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"Thanks, Beth. I don't know why I didn't call you myself."
Beth raised her hand to her lips and blasted the discordant five-note intro to
the Wasp Man theme. "Because sometimes, my dear silver-winged friend,
you try to act like a superheroine."
Jennifer nodded, waved and hurried out the door. Yawning at every stop
sign, she returned home. Her feet were so heavy that she could barely drag
herself up the steps. She literally staggered through the door, forced herself
to change into a nightgown and collapsed on the bed.
And then.. .she was wide awake.
She closed her eyes and told herself to sleep, but her mind was racing. Her
fingers itched for something to do. Her formerly limp body made contrary
twitching motions under the covers. Stay in the bed, she ordered herself. Her
toes wiggled.
I mean it, she commanded. Go to sleep.
She flipped onto her stomach, then to her back. She drew her legs up in a
fetal position. Still, she was wide awake.
When the telephone rang, her legs bolted from the bed, bringing her to an
unnecessary upright position to answer the bedside phone. "Hello?"
"It's not too late," the now familiar voice whispered. "You can still change it.
Tell David. He must think of the future."
"How did you get this number?"
"I know you. I know it is within your power to change it. Let the past remain
in silence."
Jennifer paused before replying. Until now she'd dismissed the caller as
some kind of harmless crank. What if this whispering person had something
to do with the accidental fire that destroyed the Wasp Man episodes of the
past? "Tell me what you want," she said.
"You know. You must know."
"I'm not good with riddles. Is this about the film?"
"The film that should be."
"There was a fire," Jennifer said. "Did you know about the fire?" -
The telephone went dead.
Jennifer called the studio, asked for David and waited on hold while
someone went to fetch him. She would bet money that her whispering caller
was the same person who had arranged the convenient accident to destroy
the Wasp Man tapes. It was, after all, footage from the past, and the caller
was very concerned about forgetting the past and moving into the future.
What future? It made no sense to Jennifer.
Until this call she hadn't been frightened by the voice, but a possible
connection with the accident gave her cause for alarm. A crank who sets
fires can no longer be considered harmless.
As soon as David came on the phone, she blurted out, "I had another weird
call."
"Beth told you, didn't she?" he interrupted.
"Yes, she did." Jennifer rushed to continue, "This time I was called here, at
the house."
"I'm not trying to push you, Jen. But I really think you could use the sleep.
Now why don't you unplug the telephone, pull the covers over your head
and "
"David!" she shouted. "I think my crank caller is the person who set the
fire."
"What are you talking about?"
"Those weird phone calls I've been getting. The voice keeps talking about
getting rid of the past, And that's just what the fire did. It wiped out the film
from the past."
"Lock your doors, Jen. I'll be right there."
She stared at the telephone, which had gone dead in her hand. Lock the
doors? She hung up the phone and chuckled. So David was dashing to her
rescue. Apparently she wasn't the only one with a superhero complex.
Jennifer stretched and yawned. She definitely didn't feel like sleeping.
Might as well make a fresh pot of coffee and meet David when he flew
through the door, cape flapping in the wind.
He arrived in record time, pressed the doorbell and knocked.
"It's open," she shouted.
He stormed inside. "What do you mean, leaving your door unlocked when
some anonymous nut has your home telephone number?"
"Coffee?" she offered.
"Black."
"Locking the door is no protection, she said. "There are twenty-four
windows on the first floor of this house. I know because I have to wash
them. And there are ten windows into the basement. If somebody wanted to
get in here and attack me, a locked door wouldn't stop them."
"Dammit, Jen. I wish you hadn't told me that." He chose a seat on the wing
chair opposite the sofa.
"Of course," she added, "there are also five telephones and the police patrol
this area regularly."
"What's going on, Jennifer?"
"Sip your caffeine like a nice, fearless protector, and I'll explain."
She outlined her suspicions. For emphasis she repeated, "I've never felt
threatened by the caller. He's never hinted that he would hurt me. In fact, he
seems to be pleading."
"He? Is it a man?"
She considered for a moment. "Not necessarily. The voice is too husky to
determine the gender. And there's always a kind of crackling static on the
line."
"Then why did you refer to the voice as male?"
"Because I don't think a woman would be so strange."
She glanced over at him. For the first time since the accident, she saw the
softening of his expression that came when they made love. Quickly he
averted his gaze.
"David?" she said softly. "Is something wrong?"
"Wrong? Of course not. Why would you think something is wrong?"
"You haven't touched me, except to pat me on the back, in four days."
As was his habit when upset or confused, David bounced to his feet and
began to pace. Jennifer watched him, reminded of their night together in the
Brown Palace Hotel. "May I tell you a secret?" she asked.
"Of course you may." He fingered the antique shawl draped over her spinet.
"Sure, tell me anything you'd like."
"Life would be a lot easier, David, if you would share your questions and
emotions with me. Don't jump to conclusions. Just ask."
"How can I ask you for anything else?" His voice sounded tired, resigned.
"Every time I turn around, you're helping me. I've felt like hell, watching
you work day and night."
"It's been my choice."
"Can't you see that I'm taking advantage of you?"
"No, I can't," she said. "I thought this editing stuff would help me share in
your career. It's a lot better than sitting home alone every night."
"Dammit, Jennifer, I want to do something for you."
"You don't have to do anything, David."
"Don't tell me that," he snapped loudly. His tension mounted. The pressure
within him grew to unbearable proportions, a white-hot core of feeling that
he forced himself to suppress. This rage, this fury, had to be contained. He
clenched every muscle in his body, struggling to hold himself back. He
feared an explosion. It would destroy everything, everything between him
and the rest of the world. "I didn't mean to shout," he said.
"It's all right, David. Let it out."
"Don't patronize me, Jennifer. You don't know what it's like. You can't
possibly know what I'm feeling."
"Why don't you tell me?"
"Give me a break. Give me a goddamn break."
He pivoted, turning away so that she couldn't see his struggle. His temples
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