“And filling Grassy Bay.”
“You have the picture.”
“If you’d tried to depress me, I don’t think you could have done a better job, darn it.”
“You won’t be really depressed until you see tomorrow’s paper.”
“I can hardly wait. The thing that gets me, Jimmy, there’s just no way to … to present the other side of this to the people.”
“Not when the other team controls the communications.”
“I hear the kids coming. Thanks for the lecture, Jimmy.”
“I should have given it to you a long time ago. But I guess I wanted your good opinion. I wanted you to think of me as the fearless journalist, fighting for truth and beauty.”
“I’ll retain that delusion anyhow, Jimmy, because … well, I know you would if you could.”
After Wing had finished talking with Kat, he had a cautious euphoria which he could not identify. He knew he should dress quickly and take his copy into town, but he did not want to disturb this feeling of well-being until he could be certain what caused it. He stretched out on his bed, naked, resting the icy ring of the beer can against his belly. At first he thought it was due entirely to Kat and to his awareness of her. She had said she was stretched out across her bed. He had visualized her in a manner he knew was inaccurate. He had made it night at her house, and put a weak lamp beyond her, and dressed her in a diaphanous hip-length nightgown, ribboned at her throat, her hair ruffled, her face softened by desire as she spoke to him.…
Like in high school, he thought irritably. Sex visions. All the hot swarming preludes to masturbation. You’re supposed to be grown up, lover boy. You are supposed to have arrived at that male adult condition which has learned that strangers are never very good in bed together, and that the similarities shared by all women are of more moment than the differences between them.
No, it was not the familiar compulsion which had given him these moments of something which felt like a cousin to happiness. He felt as if he had been released, freed of some weight which had been pressing against him. He began to wonder, with increasing conviction, if it was merely the result of having expressed his own attitude toward his work. He realized he had never talked in precisely that way to anyone, about what he felt and believed. He had tried to tell Gloria, but she had thought, each time, he was just in a bad mood and needed cheering up. He had argued it with Brian Haas, but Brian’s disenchantment was so much more thorough than his own that he generally found himself defending a position he could not believe.
In stating his position to Katherine Hubble, he had felt as though he were striking a pose with her, presenting a faulty image of himself, but the pretense had been the reality he had been suppressing. And he had experienced the familiar phenomenon of self-illumination which comes through turning thoughts into words.
But as he tried to find the reasons for his sense of well-being, it had faded to where it was too faint to identify. His head was propped up on two pillows. He looked down along his body, still lean, but softened by the sedentary years, looked at the ruff of tan-blond hair on his chest, the slight bulge of pallid belly with the dimpled umbilical knot, at the nested peduncular sex, at the slight sheen of perspiration on the long flaccid legs. My unloved engine, he thought, idling along, working its gas-bag lungs, clenching its heart in resting rhythm, burning what it wants and making rubbish of the rest—while way up here, behind the wet lenses to see with, behind the fleshy bulge of the air intake, and behind that dual-purpose orifice which can make howling and grunting sounds and also grind matter small enough to go down the pipes, the gray jelly makes its pictures, its plans, its excuses and confusions, arrogantly ignoring its dependence on the engine which carries it about, ignoring all the dutiful, clever combustions and hydraulics, the thermostats and maintenance and repair procedures, the churning and pulsating and secreting which never stop until it all stops. Perhaps then, as the last bright picture fades, the final emotion sustained by the bone-cased jelly is indignation that the faithless engine has quit. Perhaps its last word is WAIT!
The phone rang. It was Harmon at the paper saying, “Borklund says to say he’s wondering about the Palmland stuff.”
“I’m just now tying it to the pigeon.”
“Huh?”
“Tell J.J. it’s Pulitzer material.”
“Huh?”
“I’ve done it as a long dialogue between an empty bay and a sexy bulldozer.”
“Chrissake, Wing, what he wants to know is when are you bringing it in here?”
“Tell him to look up. I’m probably standing in front of him right now.”
“Huh?”
Wing hung up, dressed quickly and headed for the mainland.
Eighteen
WHEN JIMMY WING PARKED in the field beside Elmo’s Lemon Ridge home a little before eleven there were at least forty cars in the area. As he walked through the gate he could hear music that was almost drowned by the interwoven, incomprehensible texture of loud conversations, whoops, laughter. When he could see the pool area from the path, he saw that it was packed with people, most of them standing, most of them in large conversational groups. All the landscape, pool and apron lights were on. There were more people in the workshop, where the bar was set up. There was no uniformity of dress. A half dozen people were swimming. As he walked slowly down toward the screen doors, he saw women in shorts and halters talking to women in strapless cocktail dresses.
He stopped in the shadows to look at the composition of the group. He picked out the Palmland Development people, and many of the younger faces in the Palm County Democratic Party. He saw some of the wheels of the Palm County Chamber of Commerce, and a mixed bag of businessmen, those who might be the ones to benefit most quickly from a project to build eight hundred upper-income homes. One couple was leaving. The woman looked wan, tottering and drunk, and the man looked both concerned and angry. It was evident the party had been in process for a long time, and was showing exceptional vitality.
He looked for Elmo and did not see him. He saw Dellie Bliss on the far side of the pool. As he worked his way slowly through the throng, nodding to friends, acknowledging greetings, he saw Dellie leave the people she had been talking to. He hurried and caught up with her.
“Well, hi, Jimmy!” she said.
“Hello, Dellie. Pretty festive around here?”
“Isn’t it a mess? It sort of just grew. That’s the kind of parties you find around this house. I was just going to check and see if I ought to have more food brought down from the house, but I can tell you there isn’t much left up there. If you’re looking for Elmo, you come with me. I think he’s in by the bar.”
Inside the workshop the music was louder than the voices. Inside a circle of spectators, Buck Flake was proving he could lie down on the floor and get up again without spilling any of the full drink balanced on his forehead.
Elmo saw Wing and left the circle and came over to him. They moved out of the doorway to talk. “How much is the paper doing?”
“Headline and half of page one, half of page two, one whole page of pictures and about eight little specials scattered around.”
“Fine! It’s been big on the radio all day too.”
“What’s the party? Premature celebration?”
“Keep the voice way down, Jimmy boy. Way down. Get a drink. You’re way behind. This’ll start to thin out some. You circulate and listen to the happy folk. We’ll talk a little later on.”
Jimmy carried a stiff drink out toward the pool. He admired a tanned and lovely back and, as the woman turned, he realized it was Eloise Cable, in a deceptively simple sun-back dress. She was standing with Leroy Shannard, Martin Cable and young Connie Merry, the wife of the county attorney. Jimmy joined the small group. They all greeted him.
Martin said, “Tell me, Jimmy. You were there. Did I give the impression the bank was already behind this Palmland project?”
“That’s not the way I reported it. There were a lot of ifs and
whereases. Anyhow, Borklund got a copy of your statement and it’s running on page three, I think, word for word.”
“People seem unable to listen,” Martin said gloomily. “It’s a delicate situation. Palmland has absolutely nothing worth loaning money on until they have title to the bay bottom.”
“How about the sterling character of the participants?” Leroy asked lazily.
“Oh, each of you could borrow a certain amount on signature alone, of course,” Martin said humorlessly, “but it wouldn’t be nearly enough.”
“You worry too much, dear,” Eloise said.
“I couldn’t go around obligating the bank like that,” Martin said.
“We know that,” Leroy said. “Everybody understands. And we appreciate your making that statement for us.”
“Martin was glad to do it,” Eloise said. She smiled at Leroy. Jimmy could see no meaningful emphasis in her smile or her expression. She looked hearty, handsome, confident and utterly relaxed.
“Maybe they could raise money by having Buck Flake put that up for collateral,” Connie Merry said, looking across the pool.
“Put what up?” Eloise asked. “Oh, is that the one? In the little orange dress?”
“That’s the one,” Connie said.
The orange dress was short, beltless and sleeveless, with a scoop neck. It made a striking color combination with her heavy silver hair. Each time she turned and moved, the dress clung for a moment to the warm lines of her strong young body.
“There is collateral the bank would like to accept, but cannot,” Martin said with heavy-handed humor.
“I saw her and wondered who she was. I’d heard about Mr. Flake’s … interest in her. I didn’t put two and two together. Got his nerve bringing her to a thing like this, hasn’t he?”
“He brought one of his salesmen along too,” Leroy said. “That’s supposed to make it all right. But it doesn’t make it all right with Dellie and Elmo. Not at this kind of a deal. Buck realizes that, so he’s been drinking to keep up his spirits. In spite of his knowing he’s just making certain Betty will hear about it from some dear friend, he has to keep showing her off around town.”
“She’s something to show,” Eloise said. “She must be over five ten.”
“In that glass she’s got is gin and ice,” Leroy said.
“You seem to know her pretty well, Mr. Shannard,” Connie Merry said, with a smile that wrinkled her freckled nose.
“As well as I ever shall, my dear,” Leroy said. “When they’re that young, they alarm me.”
“Maybe it isn’t any of my business,” Martin Cable said, “but isn’t it rather bad judgment on the part of one of the founders of Palmland Development to get mixed up with a young girl? Don’t the rest of you disapprove of such … an obvious relationship?”
Leroy smiled. “Ol’ Buck hasn’t been much use to us lately. But what are we going to do about it?”
“I can tell you one thing you can do about it. You can tell your other associates that the bank, any bank, is always hesitant about loaning money to people of dubious moral stature.”
Leroy looked at him sharply. “Do you mean that, Martin?”
“I was stating a fact, not an opinion.”
Leroy shook his head in mild wonder and said, “You know, I think a romance just ended. Didn’t it sound like that to you, Jimmy?”
Five men stood around Charity Prindergast. They all wore the same glazed, bemused expression. He saw her pat one of them atop his bald head, hand him her empty glass. The man scuttled off.
“I heard a small crunching sound,” Jimmy admitted.
“Suppose he won’t give her up?” Eloise asked.
“A noble stance like that,” Leroy said, “can happen in books, plays, and television, but not in the life of Buckland Flake. When anything stands between Buck and a dollar, he boots it out of the way.”
“Are all men like that, Leroy?” Eloise asked, slightly coy.
“Most of them, my dear. There are exceptions. I try to have the best of both possible worlds.”
“How nice for you!” she said acidly. “Isn’t Leroy clever, Martin?”
“What? I wasn’t listening, darling.”
“Let me guess! You were thinking about the bank!”
“Well … as a matter of fact, I was.”
By twelve-thirty most of the guests had left. Most of those who remained were drunk enough to have no intention of ever going home. There was one stubborn swimmer, and one girl who danced slowly, dreamily by herself, circling back and forth in front of the floodlights.
Jimmy Wing killed time, glancing at his watch. Elmo and Leroy were up in the office. Elmo had told him to come up at about quarter to one. Buck had passed out, facedown on a long padded bench in the workshop. The bar was self-service. Major had gone home. When Jimmy went to make himself another drink he found Charity sitting cross-legged on the floor, going through the stack of records.
She smiled up at him and said, “These are sticky old disks, dear. Look. Wayne King, for the love of God!”
He leaned on a table near her and said, “You’re trapped in the middle ages, Miss Prindergast. Rectangular types. We’re not cool. We’re not way out.”
She laughed up at him. “Buckie does that too.”
“Does what?”
“Tries the hip talk, but it doesn’t sound. It’s way over flat. Like I was to say ‘twenty-three skidoo’ and so forth.”
“God, girl! I’m a more recent vintage than that!”
“What difference does it make? I mean when a thing is gone, does it matter how long it’s gone? It’s like memories, you know.”
“No, I don’t know.”
“Well, you have a pocket to keep memories in. And there’s a sweetie memory that happened when you were six, right? And you can take it out of the pocket and it’s as shiny as what happened yesterday. And I have a memory of when I was six. In those memories, yours and mine, we’re both six and it happened yesterday. I was twenty last week. You can be twenty with me by taking out a memory from when you were twenty. There isn’t any age but young, dear. And the only time left is now. What is your name, anyhow?”
“Jimmy Wing. A momentarily confused Jimmy Wing.”
“Oh. With the paper. I don’t confuse myself. Why should I confuse you?”
“Stay where you are. I have to go now. I’ll be back later.”
“I’m not going anywhere. I always like being where I am best. I don’t have to go looking for me because I’m never anywhere else but here.”
“While we’re apart, I’ll think that over.”
Elmo was sitting on his desk. Jimmy sat on the couch beside Leroy Shannard. “We could have banners made,” Jimmy said. “The Palmland Panthers.”
“You drunk?” Elmo asked, frowning.
“No. I was just talking to Miss Charity. I got into the habit of a stream of consciousness.”
“Stream of unconsciousness,” Leroy said.
“Leroy is as pleased as I am with the two little things you worked out for us, Jimmy.”
“I’m pleased that he’s pleased.”
“We’ve decided that for a little while you’re going to mark time,” Elmo said. “We might not have to push anybody. They may drop off of their own selves.”
“Particularly when they find out they’re being un-American,” Leroy said.
Jimmy turned and stared at him. “How’s that?”
“I guess you just haven’t thought it through,” Leroy said. “What’s the greatest strength of America? Free enterprise, of course. And what’s more free-enterprise than reclaiming unsightly disease-breeding mud flats and turning those flats into a garden spot dotted with beautiful American homes? It adds strength to the economy. Why, my boy, if all over this great country little bands of Communist sympathizers and Communist dupes could put a spoke in the wheels of free enterprise by blocking progress and production, Red Russia could bring this mighty nation to its knees without using one single little bomb. Len
in said that in order to achieve victory over the capitalist nations, it is first necessary to bankrupt them. Leaving that bay untouched is one of the devices of a welfare state. It’s socialistic in nature. It’s part of the trend of the government owning everything. Naturally some of the people in Save Our Bays, Incorporated, have the best motives in the world. They love birds, or fish, or canoeing or some damn thing, but can you say they aren’t being subverted by somebody working behind the scenes, somebody who will take every chance that comes along to divide and confuse us and cripple the free-enterprise system? And maybe that person has a Red Chinese wife.”
Jimmy stared for a moment and licked his lips. “That’s a hell of a dangerous thing to turn loose in this town.”
“You mean people would believe it?” Elmo asked.
“A lot of them. Too many of them. It’s just wild enough and absurd enough and idiotic enough.”
“It’s been turned loose in a lot of towns, for a lot of different reasons, Jimmy. And it’s loose here already.”
“Who started it?” Jimmy demanded.
“I did,” Leroy said, “and I didn’t mean to, and I’m ashamed of myself. A few days ago one of our more militant crackpots was in my office. Whenever he wants to sue somebody he comes to me and I talk him out of it. Jake Cooper. You know him. He heads up that big trailer park group.”
“Fighters for Constitutional Action,” Jimmy said. “Yes. I know him. He’s a damned old bore.”
“I was tired and bored, so I went into that little spiel just for kicks. Suddenly I realized he was taking it seriously. So I told him I was just making a complicated joke. He kept nodding and licking his lips and saying he understood. He’s been hungry for some new liberty to suppress. Before he left he told me that he understood that I had to say it was a joke because I didn’t want to get mixed up in that end of it. He said I didn’t have to worry a bit. He said I could leave all those dirty radical nigger-lovers to him. He’s already started making a noise, Jimmy. The other idiot-fringe groups will jump in. It was a stupid thing to do, but I console myself by saying it was such a natural that it would have happened anyway. So let’s just lay back for a while and see what happens.”
A Flash of Green Page 29
