“So you do. And a damn nice one, too. I admit this reluctantly.”
“What else did you hear in the coffee shop?”
“Not much. Only that Beth came to town yesterday. Only that everyone is wondering why, and no one seems to know.”
“Also that everyone, by this time, knows that she and I had two gimlets together in the Kiowa Room yesterday evening.”
“Gimlets? Two of them? It’s good to know the facts. I’ve heard everything from Martinis to Daiquiris and from one to six.”
“That’s interesting. Did you hear anyone say that I killed her?”
“Not exactly. All I heard was one man say that you should have killed her if you didn’t. He was a friend.”
“Some friend,” I said bitterly.
At that moment, someone came into the outer office, and Millie went out to see who it was. I waited for her to come back and tell me, but she didn’t. Sid came instead.
“Sugar,” she said, “I’ve come down to have lunch with you.”
“You’re welcome,” I said, “but it’s too early for lunch.” She came around my desk and kissed me with sufficient warmth to make me feel wanted again, and I held her for a minute, smelling her hair. We were standing for this, and pretty soon I sat down in my chair with her in my lap, and I continued to hold her with one arm. She was wearing several shades of brown from light to dark in various places from hat to shoes, all of which went well with a tan suit for summer. The narrow skirt of the tan suit rode up a little above her tan nylon knees, and I put my free hand on the nearer knee.
“I’ve been feeling perfectly miserable,” she said. “Have you? So have I, and for a good reason. What’s yours?”
“Do you remember when you got up this morning?”
“I remember. I had a bad taste in my mouth and a bad ache between my eyes, and there was a loud-mouthed cardinal outside the window.”
“Sugar, I’m sorry. How is the ache between your eyes now?”
“Gone.”
“I’m so glad. Did you take an aspirin or anything?”
“No. Just two cups of black coffee.”
“Coffee is good, all right. If I had been a sensible wife, I’d have gotten up and made it for you.”
“Oh, nonsense. You were sleeping beautifully, on your side like a child, and so I left you alone.”
“No. That’s not true, and it’s what I’ve been feeling miserable about. The truth is, I wasn’t asleep at all. I was only pretending.”
“I thought you might be, but I wasn’t sure.”
“What made you think I might be?”
“You lay so still and breathed so quietly. Normally a person jerks and snorts a little over a period of time while sleeping.”
“Do I jerk and snort? Honestly?”
“A little. Delicately, however. Nothing crude.”
“I’m glad of that, at least. If I must jerk and snort in my sleep, I’m at least glad I do it delicately. Anyhow, I was deceptive and cowardly to pretend sleeping, and you were no sooner gone than I wished I hadn’t done it.”
“That’s all right. I don’t blame you for wanting to avoid me. I would have avoided myself if it had been possible.”
“You shouldn’t be too self-critical, sugar. It makes a bad impression. What you must do is concentrate on your good qualities. You have a number that I can name if you wish.”
“Thanks very much, but I think it will be more therapeutic if I can discover them for myself.”
“In the meanwhile, will you answer honestly a candid question?”
“I’ll answer as honestly as my character permits.”
“No. That won’t do. You must say right out that you’ll answer honestly.”
“All right. I’ll answer honestly.”
“If Beth had been alive when you went to meet her last night, what would you have done? That’s the question.”
“Well, it’s a tough question, honey, but here’s my honest answer. We’d have talked, and maybe held hands and kissed and got sloppy about the past, and then we’d have said good-by, and she’d have gone away, and I’d have been glad that she was gone. That’s the truth as I am now truly convinced.”
“Sugar, you have said exactly the right thing. I believe you, and the whole episode, so far as I’m concerned, is no more than an example of the peculiar kind of idiocy that is natural to men at times. I even feel rather tender toward you for being such a chump. What we have to concentrate on now, since this has been settled satisfactorily, is how to keep you out of trouble if possible, or how to get you out of trouble if it becomes necessary.”
“I’ve been thinking myself that this problem should have priority.”
“Good. We’re agreed on that, then, and we’re again, I hope, on the best of terms.”
“Well, God-damn it, I’m madly in love with you, non-platonic style. You may call that being on the best of terms if you choose.”
“I do, sugar. There are absolutely no terms better. And now I’m determined on going to lunch, early or not. I had no breakfast at all, I was feeling so miserable, but now I’m feeling much better and too hungry to wait. What time is it? Couldn’t you leave now?”
“It’s eleven, and I could.”
“Let’s go, then. We’ll have a drink before lunch, that’s what we’ll do. Not gimlets, however. Not even gin. We’ll have a Daiquiri or a sidecar or something.”
She stood up and tugged at her stockings and smoothed her skirt over her hips, after which, while I put away some papers, she repaired her lips with a lipstick that she took from her purse, peering for the purpose into the tiny mirror of a compact, also from the purse. Then we went into the outer office, and I told Millie where I was going in general, out to lunch, and if I wasn’t back by twelve to lock the door and go out to lunch herself. This wasn’t really necessary, for she would have gone anyhow when her time came, but such gestures of consideration helped sustain an amiable atmosphere around the office. She said all right, and Sid and I went on downstairs to the street, which was hot and full of sunshine.
“Where do you want to go?” I said.
“The hotel, I guess. Is there someplace else near?”
“There are other places, but I don’t recommend them. At the hotel, however, we have a choice of the coffee shop or the Kiowa Room.”
“The Kiowa Room for lunch? It’s a bar, sugar, as you know far better than most.”
“I know, but they’ve begun setting up a buffet in there for lunch. You can get stuffed for a dollar.”
“Really? I didn’t know that.”
“It’s a kind of special attraction for businessmen and such. Do you want to try it?”
“Yes, I do. There’s no thing that appeals to me more than submitting to temptation, and I can’t think of anything more calculated than a buffet to make me submit.”
“Thanks, honey. There’s nothing like running second to beef stroganoff.”
“You shouldn’t take it personally, sugar. I meant at lunchtime only. You are excluded in any event, but you’ll have to admit that we’re a little past the nooner period.”
I wasn’t so sure of that, but anyhow this wasn’t one of the noons, and so we went on over to the hotel and into the Kiowa Room. The buffet was laid out, and the tables were covered with white cloths, places already set, and there were a few people already eating, but not many because it was still early. Sid and I served ourselves and found a table in a corner, and a girl who came to pour coffee was induced to run an errand to the bar. She came back with a couple of sidecars, which were what Sid decided we should have, and we emptied our glasses slowly and started on our plates. We hadn’t said anything since entering the room, not a word to each other, but our silence was warm and comfortable, and everything was fine for the present, even though later it might not be. People kept passing with full plates on the
way to somewhere to sit.
“Do you know what I would like to do this afternoon?” Sid finally said.
“No,” I said. “What?”
“I’d like to go swimming and lie in the sun.”
“I wish I could go, but I can’t.”
“Couldn’t you possibly arrange it? I have a strong urging to go.”
“I can’t possibly. There’s some work I have to finish on a case I’m sure to lose, and at three o’clock I have an appointment with a man who wants to sue another man.”
“I’m sorry. It’s such a disappointment.”
“You go on, anyhow. I’ll think about you and wish I were there.”
“No. I don’t want to go without you. I’d rather not.”
“I wish you would.”
“No, no. I won’t go, and that’s all there is to it. I’ll go home and sit in the sun on the back terrace, and afterward I’ll have a cold shower. That’s always pleasant, and besides, while I’m sitting in the sun I can go over my notes on Zoroaster. They’re rather confusing right now, and need to be straightened out in my mind. Do you know how Zoroaster was born? His guardian angel somehow got into a priest, and there was a heavenly ray of some sort that got into a beautiful noble girl at the same time. Later on, this priest and this girl got together and made love, and the guardian angel in the priest and the heavenly ray in the girl got mixed together, and Zoroaster was the result. Do you think it could have happened that way?”
“Who knows? Perhaps you aren’t supposed to take it literally.”
“That may be. Anyhow, what’s worrying me is how to put it so some member of the discussion group won’t be offended. It’s a little sexy when you come right down to it. Do you have any suggestions?”
“I don’t think anyone will be offended if you use plenty of euphemisms.”
“Euphemism? Isn’t that a word that means the same as a word that sounds worse?”
“That’s it.”
“I suppose that could be done, all right. I’ll think about it while sitting in the sun. Fortunately, the way he was born is the only sticky part. There’s no problem involved in the way he died. It’s very simple and dramatic, although incredible, which will make no difference to Christians who are not prepared to believe it, anyhow. Do you know how he died? He lived to be very old, and then he was struck by lightning and ascended into heaven.”
“I remember a little about it. The Persians called him Zarathustra, I think, and so did Nietzsche.”
“What does Nietzsche have to do with it? Who was he? I don’t recall that Rose and I came across him anywhere in what we read.”
“Nietzsche was a German philosopher. He doesn’t have anything to do with it directly. He just used the name in the title of a book a long time later.”
“Well, it just shows you how ignorant I am. I’m surprised that Rose didn’t mention him, however. She’s very intellectual, as you know, and she usually mentions everything and everyone that can be connected with anything or anyone.”
“Rose is a schoolteacher, and it’s expected of her to be intellectual.”
“She only teaches second grade. Is it expected of teachers who teach second grade to know about Zoroaster?”
“Possibly not. I admit that Rose is an exceptional second grade teacher.”
“Yes, there’s no denying that. And in my opinion it’s a pity that everyone can’t be exceptional at something. I try and try to be, but I can’t.”
“In my opinion, on the contrary, you are exceptional in many ways without trying at all, and if I retain my health and sanity, in spite of what you say, you will be the first octogenarian nooner in history.”
“Sugar, what an absolutely charming thing to say. Are you sure you can’t take the afternoon off?”
“Not completely off. But maybe I can get through early.”
“That’s something, at least. I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll pick you up in the car, and we’ll drive straight home. Will you be finished by four with the man who wants to sue another man? ”
“Finished and waiting.”
Oh, well. That’s the way it went, and there’s no point in going on with it. We ate lunch and said things and made dry love. It was wonderful because it was wonderful. We never mentioned what was in the back of our minds, sometimes in the front, and I knew that she had come downtown to meet me and have lunch with me in a public place because she knew that what had happened would dredge up old matters, unpleasant at best and disastrous at worst, and she was making in her own way in this public place a public declaration that it was going to be, to poach on Dumas, one for two and two for one.
I was profoundly grateful for what she was doing and what she was, for what she was doing was wonderful, as I said, and what she was, was little and lovely and tough as a boot.
CHAPTER 7
As it turned out, the three-o’clock appointment was canceled, which was a relief, and I decided about that time that I’d call Sid and have her come on down and pick me up. I had my telephone out of its cradle and my index finger pointed at the dial when Millie cracked the door to the outer office and poked her red head through the crack.
“There’s a man here to see you,” she said.
“I don’t want to see a man. I want to go home, and that’s where I’m going.”
“Well, I’ve got a notion this may not be a simple matter of what you want or don’t want. I’ve got a notion it’s going to be sort of compulsory.”
“Why the hell don’t you try being reasonably direct and lucid for a change? State his name and business.”
“His name is Cotton McBride, and his business is being a policeman. Not just an ordinary policeman, either. He’s no less than a detective.”
“Damn it, I know who and what Cotton McBride is. Did he say what he wants to see me about?”
“No, he didn’t. I guess policemen are naturally secretive about such things. It’s too bad, too, because I’m curious to know. You obviously haven’t done anything illegal today, so it must be something left over from last night, and I’m wondering how someone could get involved with the police on a night when nothing at all happened to him. Isn’t that what you said?”
“If I said anything whatever, it was far too much. In the future, if you so much as ask me how I’m feeling, I’ll plead the fifth amendment. Send Mr. McBride in.”
“It’s Lieutenant McBride. That’s what he said. He looks official, and so you’d better use his official title.”
“Thanks very much for the advice. Send him in.”
She withdrew her bright head with its bright, inquisitive eyes, and I thought how odd everyone becomes when anything sufficiently out of the ordinary happens. As a lawyer, it is not unusual for me to traffic moderately with the police, but now, because of what had happened last night to Beth, a call by a cop was suddenly something with all sorts of implications, and that’s the way everyone becomes, the way Millie was—susceptible to exaggerated notions and given to exorbitant expectations.
As for me, I wasn’t expecting very much, because Cotton McBride wasn’t very much to expect. He must have been ten years older than I, but I had known him casually for a long time, since before the time he’d sent off to Chicago for his first mail-order course in private detecting, including fingerprint kit, and I think that he had changed less in appearance in all those years than anyone else I knew. He was thin and dry, with limp pale hair and round shoulders and a chronic expression of quiet despair, and he did not look much older now than he had twenty years ago. This was not because he kept himself looking young, but because I couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t looked old. Even as a kid he had seemed dry and withered and a little tired, always wearing his expression of quiet despair. Wearing it now with a wilted seersucker suit and a black string tie, he made me think, as he came into the room, of an unsuccessful mortician.
> “Hello, Cotton,” I said. “Millie says I ought to call you lieutenant. She says you look official.”
“I heard her. That’s a neat redhead, Gid, but she doesn’t show much respect. An officer of the law is entitled to a little more respect, it seems to me.”
“I wouldn’t take it too personally. She doesn’t show much respect for me, either.”
“I judged that from the rest I heard. She shows a lot of other stuff, though, that probably makes up for it. That’s a neat redhead, and I’m bound to admit it. You always had an eye for the lookers, Gid. I remember that about you.”
“Do you? Maybe so. It’s not an uncommon post-puberty trait among males.”
“What I’d like to know is how you get that little wife of yours to tolerate it. Seems to me that a wife wouldn’t be very favorable to having a redhead like that around.”
“My wife’s vain. She simply can’t conceive of my looking twice at anyone but her.”
“A man would be a fool if he did. Even at the redhead. A man married to someone like that little wife of yours, I mean.” He sat down uninvited in a chair beside my desk, dropping his stained straw hat on the floor beside him. “I never had any luck with the girls myself. Guys like you had all the luck.”
“Some of it bad, Cotton. Girls have a way of being bad luck at times.”
“That’s true enough. A man in my business sees a lot of it. I’ve seen more than one man in bad trouble because some woman got him there. On the other hand, I’ve seen women in the same condition because of some man. Like the one who got herself killed out in Dreamer’s Park last night. Beth Thatcher. Married for a while to Wilson Thatcher. But you know that better than almost anybody else. You heard about her getting killed, I suppose.”
“I heard.”
“Seems to me you used to know her pretty well, didn’t you?”
“Pretty well.”
“That’s what I thought. As I recall, that was one of the times your luck was bad. Or maybe it was good, after all. She was born to be trouble, that one was. Maybe you were lucky out of it.”
The Irrepressible Peccadillo Page 6
