Audrey's Door - By Sarah Langan Page 0,99

people anymore, but husks.

The talking resumed once she was out of sight. A man with a sandy smoker’s voice shouted:

—“There she goes, just like I told you.”

—“If it doesn’t work this time, I’m building it myself, you Harpy!”

—“Pow! Zoom! I’d like to see you try, whiskey dick!” a woman answered.

Then they were all laughing. The sound got farther away the higher the metal cage climbed. By twelve, it was white noise again.

The doors opened on fourteen. This morning’s glaring white bulb hallway had been replaced with soft pink. It gave the impression of a fancy Las Vegas bordello. Someone had poured Love My Carpet in a line all down the red carpet but forgotten to vacuum.

She didn’t want to get out. Bellevue, the wet streets, the all-night Dunkin’ Donuts, the frickin’ subway tunnels with the mole people. Any of those would have been smarter than coming here. But she couldn’t turn back now. Grown-ups don’t run away from problems; they confront them. Besides, she wouldn’t get far without her wallet.

When she debarked, she found Mrs. Parker in her gerbil-elbowed glory standing in front of 14B. At her feet were hula girl’s gritty remains. When she noticed Audrey, her eyes bulged. “Eeek!” she shrieked like a surprised mouse, then grabbed the left center of her chest with both hands like her heart had cramped.

Audrey rushed to her side. “Are you okay?”

The woman clutched Audrey’s upper arm with bony fingers, then leaned. She smelled like dead skin. “Oh, sweetie,” she panted. “You startled me!”

“I’m so sorry.”

The woman wore a 1990s, midthigh-length Diane Von Furstenberg v-neck wrap dress. Her knees were wrinkled baby rodents, and her lips were stained the color of blackberries. Dried blood? No, red wine. She blinked her cataract eyes a few times, still recovering, then muttered under her breath, “Sweat suit? Seen that before.”

Mortified, Audrey looked down at her loose-fitting pants that smelled, she noticed for the first time, like stale beer, and were stained with what looked like hardened ice cream. “Laundry day,” she said.

The woman cocked her head like she didn’t know what Audrey was talking about. Am I losing my mind? Audrey wondered. “You pointed out this sweat suit, didn’t you?”

Loretta squinted, then smiled, like she thought maybe Audrey was high. “Why would I do that? Now, would you be a dear and give me a hand to the elevator? I’ve got to drop something off on seven. Loretta Parker, by the way. My family goes back to the American Revolution. I was born in The Breviary. So was my father, and his mother, too. Who are you?”

“Audrey Lucas. Pleased to meet you,” she said. They didn’t shake, and Audrey felt a little like somebody’s homeless cleaning lady. She led Loretta by the arm, taking tiny baby steps. The hall light flickered. Everything appeared shadowy and new, like walking through a stranger’s house and not knowing which doors lead to where.

“And how are you settling in?” Loretta asked.

“I don’t like it here. I’m leaving. Tonight if I can,” she said.

The woman made a tsk-tsking sound. “Oh, you haven’t been reading the paper, have you? Not that bunk with that writer, Spalding Agnew?” Loretta’s skin was shiny with cold cream, and so thin that it appeared blue.

Audrey nodded. “Agnew. And some other things, too.”

Loretta waved her free hand like swatting a fly. “Don’t believe half what you hear, and any of what you read. He was a pansy with all that whiny dead-sister bunk. Used to sit here all night and mumble to himself like he paid rent. Bad manners. You give it time, you’ll love it here. Besides, The Breve loves you. I can tell.”

“Mmm.” Audrey took quarter steps alongside the woman’s neon pink Cole Haan sneakers. Nice shoes, but not a great match for the outfit. Neither was her necklace—triple-wrapped red plastic beads that looked like they came from a supermarket gumball machine.

“How’s your young man? Cuts such a dashing figure with that dark skin.”

Another baby step. “Fine, I guess. He’s not my young man anymore.”

“You don’t say?” she asked.

Audrey pressed the down arrow, and they waited. Her clothes itched. They smelled, too…whose were they?

“Well, then!” Loretta beamed. “You’ve got to start coming to movie night. A different apartment every week, always on Sundays. Been doing it as long as I can remember. We watch the classics. They don’t make them like they used to. Tonight was my pick: The original Disney Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. What pretty songs! I’d almost forgotten. When

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