He said, “We’d better not talk right now. For Robin’s sake.”
“You’re right. Are you hungry, Petey?”
If he could have had an appetite, the Dexedrine had banished it. “I’m starving,” he said, and read her face just in time. He glanced toward the window, cupped a hand to his ear, put his forefinger to his lips. Then he put his arm around her waist and led her into the bathroom, closed the door, turned on the sink taps and the shower.
He whispered, “I have no appetite but I didn’t want to say it.”
“I should have thought of that. Sometimes it’s almost impossible to think of everything.”
“Well, at least there are two of us working on it now.”
“You’ll be able to eat. It’s a matter of will.”
“I know.”
“That’s the most important thing.”
“The will?”
“Eating. That’s how they get to you. They starved me to death. It’s taking forever for me to get weight back. But there’s a trick. If you concentrate, you don’t even taste the food. It goes right down and you don’t have to taste it.”
“It’s the taste that’s so awful.”
“I know. But you’ll get past that in no time, Petey, Trust me.”
“I do.”
He washed his face and brushed his teeth before turning off the sink and shower. They left the bathroom together. Robin was standing by the side of her bed rubbing sleep from her eyes. “Breakfast time!” Gretchen sang out gaily. “Hungry, Robin baby?”
“Uh-huh.”
“So’s Mommy. Mommy could eat a horse,” she said, winking at Peter.
Robin said, “Eat a horse!” and burst into giggles.
For breakfast, Peter and Gretchen between them ate nine eggs, five pancakes with syrup, a half pound of bacon, and three English muffins with butter and jam. They drank several cups of coffee with cream and sugar.
David Loewenstein took as much time cleaning his pipe as it had taken him to smoke it. He separated the bowl and stem, knocked the dottle into an ashtray, twisted pipe cleaners into various shapes and employed them in various stages of the operation. Warren watched, fascinated. It was a shame, in a way, that Loewenstein’s most obvious idiosyncrasy was one any fourth-rate actor would have invented on his own; all psychiatrists smoked pipes and they all made a ritual of it.
Loewenstein was a tall man, a little taller and a little leaner than Warren. His dark-brown beard was bushy, his hair neatly combed but shaggy in the back. Pipe ashes had burned several holes in his shirt and tie.
When he was done with the pipe he said, “I have to tell you I don’t like a single bit of this.”
“I know what you have to tell me, David.”
“A figure of speech. I am serious, Warren. I disapprove.”
“It’s not your approval I require, David.”
“Merely my cooperation.”
“I rather prefer acquiescence.”
“And I in turn could prefer a phrase like accessory before the fact. Cooperation seemed a neutral meeting place. You require my cooperation. I don’t see how I can give it.”
“Will it work, David?”
The psychiatrist made a tent of his fingertips. “Yes, of course it will work,” he said at length. “Your objective is so easily attained. It is criminally easy.” He smiled without humor. “What you are planning to do, that too is criminal.”
“It was criminal for us to make love, David.”
“You must know that there is a limit to what you can draw from that particular account.”
“I wasn’t doing that. I was merely putting the concept of criminality into some perspective.”
“And perhaps telling me at the same time that I am not a stickler for the law?”
“You’ve always been too clever for me, David.”
“Oh? And for so many years I’ve thought it was the other way around. Let it go. I grant that laws do not demand devotion. Laws are one thing. Ethics another.”
Warren rolled his eyes.
“I am not scoring debating points, my good friend. I take ethics seriously.”
“I’m not asking you to violate them.”
“But that is precisely what—”
“Merely to bend them.”
“I am afraid they are not that flexible.”
“Oh?” He noted that he’d unconsciously given the word the same inflection Loewenstein used. “Bend them and they snap?”
“I am afraid so.”
“David, there is no place for ethics in relations between friends. Don’t look at me like that. You know it’s true. Ethics exist to codify behavior between persons who are otherwise not obligated to one another. And I am not asking you to violate the Hippocratic oath. I am merely—what is it?”
“I was remembering the language of the oath. Let me think a moment. You know, I believe you are correct.”
“I know I am. I read the oath last night after I spoke with you.”
He went on, making points, countering objections, taking more time than he wanted to take. The psychiatric liked to take arguments apart with the same thoroughness with which he cleaned his pipes.
Finally Warren broke in. “David, let’s shorten this. There’s only one question that applies. Is there another way of doing what has to be done?”
“Speaking as a psychiatrist—”
“No. Speak as yourself.”
“I am a psychiatrist. It’s difficult not to speak as one.”
“It’s easier if you don’t attach that preface to your speech.”
“Hell. Shit. I could commit her.”
“With no firsthand knowledge of the case?”
“Yes. It is improper but I would go that far with you. It would not stand up. But it would not have to stand up. Once she’s in there long enough for them to look at her—”
“Your colleagues are not universally competent. I’m only repeating what you’ve said to me. And simply committing her leaves too many loose ends. We have been over them, David. You are stalling.”
Loewenstein picked up his pipe, took it apart, put it back together again.
Warren said, “It’s a lovely briar, David.”
“Mmmm. Hell.” He put the-pipe down and glared at it, then heaved a sigh. “Go over it again,” he said. “Not the situation. Just what you expect of me.” And after Warren had finished he said, “Not my car.”
“You could report it as stolen.”
“In the first place, no. In the second place, the whole idea is excessively dramatic, it risks more than it seeks to safeguard, it’s an antiballistic missile system built to protect a dog kennel. In the—”
“You have a talent for metaphor.”
“And you for obfuscation. In the third place, no again.”
“Then the license plates.”
“I do not want to be connected with this, Warren, and you seem to fail to understand that. No one will check your license plates.”
“Swear to it?”
“Damn you. How am I to drive around without plates? And I intend to drive my whole family to Philadelphia and spend the entire day in the company of friends.”
“I was going to suggest that.”
“Well?”
“I’ll switch plates with you.”
“And if I’m stopped? And if the plates do not match with the registration?”
“You left your registration at home.”
“I want my plates back on my car by Monday morning.”
“Certainly. And drive carefully, David.”
“Go to hell.”
“David? Don’t you have a second car? Couldn’t you use one car while I use the plates of—” He let the sentence trail off, entranced at the furious scowl that etched itself into his friend’s features. Then, before the scowl had a chance to fade, the psychiatrist erupted in laughter fiercer than the scowl. He roared.
“Schemes,” he said finally. “Plans, mechanisms, fucking clevernesses. The wise men of Chelm
who could tell the horses apart because the black one was an inch and a half taller than the white one.”
“Drive carefully just the same,” Warren said.
“Peter? There’s one thing that bothers me.”
“What’s that, love?”
“Warren Ormont.”
“He was the one who explained the plot to me, Gretchen. We can trust him.”
“He might have had a reason. They’re unbelievably devious, you know.”
“I know, but not Warren.”
“I’ve known him longer than you, Peter. I’ve had my bitter experiences with Warren Ormont.”
He worked on it for a minute, then said, “I know about all that, Gretch.”
“You do?”
“Yes.”
“He told you?”
“Last night he had to. I’m almost afraid to tell you the rest of it.”
“I want to know, Petey.”
“All right. When Warren stopped seeing you, it wasn’t because he wanted to.” Her eyes were wide, her mouth half-open. “He was being used.”
“You don’t mean—”
“I’m afraid so. They turned him against you, Gretch.”
“But that was years ago. That was so long ago. You mean it’s been going on that long? It was going on for years before I had any idea. They must have known about Robin ages before she was born. My God, how can you fight them when they have resources like that?”
“But we’re learning more and more about them, Gretch.”
“Yes!” Her forefinger stabbed the air. “Yes! That’s right! We’re growing stronger and they’re beginning to weaken.” Her expression softened. “But poor Warren. He must have just found out. I’ve been hateful to him for years. It’s all so awful.”
“You drew strength from that hatred through the years.”
“That’s very true.”
“And now he’s on our side.”
“Oh, thank God for Warren,” she said.
At twenty minutes after eleven Sully Jaeger got up from the table and yawned. He said, “I feel like the end of the day and it’s just the beginning.”
“If you weren’t a sex maniac you wouldn’t be tired in the mornings.”
“Yeah, and if you weren’t a sex maniac, I wouldn’t be a sex maniac. And if it’s a choice between that and being wide awake in the mornings then the hell with being wide awake in the mornings.” He yawned. “I guess I’ll get over there. Saturday it starts early. Everybody has to be good and drunk before it’s Sunday. You got any plans for the day?”
“No, why?”
“Just curious.”
“No plans for the day. I was thinking I might go for a ride this evening.”
“I was wondering if you might.”
“You sound pleased.”
“I’m always pleased.”
“But with something else mixed in usually.”
“Not today.” He yawned again, stretching his arms high overhead. “What is it the kids say? I’m getting my head straight. That what they say?”
“I think so.”
“So it’s nuts to hate something and love it at the same time, and if you can’t stop loving it and loving it makes you feel better than hating it, the thing to do is stop hating it, am I right or am I right?”
“You’re right.”
“See? I’m just a big kid getting his head straight. I’ll be up when you come home. In more ways than one. You better have a good story.”
“I’ll take notes.”
“I just thought what I’m going to buy you. What’s open tomorrow? Major’s? I think I’ll take a run up to Major’s tomorrow.”
“What for?”
“No, I’m not telling. The idea just came to me and if you can’t figure it out you’ll have to wait until tomorrow to find out.”
“Fucker.”
“Cunt. Give me a kiss good-bye, cunt.”
“Gretch, I’m worried about Robin. The next few days are going to make the difference. The plan Warren and I worked out is our one chance of ending this thing once and for all. And you know what that means.”
“It means we can start to live for the first time in our lives.”
“It also means they’re going to get desperate. And where will they strike?”
“Oh, God. Maybe I shouldn’t have let her play with those children. What defense can a child’s mind have against them?”
“She’s not safe here, either. And we’re going to have to have freedom of movement, and we can’t risk bringing her with us.”
“Let me think, Petey.”
“There is one answer,” he said. He put his finger his lips and got pencil and paper. He wrote: “Warren’s house. They can’t penetrate it.”
She snatched the pencil and wrote: “But who will stay with her?”
“Anne Tedesco.”
“She’s one of them! Just yesterday.”
He took the pencil from her. “I know about that,” he said aloud. He wrote: “She told me what happened. You handled her perfectly. She was a minor dupe just as you thought, and you brought her to her senses.”
She read this and said, “You would have been proud of me, baby.”
“I’m damn proud of you,” he said, while he wrote: “Anne wants to make up for what she did. She will watch Robin at Warren’s. I will take her to Anne now. It’s all arranged.”
She took this in and frowned in concentration. She reached for the pencil but he shook his head. He was going bananas already with the fucking pencil, his hand felt as though it had been tied in knots, and she was having so much fun playing counterspy she would probably go on passing notes all day.
He pointed to the window, indicating that what he was going to say was for the benefit of other ears. He said, “You know what I think I’ll do? I’ll go over to the Raparound for a bite. I’m still hungry.” She nodded approval at that one. “Maybe I’ll see if Robin wants to keep me company. And then maybe I’ll see Tony and find out if I can get my job back.”
A few more exchanges and he was on his way out of there. She called him just as he was drawing the door, shut. She was at the table writing furiously.
“I just wanted to kiss you good-bye,” she said. They kissed, and then she showed him what she had written: “While you’re gone I’ll burn this and flush the ashes down the toilet.”
It was a relief to be out of the apartment, a further relief to be out of the building. But it was not until he had picked up Robin and turned her over to Warren and Anne that he felt the tension drain off. Only then did he realize what a strain he had been under.
And the extraordinary thing was that it had not seemed such a strain at the time. There was something almost enjoyable about it. And that, of course, was the most horrible part of all.
It was a game. Gretchen played it like a game with the deadly seriousness of a child at play, played it like a game despite the absolute reality it held for her. And he, too, played it as a game and did so with the same intensity. It was real for him, too, but their two realities had nothing in common. She at least could devote herself completely to the world she lived in. He had to match her commitment to that fantasy world in a way that would never arouse her suspicions—and suspicion was a way of life to her—and while he did so he had to keep in touch with reality.
Whatever in hell reality was.
His mind began to play little games with him. Paranoia was tempting; he had never before realized how seductive it could be. Once you bought the first premise you could fit absolutely anything into your theory. The villains could be anyone—the Communists, the Elders of Zion, the Martians, anyone at all. People who did one thing were villains or dupes. People who did the opposite were playing along in order to deceive you. It had been startlingly easy for him to revise her fantasies along the lines he wanted to. And he had not by any means anticipated all her questions and reservations. She’d been throwing him curves all morning, and he’d gotten wood on every last one of them.
It
scared him that he was able to do this. Did his mind work that much like hers?
And it upset him that everything he did worked primarily not because of any brilliance of his, but because of her trust in him. She trusted him. He fought his way out of those thoughts. It was the speed talking, he knew. There was some truth in there that he could worry about later, but the speed was turning things in on themselves, and that was no good.
He heard the noon whistle. The spansules were supposed to deliver a balanced dose of speed over an eight-hour period. He had taken one at four, so it was time to take another. Of course the eight-hour thing was approximate. And if you took them too closely together, they could jam up on you, and if you waited too long, they could drop you and leave you strung out.
He swallowed a pill. Twelve o’clock, the end of the longest morning of his life. He could kill an hour now, maybe a little more than that. He could explain that long an absence in any of a hundred plausible ways.
But there was no way to make an hour last forever. Sooner or later he would have to climb those stairs and be with her again, and he wasn’t sure he could do it.
TWENTY-SEVEN
When the nurse came to give Clem his bath, Olive excused herself. “I don’t know if I dare leave the two of you alone,” she said, “but there’s a call I have to make.” She turned, a smile on her lips, and left the hospital room.
A young nurse’s aide passed her in the corridor and almost dropped her bedpan. What she witnessed was transformation that looked like a camera trick worked by means of time-lapse photography. An attractive middle-aged woman emerged from a room, shoulders squared, eyes bright, face radiant. In an instant she changed into a hopeless old woman. Her shoulders slumped, her eyes were vacant and dull, her face was lined with grief, and she walked wearily as if with great effort.
At the pay telephone Olive brought herself back to life again. She dropped a coin into the slot, dialed a number. An operator asked for more money, and she deposited another coin.
When Linda answered, she said briskly, “Olive, Linda. How’s business?”
Business, it seemed, was going well enough. “Then I won’t keep you,” she said. “I’m still at Doylestown General. He’s coming along nicely, but I’ll be here another week at the least. Just carry on in your usual capable fashion. Oh, there is one thing. Don’t sell any of Clem’s paintings.”
The Trouble with Eden Page 38
