“The guest room,” she whispered, and hid her face and her shyness and her confusion against his chest.
While it was happening, she watched herself from afar, severely on guard against any thought of Van that might slip into her mind. He was more powerful than she would have imagined, and with deftness and skill that disheartened her. Her treacherous body threatened a participation she wished to deny it. She seemed to be apart from herself, off where she could watch the clever sequences lure the blind body into disloyal flexures and strainings, lead it into the dread ultimate gallop, the lungs gasping, the heart racing, the throat beginning its terminal whine, while the shocked mind, apart from all of it, seemed to be screaming, What am I doing? How did this begin? Why am I letting him?
It ended for him when she was a half step from the brink, from the long dark plunging fall. She lay in tension, in a bright agony of indignation and annoyance which was mingled with a deep and humble gratitude that it had stopped short of that most ultimate seduction, leaving her used but not using, a donor instead of an accomplice. She waited for it to recede, but found she was caught there, lodged precariously upon the edge. She gathered herself, then quickly and roughly tumbled him away, got up and padded out of the guest room and down the hallway to her bathroom.
By the time she had showered, the tension was almost gone. She brushed her hair, darkened her eyebrows, made her mouth up with care. She studied herself in the mirror. Her mouth looked slightly puffy. She put on an almost-new dress, high-heeled sandals, a touch of her best perfume. She looked at herself in her bedroom mirror, the short skirt swirling at her knees as she turned from side to side. She could think of no simple description of how she felt. She felt rueful about stumbling into one trap, yet smug about evading the second one, no matter how narrow the margin. In retrospect the second trap seemed the more deadly one because it would have made her hostage to the emotions her completion, at his hands, would have made inevitable. And she felt rather prim, as well as smug, filled with the severity of the one unjustly used, the one victimized by her own warm and generous heart.
She felt no shyness until she was a step from the guest room door. She lifted her chin and strode in quite briskly. He had pulled the draperies back, and he was standing at the window, slowly buttoning his shirt. He turned around as she walked in.
“Kat, I didn’t mean …”
“Don’t for the love of God start apologizing. I don’t recall being raped, exactly.” She went to the bed and with housewife dexterity, slapped and smoothed and poked the rumpled spread back to tautness.
“You’re … pretty matter-of-fact about it.”
She sat on the bed, crossed her legs, took one of his cigarettes from the night table and lit it. “How should I act? Grateful? All bashful and trembly? Heartbroken? I’m an adult female, Jimmy. You had your way with me, to coin a phrase. It wasn’t my idea, and it wasn’t an idea I was terribly enthusiastic about, but I couldn’t see fighting a bloody battle over it.” She made herself smile at him. “Let’s just say I felt a lingering little feeling of obligation to you for past favors. And it isn’t every day a girl gets to cure an obsession, does she? Now you’ve had me. Am I too matter-of-fact? When I think of it at all, and I certainly don’t plan to dwell on it, I’ll remember it as an invasion of privacy, Jimmy.”
He moved closer to her. “You reacted.”
She shrugged. “A little, I suppose. You seem to be a good lover. I haven’t known enough men to be able to tell. And what was I supposed to do after we both found out I was willing? Lie there like a stick? I expect I was being decently hospitable, but no more than that. And it was like I warned you in the living room. I’m just another woman. And it didn’t mean much to me, and hardly more than that to you, did it?”
“Kat, you’re being so damned …”
“The least you can do now is to be honest with yourself. If we loved each other we might be able to make something special and magical out of the bed part of it. But this way, it was just a vulgar, sweaty little interlude on a sultry afternoon. And I’m not special to you any more, am I?”
He hesitated, then said, “No, dear. Not the way you were.”
She was unprepared for her own quick sense of loss. She hid it with a smile and said, “So I’ve done you a favor, I suppose. Destroyed the illusion. Poor Jimmy. Pick somebody sexier for your next set of daydreams. It might work out better for you. Right now, all things considered, I think we’re even. Nobody is obligated to anybody for anything. And there’s a little sadness about it. Because there’s no place to go from here. This is the end of us.”
“I know.”
“I did cherish you as my good friend.”
“But that was over too, wasn’t it, before I carried you in here?”
“I guess it was, Jimmy.”
“So, either way, the ending is the same.”
“Not quite the same. I feel sorrier for you than I would have. You have to live with yourself. You have to live with what’s happened to all of us.”
“I’ll manage.”
“I’m sure you will. Jimmy, how can you get that into the paper?”
“I’ve thought of a way. If it doesn’t work, turn your copy of it over to Tom, will you? Don’t try to do anything with it yourself.”
“Tom will have better ideas, I’m sure.”
“But if my idea works, you won’t have to do anything with it.”
“Best of luck.”
They walked out into the living room. The shyness was upon her again when he looked at her. “You mustn’t think it will change the Palmland thing to get this into the paper. It will cut Elmo back down to size, nothing more. Palmland has got too much momentum.”
“I guessed that would be the case. But at least it’s something.” He stood in the middle of the room, looking around. “Did you leave something here?” she asked.
He ran a hand back through his stiff sandy hair and smiled in a rather apologetic way. “Maybe, but it’s no time for cute symbolic answers, is it? I was just feeling … kind of nostalgic. You know. I used to come here and have good times. But that was a different person, I guess.”
“Quite a different person.”
When he was outside the door he turned, frowning, and said, “If you think of anything else I can do, any way I could … help fix things up …”
“There won’t be anything else.”
He looked at her, nodded thoughtfully and said, “No. I guess there won’t.”
She watched him from the window. He sat in his car for long silent moments, then started it and drove away.
The house seemed very empty. When she paced, her heels made noises that seemed too loud whenever she crossed the areas of bare floor. She turned the television set on and turned it off. Suddenly she remembered her other clothing and went swiftly to the guest room. The skirt was across the chair at the foot of the bed. The pale blouse was on the floor beside the chair. She picked them up. The skirt would do for another day. The collar of the blouse was faintly grimed. She found her bra on the floor between the bed and the wall. A gray ball of dust clung to the elastic when she picked it up. Her brief blue Dacron pants lay across the sandals she had worn to work.
She had picked the clothing up, and quite suddenly she felt so weak and faint that she turned and sat quickly on the side of the bed, near the foot of it, the clothing in her lap. She saw herself reflected in the narrow wall mirror, perfectly centered.
She gave herself a quick, vivid, social smile and said politely, “All dressed up and no place to go.”
She gave herself a comic grimace. “Lo the faithful widow lady,” she said.
And then, in her pretty dress and her perfume, she huddled over, hunched herself over the clothing in her lap, and began to cry, in a choking, gasping, hiccuping way, with the tears coming in a thin, scalding, sour way. As she wept she kept remembering that neither of them had said a word. They had made of it a desperate, silent struggle. And that seemed the most shameful thing of all
.
Twenty-three
AT TEN O’CLOCK JIMMY WING FOUND Brian Haas alone at the counter at Vera’s Kitchen. He went in and sat beside him. Brian gave him a casual and rather guarded smile and said, “Our Leader has been beating the bushes for you, pal. That seems to be happening a lot lately. I seem to find myself doing things you should be doing. Are you goofing a little, maybe?”
“Definitely not! Everything I do is constructive. I have been chugging around in the night, making up parables and fables.”
“You look a little bright around the eyes. You get the needle into a vein?”
“Mr. Haas, if a man suddenly went stone deaf and then suddenly got his hearing back again, he would go around listening to the rustle of every leaf. Right?”
“Is that a parable or a riddle?”
“My gears have been locked for a while. I rocked them loose.”
“Okay, it’s a riddle. So now you’re racing your engine. Is that the answer?”
“Mr. Haas, I will try out one small parable on you, one that I made up concerning you. Once upon a time there was a dog who had an undiagnosed case of distemper. Such was the morbidity of the disease that the dog went around blaming his low morale on his condition of doghood. He had black thoughts about dogs and destiny. So, to prove to himself that dogs are no damn good, he strolled over and quietly bit the hell out of the dog next door. It gave him considerable surly satisfaction, but when the disease wore off, he was suddenly very very ashamed of himself.”
Brian Haas put his cup down and swiveled his counter stool and stared at Wing. His eyes were dark and mild under the protective shelf of hairy brow. But there was a glint of amusement in them Jimmy had not seen for a long time. “In the first place, you illiterate bastard, when it has animals in it, it’s a fable, not a parable. In the second place, I know a dog who gets a different kind of distemper. He reaches around and bites hell out of himself. And is equally ashamed. In the third place, Nan wonders when you’re coming around so I can whip your tail with a jazzy new variation of the Ruy Lopez.”
“Tell her soon. I’ve got another one. This is a parable. No animals. This one is real deep.”
“I’ll pay attention.”
“They shot this character into orbit, seven thousand times around the planet, and he took along seven thousand squeeze-bottles full of high-vitamin gunk, one a day. And almost as soon as he was up there, he started thinking about steak. He tried not to. Before the trip was half over, he was breathing, dreaming, seeing, smelling steak. And then he came down and had a steak. He gobbled it down. He gobbled it down so damn fast, my boy, that the only slight taste he got was exactly the same as what had been in all those bottles.”
“So the second steak will be better, eh?”
“No chance. They shot him right back up there.”
“Seven thousand more times around?”
“Aw, no, Bri! For keeps.”
Brian Haas nodded. “You’re right. That one is real deep.”
“Ready for another deep one?”
“Let me get my feet braced. Shoot.”
“This one will be a fable because it’s got a monkey in it. One time there was a man who found himself a trick monkey. For a very small outlay in bananas, this man had himself a monkey who had a very quiet amiable personality. The thing was, this man could boost the monkey over transoms and through tiny windows, and when he was inside the monkey would unlock the house so the man could come in. The monkey thought he was pretty bright, and it was more fun than living in a tree. One day the trick monkey suddenly discovered that the kind banana man was … kicking the hell out of all the other monkeys … and …”
He put his fist on the counter edge and lowered his forehead until it rested against his fist. He heard the aftertones of his voice in the quiet lunchroom and knew he had gotten a little loud, somewhat shrill.
He felt Brian’s hand on his shoulder. “Hey, boy,” Bri said quietly.
Jimmy sat up. “I guess I didn’t get that one worked out yet.”
“It has possibilities. It has a plot line. It needs a kicker. You all right?”
“I’m brisk, Mr. Haas. Brisk and eager.”
“And I’ve got to go make J.J. think I am also.”
“That’s what I had on my mind, Bri. I don’t think you ought to go back there tonight. You ran into good old Jimmy. He’ll help J.J. put it to bed.”
“So we’ll both go confound him with our talent and intellect.”
“I’d just as soon you wouldn’t. Can you take it just like that? With no explanation, please? You go home to Nan. Tell her I love her.”
“I want maybe just one crumb of explanation.”
“If you go up there, there is something you might look as if you were mixed up in, and you wouldn’t be mixed up in it at all, but people might not hang around and listen to any explanations. Okay?”
“I’ve been mixed up in a lot of things.”
“This is mine.”
Brian studied him for a moment. “Just so I’ll know sometime.”
“You’ll know.”
Wing walked back to the newsroom. Borklund looked at him with weary disapproval as he listened to Wing’s story of Brian Haas’s headache. “If you’re as useful as you’ve been lately, James, it’s a damned good thing there isn’t much left to do. We aren’t holding much open.”
He worked with one eye on the clock. Finally he took an incoming call from a drunken woman and faked his end of the conversation, causing her considerable confusion. He went to Borklund and said, “I think I may have something hot, J.J. A man wants me to come down to my car in the parking lot. He wants you to listen to it too.”
“Who is he?”
“A bartender I know. He’s reliable. He says he overheard something that might give us a hell of a news break.”
“It probably won’t be worth a damn.”
“He said to be down there in three minutes. Maybe it’s something good. What’ll it cost us but a short walk?”
Borklund hesitated. “Okay, okay.”
They walked out to the parking lot. “I’m parked way over there in the corner,” Wing said. As they neared the car, he let Borklund get a step ahead of him. He looked around and saw no one.
Borklund started to turn around, saying, “There isn’t anybody …”
As he got halfway around, Jimmy Wing hit him squarely on the jaw with a short hard overhand punch. The blow opened Borklund’s mouth and staggered him back against the car, his glasses dangling from one ear. As Wing moved quickly to catch the man, Borklund grunted and lifted his fists and struck Wing weakly in the chest. Wing measured him and hit him again. Borklund started to slide sideways along the car, and caught himself. The glasses fell and splintered on the asphalt. Borklund sighed and assumed a brave John L. Sullivan stance and pawed at Jimmy with his left. Jimmy’s right hand was a throbbing lump of pain. In the shadows he could see a dark streak of blood on Borklund’s chin. He had the frantic, nightmare feeling that Borklund would never go down. He hit him again, and the shock of pain that ran up his arm made him gasp. Borklund wavered. He leaned against the car. His knees bent and slid down to a sitting position, lowered his chin onto his chest, and toppled over onto his side.
Brian Hass appeared beside Wing and said, “What the holy hell are you doing?”
Jimmy took his knuckles out of his mouth and said in an exhausted voice, “I told you to stay the hell away, old buddy.”
“You acted so damn strange I decided to come back.”
“My God, that son of a bitch can take a punch.”
“Are you out of your damn mind?”
“Shut up. You’re getting highly nervous. Here. Take this over there by the light and read it. I’ve got something to do.”
“Like what? Stomp him a little?”
Wing said with great patience, “I am going to tape his little wrists and tape his little ankles and tape a rag in his little mouth and put him in my car for a little while. So get the hell away from he
re before he comes out of it and thinks you’re in this thing too.”
Brian walked toward the light. Wing taped Borklund up and hoisted him in over the tail gate. Borklund seemed heavier than anyone would have guessed. Wing’s right hand was beginning to puff.
He walked slowly over and stood by Brian as he finished reading the last few lines. “Holy Jesus in the mountains!” Haas said in a soft strained voice.
“How do you like J.J.’s nice little initials on it?”
Brian looked at them. “They should pass.” He handed the sheets to Wing. “Where are you putting it?”
“Boxed on the right side of page one.”
“If it gets by Harmon and Tillerman and Crawder.”
“It will, with a nice two-column head: ‘Reporter Accuses Bliss.’ And the subhead: ‘Bay-Fill Conspiracy Charged.’ ”
“But what kind of an angle have you got, Jimmy? Where’s your protection? How much cover have you got?”
“None. Nothing. The sword of truth.”
“A sword against heavy artillery, boy. But did you have to put an assault rap on top of everything else?”
“Name another way to handle it?”
“Hell, I could have decoyed him away long enough.”
“Name another way to handle it where there’s nobody in it but me.”
Haas said slowly, “I see what you mean. But I know about it and I’m not doing anything about it, so that makes me part of it too.”
“Go home.”
“They’ll believe two of us quicker than one. Let’s go in there and spread some snow around, Mr. Wing. J.J. went home with a headache and a sore throat. We’ll snow them all, cut out some of the laudatory crud about Palmland and insert this little morsel.”
“You’ll get fired, Bri.”
“I don’t think so. They’ll have to fire you. That’ll make me more valuable. I’ll be terrible shocked when I find out you actually struck poor Mr. Borklund, and then lied to me, your good friend. Okay?”
A Flash of Green Page 38
