Me and Fat Glenda. Lila Perl

to the office.

      Pop and Mr. Creasey (it was Mr. Creasey) introduced themselves to each other, and Mr. Creasey sat down at his desk, reached under it for a moment, and came up with a dusty gray rag with which he began to flick at the papers and ledgers on top.

      Inez leaped forward. “Oh don’t do that.”

      Mr. Creasey looked up startled. The lenses of his glasses caught whatever light there was in the room, and you could see how thick they were.

      “You’ve got some lovely cobwebs there. I was just about to sketch one of them.”

      Mr. Creasey cleared his throat, nodded, and put the dust rag away. “Yes, of course,” he said, as though that, too, was one of the most natural things in the world.

      “Now,” he said, clasping his hands on the edge of his desk so as not to disturb any of the dust or spider webs, “how may I be of service to you?”

      Drew came right to the point. “We want to lease that house you have up ‘for sale or rent’ here in Havenhurst.”

      Mr. Creasey cleared his throat again. “Ah, which house would that be?”

      I suddenly realized we didn’t even know the name of the street it was on and I couldn’t remember seeing a number on the front door at all.

      “Why, the gray clapboard one with the turret,” Inez said, as though Mr. Creasey should have known that all along and not be asking silly questions.

      “Ah,” Mr. Creasey said, and leaned back in his chair.

      Everybody sat silently waiting for somebody else to speak. Even Inez sat back and stopped sketching the cobweb. I really couldn’t stand it anymore. I kept thinking of Glenda and of school starting in less than a week, and somehow I kept seeing Glenda’s house with the picture window and the carefully tipped Venetian blinds. I just had to get settled.

      “Could you tell us what the rent would be?” I heard myself saying. Mr. Creasey dipped his head sharply in my direction as though he was surprised to learn I had a voice at all.

      There was another long silence. Then, turning his lens on me so that once again they caught the light and gave him that blind but all-seeing look, he said, “My dear young lady, you don’t really want that house.”

      Mom and Pop leaned forward and opened their mouths to speak. “But we do,” I said quickly. “We do. I know it’s pretty dilapidated, but it’s the perfect house for us, because you see. . .”

      Pop interrupted and I realized I was doing what he had warned Mom not to do. I was being too anxious.

      “Is the house for rent or is it not?” Drew wanted to know.

      Some more throat-clearing and Mr. Creasey said in his mellowest tones yet, “It is, of course. Yes, it is. But only for certain purposes. For ordinary domestic use, you understand. We can’t have any more of that spiritualist activity there. No, oh dear, no. No séances, no table-rapping, no crystal-gazing, or fortune-telling.”

      “Séances!” Inez exclaimed. “Spiritualism? Whatever gave you that idea? What in the world could you be thinking of?”

      Mr. Creasey pulled off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “Why, excuse me if I am wrong. But aren’t you?”

      “Aren’t we what?”

      “Why, spiritualists, mediums, communicators with the spirits of the dead, fortune-casters. Or astrologers, perhaps.”

      “No,” Drew said. “I don’t think you understand at all. I’m a professor of social anthropology and I’m also an archaeologist. I’ve got a year’s teaching contract at the State University College at Mill River. As I explained before, this is my wife and this is my daughter, Sara. Our son—he’s sixteen—is living, for the time, with friends back in California. My wife here is just, uh . . . just an . . . ordinary housewife . . . with a few, uh, interesting hobbies. None of them have anything at all to do with the spirits of the dead . . .”

      “I’m awfully curious,” Inez said, leaning forward. “What made you think we were spiritualists, Mr. Creasey?”

      Mr. Creasey put his glasses back on and ran his fingers across the brim of his green eyeshade. “Well, ah, to be frank, your appearance. It is a trifle unconventional. Oh, not for the college over at Mill River, I admit. But that’s a good fifteen miles from here. Havenhurst is a very, ah, conservative community, as you have no doubt observed. They like things to stay just so over here.”

      Inez kept her eyes fastened on Mr. Creasey as he spoke. I wondered if she’d noticed Glenda’s house or any of the others as we drove through Havenhurst. Some of them were big like Glenda’s, but nearly all of them were what Inez would call “boxes.”

      “And then there’s another point,” Mr. Creasey went on. “They’re all very house-proud people here in Havenhurst. Now, I’m willing to lease this house to you at a very nominal sum, but I’m not prepared to make any improvements in the property. It rents as is and I must tell you honestiy that it requires a good deal of work....”

      “Oh, that’s quite all right,” Inez said with a faint smile. “We have plans for it.”

      “Ah, do you? Well, that’s good. That’s very good. I’m relieved to hear it.”

      Since I knew Inez’ and Drew’s plans better than Mr. Creasey did, I interrupted again. “What other houses have you got for rent around here, Mr. Creasey?”