hill.Thistimeshewouldturntonoone,

wouldexpectnoonetobelieveherandbehersavior.Notthepolice,notJoanortheDunstansorGraceCardiff,notevenBrian.Guywastoogoodanactor,Dr.Sapirsteintoofamousadoctor;betweenthetwoofthemthey’dhaveevenhim,evenBrian, thinkingshehadsomekindofpost-losing-the-babymadness.Thistime she would do it alone, would go in there and get him herself, with herlongestsharpestkitchenknifetofendawaythosemaniacs.

Andshewasoneuponthem.Becausesheknew—andtheydidn’tknowsheknew—thattherewasasecretwayfromtheoneapartmenttotheother.Thedoorhad been chained that night—she knew that as she knew the hand she was

looking atwas a hand, not a bird or a battleship—and still they had all comepouringin.Sotherehadtobeanotherway.

Which could only be the linen closet, barricaded by deadMrs. Gardenia,whosurelyhaddiedofthesamewitcherythathadfrozenandkilledpoorHutch.Theclosethadbeenput there tobreak theonebigapartment into twosmallerones,andifMrs.Gardeniahadbelongedtothecoven—she’dgivenMinnieherherbs;hadn’tTerrysaidso?—thenwhatwasmorelogicalthantoopenthebackof thecloset insomewayandgo toandfrowithsomanystepssavedand theBruhnsandDubin-and-DeVoreneverknowingofthetraffic?

Itwasthelinencloset.In a dream long ago she had been carried through it. That had been no

dream;ithadbeenasignfromheaven,adivinemessagetobestoredawayandrememberednowforassuranceinatimeoftrial.

OhFatherinheaven,forgivemefordoubting!Forgivemeforturningfromyou,MercifulFather,andhelpme,helpmeinmyhourofneed!OhJesus,dearJesus,helpmesavemyinnocentbaby!

The pills, of course, were the answer. She squirmed her arm in under themattressandcaughtthemoutonebyone.Eightof them,allalike;smallwhitetabletsscoredacrossthemiddleforbreakinginhalf.Whatevertheywere,threeadayhadkeptherlimpanddocile;eightatonce,surely,wouldsendLaura-LouiseorHelenWeesintosoundsleep.Shebrushedthepillsclean,foldedthemupinapiece of magazine cover, and tucked them away at the bottom of her box oftissues.

She pretended still to be limp and docile; ate her meals and looked atmagazinesandpumpedouthermilk.

ItwasLeahFountainwhowastherewheneverythingwasright.ShecameinafterHelenWeeshadgoneoutwiththemilkandsaid,“Hi,Rosemary!I’vebeenletting the other girls have the funof visitingwith you, but now I’m going totake a turn.You’re in a regularmovie theater here! Is there anythinggoodontonight?”

Nobodyelsewas in the apartment.Guyhadgone tomeetAllan andhavesomecontractsexplainedtohim.

They watched a Fred Astaire-Ginger Rogers picture, and during a breakLeahwent into the kitchen andbrought back two cups of coffee. “I’m a littlehungry too,” Rosemary said when Leah had put the cups on the night table.

“Wouldyoumindverymuchfixingmeacheesesandwich?”“Of course I wouldn’tmind, dear,” Leah said. “How do you like it, with

lettuceandmayonnaise?”ShewentoutagainandRosemarygotthefoldofmagazinecoverfromher

tissuebox.Therewereelevenpillsinitnow.SheslidthemallintoLeah’scupand stirred the coffee with her own spoon, which she then wiped off with atissue.Shepickedupherowncoffee,butitshooksomuchthatshehadtoputitdownagain.

She was sitting and sipping calmly though when Leah came in with thesandwich.“Thanks,Leah,”shesaid,“thatlooksgreat.Thecoffee’salittlebitter;Iguessitwassittingtoolong.”

“ShallImakefresh?”Leahasked.“No,it’snotthatbad,”Rosemarysaid.Leahsatdownbesidethebed,tookhercup,andstirreditandtasted.“Mm,”

shesaidandwrinkledhernose;shenodded,agreeingwithRosemary.“It’sdrinkablethough,”Rosemarysaid.Theywatched themovie, and after twomore breaksLeah’s head drooped

and snapped up sharply. She put downher cup and saucer, the cup two-thirdsempty.Rosemary ate the last pieceof her sandwich andwatchedFredAstaireandtwootherpeopledancingonturntablesinaglossyunrealfunhouse.

DuringthenextsectionofthemovieLeahfellasleep.“Leah?”Rosemarysaid.The elderly woman sat snoring, her chin to her chest, her hands palm-

upward inher lap.Her lavender-tintedhair,awig,hadslippedforward;sparsewhitehairsstuckoutatthebackofherneck.

Rosemarygotoutofbed,slidherfeetintoslippers,andputontheblue-and-whitequiltedhousecoatshehadboughtforthehospital.Goingquietlyoutofthebedroom,sheclosed thedooralmostall thewayandwent to thefrontdooroftheapartmentandquietlychainedandboltedit.

She thenwent into the kitchen and, from her knife rack, took the longestsharpestknife—anearlynewcarvingknifewithacurvedandpointedsteelbladeandaheavybonehandlewithabrassbutt.Holdingitpoint-downatherside,sheleftthekitchenandwentdownthehallwaytothelinen-closetdoor.

Assoonassheopeneditsheknewshewasright.Theshelves lookedneatandorderlyenough,butthecontentsoftwoofthemhadbeeninterchanged;thebathtowelsandhandtowelswerewherethewinterblanketsoughttohavebeenandviceversa.

Shelaidtheknifeonthebathroomthresholdandtookeverythingoutoftheclosetexceptwhatwasonthefixedtopshelf.Sheputtowelsandlinensonthefloor,and largeandsmallboxes,and then liftedout the fourgingham-coveredshelvesshehaddecoratedandplacedthereathousandthousandyearsago.

Thebackofthecloset,belowthetopshelf,wasasinglelargewhite-paintedpanel framedwithnarrowwhitemolding.Standingcloseand leaningasideforbetterlight,Rosemarysawthatwherethepanelandthemoldingmet,thepaintwasbrokeninacontinuousline.Shepressedatonesideofthepanelandthenattheother;pressedharder,and it swung inwardonscrapinghinges.Withinwasdarkness;anothercloset,withawirehangerglintingonthefloorandonebrightspotoflight,akeyhole.Pushingthepanelallthewayopen,Rosemarysteppedinto the second closet and ducked down. Through the keyhole she saw, at adistance of about twenty feet, a small curio cabinet that stood at a jog in thehallwayofMinnieandRoman’sapartment.

Shetriedthedoor.Itopened.Shecloseditandbackedoutthroughherownclosetandgottheknife;then

wentinandthroughagain,lookedoutagainthroughthekeyhole,andopenedthedoorjusttheleastbit.

Thenopeneditwide,holdingtheknifeshoulder-high,pointforward.Thehallwaywasempty,butthereweredistantvoicesfromthelivingroom.

The bathroom was on her right, its door open, dark. Minnie and Roman’sbedroomwason the left,with a bedside lampburning.Therewasno crib, nobaby.

She went cautiously down the hallway. A door on the right was locked;another,ontheleft,wasalinencloset.

Over the curio cabinet hung a small but vivid oil painting of a church inflames.Before,therehadbeenonlyacleanspaceandahook;nowtherewasthisshockingpainting.St. Patrick’s, it looked like,with yellowandorange flamesburstingfromitswindowsandsoaringthroughitsguttedroof.

Wherehadsheseenit?Achurchburning…Inthedream.Theonewheretheyhadcarriedher throughthelinencloset.

Guy and somebody else. “You’ve got her too high.” To a ballroom where achurchwasburning.Wherethatchurchwasburning.

Buthowcoulditbe?Had she really been carried through the closet, seen the painting as they

carriedherpastit?FindAndy.FindAndy.FindAndy.

Knifehigh,shefollowedthejogtotheleftandtheright.Otherdoorswerelocked.Therewasanotherpainting;nudemenandwomendancing inacircle.Aheadwerethefoyerandthefrontdoor,thearchwayontherighttothelivingroom.Thevoiceswerelouder.“Notifhe’sstillwaitingforaplane,heisn’t!”Mr.Fountainsaid,andtherewaslaughterandthenhushing.

In thedreamballroomJackieKennedyhadspokenkindly toherandgoneaway,andthenallofthemhadbeenthere,thewholecoven,nakedandsinginginacirclearoundher.Haditbeenarealthingthathadreallyhappened?Romaninablackrobehaddrawndesignsonher.Dr.Sapirsteinhadheldacupofredpaintforhim.Redpaint?Blood?

“Ohhellnow,Hayato,”Minniesaid,“you’rejustmakingfunofme!‘Pullingmyleg’iswhatwesayoverhere.”

Minnie?BackfromEurope?AndRomantoo?ButonlyyesterdaytherehadbeenacardfromDubrovniksayingtheywerestayingon!

Hadtheyeverreallybeenaway?Shewasatthearchwaynow,couldseethebookshelvesandfilecabinetsand

bridge tables ladenwithnewspapers and stacked envelopes.The covenwas attheotherend,laughing,talkingsoftly.Icecubesclinked.

Shebetteredhergripontheknifeandmovedastepforward.Shestopped,staring.

Acrosstheroom,intheonelargewindowbay,stoodablackbassinet.Blackandonlyblackitwas;skirtedwithblacktaffeta,hoodedandflouncedwithblackorganza.Asilverornamentturnedonablackribbonpinnedtoitsblackhood.

Dead?But no, even as she feared it, the stiff organza trembled, the silverornamentquivered.

Hewasinthere.Inthatmonstrouspervertedwitches’bassinet.The silver ornament was a crucifix hanging upside down, with the black

ribbonwoundandknottedaroundJesus’ankles.The thought of her baby lying helpless amid sacrilege and horror brought

tears toRosemary’seyes,andsuddenlya longingdraggedather todonothingbut collapse and weep, to surrender completely before such elaborate andunspeakable evil. Shewithstood it though; she shut her eyes tight to stop thetears,saidaquickHailMary,anddrewtogetherallherresolveandallherhatredtoo; hatred of Minnie, Roman, Guy, Dr. Sapirstein—of all of them who hadconspired tostealAndyawayfromherandmake their loathsomeusesofhim.Shewipedherhandsonherhousecoat,threwbackherhair,foundafreshgripontheknife’sthickhandle,andsteppedoutwheretheycouldeveryoneofthemsee

herandknowshehadcome.Insanely, they didn’t. They went right on talking, listening, sipping,

pleasantlypartying,asifshewereaghost,orbackinherbeddreaming;Minnie,Roman, Guy (contracts!), Mr. Fountain, the Weeses, Laura-Louise, and astudious-lookingyoung Japanesewith eyeglasses—allgatheredunder anover-the-mantelportraitofAdrianMarcato.Healonesawher.Hestoodglaringather,motionless,powerful;butpowerless,apainting.

ThenRoman saw her too; put down his drink and touchedMinnie’s arm.Silencesprangup,andthosewhosatwiththeirbackstowardherturnedaroundquestioningly.Guystartedtorisebutsatdownagain.Laura-Louiseclappedherhands to hermouth and began squealing.HelenWees said, “Get back in bed,Rosemary;youknowyouaren’tsupposedtobeupandaround.”Eithermadortryingpsychology.

“Is themother?” the Japanese asked, andwhenRomannodded, said “Ah,sssssssssssss,”andlookedatRosemarywithinterest.

“ShekilledLeah,”Mr.Fountainsaid,standingup.“ShekilledmyLeah.Didyou?Whereisshe?DidyoukillmyLeah?”

Rosemarystaredatthem,atGuy.Helookeddown,red-faced.Shegrippedtheknifetighter.“Yes,”shesaid,“Ikilledher.Istabbedherto

death.And I cleanedmyknife and I’ll stab todeathwhoever comesnearme.Tellthemhowsharpitis,Guy!”

Hesaidnothing.Mr.Fountainsatdown,ahand tohisheart.Laura-Louisesquealed.

Watchingthem,shestartedacrosstheroomtowardthebassinet.“Rosemary,”Romansaid.“Shutup,”shesaid.“Beforeyoulookat—”“Shutup,”shesaid.“You’reinDubrovnik.Idon’thearyou.”“Lether,”Minniesaid.Shewatchedthemuntilshewasbythebassinet,whichwasangledintheir

direction.Withherfreehandshecaughttheblack-coveredhandleatthefootofitandswungthebassinetslowly,gently,aroundtofaceher.Taffetarustled;thebackwheelssqueaked.

Asleep and sweet, so small and rosy-faced, Andy lay wrapped in a snugblack blanketwith little blackmitts ribbon-tied around hiswrists. Orange-redhairhehad,asurprisingamountofit,silky-cleanandbrushed.Andy!Oh,Andy!Shereachedout tohim,herknife turningaway;his lipspoutedandheopened

hiseyesandlookedather.Hiseyesweregolden-yellow,allgolden-yellow,withneitherwhitesnoririses;allgolden-yellow,withverticalblack-slitpupils.

Shelookedathim.He looked at her, golden-yellowly, and then at the swaying upside-down

crucifix.Shelookedatthemwatchingherandknife-in-handscreamedatthem,“What

haveyoudonetohiseyes?”TheystirredandlookedtoRoman.“HehasHisFather’seyes,”hesaid.Shelookedathim,lookedatGuy—whoseeyeswerehiddenbehindahand

—lookedatRomanagain.“Whatareyoutalkingabout?”shesaid.“Guy’seyesarebrown, they’re normal! What have you done to him, you maniacs?” Shemovedfromthebassinet,readytokillthem.

“SatanisHisFather,notGuy,”Romansaid.“SatanisHisFather,whocameupfromHellandbegataSonofmortalwoman!ToavengetheiniquitiesvisitedbytheGodworshipersuponHisnever-doubtingfollowers!”

“HailSatan,”Mr.Weessaid.“Satan is His Father and His name is Adrian!” Roman cried, his voice

growing louder and prouder, his bearing more strong and forceful. “He shalloverthrowthemightyandlaywastetheirtemples!Heshallredeemthedespisedandwreakvengeanceinthenameoftheburnedandthetortured!”

“HailAdrian,” theysaid.“HailAdrian.”“HailAdrian.”And“HailSatan.”“HailSatan.”“HailAdrian.”“HailSatan.”

Sheshookherhead.“No,”shesaid.Minniesaid,“Hechoseyou outof all theworld,Rosemary.Outof all the

women in the whole world, He chose you. He brought you and Guy to yourapartmentthere,Hemadethatfoolishwhat’s-her-name,Terry,madehergetallscaredandsillysowehadtochangeourplans,Hearrangedeverythingthathadtobearranged,causeHewantedyoutobethemotherofHisonlylivingSon.”

“Hispowerisstrongerthanstronger,”Romansaid.“HailSatan,”HelenWeessaid.“Hismightwilllastlongerthanlonger.”“HairSatan,”theJapanesesaid.Laura-Louiseuncoveredhermouth.GuylookedoutatRosemaryfromunder

hishand.“No,”shesaid,“no,”theknifehangingatherside.“No.Itcan’tbe.No.”“GolookatHishands,”Minniesaid.“AndHisfeet.”

“AndHistail,”Laura-Louisesaid.“AndthebudsofHishorns,”Minniesaid.“OhGod,”Rosemarysaid.“God’sdead,”Romansaid.She turned to the bassinet, let fall the knife, turned back to the watching

coven.“OhGod!”shesaidandcoveredherface.“OhGod!”Andraisedherfistsandscreamedtotheceiling:“OhGod!OhGod!OhGod!OhGod!OhGod!”

“GodisDEAD!”Romanthundered.“GodisdeadandSatanlives!TheyearisOne,thefirstyearofourLord!TheyearisOne,Godisdone!TheyearisOne,Adrian’sbegun!”

“HailSatan!”theycried.“HailAdrian!”“HailAdrian!”“HailSatan!”Shebackedaway—“No,no”—backedfartherandfartherawayuntilshewas

betweentwobridgetables.Achairwasbehindher;shesatdownonitandstaredatthem.“No.”

Mr.Fountainhurriedoutanddownthehallway.GuyandMr.Weeshurriedafterhim.

Minniewent over and, grunting as she stooped, picked up the knife. Shetookitouttothekitchen.

Laura-Louisewenttothebassinetandrockeditpossessively,makingfacesintoit.Theblacktaffetarustled;thewheelssqueaked.

Shesatthereandstared.“No,”shesaid.Thedream.Thedream.Ithadbeentrue.Theyelloweyesshehadlookedup

into.“OhGod,”shesaid.Roman came over to her. “Clare is just putting on,” he said, “holding his

heartthatwayoverLeah.He’snotthatsorry.Nobodyreallylikedher;shewasstingy,emotionallyaswellasfinancially.Whydon’tyouhelpusout,Rosemary,bearealmothertoAdrian;andwe’llfixitsoyoudon’tgetpunishedforkillingher.Sothatnobodyeverevenfindsoutabout it.Youdon’thaveto join ifyoudon’t want to; just be a mother to your baby.” He bent over and whispered:“MinnieandLaura-Louisearetooold.It’snotright.”

Shelookedathim.Hestoodstraightagain.“Thinkaboutit,Rosemary,”hesaid.“Ididn’tkillher,”shesaid.“Oh?”“Ijustgaveherpills,”shesaid.“She’sasleep.”

“Oh,”hesaid.Thedoorbellrang.“Excuseme,”he said, andwent toanswer it. “Thinkabout it anyway,”he

saidoverhisshoulder.“OhGod,”shesaid.“ShutupwithyourOhGod’s’orwe’llkillyou,”Laura-Louisesaid,rocking

thebassinet.“Milkornomilk.”“You shut up,” Helen Wees said, coming to Rosemary and putting a

dampenedhandkerchief inherhand. “Rosemary isHismother, nomatterhowshebehaves,”shesaid.“Yourememberthat,andshowsomerespect.”

Laura-Louisesaidsomethingunderherbreath.Rosemarywipedher foreheadandcheekswith thecoolhandkerchief.The

Japanese,sittingacrosstheroomonahassock,caughthereyeandgrinnedandduckedhishead.Heheldupanopenedcameraintowhichhewasputtingfilm,and moved it back and forth in the direction of the bassinet, grinning andnodding.Shelookeddownandstartedtocry.Shewipedathereyes.

Romancameinholdingthearmofarobust,handsome,dark-skinnedmaninasnow-whitesuitandwhiteshoes.HecarriedalargeboxwrappedinlightbluepaperpatternedwithTeddybearsandcandycanes.Musicalsoundscamefromit.Everyonegathered tomeethimand shakehishand. “Worried,” they said, and“pleasure,” and “airport,” and “Stavropoulos,” and “occasion.” Laura-Louisebroughttheboxtothebassinet.Shehelditupforthebabytosee,shookitforhim to hear, and put it on the window seat with many other boxes similarlywrappedandafewthatwerewrappedinblackwithblackribbon.

“Just aftermidnight on June twenty-fifth,” Roman said. “Exactly half theyear’roundfromyou-know.Isn’titperfect?”

“But why are you surprised?” the newcomer asked with both his handsoutstretched. “Didn’t Edmond Lautréamont predict June twenty-fifth threehundredyearsago?”

“Indeedhedid,”Romansaid,smiling,“butit’ssuchanoveltyforoneofhispredictions toproveaccurate!”Everyone laughed. “Come,my friend,”Romansaid,drawingthenewcomerforward,“comeseeHim.ComeseetheChild.”

Theywent tothebassinet,whereLaura-Louisewaitedwithashopkeeper’ssmile,andtheyclosedarounditandlookedintoitsilently.Afterafewmomentsthenewcomerloweredhimselftohisknees.

GuyandMr.Weescamein.They waited in the archway until the newcomer had risen, and then Guy

cameovertoRosemary.“She’llbeallright,”hesaid;“Abeisintherewithher.”Hestood lookingdownather,hishands rubbingathis sides. “Theypromisedme you wouldn’t be hurt,” he said. “And you haven’t been, really. I mean,supposeyou’dhadababyandlostit;wouldn’titbethesame?Andwe’regettingsomuchinreturn,Ro.”

She put the handkerchief on the table and looked at him.As hard as shecouldshespatathim.

Heflushedandturnedaway,wipingatthefrontofhisjacket.Romancaughthimandintroducedhimtothenewcomer,ArgyronStavropoulos.

“Howproudyoumustbe,”Stavropoulossaid,claspingGuy’shandinbothhisown.“Butsurelythatisn’tthemotherthere?Whyinthenameof—”Romandrewhimawayandspokeinhisear.

“Here,”Minniesaid,andofferedRosemaryamugofsteamingtea.“Drinkthisandyou’llfeelalittlebetter.”

Rosemary lookedat it, and lookedupatMinnie. “What’s in it?” she said;“tannisroot?”

“Nothingisinit,”Minniesaid.“Exceptsugarandlemon.It’splainordinaryLiptontea.Youdrinkit.”Sheputitdownbythehandkerchief.

Thethingtodowaskillit.Obviously.Waittilltheywereallsittingattheotherend, then run over, push awayLaura-Louise, and grab it and throw it out thewindow.Andjumpoutafterit.MotherSlaysBabyandSelfatBramford.

SavetheworldfromGod-knows-what.FromSatan-knows-what.Atail!Thebudsofhishorns!Shewantedtoscream,todie.Shewoulddoit,throwitoutandjump.Theywereallmillingaroundnow.Pleasantcocktailparty.TheJapanesewas

takingpictures;ofGuy,ofStavropoulos,ofLaura-Louiseholdingthebaby.Sheturnedaway,notwantingtosee.Thoseeyes!Likeananimal’s,atiger’s,notlikeahumanbeing’s!Hewasn’tahumanbeing,ofcourse.Hewas—somekindofahalf-breed.Andhowdearandsweethehadlookedbeforehehadopenedthoseyellow

eyes!Thetinychin,abit likeBrian’s; thesweetmouth;all that lovelyorange-redhair…Itwouldbenicetolookathimagain,ifonlyhewouldn’topenthoseyellowanimal-eyes.

Shetastedthetea.Itwastea.

No,shecouldn’tthrowhimoutthewindow.Hewasherbaby,nomatterwhothefatherwas.Whatshehadtodowasgotosomeonewhowouldunderstand.Likeapriest.Yes,thatwastheanswer;apriest.ItwasaproblemfortheChurchtohandle.ForthePopeandallthecardinalstodealwith,notstupidRosemaryReillyfromOmaha.

Killingwaswrong,nomatterwhat.Shedrankmoretea.He beganwhimpering because Laura-Louisewas rocking the bassinet too

fast,soofcoursetheidiotbeganrockingitfaster.Shestooditaslongasshecouldandthengotupandwentover.“Get away from here,” Laura-Louise said. “Don’t you come near Him.

Roman!”“You’rerockinghimtoofast,”shesaid.“Sitdown!”Laura-Louisesaid,andtoRoman,“Getheroutofhere.Puther

backwhereshebelongs.”Rosemarysaid,“She’srockinghimtoofast;that’swhyhe’swhimpering.”“Mindyourownbusiness!”Laura-Louisesaid.“LetRosemaryrockHim,”Romansaid.Laura-Louisestaredathim.“Goon,”he said, standingbehind thebassinet’shood. “Sitdownwith the

others.LetRosemaryrockHim.”“She’sliable—”“Sitdownwiththeothers,Laura-Louise.”Shehuffed,andmarchedaway.“RockHim,”RomansaidtoRosemary,smiling.Hemovedthebassinetback

andforthtowardher,holdingitbythehood.She stood still and looked at him. “You’re trying to—get me to be his

mother,”shesaid.“Aren’tyouHismother?”Romansaid.“Goon.JustrockHimtillHestops

complaining.”Shelettheblack-coveredhandlecomeintoherhand,andclosedherfingers

around it. For a few moments they rocked the bassinet between them, thenRomanletgoandsherockeditalone,niceandslowly.Sheglancedatthebaby,sawhisyelloweyes,andlookedtothewindow.“Youshouldoilthewheels,”shesaid.“Thatcouldbotherhimtoo.”

“Iwill,”Romansaid.“Yousee?He’sstoppedcomplaining.Heknowswhoyouare.”

“Don’t be silly,” Rosemary said, and looked at the baby again. He waswatching her.His eyesweren’t that bad really, now that shewas prepared forthem.Itwas thesurprise thathadupsether.Theywerepretty inaway.“Whatarehishandslike?”sheasked,rockinghim.

“They’reverynice,”Romansaid.“Hehasclaws,butthey’reverytinyandpearly.ThemittsareonlysoHedoesn’tscratchHimself,notbecauseHishandsaren’tattractive.”

“Helooksworried,”shesaid.Dr.Sapirsteincameover.“Anightofsurprises,”hesaid.“Goaway,”shesaid,“orI’mgoingtospitinyourface.”“Goaway,Abe,”Romansaid,andDr.Sapirsteinnoddedandwentaway.“Not you,” Rosemary said to the baby. “It’s not your fault. I’m angry at

them, because they trickedmeand lied tome.Don’t look soworried; I’mnotgoingtohurtyou.”

“Heknowsthat,”Romansaid.“Thenwhatdoeshe looksoworriedfor?”Rosemarysaid.“Thepoor little

thing.Lookathim.”“In a minute,” Roman said. “I have to attend to my guests. I’ll be right

back.”Hebackedaway,leavingheralone.“WordofhonorI’mnotgoingtohurtyou,”shesaid to thebaby.Shebent

overanduntiedtheneckofhisgown.“Laura-Louisemadethistootight,didn’tshe.I’llmakeitalittlelooserandthenyou’llbemorecomfortable.Youhaveaverycutechin;areyouawareofthatfact?Youhavestrangeyelloweyes,butyouhaveaverycutechin.”

Shetiedthegownmorecomfortablyforhim.Poorlittlecreature.Hecouldn’tbeallbad,hejustcouldn’t.EvenifhewashalfSatan,wasn’the

halfher as well, half decent, ordinary, sensible, human being? If she workedagainstthem,exertedagoodinfluencetocounteracttheirbadone…

“Youhavea roomofyourown,doyouknowthat?”shesaid,undoing theblanket around him, which was also too tight. “It has white-and-yellowwallpaper and a white crib with yellow bumpers, and there isn’t one drop ofwitchyoldblackinthewholeplace.We’llshowittoyouwhenyou’rereadyforyournext feeding. Incaseyou’recurious, I happen tobe the ladywho’sbeensupplying all thatmilk you’ve been drinking. I’ll bet you thought it comes inbottles,didn’tyou.Well itdoesn’t; itcomes inmothers,andI’myours.That’sright, Mr. Worry-face. You seem to greet the idea with no enthusiasm

whatsoever.”Silence made her look up. They were gathering around to watch her,

stoppingatarespectfuldistance.Shefeltherselfblushingandturnedbacktotuckingtheblanketaroundthe

baby.“Letthemwatch,”shesaid;“wedon’tcare,dowe?Wejustwanttobeallcozyandcomfortable,likeso.There.Better?”

“HailRosemary,”HelenWeessaid.The others took it up. “Hail Rosemary.” “Hail Rosemary.” Minnie and

Stavropoulos and Dr. Sapirstein. “Hail Rosemary.” Guy said it too. “HailRosemary.”Laura-Louisemovedherlipsbutmadenosound.

“HailRosemary,motherofAdrian!”Romansaid.She looked up from the bassinet. “It’s Andrew,” she said. “Andrew John

Woodhouse.”“AdrianSteven,”Romansaid.Guysaid,“Roman,look,”andStavropoulos,atRoman’sotherside,touched

hisarmandsaid,“Isthenameofsogreatanimportance?”“Itis.Yes.Itis,”Romansaid.“HisnameisAdrianSteven.”Rosemarysaid,“Iunderstandwhyyou’dliketocallhimthat,butI’msorry;

youcan’t.HisnameisAndrewJohn.He’smychild,notyours,andthisisonepointthatI’mnotevengoingtoargueabout.Thisandtheclothes.Hecan’twearblackallthetime.”

RomanopenedhismouthbutMinnie said“HailAndrew” ina loudvoice,lookingrightathim.

Everyoneelsesaid“HailAndrew”and“HailRosemary,motherofAndrew”and“HailSatan.”

Rosemary tickled the baby’s tummy. “You didn’t like ‘Adrian,’ did you?”sheaskedhim.“shouldthinknot.‘AdrianSteven’!Willyoupleasestoplookingsoworried?”She poked the tip of his nose. “Doyou knowhow to smile yet,Andy?Doyou?Comeon,littlefunny-eyesAndy,canyousmile?CanyousmileforMommy?”She tapped the silver ornament and set it swinging. “Comeon,Andy,”shesaid.“Onelittlesmile.Comeon,Andy-candy.”

TheJapaneseslippedforwardwithhiscamera,crouched,andtooktwothreefourpicturesinquicksuccession.