The turning point came in January. Connecticut was experiencing particularly bad weather that month, and Georgianne was growing restless. She complained about the cold, the house, and the loneliness. She still liked her work, and she was happy about Bonnie's progress at Harvard, but otherwise she was coming to dislike the way she lived. Her friends were well intentioned, but she hated being their special project. She was tired of gratuitous advice and she had no stomach for the ritual of being in traduced to single men, none of whom aroused any response in her. She wasn't at all sure she was capable of responding to anyone, but at night, alone, she began to want someone in her life. Georgianne didn't say these things to Jeff in so many words, but he was certain that he understood her meaning perfectly.
His time was coming, and he knew it. He started to plan another trip to Danbury. February, he thought, would be right. It was usually as bad as January in terms of the weather, and even worse psychologically. February was the bottom of the pit of winter, when spring still seems still seems impossibly far away. Georgianne would feel low and blue. He would arrive at exactly the right moment, in the nick of time, and convince her to come out to Los Angeles for a visit. At his expense, of course, unless she absolutely insisted on paying her own way. There wasn't the slightest doubt in his mind that if he could just get her to California, she would want to stay. She would stay.
Jeff was certain that his elaborate, grand scenario had reached its final phase. He thought of it as a very natural progression geared to the seasons of the earth, and he felt he was on the verge of a remarkable achievement. When it is complete, he told himself, I will have plucked Georgianne from the past, transformed her life utterly and mine as well, and saved two people who were going nowhere without even realizing it. And all because he had finally learned how to read and follow his deepest instincts. It was extraordinary how the whole thing had started and grown. A whim had taken over the personal destinies of several people. A gesture of curiosity and half buried longing had snowballed, gaining the momentum of an irresistible force. It gave Jeff a feeling of almost godlike power. The only thing that bothered him was the fact that he couldn't share this knowledge with anyone-for who else on this planet had gone to such lengths for the love of a woman? Jeff was now unique in his own eyes. At the center of this transformation was Sean's killing, which he regarded as the one true act of his life. Even now, months later, it had a magical, religious significance: it was an act of transubstantiation.
Late in January, before Jeff could announce his plans for another trip east, the change in Georgianne became more pronounced. She wouldn't stay on the phone talking as long as she had previously. She always sounded tired, and sometimes his calls actually woke her from sleep. She worked full time at the nursery school now, came home dead tired, and went to bed early. Jeff didn't know how to deal with this new development. It was just until June, Georgianne told him. She liked the work, she wanted the extra money, and, besides, it kept her mind off other things. He saw that she was doing what he had done years before-she was deliberately losing herself in her job. But he didn't know how to talk her out of it, or even if it was a good idea to try.
On the plus side, it seemed to show that Georgianne was taking charge of her life, finding a new strength and sense of purpose. Work was a way of buying time to heal. But there were negative aspects too. The long telephone talks with Jeff were no longer quite so important to her. She didn't need them the way she had earlier. Now they were friendly, brief chats-nothing more. They left Jeff feeling increasingly removed from her.
Georgianne was still vague about her plans. She was saving money. She was thinking seriously of selling the house in the summer, but then again, she might not. A condominium in the Danbury area was a possibility, but only if she decided she really wanted to stay on at the nursery school. Boston was the other alternative, and one that she admitted was attractive. She could go back to school there, take some night courses, and also find a job. Bonnie would be nearby. A city offered social and cultural distractions, and many opportunities to find a new direction for her life. There were a lot of things to be weighed and considered, and she was still far from sure what to do.
This was what Jeff had expected, in a way. Georgianne was beginning to see the various possibilities that lay before her, and she was taking a healthy interest in them. But it was happening quite apart from him, which was not what he had intended. He was disturbed and frightened at the prospect of somehow losing control.
Now that the right moment seemed to be at hand, he felt tense and nervous. Twice he couldn't bring himself to say what he wanted to say to Georgianne. He felt intimidated by the new sense of self-assurance that radiated through the telephone. She was on a positive upswing, and that threatened to disarm him completely.
On the first Tuesday in February, Jeff had to force himself to say something explicit to Georgianne. Get it out in the open. He planned to fly to New York the next week, or the week after at the latest, and she had to be told. This wasn't going to be another vacation, nor would he try to revive the spurious Union Carbide connection. He wanted Georgianne to know that he was making the long journey for the sole purpose of seeing her and being with her.
It felt like the most important day in his life. He came home from work and had two cold beers to take the edge off and settle himself. He went about his ritual preparations and then sat staring at the fish in the aquarium, as if they could help him plan his words. His mind had a way of going blank at important moments, and this was one of them. You can't rehearse real life, he thought glumly. Feeling heavy and slow, he picked up the telephone. The rhythm wasn't there. He disconnected, got a new dial tone, and then tapped out the sacred numbers correctly. He and Georgianne chatted for a few minutes, and when she mentioned Bonnie, he took it as his opening.
"What about L.A.?"
Bread on the water. A slight pause.
"Los Angeles? What do you mean?"
"Well, you know. You've been thinking of selling the house and moving to Boston this summer."
"Yes, it's an idea," Georgianne said as if it were more than just an idea. And then she confirmed this. "I've just been looking through some study programs."
"Well, good. But, as I said, what about L.A.? Anything you can do in Boston you can do here, and the weather is a lot better."
Hesitation.
"Oh, Jeff, I'd love to come out and see L.A. and visit you sometime, but-"
"No, I mean why don't you think about living out here?"
"I couldn't possibly." Quick, definite.
"Why not?"
"Jeff, it's so far away."
"No it's not. It's just down the road from here."
It was such a feeble attempt at lightness that Jeff was oddly annoyed when Georgianne laughed. She was taking it as a joke, ignoring the very clear implication of his remark.
"It's the other side of the country," she said. "If I do move, it'll be to some place where I'm still close to Bonnie."
"Anywhere in the country is only a few hours' flying time," he pointed out lamely.
"That's not the same thing," she replied.
"No, really. Stop and think about it for a minute," he urged reasonably. "How often do you see her now? At Thanksgiving and Christmas and Easter, and then in the summer. If you were in California, you'd still see her at those times. When a kid is away at college, the distance, the exact mileage, doesn't make a whole lot of difference."
"I guess that's true," Georgianne said dubiously. "But if I moved to Boston I'd be able to see her much more often. Every weekend, at least."
Jeff couldn't argue with that. It was a mistake, a digression. He had the nasty feeling that things were quickly slipping away from him now. The whole point of her moving to L.A. was that he loved her, and if she still didn't have a clue about that, he wouldn't get anywhere. Perhaps it had been a blunder to put himself in this position on the damn telephone.
"Oh, I wanted to tell you," he started over, "I'm coming to Danbur
y again."
"How nice. It'll be good to see you. When are you coming?"
She did seem pleased, he thought hopefully. "Pretty soon," he said. "Next week, or the week after, maybe. Which would suit you better?"
Silence. A sickening sensation. He could almost see the puzzlement on her face.
"Uh ... doesn't it depend on your work, Jeff? You are coming to see the people at Union Carbide, aren't you?"
"No, that's all over. I told you about that the last time I was there."
"Oh, yeah, I guess you did." Pause. "Well ...
"This time I was planning to come back ... just to take a few days off and ... see you."
"Oh."
"Is there anything wrong with that?"
No, of course not. But I am working full time now, and I get home pretty beat at night. I mean, it would be great to see you again, but I just don't have much time during the week. Not time when I'm fit company for anybody."
"So? How about if I turn it into a long weekend? That's easy enough to arrange."
"Yeah ... but I'm just waiting for the weatherman to say we're going to have a halfway decent weekend so that I can go up to see Bonnie again."
"Fine. I'll come on the next lousy weekend. We can sit around the fire, have a few drinks, and watch the snow drift."
"Jeff, you don't have to."
"What if I want to?"
"Yeah, but I'm just saying you don't have to."
"I don't understand."
"You were very kind to me, Jeff. You were really very good to me, and it meant a lot. But I'm better now. I feel like I've finally gotten up off the floor and-"
"I wasn't planning to come just because I thought you needed help or sympathetic company."
"I know, I know. You're very sweet, but-"
"I love you, Georgianne." Fuck sweet!
"I love you too, Jeff."
She means friendship, he thought bitterly. A black thundercloud was swallowing his mind.
"No, really, I mean-"
"I know," Georgianne interrupted. "It's just that I don't want you to come all this way for ... oh, I wish I knew what to say."
Jeff recognized this as the vacant, pseudo-innocent tone of voice a woman uses when she wants you to figure out what she can't bring herself to tell you. He was no longer aware of his whiskey, his cigarette, his room, or even the telephone in his hand. He was floating in darkness, high above the earth, and a voice was broadcasting a message to his brain: Stay there, don't come back.
'Say it's okay,' he begged.
"It's okay, of course. But it's not necessary, Jeff. You don't have to. Really, I mean it. I wish you'd just ... understand that...."
He did. That was the trouble. When he hung up the telephone a few moments later, he kicked the coffee table over in a rage, spilling whiskey and scattering ashes. Then he buried his face in the couch and pounded his head with the heels of his hands. It took more than an hour for the fury and trembling to subside, and then, still in a daze, he noticed that he had bitten clean through one of the seat cushions.
On the following Friday, he called Georgianne at the usual time. No answer. She hadn't told him beforehand that she wouldn't be there, and this single disruption of the routine, the only one to occur in four months, dealt their relationship another mortal blow. He waited grimly until the next Tuesday. Georgianne was there, but the conversation was brief and trivial. She seemed distracted, as if she wouldn't mind getting off the phone because she was busy with something else. He tried to raise serious matters, but it was impossible. Georgianne seemed to have erected an invisible barrier that he couldn't penetrate. Anything he said was either deflected or ignored. Her only news was that she felt fine and was going to Boston the next weekend to see Bonnie. He got the message: she wouldn't be there to take a Friday call.
Jeff knew it was all over before he hung up the phone. His grand scenario had been washed away like a sand castle at high tide. He could hardly believe it, but no other conclusion was possible. Ten months had elapsed since he had re-established contact with Georgianne. He had zeroed in on her, pierced the heart of her life, isolated her, consoled her, pursued her, and opened himself to her. But now, astonishingly, he had apparently passed right through and come out on the other side, as insignificant and transitory as a stray atomic particle. He was back in the vacuum.
After that second Tuesday in February, Jeff abandoned his ritual. He wouldn't call her again. The next time, she would come to him. And there would be a next time-of that he had no doubt.
PART IV
Rendezvous
with an Echo
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Au Bon Pain.
He knew Bon: Bon was good, as in Bon Ami household cleaner, or as in Bonjour, one of the three or four French words he did know. Bonjour, monsieur, merci, oui. He'd been a student of German, not French. Bon was good.
Bonnie, as they say in Scotland.
Au was a mystery. Pain was a mystery.
But were they so difficult? Let Au be Oh. Let Pain be Pain. Oh Good Pain! It sounded like something out of Shakespeare, or a toast by the Marquis de Sade. He smiled. The line went perfectly with the jingle on a television beer commercial. "Here's to good pain, tonight is kind of special ..." With good pain. Through good pain. By good pain. Toward the good pain. Pain a la mode. Pie, that was it. Pain had to mean pie. For Good Pie. Disappointing, but then, the solution of a mystery often is. For Good Pain. He liked that much more. For Good Pain, stop here. It sounded punk, and he was feeling punk.
At the next table a small crowd had gathered around two young men locked in a five-minute game of lightning chess. Fingers flew, pieces banged about the board, and the clock was hammered continuously. The challenger lost his dollar. The winner looked philosophical. He was mediocre, a club-strength player, but he could keep his cool for five minutes, which was more than many others could do in the face of a reckless, unsound attack. If you say A, you must ...
It was a mistake to be sitting there, he knew. He could be seen first, at any time, and that was the opposite of what he wanted. The coffee at the bottom of his cup was too little and too cold to bother finishing. He crushed his cigarette in the plastic ashtray, stood up, and left the outdoor terrace of the Cafe Au Bon Pain.
He walked past the newsstand and on up the street as far as the Old Burying Ground. He carried a paperback of Katz's Life After Nuclear War, which he had purchased that same morning. It was the first of May, and his first full day there. The sun was shining brilliantly on Harvard Square.
Early afternoon now. He resumed his post on the concrete bench outside the Science Center. It was the easiest way. She had to take at least one course in that ugly building, and even if she didn't, she was bound to pass by sooner or later. He had patience, and plenty of time. He waited and watched, glancing up through mirrored sunglasses whenever a female came along. Otherwise he stared at the book open on his lap. Apparently it would take only 335 warheads to set the Soviet Union back a thousand years. But was that far enough?
He looked like someone else, not Jeff Lisker. Not Phil Headley, nor even the equally mythical Jonathan Tate, which was the name he currently used for purposes of airline tickets, hotel registrations, and traveler's checks. He had let his hair grow for most of April. It wasn't really long, but longer and fuller. Then he'd gone to a unisex salon in West Hollywood, not so much for a cut as to have the color and style changed. Gone was the dull brown, gone, too, the part that had been with him since childhood. Now his hair was a kind of muddy cream color, and it was swept back on his head. Ted and Callie hadn't liked the change but Jeff didn't care. He had to use mousse every morning to keep the part from reasserting itself. He had also applied peroxide to his eyebrows, with mixed results. He wore a pair of scuffed loafers, corduroy jeans, a Dodgers T-shirt, and an old, comfortable tweed jacket he'd been surprised to find he still had in his closet. He hoped he looked like a graduate student or a member of the faculty.
Another fool's errand? Possibly.
Probably. What would he say to Bonnie when he did see her? He didn't have the slightest idea. But he had already decided that it was pointless to sit around in Ventura County and try to figure these things out in his head. Now that he was on the scene, something would happen, or it wouldn't. All it would cost was time and money, and he had those to bum.
Jeffs feelings for Georgianne were no less intense than they had been the last time he'd spoken with her, nearly three months ago. It had to be love-there was nothing else to call it, and he couldn't begin to consider the alternatives. Say love, then. But why did he feel as if he were being victimized? It shouldn't be happening this way. What did he have to do, how far did he have to go to demonstrate his love? Didn't she understand how strong her hold on him was? Obviously not. Georgianne was one of those women who go through life scarcely realizing the effect they have on some men.
There was nothing he could do but go along with the situation and hope it would take a turn in his favor at some point. He had tried to forget about her back in February, when he'd stopped calling her. Ten months of remarkable effort had come to nothing, and his instinct had been to cut his losses. But it hadn't worked out that way. Georgianne still dominated his thoughts, like a river of lost opportunity flowing through his life. The desire to pursue and possess that one woman refused to fade away. She never called or wrote, but that didn't matter. Georgianne never let Jeff go.
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