Death in The Life by Dorothy Salisbury Davis

with the back of his hand. Although Bourke called out to her not to, Julie ran to the door and shouted out at Mack, “Leave her alone, you sadistic bastard!”
    It was the cowering whore who answered: “This ain’t none of your business, little white cow.”
    Mack grinned and said, “Don’t pay her no mind, sugar. She’d like some of the same thing. How about it, Sister Julie?”
    “Shit,” Julie said. She turned and waved at Mr. Bourke.
    He beckoned her into the shop again.
    When the door was closed, he said, “Don’t tangle with him, Julie. He’s a bad one and I’m sorry I was dumb enough not to think about him when I sent Rita to you.”
    “Did she tell you she’d kill herself if she didn’t get out?”
    “She told me.”
    “But you didn’t believe her.”
    “I doubted it, but that doesn’t mean she wasn’t telling the truth. It only means that if I believed her, I might have felt I had to do something about it. I’ve got a Catholic conscience, Julie.”
    “A lot of stretch.”
    “You tell it the way it is, don’t you?”
    “When I can find it. Could you give me change for a quarter, Mr. Bourke?”
    She intended to call Doctor Callahan, but the minute she was in the phone booth she decided against it. If Rita had been going to call Doctor, she would already have done it. The whole scene, her hand on the receiver, the dime ready, seemed like déjà vu. If only she knew what came after.

11
    J ULIE ARRIVED AT THE New Irish Theatre at a quarter to eight. Beneath her raincoat she wore white slacks and a silk paisley tunic. To cap her feeling of being well dressed, she had put on a white coral necklace Jeff had brought her from Australia. It was a warm night with the smell of the river in the air. The theater building, on West Fiftieth Street, was a former garage which in turn had been a transformed stable. The patrons were mostly people of the neighborhood with a few hard-core Irish down from the Bronx and over from Queens. They all knew one another and almost all of them, including the children, were dressed with an old-fashioned reverence for “occasion.” Julie rather liked that and took off her raincoat so that it could be seen that she shared their respect. She lingered outside and watched for Pete to come to the door.
    Along the street came Mrs. Ryan. Even without Fritzie she walked as though he was with her. “Well now, I was just wondering if there’d be anyone here I knew,” she said when Julie went to meet her. “Most of my friends came last night for the premiere. They say it’s a lovely production.”
    “Pete designed it.”
    “Ah, that’s why you’re here.”
    “I like Yeats,” Julie said.
    “I don’t know a word he’s saying, but I like the sound of it. I was wondering about you and Peter.”
    “There’s nothing to wonder at,” Julie said.
    “A pity. Will I save you a seat? They’re not reserved. Unless you’re a VIP?”
    “Save me one, I’ll be in in a minute.” She had the distinct feeling by then that Pete was about to stand her up again.
    There was flicker of the light over the door and the men who had smoked until the last minute disposed of their cigarettes and went in. Julie followed and spoke to the young man collecting the donations. “Is Pete Mallory backstage? I was supposed to look for him.”
    “I hope you find him, miss. We can’t. We had to open without him last night… The curtain’s about to go up.”
    Julie paid the two-dollar student rate, having to make up her mind on the spot whether to go or stay. It was one thing for Pete to stand her up, or to stand up some other person, but she did not think he was in the habit of copping out on a job. She found her way to Mrs. Ryan who had spread herself over two chairs.
    “It’s a lovely set,” Mrs. Ryan said, moving over. There was no curtain. A country cottage, props, and bare furnishings. A small hearth glowed downstage. “You can almost smell the peat smoke. I came over when I was a child,