The Trouble with Eden

by Lawrence Block

  “That’s interesting. I never thought of that.”

  “What does your father do?”

  “He’s in real estate.”

  “In Ohio somewhere, I think you said?”

  “Dayton.”

  “Real estate. So at least as a kid you could understand what it was that he does. Showing houses to people and that sort of thing. He went certain places and he did certain things; it was the sort of thing that made sense to a kid.”

  “I suppose so, yes.”

  “Are you very close to him?”

  “No, I’m afraid not.”

  “That’s sad,” Karen said. She thought for a moment. “But what I was saying. I used to take it for granted. He went in there and he wrote. But now I don’t know how he does it. As a matter of fact I don’t really know how anybody does anything. Not selling houses or like that, but I don’t know how a writer writes books or how a painter paints pictures. How you get the ideas and decide how to make them happen. Or a composer, that’s the most impossible thing of all to understand. Imagine sitting down to write a piece of classical music. Not just finding the tunes but fitting everything together so that it adds up to something. Figuring out what each instrument in the orchestra is going to do and how to put them all together to get the sound you have in mind. I wonder if it always works out right.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Oh, Hugh was saying once that the book he writes is never quite as good as the book he had in mind. That sometimes parts of it will actually come out better than what he planned, but that it’s never exactly the way he intended it to be. And I was thinking about music and wondering if it’s the same. Say you’re composing a symphony, and you can hear a certain passage in your mind and you work it out with pencil and paper and then an orchestra performs it, and everybody says it’s terrific and all, but you’re the composer and you hear it performed and it’s not the way you expected it to sound. It may be better or it may be worse, but it’s not the way you expected it to be.”

  “I never thought of that.”

  “No, neither did I until just now. Oh, Jesus, Beethoven.”

  “What about him?”

  “Well, he was deaf, right?”

  “Toward the end of his life, yes.”

  “Well, see, that’s so far-out. He heard it all in his head and put it down, and then he never got to hear it performed, so it could have been miles away from what he figured on and he would never have any way of knowing.”

  “That’s a very strange idea.”

  “It is, isn’t it?”

  Linda nodded. “It’s almost frightening.”

  “You know what it is? It’s a stoned idea.”

  She thought for a moment, remembering the special paths her mind had taken on grass. Then she nodded. “You see what I mean?”

  “Yes. It’s a stoned idea.”

  “And I’m not even stoned. You’re not, are you?”

  “Me? No.”

  “You said that as if it’s impossible. Don’t you even smoke?”

  “Not recently. There was a time when I smoked quite frequently, but I can’t remember the last time now.”

  “Didn’t you like it?”

  “Sometimes I did. At first I always did.”

  “Then what happened? Bummers?”

  “Occasionally.”

  “Some people I know who’ve done acid say you learn as much from the bummers as from the good trips.”

  “I’ve never had acid.”

  “Neither have I. Is that why you stopped? Bummers?”

  “Not exactly. I guess I reached a point where I didn’t like being high. And I didn’t like being around people who were high all the time.”

  “Oh, I can dig it. People who are constantly stoned are a down. I mean, they never do anything.”

  She nodded, but thought that wasn’t exactly what she had meant. She had been thinking of Marc, and it was not so much that he didn’t do anything as that she had been unable to avoid the feeling that nobody was home, that Marc was permanently out to lunch. But perhaps that amounted to the same thing.

  “I’d like to get stoned with you sometime,” Karen was saying. “Just slightly stoned. Sometime when you think you feel like it.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. Yes I do. It’s that people can get to know each other better that way. Sometimes. Other times they just shut each other off. It depends on who they are and where their heads are at. I wish I knew you better.”

  “We’re getting to know each other, Karen.”

  “I suppose. It’s just—” She hesitated for a long moment, then changed course. “Have you read any of the new book?”

  “Your father’s book? No. He doesn’t want me to read anything until it’s finished.”

  “Same here. I thought maybe you might have read it. Does he talk about it with you?”

  “Just in very general terms. He’ll say that he had a good day or a bad day. Or that he’s hung up on a scene, or got over being hung up on a scene, but he’s never said anything more specific than that.”

  “He’ll tell me about certain problems but it’s always vague. I don’t know anything about what it’s about, really. Just the title.”

  “What’s the title?”

  “The Edge of Thought. He didn’t mention it? Well, anyway, it’s just a working title. That means he may change it later, or the publishers may want to change it, but he has to have a title typed on the first page or he can’t get started with the writing. I don’t know whether you would call it a superstition or what.”

  “It’s not a bad title. The Edge of Thought.”

  “It’s from a poem but I forget who by. Have you read Capital Reward?”

  “That’s the newest one, isn’t it? I thought it wasn’t coming out until November.”

  “A week before Thanksgiving. I read the galleys. That’s long sheets from the printer that you check to make sure the type is right before the book goes to press.”

  “I know.”

  “I did the proofreading. It’s harder to enjoy a book that way because you have to read so slowly, so first I read a copy of the manuscript straight through and then I went through the galleys and checked them against the manuscript. He hates to read galleys. Especially, he’s working on something else. Usually he just initials them and sends them back because the publisher’s proofreaders catch most of the mistakes, but I didn’t mind doing it. You know, something to do.”

  “How’s the book?”

  “Oh, I think it’s sensational, but I’m prejudiced. Of course I guess you’ll be getting an autographed copy as soon as it comes out.”

  “That would be exciting.”

  “Linda? What do you think of Hugh?”

  “As a writer?”

  ,“Uh-huh. No, wait a minute, that’s not what I mean, I mean as a person.” She put her face in her hands. “Oh, wow,” she said. “Oh, wow, this is heavy.”

  “Are you all right, Karen?”

  “Me? Sure.” She fastened troubled eyes on Linda. “I mean how do you feel about him, that’s what I meant.”

  “This is an odd conversation.”

  “It’s heavy. If it’s too heavy I could split.”

  “Don’t be silly.”

  “This is so hard to handle. I’m not such a kid, but I keep feeling like one all of a sudden. This is realty weird. You don’t have to answer the question.”

  “Why shouldn’t I answer it? I like your father very much. I don’t know if that’s the answer you—”

  “What’s really weird is I keep saying Hugh and you keep saying your father.”

  “Well, I—”

  “Are you going to marry him?”

  “Not before I’m asked.”

  “He hasn’t asked you? I thought maybe he did. I think he will.”

  “Well, I can’t really—”

  “Suppose he does.”

  The conversation had been faintly uncomfortable from the beginning and was ge
tting more and more difficult for her. Why didn’t customers come in when you wanted them to? Not even customers—it would have been a pleasure just then to explain to some cretin that there was no public rest room in the Mall. At this point any interruption would be a deliverance.

  “I’m sure he’ll ask you,” Karen was saying. “And I hope you’ll say yes.”

  “Do you?”

  “Oh, God, yes.”

  “That surprises me.”

  “It does? Maybe we’re not communicating at all. It’s my fault. I never should have gotten into all this.” She stood up suddenly. “I guess I’ll split.”

  “Don’t go, Karen.”

  But she had to; she was fighting back tears. “I just think you would be very good for each other,” she said. “That’s all. I think you could make each other happy. And what this is all about, what everything’s all about, is that I’m just trying to find a way to tell you that you don’t have to worry about me. Like I won’t be in the way or anything, that’s all, that’s the only thing I was trying to say.”

  “Karen, sit down for a minute.”

  “I’m going now.”

  “Karen—.”

  “I’m all right, Linda.”

  “I know you are.”

  “I mean I’m all right, I’m not going to cry or anything. You don’t have to worry.”

  “I wasn’t worried.”

  “I didn’t mean to run a whole number on you like that. I got carried away.”

  “It’s nothing.”

  Those eyes, so much like Hugh’s, bored into hers. It was almost painful to meet the girl’s gaze.

  “I’m not a child, Linda.”

  “I know that.”

  “I’m not a child. You make me act like one, but I’m not. I don’t know what it is. Look, I’m sorry.”

  “It’s cool.”

  “Thanks.”

  TWENTY-THREE

  Melanie was upstairs watching television when the doorbell rang. She came down the staircase slowly, trying to guess who it might be and whether she ought to answer the bell at all. Salesmen and assorted door-to-door pests were creatures of the morning and afternoon and it was close to eight thirty; the program she was watching had gone on at eight o’clock and was more than half over.

  It wouldn’t be Sully. He always used his key. But it might be some other man. There had been several over the past few weeks, one of them a door-to-door pest, an insurance snoop who had learned nothing from her about the couple next door but a great deal about horizontal pleasures. As well as she could determine, he was the only man she’d had sex with since Warren and Bert who knew her address. The others were all strangers who would have trouble tracking her down. Nor did it seem likely that the insurance snoop would risk turning up unannounced. She had attempted to ward off such a return visit with a story about her husband’s two strongest attributes: his rabid jealousy and his prowess with handguns.

  It might be Warren, though. Or it might be any man who had heard her name mentioned and wanted to try his luck.

  The bell sounded again. She did not want to see anyone tonight, but refusing to open the door would only postpone whatever problem might be in the offing. She went to the door, drew a quick breath, and opened it.

  “Mrs. Jaeger?”

  Not a man at all. A girl. The face was familiar, she had seen it before, and now she tried to place it.

  “I don’t know if you remember me, but—”

  Of course! “Why, of course I do,” she said, smiling brilliantly. “You’re Hugh Markarian’s daughter.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Of course I remember you, Linda.”

  The girl’s eyes sparkled. “Far-out,” she said, thing is, you were Linda. I’m Karen.”

  “I—”

  “The thing is, I goofed by calling you Linda. But it’s not really important. Are you all right?”

  “Yeah, I think so.” She swallowed. “Why don’t you come inside?”

  “Thanks. This is a very nice house.”

  “Thank you. I’m afraid my husband isn’t home right now.”

  “I know.” Her eyes met Melanie’s. “I stopped at the Barge to check and I saw he was working.”

  “Oh.”

  “I hope I’m not keeping you from anything, Melanie. Is it all right to call you Melanie?”

  “I don’t see why not. Better that than Linda. And no, you’re not keeping me from anything. I’m just going to run upstairs and turn off the TV. I wasn’t even looking at it, just something to do. Why don’t you have a seat, I’ll be right down, okay?”

  But she stopped in the upstairs john to check her hair, splash cold water on her face, freshen her lipstick. What on earth did the girl want? To warn her away from her father? That seemed completely crazy unless the girl herself was off her nut, and she seemed sane enough. Besides, she was being as well mannered as could be.

  To set up a date for her with Markarian? That seemed even less plausible. In the first place, she doubted Hugh wanted to see her again any more than she wanted to see him. It had been a pleasant enough means for her to a dramatically agreeable end, and for Markarian it had no doubt been better than solitary drinking, but after the embarrassment with Karen and her black boyfriend she couldn’t imagine him wanting to renew their acquaintance. They had passed on the street once or twice since then and neither had said hello. In short, it had turned out precisely as she had hoped it would, a one-night fling that had served its purpose without getting her involved in anything more extensive.

  Then what in hell did Karen Markarian want from her young life?

  She went downstairs, hoping she looked more poised and self-assured than she felt. Karen was sitting on the sofa, legs crossed, smoking a cigarette. The tight dungarees showed off her legs nicely, Melanie noticed, and there was obviously no bra under Karen’s tie-dyed T-shirt. Well, there was no bra under her own blouse, as far as that went, but Karen’s T-shirt was more revealing even if the younger girl had substantially less to reveal.

  “Would you like some coffee, Karen?”

  “Not now. It’s kind of warm for coffee.”

  “A cold drink?”

  “Maybe a Coke or something.”

  “I think there’s Pepsi.”

  “That would be great.” She fussed in the kitchen, filling two tall glasses with ice cubes, pouring the Pepsis. Returning, she said, “I decided to have one myself. It’s Diet Pepsi, actually. I figure why take on the extra calories when you can’t taste the difference anyway.”

  “With a figure like yours you don’t have to worry.”

  “I ought to lose a few pounds.”

  “I don’t see where.” She could almost feel the girl’s eyes on her body. “Anyway, I don’t think I could hassle with that whole routine of watching weight. My mother is always on a diet and always gaining die weight back and I don’t see what good it does her. I’d rather be a few pounds overweight than go through all that.”

  “You don’t have to worry.”

  “I’m probably thinner than I ought to be, I guess.”

  “Not too thin, though.” She put her glass down on the coffee table. “It gets harder when you get to be a few years older.”

  “How old are you, Melanie?”

  “Twenty-five. Why?”

  “No reason. I was nineteen last month. Melanie? My father doesn’t know I’m here. Not that it’s any big deal, but just that it isn’t about him or anything.”

  “Oh.”

  “In case you were wondering.”

  “Well, I guess I was.”

  “I was in town with nothing to do and I sort of thought of you. I thought maybe you get lonely sitting here all night while your old man is working.”

  “Sometimes I do.”

  “I get lonely myself sometimes.”

  “I see.”

  “Do you?”

  The girl’s stare, so open and so penetrating, was to meet and harder still to turn away from. The voice, so flat a
nd frank and … and young, went through her like a pin fixing a butterfly to a board. She remembered discussing this girl with Sully, remembered teasing him with the thought that she might make love to Karen as she had made love to Hugh.

  The idea had excited Sully. But it had excited her as well, both at the time and in retrospect. And after she had been with Bert and Warren, her mind had several times been intrigued by the thought of sex with another woman. Now and then her partner in her fantasy had been Karen.

  Would she have ever thought to act on it? She could not deny the possibility, for she had already found herself capable of a variety of actions she would never have imagined herself taking.

  But—

  “It was funny, you calling me Linda. I just saw her a little while ago.”

  “Linda?”

  “Linda Robshaw. Hugh’s been going with her lately. He went out with her the first time the night before you were over at our house, that was why I made my brilliant foot-in-mouth play. She’s nice, I think. But I get very uptight being with her.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know exactly. I don’t think it’s anything that she does, but she makes me feel like a kid.”

  “That’s funny.”

  “What is?”

  She started to moisten her lips with her tongue, then stopped herself when she realized what she was doing. “That she makes you feel like a kid. You make me feel like a kid.”

  “How?”

  “Hell, I don’t know. Maybe because you know what this is all about and I don’t.”

  “Don’t you, Melanie?”

  “No.” She reached for a cigarette, lit it. “Would you like some more Pepsi?”

  “I still have some. What sign are you, Melanie?”

  “Capricorn.”

  “Sure, that figures.”

  “It does? I don’t know much about it.”

  “Tenacious, stubborn, honest, hardworking toward a goal. I don’t know much about it either but those are the main tendencies. I’m Virgo on the Leo cusp. Virgo is honest and direct and literal-minded and Leo is dramatic and sort of loud. It’s supposed to be kind of an interesting combination.”

  “I guess it would be.”