Free Rosemary's Baby by Ira Levin Page A

“What’s that over there?” Mrs. Castevet asked. “Seat covers?”
    “Cushions for the window seats,” Rosemary said, and thinking Oh all right, I will , went over and got the work and brought it back and joined them.
    Laura-Louise said, “You’ve certainly made a tremendous change in the apartment, Rosemary.”
    “Oh, before I forget,” Mrs. Castevet said, “this is for you. From Roman and me.” She put a small packet of pink tissue paper into Rosemary’s hand, with a hardness inside it.
    “For me?” Rosemary asked. “I don’t understand.”
    “It’s just a little present is all,” Mrs. Castevet said, dismissing Rosemary’s puzzlement with quick hand-waves. “For moving in.”
    “But there’s no reason for you to…” Rosemary unfolded the leaves of used-before tissue paper. Within the pink was Terry’s silver filigree ball-charm and its clustered-together neckchain. The smell of the ball’s filling made Rosemary pull her head away.
    “It’s real old,” Mrs. Castevet said. “Over three hundred years.”
    “It’s lovely,” Rosemary said, examining the ball and wondering whether she should tell that Terry had shown it to her. The moment for doing so slipped by.
    “The green inside is called tannis root,” Mrs. Castevet said. “It’s good luck.”
    Not for Terry , Rosemary thought, and said, “It’s lovely, but I can’t accept such a—”
    “You already have,” Mrs. Castevet said, darning a brown sock and not looking at Rosemary. “Put it on.”
    Laura-Louise said, “You’ll get used to the smell before you know it.”
    “Go on,” Mrs. Castevet said.
    “Well, thank you,” Rosemary said; and uncertainly she put the chain over her head and tucked the ball into the collar of her dress. It dropped down between her breasts, cold for a moment and obtrusive. I’ll take it off when they go , she thought.
    Laura-Louise said, “A friend of ours made the chain entirely by hand. He’s a retired dentist and his hobby is making jewelry out of silver and gold. You’ll meet him at Minnie and Roman’s on—on some night soon, I’m sure, because they entertain so much. You’ll probably meet all their friends, all our friends.”
    Rosemary looked up from her work and saw Laura-Louise pink with an embarrassment that had hurried and confused her last words. Minnie was busy darning, unaware. Laura-Louise smiled and Rosemary smiled back.
    “Do you make your own clothes?” Laura-Louise asked.
    “No, I don’t,” Rosemary said, letting the subject be changed. “I try to every once in a while but nothing ever hangs right.”
    It turned out to be a fairly pleasant evening. Minnie told some amusing stories about her girlhood in Oklahoma, and Laura-Louise showed Rosemary two useful sewing tricks and explained feelingly how Buckley, the Conservative mayoral candidate, could win the coming election despite the high odds against him.
    Guy came back at eleven, quiet and oddly self-contained. He said hello to the women and, by Rosemary’s chair, bent and kissed her cheek. Minnie said, “ Eleven? My land! Come on, Laura-Louise.” Laura-Louise said, “Come and visit me any time you want, Rosemary; I’m in twelve F.” The two women closed their sewing bags and went quickly away.
    “Were his stories as interesting as last night?” Rosemary asked.
    “Yes,” Guy said. “Did you have a nice time?”
    “All right. I got some work done.”
    “So I see.”
    “I got a present too.”
    She showed him the charm. “It was Terry’s,” she said. “They gave it to her; she showed it to me. The police must have—given it back.”
    “She probably wasn’t even wearing it,” Guy said.
    “I’ll bet she was. She was as proud of it as—as if it was the first gift anyone had ever given her.” Rosemary lifted the chain off over her head and held the chain and the charm on her palm, jiggling them and looking at them.
    “Aren’t you going to wear it?” Guy asked.
    “It smells,” she said.