by LEE OLDS
All she said was, “I can see that but I was fine. It’s a picturesque area.” Evidently just like Sandy, she loved the funkiness of the place. The lesson, rich girls don’t mind rubbing their nose in the dirt if there’s a prince in one of the hovels.
“A prince?” Said Hammond, but no more.
June leaned her racket case against a chair, handed Hartwig the brown paper bag, which contained a bottle of Fontainebleau’s ‘finest’, then she waited while Hartwig retired to the loft to change into his outfit. She heard the muffled noises through the paper-thin floor from above and sat petting Stanley.
“You’re such a pretty dog,” she was ready to get on its good side, and believe me that was something to Hartwig. His dog might’ve been the only living thing he really loved and that bond never seemed to change in his life, until, of course, the thing died and that was much later.
“Wasn’t that a Bach cantata you were playing?” She remarked as he appeared racket in hand. And just like that, I believe, Hartwig realized maybe he’d just found his true match and she was right there standing in front of him. Sandy didn’t know a Bach cantata from a folk song.
Of course, to reach the local courts from the houseboat area one has to walk down Gate Five Road along which the ceramic factory sits, its chimneys smoking and its windows revealing the busy smocked workers inside who sometimes wave. They wave, you go in and buy something. It’s a nice selling gimmick. You get what you see being made and it’s a good product. Larsen, Gloria’s boss, tapped her on the shoulder as the couple passed. He also knew Hartwig and had little respect for him over the way he treated his employee. He hoped by pointing out this new development to her he was doing her a favor.
“Look,” he said. “This time it’s a blond. And does she ever look like she has money. Girl you don’t stand a chance.”
With that, of course, she walked right off the job and didn’t come back until the next day. Larson found out he’d hit a raw nerve but he’d only been teasing. Gloria didn’t take it that way. She went right off to Tiburon to see Barth and listen to his worldly ravings to drown her disappointment in them when, in my estimation, she should’ve been examining exactly who the individual was that she was so intent on capturing. With her, it seemed, love resembled chess. If one piece stopped you, you captured it and went on to the next until you’d finally eliminated enough of them for mate. And in this case Hartwig was the king.
Meanwhile, unaware of the disturbance they’d already caused, June and Hartwig walked onto an open court, tied Stanley where he could sit in the shade under the bench, and began to hit.
“Could she actually play?” Said Hammond.
“Yes, apparently,” I answered, “surprisingly well.”
Though tall and packed into a wiry frame she was strong for a woman. She could really hit the ball. Then remember she’d had lessons and belonged to the most elite tennis club in the city since she was a little mite. So it wasn’t surprising. But that was what Hartwig wanted among other things, a tennis partner. And Sandy certainly wasn’t that.
The two rallied and actually played several sets. Though good, of course, she couldn’t match Hartwig’s power and placement. While he won the first two handily, just, I suppose, to show her what he could do, he fiddled around and let her win the third over which she was absolutely ecstatic.
“I win,” she exclaimed, threw her racket up into the air and caught it. “Who says women can’t play with the men?”
Hartwig smiled and replied compassionately in his rakish manner. “It certainly wasn’t I.”
Needless to say the two hit it off directly. They’d already connected on insuring Marcus’s future. Hartwig could get some exercise off her and in her case the window to her intellectual world was open. Sandy could never play tennis, nor could she think on any sort of academic level.
“So,” said Hammond, “that was it. He’d let the potter go; now it was the rebel. True love at last.”
“Wait a minute,” I said, “not so fast. That, in fact, was what turned out to be the problem. And, believe me, that’s a hurdle few men can climb unless they take a mistress. And what if you can’t stand to sleep with your wife at all? What do you do then? Why be married?”
Still jaunty after their exercise, the two walked back to the houseboat along Gate Five Road, the dog leading the way. When they passed by Heath’s once more Larsen noticed them. He had no Gloria to point them out to this time. She and Barth were whooping it up at Sam’s in Tiburon. I say whooping it up. Gloria by then was nearly out of her mind over the frustration that new sighting’d caused her. With Barth she was trying to disguise it as much as possible. She couldn’t, of course, for he saw right through women. Luckily he pitied her and tried to provide some solace without outright condemning her. Many men would, including Hartwig.
The tennis couple retreated back to the houseboat where June suggested she go home and make herself presentable before taking him out to dinner.
“Of course,” she said superciliously, “I don’t know whether I should consult Sandy.”
“Don’t worry,” Hartwig looked her over. “We don’t need dinner. I have some fresh oysters in the refrigerator and you can shower here.” The unexpectant June, not wanting to make a bad impression but obviously to make some sort of one, said,
“Oh, all right.” She said in her stuttering self-righteous way of expressing herself.
Well, you can imagine how long she lasted after wearing Hartwig’s robe that hung on her like a sack and after drinking her bottle of wine besides starting in on Hartwig’s. As it turned dark he brought out the candles and a dish full of raw oysters and played a Mozart opera softly in the background. It certainly wasn’t like the hard-to-get Sandy’s first night she spent there. This June was a game cookie. Most likely starved for sex. It wasn’t long after that these two athletes retired to the upstairs loft and began going at it furiously.
June had had qualms, which Hartwig quickly appeased and she, who unlike Sandy rarely went to bed with someone who didn’t show the promise of a long term relation, gave in. I don’t know what she thought of Hartwig. She liked him obviously but to trust him at that point was absurd. Perhaps she was jealous of her girlfriend’s companionship while she had none. She got caught up in the excitement of taking him away. People do you know. More than one intense relationship’s been launched on that basis.
“Really then,” said Hammond. “Then I can’t understand why this one wasn’t successful.”
“I couldn’t either,” I said, “until I heard Hartwig the following day. While June seemed to know every trade in the book of sex lore and could’ve written the Kama Sutra by herself, evidently he couldn’t stand her. In the height of passion she stuttered like a virtual epileptic, jerky fit and all. Her sex language was almost like a donkey’s bray. It turned him off so much he nearly lost his erection. He’d never experienced such a thing before. It dropped like a wet noodle.
“Nearly lost?”
“You know what I mean. Once was all he could muster. And she’d appeared so beautiful, like the blond goddess in the temple.”
“Well,” said Hammond. “That was the first time. People can work those sorts of things out. That’s why they have sex counselors.”
“Tell that to Hartwig,” I said. He didn’t want any more of it. Sandy was ten times better and more natural at least in the act. This episode drove him right back into her arms though he never came right out and said that. It wouldn’t do. With women you have to keep them guessing. With June, of course, he didn’t let her onto his secret either. You can’t insult someone drastically about the most sacred ritual in their life. It’s better just to avoid the subject entirely. Say nothing at least to them. When she’d bicycled all the way out to a friend’s house in Belvedere that Hartwig was visiting the next day because she mistakenly thought he’d invited her, he politely told her ‘no’. He couldn’t see her. He was busy. She’d gone off crying on her bicycle.
“You’re kidding,” s
aid Hammond, “after just one night?”
“The world’s full of lonely people,” I advised him, “and sometimes it is true. It doesn’t matter how much money you have. It can’t buy happiness, though for her maybe nothing could.”
“And Hartwig?”
He was searching for security more than anything else. I don’t think the person mattered as long as she was tolerable. On the other hand, a donkey’s bray, never. He, of course merely told her he couldn’t have sex anymore. There was someone else. The night’d been a mistake but they’d both been carried away. Because of Marcus, June and he remained friends. He’d discovered another nice place to drink and hang out. He was sure to be over at the Colonial mansion going through June’s liquor cabinet where she had an ample supply. And also’d be talking to her about every subject under the sun, which she with her man’s mind in a woman’s body, provided unusual insight into.
“Then this June wasn’t the despot everyone made her out?”
“No,” I said, “she was. In her cold calculated way she sat back and waited until she could bring down the axe. At least in her own mind. Remember some people die unhappy and it’s not their fault. It’s just the way they’re made. She’d lost none of her hatred; none of her viciousness. For the time being in Hartwig’ presence she’d just managed to suppress a little of it. She, of course, had also fallen in love with him.”
“Why, why, why?” Blurted Hammond disapprovingly. I, of course, merely shrugged my shoulders.
At least Sandy had fun with the tryst after she’d been apprised of the real issue. Beforehand watch out. She almost went crazy. When June learned there was to be ‘no more’ of course, she figured there was no longer reason to keep the secret so she phoned Sandy and let it out.
“Your boyfriend’s all right,” she said, “but I’ve had better. Could do it only once. Is that all he does with you?”
“June,” said Sandy, “are you all right? I don’t know what you’re talking about.” And Sandy hung up on her. Of course she knew what June was talking about. It made her furious. To think that sly son-of-a-bitch’d do something like that to her was wholly infuriating. It was exactly what she’d feared the most.
At that point she once again drove from the beach at breakneck speed over the twisty mountain road putting her own life in jeopardy and in doing so she was furious enough to want to kill Hartwig. She didn’t even want an explanation. On the other hand her sadness at Hartwig’s betrayal humbled her to no end as love also does to some people. It can make then sad enough to want to die. She knew, of course, this was merely June’s version so maybe she did want another.
As she had before, she’d burst in on him, cursing literally out of her mind. This time, however, she paused in the tiny kitchenette by the entranceway long enough to pick up a large carving knife, a Bollingen, of good steel too. And she came at him brandishing that, raving like a Sybil with her nonsensical sounds, her hair flying.
“God damned no good mother-fucking...” she raised the thing up like an executioner ready to bring it down.
“Did she?” Said Hammond. “The story could’ve ended right there and it might’ve been a better one.”
“No.” Hartwig in his dire surprise, believe me, said,
“Sandy, what?” He grabbed her arm and was able to wrestle the blade away where it dropped harmlessly to the floor as Stanley began to sniff at it. Maybe he smelled old meat on the thing. Those beagles, you know, have funny noses.
Hartwig then thrust her onto the couch where she calmed down or more appropriately ran out of strength to fight him much as the woman does with the rapist, who is then able to take advantage because of the man’s superior power. She was quite strong too said Hartwig. He’d never tussled with her before and said there was a moment there he had his own doubts about subduing her. He did, of course, and then she began to talk.
“You’ve been with that God damned June, haven’t you.” She gasped and sighed and started crying. “She phoned me and…”
“She phoned you eh? Well,” he said, “she has a lot of nerve phoning, anyone as bad as she is. And besides I didn’t do anything. She came over here and barged in on me. What was I supposed to do yell rape as she was taking off her clothes? Please.”
He then told her everything, emphasizing, of course, how ‘put upon’ he’d been by her girlfriend.”
“Did she believe him?” Said Hammond.
“Of course, what do you think? When you’re in love you believe all sorts of things whether they’re true or not as long as you want them to be. And besides in this case his aversion wasn’t so far from the truth.”
“Really,” said Sandy, “was she that bad?” As Hartwig went into more detail.
“That bad,” said Hartwig, “and worse. I’d certainly never do it again with her. If you don’t believe me ask her. I believe she can’t live without me,” he sprayed her with hyperbole, “she’s really got it that bad.”
At that point, naturally, Sandy chose to believe him. Poor soul that she was, what more could she do? She not only believed his disgust, but that he would never do it again with June. That in the long run turned out to be true. Our faithful martyr.
“So,” said the sandy haired socialite feeling much lighter. I’m better, eh, by how much?”
“By the number of the stars in universe you’re better.”
She liked his trite metaphors. You see at the time they were enough to make her believe. She stayed with Hartwig all that day and into the night. It certainly did a lot to eliminate Sandy’s self-doubt in regard to her own ability to attract and keep a man. And then on the spot this was Hartwig, who she’d fallen in love with. According to him this definitely made her easier to get along with. An element, I’m sure, that also drew him more to her. After all, what does any man need if not more than one real good woman? In truth we’re not made to be polygamists as some sects preach.
Chapter Twelve
One who wasn’t so happy but definitely needed some kind of support was Sarah the beauty, Marcus’s mother who lived alone at Oceanview in her little Cape Cod style cottage on the hill. With no one else to turn to ‘out there’ since she had no friends, her son’d left her for her worst enemy and her boyfriend’d been taken away to jail she put her energy into drinking, the worst thing for her, and pining for the miscreant, a tragedy in the making.
One night as she’d been drinking her welfare money in the expensive Sand Piper, she, more sloppily than usual, had divulged her plight to Mort the Hollywood screenwriter and local gadfly when this wit said to her.
“I don’t know what you’re so upset about dear, if you’re really interested in getting the string bean out of jail, just put up your house as collateral and bail him out. Just be sure if you do he doesn’t disappear and you have to forfeit what you’ve put up, otherwise you’ll lose everything.”
Without apparently even having heard the last sentence, she said,
“Can I do that?” It was something she hadn’t thought of. Mort, of course, didn’t point out that action’d undoubtedly only result in so much free time before his trial came up and they put him away perhaps for good. He already had a lot of strikes. I believe more than three with matters pending.
“I don’t see why not.” And he’d named a bail bondsman he knew over the hill. When it comes to things like that, you know, friends stick together.
“So did she?” Said Hammond.
“What do you think?” She’d been phoning Barney every day in jail and that contact had come to be her only solace in life. Drinking didn’t even seem to appease her anymore. And when an alcoholic gets to that stage they’re really in trouble. Hard to believe such a beautiful woman like that’d pick out a convict as her heart’s desire but she had. Circumstances don’t reward beauty any more than brains when one loses control and gives up, which is apparently what she’d done. And hers wasn’t the only case like that. Women who are complete strangers to inmates often find occasion to contact them by electronic mail. The ne
xt thing you know they’re exchanging pictures. The two then meet face to face as she visits him in prison and the next thing you know those two are head over heels in love and they marry. Like Sonia she’s across the river waiting for her loved one to walk out of the prison gates a free man. Or maybe he’ll never get out. Their love nonetheless may persist until both expire even though it’s unfulfilled physically. I’ve never understood such relationships but the power to ‘save’ on the part of women is great. One of the greatest forces on earth, I believe, despite the fact that it seldom lastingly works. And it doesn’t seem to matter what offense the convict’s committed as long as he appears genuinely repentant. With love as an anodyne he can, for it puts us naturally into that state of suspended hostility towards our surroundings and our fellow man. Without it it’s difficult if all but impossible. There are women in prison too, of course. That sort of relation where the man on the outside has to go to her occurs much less frequently. Men … well they’re just less forgiving and that’s the nature of the beast. For that reason love affects them far more than women whose core it is, even though it’s strangely enough thought to the contrary.
The very next day, in fact, after her conversation with Mort, Sarah dressed up in one of her subdued outfits to connote humility, a dull colored full dress with flat shoes and a scarf tied tightly over her full bodied auburn hair, got on the bus and rode over the hill to San Rafael. First she went to the bank where she acquired the deed to her cottage, which at market value in those times was worth a lot. Whether viable or not, property values at the beach had sky rocketed just like everywhere else in the country; perhaps more so.
Then she walked down Fourth Street to the Seligman bail bond office at street level. A bell ding-a-linged as she walked in and looked cautiously around. Seligman himself waited on her. He shared the office with his wife but she was absent.
