else comes along?”
“I mentioned that to Ivan. He’s going to have his people get the word to the mafya
that there’s nothing to the Augur. He thinks there’ll be no follow up.”
“But—”
“But if there is, it’ll be dealt with.”
“Since I doubt if the Russian government will let Ivan stay around, maybe I can keep
you.” She kissed him again.
“You want me to be your bodyguard?”
“Yes.”
“And make money for your foundation?”
“Yes.”
“That’s it?”
“What else is there?”
“What indeed?” He hesitated, then stood. “No. No, I don’t think so—but thanks for
the job offer.”
“Job offer?”
“Wasn’t that a job offer? I can have my own room on the mountain? A sort of
combination sleeping quarters and guardroom? Be near the guns? Or maybe I can sleep
outside with the guard dogs?”
She ran to her room.
Larson sat down, finished the Remy Martin, and poured another.
She returned a few minutes later and sat across from him.
“Don’t think I haven’t thought this through. Time and time again.” “Me, too.”
“I’m not ready for marriage to you. I’ve examined the parameters of the situation
and —”
“You turned your incredible mathematical brain loose on the question?” “I am what I am.”
“As am I.”
“And that’s what I mean. We’re incompatible.”
Larson frowned.
“Let’s look at the various aspects of our lives.”
“Aspects of our lives. Good. Another brandy?”
She held out her glass.
“One, sexual attitudes. Your many marriages, your—”
“Many?”
“Your two marriages and your many affairs, my—”
“We’ve done your semi-virtuous romance before. Let’s move on.” She paused for a long drink. “All right. Two. Money. You’re obsessed with the
idea of earning it. I’m satisfied with what I have.”
“I may in fact be a little buggy there.”
She hesitated. “Then there’s music. What kind of music appeals to you?” “I have a pretty broad range—but it doesn’t extend north of the Dead.” “The Grateful Dead?” She giggled. “Are you surprised I recognized the name.” Larson smiled. “I am.”
“I’m beginning a campaign to improve my knowledge of classical music.” “Beethoven?”
“He’s pretty modern on my overall list.”
“Wow!”
She held her glass out. “More, please.”
She took a large drink. “Art?”
“I like sports art. Nieman is my favorite.”
She shook her head. “That figures. I’m going to improve my knowledge in that
world, too, but I’m starting in the present and working backwards.”
“Jackson Pollock?”
“Yes, among many, many others.”
“Proves what a great country America is.”
“How?”
“A guy can spill paint all over a big canvas and somebody will buy it.” She shook her head. “Literature. I watched what you were reading at Mountain
House. One spy novel after another.”
“And you?”
“I’m reading better literature. Old masters.”
“Have you read Á la Recherche du Temps Perdu yet?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“A Remembrance of Things Past. Marcel Proust.”
“No, and how could you know that?”
“French 101. I’ve never read the thing. Something about a cookie. I just had to
translate the title.”
She shook her head. “Sports. What are your favorites.”
“You already know. Tennis, followed by sailing and skiing. You?” “Inexpensive activities. Hiking, mostly.”
“That’s inexpensive, all right.”
“Automobiles. Your Porsche versus my Rabbit.”
“Are you sure that’s not reverse snobbery?”
She laughed. “You wouldn’t say that if you’d been inside Peter.”
“What else?”
She gestured at his clothing. “Look at you. You’re a fashion plate.” “You look okay.”
“Here, maybe, but at home—you know, it’s cutoffs in the summer and jeans in the
winter.”
“But you don’t look bad in those, either.”
“Thanks. What about politics.”
“We’ve done this. I’m still a rock-ribbed Republican.”
“I’m—I’m—I don’t know. Neither one of them seems to have coherent programs.” “True.”
“Houses. Where would we live? I couldn’t stand too much of the Atlanta crowds.
Think of the traffic. We’d have to live on the mountain and I don’t think you could stand that longterm.”
“Correct.”
“And our careers. I want to improve Augur. And I have zillions of ideas for sequels to Another Wish. And I have myriad things that I want to learn. What would you be doing if we were married?”
“Doing? You mean career? To tell the truth, I haven’t thought a lot about my career lately. Given my current assets, the question has almost faded from the scene.”
“See what I mean?”
“I do.”
Larson filled their glasses, then paced. “You’re right. I didn’t think through why I got married and I didn’t think through what marriage to you would be like. I was acting on emotion only. Very unscientific of me.” He walked the end of the saloon and back. “Good. That’s one problem out of the way.”
“What problem?”
“Ivan has leave coming up. He wants me to go with him to Moscow and then down to the Black Sea. Now I can.” He walked away again. “Let’s see. He’s flexible. We’ll be back in Mobile Bay on the fifteenth or sixteenth. No trouble getting a visa, I’ll bet. Some shots. I could be in Moscow by the end of the month.”
“What about work? You can’t just—”
“Sure I can. The internet worked in Cuernavaca. It’ll work in Moscow. No problem.”
She sipped her brandy, then frowned. “No matter our personal relationship—lack of personal relationship, I mean—I hope that we can work together. I may ask you to join the board of trustees.”
“I’d be honored.”
“You’d have to attend meetings in Atlanta.”
“Four times a year?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve got to come home sometime. Get my shirts done. Buy American tooth paste. No problem.”
She nodded.
Larson sat back down. “This is great!”
“What?”
“The freedom.”
“Yes, I agree. I can get on with some tasks I have in mind.”
“New Year’s in Gstaad—or maybe St. Moritz. Elizabeth’ll be ecstatic.”
“Elizabeth?”
“My tennis partner. I usually spend New Years Eve with her.”
“Oh.” She paused. “I want to put in some more raised beds.”
“Or maybe New Year’s on the boat again.”
“Again?”
“Sure. We spent New Years Eve on it year before last. Humberto told me he wouldn’t be using the sailboat until after the first of the year.”
“And a greenhouse. Aaron always wanted me to have a greenhouse.”
“Maybe sailing lessons. I really feel bad about borrowing Humberto’s boat. I couldn’t afford anything like this one, but something able to go anywhere in the Caribbean. Maybe run across to the Med. I could get licensed, pick up a crew.” He nodded. “Sure.”
“And if I had a greenhouse, I could start trying to crossbreed my two favorite dahlias. I had a dream about—”
Larson pace
d again. “As long as I’m going to learn to sail, I might as well learn to fly. I haven’t had the time until now. I wonder—”
“I guess I’ll have to trade Flossy in for a truck. Four wheel drive and—”
“Might take some golf lessons. My swing could use—”
“I might even look into building a stable. I’d want—”
“And I can improve my skeet. My trap’s okay, but—”
Sheila laughed.
He frowned. “What are you laughing at?”
“Us.”
“Us?”
“Us. Each of us going at top speed to show how little we need each other.”
He nodded. “Right. How happy we are to be free.”
She sipped her drink. “I’ve been thinking.”
“While you’ve been talking a mile a minute?”
“In my back brain.”
“Aaron mentioned that once. What’s been going on back there?”
She patted the seat beside her.
He sat.
“Your car. It’s not so bad. Not too showy.” She shrugged. “If you need to go a hundred miles an hour, fine.”
“The Porsche people will be pleased.”
“And the houses. Is your house in town big enough for both of us?”
“Possibly. You’ll have to look at it.”
“Being in Atlanta would put me closer to the foundation’s operations. Most weekends on the mountain, though.”
“Several, anyway.”
“I have an admission. John Le Carré’s books. I’ve read them all—more than once.”
“Confession is good for the soul.”
“Clothing. You do look nice in cutoffs.”
“And you look great in whatever that filmy thing is.”
“I could go to sailing school with you.”
“Classmates.”
“We could go to art appreciation school together.”
“Or maybe buy a book.”
“We can listen to CDs together.”
“From a really broad mix.” He looked at her. “More brandy?”
“No, I’m fine.”
Larson put the bottle down.
“You could get someone to make a sort of thermometer,” she said.
“Thermometer?“
“You know, like they have for fund drives. We could put it in the yard—back yard, I suppose. You could raise the level with red paint as you made more and more money.”
“What about the top?”
“There wouldn’t be one. We’d put on extensions. You could go on and on.”
“We’d have to set the scale pretty low.”
“Very small. We couldn’t have the neighbors complaining about a red pole rising from behind our house.”
“But I’d still give the money to the foundation?”
“Only if you want to.”
“I do.”
“Can’t you see it, Sam? We’re so different.”
“I say potato and you say potahto.”
“I say tomato and you say tomahto.”
“Tomato, tomahto, potato, potahto, let’s call the whole thing off.”
There were tears in her eyes. “Those are the right words for the song, but I don’t want to call it off. To tell the truth, the last few days have altered my perspective. Do you suppose we could set the whole compatibility issue aside?”
“Could you?”
“Yes, could you?”
“Wasn’t ever an issue with me.”
She sat up straight and looked into his eyes. “I love you, Sam. Will you marry me?”
“You sober?”
“Enough.”
“No regrets tomorrow?”
“I’m sure.”
Larson took her face in his hands. “I love you, too.”
They hesitated, looking at each other, then she pushed him away. “That’s dandy, goddamn it, Larson, but will you marry me?”
He smiled. “Sure.”
Acknowledgements
My thanks to my wife, Marsha, editor par excellence, and Jerry Dye and Tim Long, computer wizards and great friends.
Rubenstein's Augur Page 39
