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Fran turned from the mirror, took my hand in hers, and we started for the door. The elevator door opened and we stepped into a mechanical agent of another world. The doors closed on the world of business; I no longer existed there save for my name on the door of the office. We descended down the shaftway to the other world, the world of concrete and steel, of people, and noise, and small. The doors opened and we strolled out toward the sidewalk. I signaled for a cab that was down the street. The driver saw me and his machine veered to my direction. Suddenly an interloper leaped between two cars and hailed the cab. The cab slowed, the interloper got in and rode away. I turned with a shrug to Fran who was standing on the sidewalk. She was looking at me with that soft look in her eyes.

“Let's walk a couple of blocks to The Outpost and get a drink, okay?” I asked.

“Sure, let's go”, she said.

We walked slowly, she leaning on and holding my arm at the same time. “What are you doing tonight?” she asked.

“You know damn well what I'm doing tonight, why ask? Why do you make me say things that hurt you when you already know the answer?”

“I don't know. Maybe it will hit me some day that you're married and I'm wasting my time”. She turned to the front and kept looking straight ahead, a most look predominating her features.

“Now don't start crying, please. I've told you there's nothing in the world worthy of your tears, especially me”.

The Outpost was a cool, lush little place with dim lights, cold powerful drinks, and noisy people. The smart set in their uniforms of three-button, unadorned, Brooks specials, with Madison Avenue crash helmets smacked on their heads irrespective of their shape or size.

“Come on, let's wade through the boys and find us a seat”, I said.

We sat at a corner booth and I gave an order. I just sat there in the cool air, still moist under my jacket from the weather outside, thinking of the first time Fran and I sat here, eight months ago. I don't know how it happened. She was just a girl at the office. We had a drink together. I knew she liked me, but I couldn't help that. That was the beginning, and it hasn't ended yet. Another drink, perhaps a movie, a lift home, another drink, a late night at the office to Jean, the beginning of an affair to Fran. It just persisted, so nice, so warm, and yet, underneath it all, so meaningless. I couldn't really love Fran; it was … perhaps she pleased my ego, made me feel good when she raved about me the way she was prone to do. I don't know. All I do know now is how rotten I feel about the entire affair. And Jean, how badly I feel when I think of her. I think the best action on my part would be to shrink out of sight and sort of silently drift from the entire picture.

Cold drinks, cooling, and yet, inside, they made me morose and warm, dulled my objectivity, made me a sentimentalist.

“Let's go, baby”, I said as I paid the check. We went outside and I hailed a cab. I gave the driver the address and leaned back against the stiffly covered spongy seat.

Fran leaned against me, not saying a word. The cab eased to a stop in front of the address I had given. We got out and went inside. My little apartment, just mine. Jean didn't even know I had it. I paid a minimum of rent and had a nice place to have a drink, or rest … or a baby. We went inside and I got a bottle of wine out of the cooler while Fran changed into the axiomatic ‘more comfortable'.

I went into the bedroom and was changing into some slacks. Fran came in with the bottle of wine and two glasses.

“What are you doing, going to leave already?” she queried.

“No”.

“Well, what are you dressing for?”

“Oh baby, you're out of your God damn head”.

“What he hell, it can't make things worse”, she said.

“Look, I don't think you're pregnant, so why take another chance?”

“I am so, so forget about it. Let's have some wine”.

I took the glass she handed me and sat down on the side of the bed.

Flickeringly, I opened my eyes and caught view of the empty wine bottle lying carelessly thrown on the floor. The room was dimmed with only the light from the fading day to illumine our illicit interlude. I twisted onto my back and as I did I felt the smooth warmness of Fran's leg on mine. I propped myself up on one elbow and with my free hand smoothed a loose strand of her hair that had fallen over her forehead. She restlessly stirred and her eyes opened. She batted them closed and open a couple of seconds and then kept them open, looking at me. She smiled.

“Hello, lover”, she said.

“Hi”.

I was feeling relaxed and happy. I was lying there completely at ease, thoughts of Fran and her love making on my mind. Suddenly the thought of the baby, or at least of Fran's overdueness splintered my mind like a dum-dum bullet. My happiness disappeared and I was left with only remorse; remorse not only for the possibility of a baby, but also for the thoughts I had about wanting to destroy it, and now, more pointedly, about continuing to lie with Fran and causing something to exist if it did not already. I couldn't resist her. I was drawn every so quickly into the swirling water of a whirlpool that surrounded her, and I resisted not. Fran slid her arm over my chest and held herself against me.

“I think I'd better get going, baby”.

She tensed throughout. An electric shock seemed to pass through the arm that lay on my chest.

“Oh, now you're going home to your dear wife, you son-of-a-bitch. Can't you just break with her? Why don't you leave her? You don't even buy me dinner, you bastard”.

“Stop the nonsense. You know the damn story backwards, and yet you come back for more, so why bitch about it?”

“Why shouldn't I bitch?”

My mind was weary from this age-old argument. Every time I left for home I heard it. And now with thoughts of Fran being pregnant, I was not very receptive to argument. I swung my legs over the side of the bed, grabbed my clothes from the chair and stormed into the bathroom. The sprawling wine bottle slid under my feet and my legs twisted beneath me. I stumbled across the room to the accompaniment of “good for you, you bastard”.

I got into the shower and let the cold water run over my head.

I was standing in front of the lowered blind in the window of my office. Horizontal slats cut across my field of vision. The slats were shadowed and out of focus, while through them I could see people streaming back and forth over the pavement, bustling and hustling. Fran slipped her arm through mine.

“Hi”, I said, surprised. “I didn't even hear you come in”.

“I know”. She rubbed her head against my shoulder. “Look what I have”. She was redolent with a perfume she always wore. I took a pink slip of paper from her and began to open it. On top, it read. Dr. Jason Drager, with an address and other business information. I realized this was the report. My fingers nervously began to fumble with the folded edges of the paper. There was one word on it … “positive”. My stomach that had been queasy for a week, now felt as if it were three yards deep. I felt a completely empty, cavernous, lonely, sick feeling there. My head grew a little weak and began to throb. Fran smilingly told me that she told me so.

“Oh no, no, oh, I've got to do something about this. Look, baby, let's go to some doc who will fix things up for a fancy price, okay?”

“Nothing doing. You're not going to take my baby away from me”.

“But be reasonable. How will you be able to support him. How will you be able to go out to work, or even on a date? You have so much of life yet in front of you and to want to throw it away and play nurse for the rest of you life. There's still time enough to do something about it. Later may be too late”.

“You just don't worry about it. I'll go away and I won't even give him your name. I won't even tell him you're his father”.

“But how unfair are you being to the child? No father. No one to care for him except you”. This was a frightening thought. Fran was a girl who might be interested in something for a while and then would forget about it completely. I could just imagine the child with her. “It wouldn't be fair, and after you have this child, perhaps you'll no longer be in love with me, and then you won't want it. What will you do, put it in a home, like your mother did to you? That's a vicious cycle. A violation of nature that grows deeper and more insidious with every passing generation”.

“I'll take care of it. What are you worried about. You won't have to pay for it”.

“I'm thinking about the child right now”. This argument will persist interminably, I'm sure of that. Poor little kid if she ever get's him.

It's been almost a week and I haven't heard any further word. I haven't been able to reach Fran on the phone. ‘Where in hell did she go now?' I thought. All I do is sit and call, and wait, and worry, and frantically search for an answer to this situation. There doesn't seem to be one. I couldn't really bring myself to suggest her taking some kind of pill or have an abortion. It just wouldn't be right. It's murder, plain and simple. I couldn't conscientiously do it. But what then? Let Fran have the baby? Poor little kid. The phone rang. It was Fran. Her voice sounded strained yet welcome as it filtered through the ear piece. She asked me to go over to her place.

“What for?”

“I just want you to come over. Can you?”

“Yes. I'll be over”.

I arrived at her place and found the front door unlocked, as usual. She was in the bathroom, busily applying cosmetics. The door was ajar, and there she stood in her bra and panties in front of the mirror, humming. I tapped on the door lightly and she wheeled and smiled.

“Hello, baby”, I said.

“Hi. All set to take me out for a drink? Or shall we go over to your place for some wine”.

“I hadn't planned on it; out is okay. Where have you been for the last few days? What did you want me to come here for?” I had the feeling that something was in the air, something had happened to make her call.

“I had my period, that's where I was. I couldn't face it”.

My entire body was unreasonably unshaken by the news that I had been wanting to hear for days. I just stood there looking at her as I had done on many an occasion, and matter-of-factly said: “That's good”. That's all I could say. I didn't feel elated, or happy, although I should. I just stood there and said, “that's good”. She turned back to the mirror and gave herself one final look and then came out to slip her dress on. Slowly, I felt a warm sensation wriggling up my back I was beginning to get the impact of the situation. The warmth crawled over the back of my neck. No baby. No baby. The problem is over. I won't have to be a murderer, or the father of a bastard. No more worries, no more cares. A song drifted through my mind. I don't have to kill anyone, or be guilty the rest of my life. Thanks, Lord. I don't know if you helped on this, but thanks. I'm free, free. I felt very light on my feet. I dancingly reached for the phonograph and spun a record. The music lifted high and loud, but I was too elated to really listen. It just formed the backdrop for the dance my mind was dancing … it's wonderful, marvelous …

“Baby, let's go for a drink”. She came out of her bedroom all dressed and ready. We started for the door and were off.

The Outpost was inhabited as usual by a good crowd of people. We found a little table and I ordered doubles. I felt like ordering doubles for everyone in the place.

Fran slipped her arm though mind and leaned on my shoulder. She looked sad. “Happy now, aren't you?”

“Yes, actually, I am”.

We had two drinks each. The air in the place was chill, the smoke and the drink warm, my mind happy. Fran, though sad, looked at me as lovingly as ever. I felt like a giddy school boy that has been let out for summer vacation.

“Let's get out of here, baby”, I said. The drinks were going to my head. I felt that warm sensation I felt on my neck before all over my body, but now the alcohol added to it. We hailed a cab and got in.

“Let's go out and celebrate tonight, okay?” I said.

“I'm not celebrating, but I'd love to go out with you”.

“Great. I'll drop you off and you can change. I'll be over in an hour”.

“You don't have to. I'm dressed well enough to go out. Or don't you think so?”

“Sure, you look great”. I directed the driver to my apartment. “You know how wonderful I feel, Fran”, I said as we alighted from the elevator.

“Yes, I know”, she said flatly.

“Let's have one of those nights we used to. Let's enjoy ourselves like we did when we first met. I'll reserve at table at Rao's and we'll go there and eat”.

She just looked at me and squeezed my hand a little harder. “Yes, oh yes, that will be wonderful”.

We went in and I went to my room and began to change. I was filled with a warm and effervescent glow. “La, la, la, la, la …” Fran came into the room with a cool bottle of wine and two glasses. She was looking at me with her warm passionate eyes as she handed me a glass of wine. The whirling music stopped. I just gazed at her eyes as if in a trance as I backed toward the bed and slowly sat down.

THE SCEPTER OF THE SUN

The sun filtered through the trees with a golden brightness as Reggie Moore made his way to work, as he did each morning, across Kensington Square, down Arrow Street, to a little white-washed brick building that served him as an office. Laboratory would be quite the more proper word for it since Reggie was a scientist. Not as you would ordinarily think of a scientist, with glass vials and such, but more on the science-fiction type character one would read about in a magazine. Reggie was perfecting a time machine. Not an out-of-the-world type, fantastic machine, but an honest to goodness time machine, which could, by stepping up the rotary powers of the negative molecules in the atoms of an object, send it to another time in space where the world would exist as it did yesterday, or as it will tomorrow. Many of his fellow scientists thought that Reggie's idea was impractical and even impossible, but, undaunted none-the-less Reggie approached a bright tomorrow, or yesterday as the case may be. He fumbled for his key and upon finding it, opened the door and went in to begin a day's work on the almost completed machine. “La, la, de, dum, dum. Good Morning, Margaret. Did anything come in this morning's post?”