"I know you."
There weren't many times where so few words were so difficult for Mary to interpret. Usually it was the longer sentences she struggled with. Even a little bit of ambiguity could create a lengthy list of possible interpretations or, if it was a short sentence, there was some kind of implied context that she had difficulty with. Any sentiment being expressed was often much more complex than the actual sentence and she struggled with that; body language was always hard and facial expressions could be a complete mystery, but in that particular case it was different. When Mary looked up from her small notebook, as she sat there in front of the phone system at the dealership, it was not hard to decide who the woman was talking to because the woman was looking right at her, and had moved behind the front counter to do so.
Mary wasn't used to that. Clearly, she thought, the woman had made a mistake, except that she continued to hold Mary's gaze for several seconds. The pressure of it gathered like a miasma in the pit of Mary's stomach.
"Hi," was all Mary could manage.
"It's Mary, isn't it?"
Mary nodded. "And you're... "
Everyone who lived in the neighborhood knew who Penelope Longley was. She was impossible to miss. There was something about the way she carried herself, with a confidence that spoke of worldly sophistication, that was so alien to Mary that the woman seemed more likely to live on Venus than just across the street. Anyone could see it at a glance. The way she held her chin, or the set of her shoulders. The way nothing impressed her. She was a walking legend.
Mrs. Longley smiled slightly, and there was something in the tightening around her eyes as well. Mary didn't know what that meant, but filed it away for use later.
"And of course, the picture wouldn't be complete without one of these."
Mary's eyebrows rose as the woman laid a long, graceful finger on the cover of her journal. The bright red topcoat of her polished nail shone under the newly-installed fluorescent lighting, and though that same lighting also washed her out that somehow also made her look even more exotic. Thin smoke billowed from the end of a tipped cigarillo in her other hand.
Her eyes, however, were on Mary.
Mary smiled and looked down, employing a casual technique she'd mastered over the years wherein her voluminous black curls would refuse to stay where she put them, and in no time at all her face was safely hidden behind a wall of hair. Eye contact was never easy, but it got harder the less comfortable she was with someone and Mrs. Longley was, more or less, a stranger.
"I think we're buying a car from you," she said.
Mary couldn't remember the last time she'd heard Mrs. Longley speak. There was a husky tone to her voice. It was somehow, simultaneously, exactly how she'd pictured it
and
so much more.
"Well, uh... a Lincoln's a good car," Mary said, quickly.
"Yes," the older woman drawled. "Very spacious."
There was something about the way she said
spacious
that piqued Mary's interest. In fact, there seemed to be something in the pronunciation of almost every word. Mary looked to her journal, pinned in place by a single elegant finger, and bent her will toward its liberation like that spoon bender she'd just seen on Carson. She didn't want to break the woman's finger, of course, but nudging it away would be nice.
Fate had other plans. The phone rang and, since it was ostensibly her job to do so, Mary answered it.
Several nights a week Mary worked at the car dealership, that also employed her father, as an operator. No one ever called for her, and she enjoyed being an invisible part of the process. The pay was very little, but Mary had an ulterior motive for her job and it did not involve getting to spend breaks with her father.
Answering calls was a simple task. Most business was repeat business, sales or repair, and they all knew who they wanted to talk to. That particular call was no different, and Mary was done with her part of it in seconds, but she kept the receiver to her ear. It was a rare opportunity to study Mrs. Longley from so close, and every moment she could delay having to rejoin the conversation afforded her more time to watch.
The main thing she got from the woman was poise. Mrs. Longley stood there, leaning slightly against the counter with her finger still pressed down on Mary's journal, and stared calmly across the sales floor. She was watching while her husband and one of the other salesmen haggled. She was watching from a distance not because she was uninterested or not allowed to be part of it, as so often happened with wives Mary observed, but because she was above it. Her husband was engaged in servant work. There was something regal about Mrs. Longley, something which Mary had seen from a distance but was even more plain up close.
They'd taken a powder blue Continental on a test drive, and Mary filed that away as well.
She wanted to be recording her thoughts, but the woman's finger remained in place and Mary was far too nervous to try to just grab for it. What if Mrs. Longley decided to take it? It seemed unlikely, but she didn't actually know the woman very well. She could be one of those kleptos Mary had read about in the paper.
"I can hear the dial tone," the woman said, smirking.
Mary froze, feeling trapped, and sheepishly put the receiver back on the hook. It was the only thing she could think to do in the moment, and even that seemed like a mistake in hindsight when the older woman glanced sideways at her. It was always hard to not know how to react. Everyone else made it look easy.
"Am I making you uncomfortable?"
"No," Mary said, quickly. She was, of course, but answering personal questions honestly had always gone badly for Mary.
Mrs. Longley lifted one leg slowly and sat down on the edge of the desk. The woman was wearing a skirt that ended above the knee. Her knees were not together, and her skirt was short. She was not supposed to do that. Mary had been told many times, and she knew. Of course, Mary did not wear skirts very often, for that exact reason, but surely this beacon of urbane sensibilities would be aware of how far apart her knees were.
The smile the woman gave her said that she did.
"How old are you now?"
"Nineteen," Mary said, defensively.
"So you just graduated." It wasn't a question. "I thought I'd seen you riding around a lot more during the day."
"Yes. I did."
"That's good. Very good." She tilted her head, staring down at Mary from a strange angle, and Mary had the distinct impression that she was being observed too. "Do you read a lot?"
"Um... some. I..." Mary licked her lips and looked down again. "I mostly write."
"You know, I don't think I've ever seen you without one of these." Mrs. Longley dragged her finger, sliding the journal across the surface of the desk. "Always writing, and always so secretive. Is this your diary?"
"No, it's... um... It's a book. Part of a book. It's not finished."
The older woman's eyes danced. "What kind of book?"
"A... it's a fantasy story?"
"Like Tolkien?"
Mary blinked. "I don't know who that is."
"You've never read
The Lord of the Rings?
Frodo Baggins? Bilbo?"
Mary shook her head, and her spine got very, very straight as Mrs. Longley leaned to the side again, studying her.
"I bet a lot of people tell you that you're strange, don't they?"
Mary blinked.
"Well, out there? Outside of this little heap of a town? Strange people are changing the world."
