Jack Vance

by Take My Face (epub)

  But Joe did not fail her. He put an arm around her, kissed her willing mouth, then the tip of her nose.

  “The end of a perfect weekend,” said Julie.

  “It was nice,” said Joe. After a minute, he said, “Too nice.”

  “Nothing’s really too nice,” said Julie. “It never can be.”

  Joe looked down at her, and she felt he was about to say something important. But he was silent.

  “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

  Joe sighed. “Julie—you couldn’t understand unless you’ve had something wonderful that got

  taken away from you … I don’t imagine you ever have.”

  “No.” She squeezed his hand. “But I can imagine …”

  “Well—think of it in terms of goals …”

  Julie drew away, looked at him searchingly. “Just what are these goals—or should I ask?”

  Joe laughed. “The first and most important is named Julie Hovard.”

  “Would you deceive me, Joe?”

  “No, Julie.”

  “You’re sure? Absolutely, positively, definitely sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “In that case—” She put her arms around his neck; and he held her tighter and longer and harder than she had ever let anyone hold her before.

  Joe released her and got out of the car. She felt an undercurrent in him, and it puzzled her … Well, there was lots of time to find out. She waved, started the car and drove back to the Delta Rho Beta house.

  Cathy surveyed her with raised eyebrows. “Your lipstick’s smeared.”

  “Of course it is,” said Julie. She suddenly felt like hugging Cathy, and did so.

  “You’re just gushing over with it, aren’t you? Just like a little puppy-dog.”

  Julie yapped like a puppy and went chattering off to bed.

  There were two weeks of final examinations, then freedom!

  Julie had been home two days when Joe telephoned.

  “Joe! Where are you?”

  “In San Georgio … I go to work in the morning.”

  “But where are you now? You’re coming on out, aren’t you?”

  “I’ve got to find a place to stay and I need a working permit from the union.”

  “There’s a place out on Second Street. The Fair Oaks Guest House. It’s old-fashioned, but it’s nice and quiet.”

  “I’ll go there first thing.”

  Margaret Hovard came into the room as Julie hung up. She asked, “Who’s that, dear?”

  “It’s Joe. He’ll be out for dinner.”

  Margaret put on a faint frown of puzzlement. ” ‘Joe?”

  “Joe Treddick.”

  Margaret pretended to search her mind. “You have so many young men. It’s hard to keep abreast of them all.”

  Julie explained who Joe was.

  “Oh,” said Margaret. “That one.” She and

  Darrell had not particularly approved o£ Joe. “Don’t you think he’s just a little—dull?”

  “Dull?” exclaimed Julie in amusement. “I certainly don’t.”

  “He never has much to say,” said Maragret. “Norman Baker, for instance—he’s so bright and amusing.”

  “He works himself sick for laughs.”

  “Well, Carr … I don’t see why you don’t take more of an interest in Carr.”

  Julie laughed in sheer enjoyment of her mother’s naivete. “Carr means well, but he’s really so narrow-minded.”

  “I think he’s very sound. And I don’t understand what you see in Joe.”

  “There’s such a lot to him.”

  Darrell Hovard came home and joined the conversation. He didn’t object to Joe personally, but he liked to know a little more about the young men Julie went out with.

  Margaret asked Julie if she had ever met any of Joe’s people. “No,” said Julie. “They’re back in Boston.”

  “But who are they?”

  Julie supposed they were ordinary mortals like anyone else. Darrell changed the subject; he did not want to make an issue of Joe. In a month or two, Julie would be eighteen, when she could marry whomever she wanted. Darrell didn’t want to put any romantic ideas into her head.

  He had a quiet word with Margaret before dinner. “Give her time,” said Darrell. “She’s growing up. All girls have their little affairs before settling down; Julie’s no different from the others.”

  “I’m not so sure.”

  “You’ll see,” said Darrell.

  “I just don’t like to leave things to chance,” said Margaret.

  Darrell thought the situation over. “Well— there’s rather a mean trick to play on the poor chap—but it’ll be merciful in the long run.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Julie’s no fool. If he’s around the house, and she has the chance to compare him to us and our friends, she’ll get things straight for herself.”

  Margaret was puzzled. “I still don’t understand you, Darrell.”

  “Well, to put it with brutal bluntness, if we have him over night and day, day in, day out—if we rub Julie’s nose in him, so to speak—the glamour’s bound to wear thin.”

  “Well, perhaps … And if we have lots of other young people around, Julie’s old friends, members of her own set …”

  Whether by design or by accident, Joe refused

  to fit into their plans. He politely declined to eat dinner with the Hovards more than once or twice a week.

  Darrell made discreet inquiries to find out how Joe was handling his job; he was rather annoyed when the contractor told Darrell that if he had any more like Joe to send ‘em out.

  The crowds of young people Darrell and Margaret had envisioned also failed to materialize. It was a quiet summer. Julie saw a great deal of Cathy and also of Lucia Small, who in an offhand manner let it be known that she had no intention of returning to Radcliffe. Harvard men were dull; she wasn’t sure that she wanted a degree in psychology after all.

  Lucia was becoming less attractive every year. Her face seemed sallower, her hair more severe. And her disposition had deteriorated with her looks.

  She had never been the sort to share confidences, but now she seemed almost secretive. Cathy, softhearted and loyal, worried about Lucia. “I can’t understand what’s come over her. She almost acts as if we’re not her friends!”

  “Funny how we change,” Julie mused. “We were so different such a short time ago.”

  “You’ve never changed,” said Cathy affectionately. “You’ve never been anything but the rattlebrained little twerp you are now.”

  “I’m wise,” said Julie. “Wise with the age-old mystery of Woman.”

  They were silent a moment. Cathy said with a sigh, “The Masque Saturday night, and I’ve still got my costume to do.”

  “I’ve got two,” said Julie.

  “Two? … Oh, yours and Joe’s.”

  Julie nodded.

  “He said for sure he’d come?”

  “Of course. He has better sense than to disobey me.”

  “You’ve got it bad,” said Cathy. “Sewing already for him.”

  Cathy leaned back and closed her eyes. “I’d just as soon stay home. I know I’m not going to have a good time.”

  “Sure you will. Think of all the romantic men you’ll meet. ‘May I have this dance, mademoiselle?’ Then they’ll sweep you up, whirl you breathlessly around the floor—”

  “—and all turn out to be Carr.”

  “Why don’t you bust up with him definitely?”

  Cathy shrugged. She had been over the ground a hundred times. She could always rely on Carr. If nothing better offered, she might eventually marry him … He wasn’t bad-looking—a little inclined to softness around the jowl, but no one was perfect. The Pendrys had plenty of money … If only Carr weren’t so spoiled, such a sulky pill when he couldn’t get his way.

  They fell to talking about their costumes for the Mountainview Masque. It was to be held on the grounds of the new country club, the fir
st of an annual series of costume balls. This year, the theme was Black and White Fantasia. The costumes were to reflect nothing but sheer fantasy, and they must be pure black and white.

  Julie was sewing herself a skin-tight coverall, black in front, white behind. A casque came up tight over her dark blonde curls, swerving down to a widow’s peak at the bridge of her nose. The costume was definitely daring.

  “I’ve never seen anyone look so nearly naked while fully dressed,” said Cathy.

  “Oh, come now,” said Julie. “It’s not that bad.”

  “It’s disgraceful. You look like a young imp from hell, a sexy little imp.”

  “That’s exactly what I am.”

  “Julie!” said Cathy.

  Cathy’s costume had something of an ancient Egyptian look: a bare-armed tunic of black and white stripes, belted at the waist, with a slit at either side of the skirt. When she walked, her slender olive-skinned legs flashed.

  “If it came to a competition for enticing costumes,” said Julie, “I hardly think yours would be out of the running.”

  “Oh, nonsense. Everybody knows I have legs.”

  Lucia came in. She had brought her costume over to show them. It was Spanish—a stiff flat-crowned matador hat, a short black jacket, a white blouse, black breeches, stockings and buckled black shoes. She looked graceless, rigid.

  At four, Carr dropped by and refused to answer questions about his costume. He had spent the day at the Republican Headquarters in Paytonville making contacts. Already, Pelton Pendry was hinting in the Herald-Republican that young blood was needed in Sacramento; that California and the nation needed positive leadership, dynamic thinking.

  Carr revealed that he was thinking of going for a master’s degree in economics or law at Cal, in preparation for his future.

  “As a public servant?” Julie asked jocularly.

  Carr made a smiling grimace. “That’s a sanctimonious bit of cant that we ought to expunge. A politician has to lead! He can’t be worried about popularity! That’s why we’re in this new-deal, fair-deal, bum-deal mess today! The politicians buying popularity with relief and job-insurance and medical insurance—”

  “Come, come, Carr,” said Lucia. “You’re beating a dead horse.”

  “I think we ought to divide everything up and start over again,” said Julie with a perfectly straight face. Carr took a deep breath and leaned forward in his chair. Julie burst out laughing. “Carr, you’re really a dear, but you’re such fun to tease.”

  Carr sat back, not quite sure how he felt.

  At four-thirty, Lucia said she had to be going, and Carr offered to run her home. Lucia accepted; she and Carr departed.

  “You know something?” said Julie. “I think Lucia’s got a case on Carr.”

  Cathy looked startled. “She’s never done anything about it.”

  “Maybe we just haven’t noticed.”

  “Somehow,” said Cathy, “I just can’t see it.”

  “You’re jealous,” said Julie. “You’re so used to having Carr around you think he’s yours.”

  “No, no,” protested Cathy.

  “You’ll end up marrying him, see if you don’t.”

  Cathy shook her head. “No. But he thinks I will, and that’s what makes it so bad.” She blushed. “He thinks he’s a modern young man, and keeps wanting me to—well, all kinds of things … I guess I’m just not modern.”

  “Maybe Lucia’s modern,” said Julie.

  Cathy laughed.

  CHAPTER X

  Mountainview Masque! It was a wonderful warm evening; breezes smelling of hay and dry odorous weeds rustled through the oaks.

  A white canvas pavilion had been erected near the site of the new clubhouse, supported by poles wound with black, red, and white ribbon. Booths to right and left functioned as bars; in the center of the pavilion was a tall round stage for the orchestra, like the calliope of a merry-go-round.

  Candles furnished the sole illumination: black and white candles in chandeliers made from wine bottles wired together in artistic clusters.

  Darrell and Margaret Hovard appeared at eight o’clock with Mrs. Hutson, who was Chairman of the Social Committee. At eighty-thirty, Julie and Joe arrived in Joe’s Plymouth; at nine came the members and their guests.

  At nine-thirty the pavilion was crowded; the orchestra, in black and white harlequinade, tuned up and began to play for dancing.

  Julie said to Joe, “One of your major shortcomings is that you are hardly a good dancer.”

  “I admit it,” said Joe. He wore black puttees, black boots, a white tunic with black frogs, and flaring black epaulettes, and a black and white kepi. Julie called it a space-admiral’s uniform.

  “Oh, you’re not that bad … There’s Cathy!” cried Julie.

  “Where?”

  “Dancing with that man in the black cloak.”

  “Almost everybody’s in a black cloak.”

  “We’re unimaginative in San Giorgio. What do they wear in Boston?”

  “Darned if I know.”

  Julie scrutinized Cathy’s dancing partner. “I don’t think it’s Carr … It’s too tall for Carr.”

  “Carr’s over by the bar. In the pirate costume, with the black beard.”

  “Isn’t that odd?” said Julie. “I wonder what ever possessed him to come as a pirate.”

  “Costumes are symbolic—you dress as something you’d like to be.”

  “What does that make me? Black in front and white behind.”

  “That’s your character—innocence behind a front of evil and vice.”

  “What a laugh!”

  “Let’s go to the bar,” said Joe. ‘Will your father hate me any worse if I buy you a drink?”

  “Get Coke highs, then I can pretend it’s straight Coke. If anyone bothers to ask.”

  They found seats; Joe brought over drinks in paper cups. Cathy came over with the man in the black cloak. He said, “Thanks, Cathy,” and moved off.

  A black-bearded pirate, frowning after Black Cloak, joined them. “Who was that?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve seen him somewhere.”

  “I think it’s Murray Jones,” said Julie. “He walks like Murray.”

  Carr snapped his fingers at Cathy; she rose. Carr put his arm around her, swung her out on the dance floor with a flourish.

  “Poor Cathy,” Julie sighed.

  “All she’s got to do is say no.”

  “It’s not easy for someone like Cathy.” A man in tremendous black pantaloons and a billowy white shirt asked Julie to dance; she finished her drink, rose to her feet.

  The evening proceeded. Photographers for the Herald-Republican moved here and there, pointing glass eyes, discharging gouts of white light, capturing Black and White Fantasia for the Sunday Society Section.

  Julie danced with twenty men; she enjoyed herself thoroughly. Joe danced with Lucia and got stuck with her. The bartenders worked unceasingly. At midnight the Masque had taken on life of its own; it was clearly a success.

  Unmasking was scheduled for two o’clock. At one, Cathy sought Julie out, where a Cossack was buying her a drink and making arrangements to kiss her. Julie was a trifle high.

  “Carr’s taking me home,” said Cathy.

  “Taking you home? Why? The party’s just started!”

  “He’s got a headache.”

  “Humph.” Carr was jealous.

  Cathy smiled wanly. “I know. But I’d just as soon. I’ll give you a ring in the morning and tell you everything. Good night, Julie.” She slipped away. The Cossack resumed where he had left off. Julie looked around for Joe; he was nowhere in sight, but presumably with Lucia in the other bar across the pavilion.

  The Cossack was placing a new drink in her hands. She noticed with surprise that she had finished her last.

  Time passed. The Cossack kissed her. She found herself with still another Coke high. She resolutely put it aside. “You’ll get me drunk!” she told the Cossack.

  “Mone
y well spent, you lovely.”

  There was a sudden hush; a rumble, a roar of voices, a rush of feet. Julie craned her neck to see.

  Into the circle of candlelight came a black pirate. He staggered out on the dance floor. Men and women in black and white gave way. Carr was bloody, his eyes dull and bleared. His mask hung around his neck.

  Ralph McDermott, pulling off his own headdress, pushed over to him. “Carr! What’s happened?”

  Carr muttered two or three words. Ralph McDermott stood like a post. Then he turned and looked off through the darkness in the direction from which Carr had come.

  The Masque dissolved into a group of men and women with frightened faces in foolish costumes.

  The orchestra disappeared. The crowd milled, talking in uneasy voices, then trickled to their cars in clots of five or six.

  Dr. Federico, Ralph McDermott, and William Biers, the district attorney, went in the direction Carr had indicated.

  They found the Chrysler sedan half a mile down a dirt road leading to the far end of the country-club property. Biers supported Ralph McDermott—they did not let him look inside the car—while Dr. Federico made an examination. A glance into the back seat was enough.

  He turned slowly away. “There’s not a thing we

  can do.” He looked at McDermott. “You’d better go home, Ralph.”

  Biers said, “Come along, Ralph,” and led him away.

  Sheriff Clyde Hartmann arrived with his assistants; the horrid task began. The sheriff returned to San Giorgio to take Carr’s statement.

  The bruise on Carr’s head had been cleaned and bandaged. Dr. Harvey was just finishing, and he gave Hartmann permission to ask a few questions. “Try not to keep him too long; he’s had an awful shock.”

  Hartmann nodded. He was a tall, rangy man with silver hair and a handsome deeply lined face.

  He said, “I’m sorry I have to intrude on you, Mr. Pendry.”

  Carr struggled to sit up, then gave up and lay back. He looked pale and drawn; his eyes were like black grapes in two dishes of milk.