A soft push behind me and the door opened a whisker, and I thought for a moment it might be that mysterious eighth woman from the bed come to save me, but instead Harpo the cat squeezed between my legs, purring a greeting. The old man sneezed. Bunny’s eyes began to water. She dropped the gun and reached for a tissue. The crowd in the room, upon seeing the cat, panicked. A few more sneezed violently. Shock and terror marked their expressions. Someone squeaked “Eek!” Suddenly the room seemed too small and confining. All of them, the old man and the boy included, tried to squeeze past me to the door. They were mad with conniptions and paroxysms of desire to escape the deadly cat. At the threshold there was a momentary logjam of bodies, and the wooden frame creaked and threatened to crack as we all tumbled through the opening in a rush of knees and elbows, landing in a heap in the hallway. Once they were out of the safety of the bathroom, the women simply vanished, pop-pop-popped into oblivion, as did the child, and, at last, the old man. Not so much as a smile or a wave good-bye. Each person made a small puff like the sound of a kiss upon air as they departed, and the spell was broken. I was quite alone, crumpled on the floor as in the beginning.
The cat crept over like a fog and sat squarely upon my chest. He seemed to be grinning. The show was over, the curtain drawn, and I passed out from sheer exhaustion.
When I came to, it seemed the time had changed at last, but since my wristwatch had gone dead, I could not be certain. Harpo leapt to the floor as I sat up, and he stretched his whole length, a ripple of tension traveling from his front paws to the tip of his tail. The bathroom fan hummed politely, and overhead the light shone on utter empty order. Everything had been restored to its pristine state. There was no gun, no baseball bat, no miner’s pick. The war club and the frying pan, the broom and the harpoon had been removed. The martini glasses had been put away, not so much as an olive left behind.
I swiveled on my bum to see if the others had somehow reappeared in the hallway, but they were gone for good, though to where I do not know. Back, I suppose, to where they’d come from, slipping through the cracks, phantoms of time. Perhaps to other space, other lives to right old grievances or guide another transitory visitor from one life to the next. A sense of relief settled like a mist. No gun, no bullet. The threat of my imminent demise had been thwarted once again. But as I sat there, other thoughts haunted the equipoise of the moment.
It hadn’t always been so bad. Surely the odd moments of love and affection over the centuries count for something.
Bunny and I had shared some good times. Not just in the sack, though those stolen moments were delicious. No, half the fun had been in anticipation and in the secret thrill of planning our assignations, whether or not we could carry off the whole affair. I may have enjoyed the game more than the final score. What a thrill to seek her on some busy street corner for a rendezvous and suddenly spot her blonde hair bobbing along in a crowd. Or to furtively hold hands on a park bench on a morning in December bright and cold. She had a funny way of pronouncing the letter s—just the hint of a lisp so oddly endearing. I felt sorry for cheating on Claire, of course, and sorrier still for poor Jerry, but in the beginning at least, we were too full of each other to realize that someone was bound to get hurt.
I wished that Adele and I had tasted that same forbidden love, and I wonder now what might have been had we met in a less repressive age. She was such an innocent girl and a good sport to put up with all the baseball. And my temper, too. But there was no one lovelier than Adele in the summer sun at the old ballpark, her face framed beneath some outrageous hat, cheering along with me. Had I known any better, I should have paid her more heed than the sports and the drink. Charlie Wells wasn’t such a bad fella after all, but what I wouldn’t give to have one more chance at rounding the bases. To her credit, she loved me to the bitter end, and I think Adele was glad to see me, despite that swing of the bat.