Mr Kölski Pays A Visit

Dorothy turned away from the window. The gingham check on the curtains was smearing into swirls. She wiped the back of a hand over her eyes. The tears mingled with the soapy water on the latex gloves. The doorbell went. The Avon Lady had come yesterday, the Postman always rang twice. More tears spilled out as Dorothy laughed at her own joke. She went to the front door;

'Just a minute,' she couldn't answer the door without doing something about her eyes.

A quick scrabble under the telephone table and a cheap pair of drugstore sunglasses hid her embarrassment. The door creaked. Dick was always going to oil the hinges. Dick was always going to do things. Dorothy took an involuntary step back. She'd been told a thousand times to keep hold of the door, keep the stranger at bay, watch out for the determined foot jammed between frame and the creaking door.

But the man hadn't moved. Hadn't spoken. Dorothy thought she herself might have made a little gasp. He didn't look like a salesman, no briefcase, no suitcase full of samples or encyclopedias. Didn't sport a necktie, come to that. Dick always said you couldn't take a man without a necktie seriously. Dick wore hand-painted silk ties. Dorothy found two crumpled at the back of the wardrobe once. They each had a woman painted on the reverse side, a real blonde and a real redhead.As real as burlesque women are, she'd thought. Dorothy had hung the ties with his others, but Dick never mentioned them.

The man was waiting patiently. He was standing two steps back from the stoop, as though he'd rung the bell and stepped away, uncertain of his welcome. He didn't look uncertain of anything, however. Half a smile turned up one corner of his mouth. His eyes were black as Hades and the hair oil slicked his hair back into a widow's peak. There was no car in the street behind him, but neither was there any dust in the creases on his worn, shining boots.

'Good afternoon, Ma'am.' The other corner turned up and he smiled like a man in love.

Dorothy stuttered, 'I – we – we don't want any!'

The smile lit candles in the black of his eyes,

'You don't want any? I don't have any. I don't have anything.'

'Yes, well, Mr...'

'Kölski, Mr Kölski. Mrs. Vance.'

His eyes flashed from side to side and the candlelight flickered.

Dorothy hadn't told him her name, but he could have asked Mrs May in the next house along. Dorothy didn't doubt that the woman had told the stranger much more than her name.

'That a Polack name, Mr K-Kölski?'

Dorothy's had flew to her mouth. She looked at the red lipstick on her fingertips. Mr Kölski' tongue crept out and licked at the corner of his mouth.

'Icelandic, Mrs. Vance. Folks call me Swede. Passes for humour here in Kansas, I guess.'

Dorothy looked at the slick, black hair and the oil-dark eyes, but didn't feel like laughing.

She straightened her back,

'Well, Mr Kölski, what can I do for you? I don't have all day.'

Kölski rubbed a hand along a stubbled cheek. Dorothy noticed his nails were long – and they shone, with no black crescents underneath the tips.

'That's all you do have, Mrs Vance. I'm sorry to say.'

Dorothy made to shut the door. The man held up his hand.

'Let this stranger in, Dorothy Vance, you won't regret it.'

She nodded dully, her mouth slackened and her lower lip drooped as though too heavy to purse. Kölski strode in, his polished work-boots made nary a sound on the floorboards, as though he floated above the world like a fallen angel.

Later, Dorothy lay on her back, watching the cigarette smoke curl up to the ceiling. She'd watched Mr Kölski dress over an hour before, seen the thing at the base of his spine. The thing you might call a tail, if you'd a mind to. He'd blown her a kiss and dropped a package on the bed.

'Use that, Dorothy. You need to, for sure.'

And then he was gone. Just like that, though it never – ever - had been like that. Not for Dorothy.

Dorothy blew a smoke ring, looked at the thing beside her on the bed. She'd wondered what he'd meant, for an hour or so. She'd figured it out before the front door slammed.

'Honey, I'm home!'

Dorothy was pointing the gun at Dick as he came through the bedroom door.