Even the slamming doors sounded far away. She wandered about the empty apartment picking up empty glasses and looking at the melting ice, touching the dirty ashtrays. There was no need to clean it up if she were going to leave. Not tomorrow but tonight… tonight.
She packed a suitcase, carefully laying away the twisted lacy garments she took off. There was nothing she wanted to take with her, really, nothing that mattered except the poster. She had to have it. It was her self-portrait.
The tacks came off easily this time. She tossed them carelessly behind the sofa and rolled up the poster into a long tube, then snapped a rubber band around it. When she was ready she walked out, not bothering to close the door behind her.
As she stepped into the lobby she saw Harl enter the front door, a newspaper under his arm. He looked at her suitcase and frowned in puzzlement.
"Brenda? Where're you going?"
She smiled softly at him. "I'm not Brenda, I'm Ginny. Don't you know your own neighbors?"
He stared at her, his mouth working as his fingers gripped the newspaper.
"What?" he murmured.
"You heard me? I'm Ginny. I'm tired of people forgetting my name."
"Did you see this?" he said, holding the paper out to her. She sighed and tried to pass him but he blocked her way.
"Let me go!"
"Read this! Look at it."
His finger jabbed at a short article, barely more than a filler, at the bottom of a news column. Brenda blinked heavily and read the headline: BODY OF NY GIRL IDENTIFIED.
"The body of a twenty-two year old woman missing here since April 1 has been identified as being that of a Virginia Walters, a former New York City resident who was last seen in this area in the company of four men. Nebraska police have attempted without success to notify her next of kin. The body of Miss Walters was found in a hollow grave on a farm nearby."
Brenda looked up at Harl with blank, disinterested eyes.
"Well?"
"Don't you… don't you understand? It's Ginny. She's dead."
She eased past him. "Oh, Harl, don't be silly. Goodbye, I'm taking a groovy trip to California."
He turned to stare at her as she went out the heavy front door. She did not look back as she made her way down the crowded Village Street. It's a good thing she remembered to wear flat shoes, so her feet would not hurt, she thought. As she passed a policeman she gave him a stealthy glance, then lowered her eyes quickly to the pavement. She walked on, her footsteps tapping out the date: April 1… April 1.
It was the day she had taken the apartment.