"Blackstone?"
"Please! I've got to know! Nothing would change, I promise you that! Who is Blackstone?"
Tanner held her shoulders, forcing her face ia front of his own.
She was crying.
"I don't know any Blackstone."
"Don't do this!" she whispered. "Please, for God's sake, don't do this! Tell Blackstone to stop it!"
"Did Dick send you out here?"
"He'd kill me," she said softly.
"Let me get it straight. You're offering me ..."
"Anything you want! Just leave him alone. . . . My husband's a good man. A very, very decent man. He's been a good friend to you! Please, don't hurt him!"
"You love him."
"More than my life. So please, don't hurt him. And tell Blackstone to stop!"
She rushed off into the garage.
He wanted to go after her and be kind, but the specter of Omega prevented him. He kept wondering whether Ginny, who was capable of offering herself as a whore, was also capable of things far more dangerous.
But Ginny wasn't a whore. Careless, perhaps, even provocative in a humorous, harmless way, but it had never occurred to Tanner or anybody Tanner knew that she would share her bed with anyone but Dick. She wasn't like that.
Unless she was Omega's whore.
There was the forced laughter again from inside the house. Tanner heard the opening clarinet strains of "Amapola." He knelt down and picked the thermometer out of the water.
Suddenly he was aware that he wasn't alone. Leila Osterman was standing several feet behind him on the grass. She'd come outside silently; or perhaps he was too preoccupied to hear the kitchen door or the sound of her footsteps.
"Oh, hi! You startled me."
"I thought Ginny was helping you."
"She . . . spilled filter powder on her skirt. . . . Look, the temperature's eighty-three. Joe'll say it's too warm."
"If he can tell."
"I see what you mean," said Tanner getting to his feet, smiling. "Joe's no drinker."
"He's trying?'
"Leila, how come you and Bernie got in a couple days ago?"
"He hasn't told you?" Leila was hesitant, seemingly annoyed that the explanation was left to her.
"No. Obviously."
"He's looking around. He had conferences, lunches."
"What's he looking for?"
"Oh, projects. You know Bernie; he goes through phases. He never forgets that The New York Times once called him exciting ... or incisive, I never remember which. Unfortunately, he's acquired expensive tastes."
"You've lost me."
"He'd like to find a class series; you know, the old Omnibus type. There's a lot of talk around the agencies about upgrading."
"Is there? I hadn't heard it."
"You're in news, not programming."
Tanner took out a pack of cigarettes and offered one to Leila. As he lit it he could see the concern, the strain, in her eyes. "Bernie has a lot going for him. You and he have made the agencies a great deal of money. He won't have any trouble; he's persuasive as hell."
"It takes more than persuasion, I'm afraid," Leila said. "Unless you want to work for a percentage of nonprofit culture. . . . No, it takes influence. Enormous influence; enough to make the money people change their minds." Leila drew heavily on her cigarette, avoiding Tanner's stare.
"Can he do that?"
"He might be able to. Bernie's word carries more weight than any other writer's on the coast. He has 'clout,' as they say. ... It extends to New York, take my word for it."
Tanner found himself not wanting to talk. It hurt too much. Leila had all but told him, he thought. All but proclaimed the power of Omega. Of course Bernie was going to do what he wanted to do. Bernie was perfectly capable of making people change their minds, reverse decisions. Omega was, and he was part of it—part of them.
"Yes," he said softly. "I'll take your word for it Bernie's a big man."
They stood quietly for a moment, then Leila spoke sharply. "Are you satisfied?"
"What?"
"I asked if you were satisfied. You've just questioned me like a cop. I can even furnish you with a list of his appointments, if you'd like. And there are hairdressers, department stores, shops—I'm sure they'd confirm my having been there."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"You know perfectly well! That's not a very nice party in there, in case you haven't noticed. We're all behaving as if we'd never met before, as if we really didn't like our new acquaintances."
"That has nothing to do with me. Maybe you should look to yourselves."
"Why?" Leila stepped back. Tanner thought she looked bewildered, but he didn't trust his appraisal. "Why should we? What is it, John?"
"Can't you tell me?"
"Good Lord, you are after him, aren't you? You're after Bernie."
"No, I'm not. I'm not after anyone."
"You listen to me, John! Bernie would give his life for you! Don't you know that?"
Leila Osterman threw the cigarette on the ground and walked away.
As Tanner was about to carry the chlorine bucket to the garage, Ali came outside with Bernie Osterman. For a moment he wondered whether Leila had said anything. Obviously she hadn't. His wife and Bernie simply wanted to know where he kept the club soda and to tell him that everyone was getting into suits.
Tremayne stood in the kitchen doorway, glass in hand, watching the three of them talking. To Tanner he seemed nervous, uneasy.
Tanner walked into the garage and placed the plastic bucket in the comer next to the garage toilet. It was the coolest place. The kitchen door opened and Tremayne walked down the steps.
"I want to see you a minute."
"Sure."
Tremayne turned sideways and slid past the Triumph. "I never see you driving this."
"I hate it. Getting in and out of it's murder."
"You're a big guy."
"It's a small car."
"I ... I wanted to say I'm sorry about that bullshit I was peddling before. I have no argument with you. I got burned on a case several weeks ago by a reporter on The Wall Street Journal Can you imagine? The Journal! My firm decided not to go ahead on the strength of it."
"Free press or fair trial. A damned valid argument. I didn't take it personally."
Tremayne leaned against the Triumph. He spoke cautiously. "A couple of hours ago, Bernie asked you—he was talking about last Wednesday—if you were working on anything like that San Diego story. I never knew much about that except that it's still referred to in the newspapers ..."
"It's been exaggerated out of proportion. A series of waterfront payoffs. Indigenous to the industry, I think."
"Don't be so modest."
"I'm not. It was a hell of a job and I damned near got the Pulitzer. It's been responsible for my whole career."
"All right. . . . Fine, good. . . . Now, I'm going to stop playing games. Are you digging around something that affects me?"
"Not that I know of. . . . It's what I said to Bernie; I've a staff of seventy-odd directly involved with news gathering. I don't ask for daily reports."
"Are you telling me you don't know what they're doing?"
"I'm better than that," said Tanner with a short laugh. "I approve expenditures; nothing is aired without my clearing it."
Tremayne pushed himself away from the Triumph. "All right, let's level. . . . Ginny came back inside fifteen minutes ago. I've lived with that girl for sixteen years. I know her. . . . She'd been crying. She was outside with you and she came back crying. I want to know why."
"I can't answer you."
"I think you'd better try! . . . You resent the money I make, don't you?"
"That's not true."
"Of course it is! You think I haven't heard how it's all on your back! And now you subtly, off-handedly drop that nothing is aired without your clearing it! Is that what you told my wife? Am I supposed to hear the details from her? A wife can't testify; are
I you protecting us? What do you want?"
"Get hold of yourself! Are you into something so rotten you're getting paranoid? Is that it? You want to tell me about it?"
"No. No! Why was she crying?"
"Ask her yourself!"
Tremayne turned away and John Tanner could see the lawyer's body begin to shake as he passed his hands on the hood of the small sports car.
"We've known each other a long time; but you've never understood me at all. . . . Don't make judgments unless you understand the men you're judging."
So this was it, thought Tanner. Tremayne was admitting it. He was part of Omega.
And then Tremayne spoke again and the conclusion was destroyed. He turned around and the look on his face was pathetic.
"I may not be beyond reproach, I know that, but I'm within the law. That's the system. I may not like it all the time, but I respect that system!"
Tanner wondered if Fassett's men had placed one of their electronic pick-ups in the garage. If they had heard the words, spoken in such sorrow, with such a ring of truth. He looked at the broken man in front of him.
"Let's go into the kitchen. You need a drink and so do I."
Alice flipped the switch under the living-room i windowsill so the music would be heard on the patio speakers. They were all outside now on the pool deck. Even her husband and Dick Tremayne had finally gotten up from the kitchen table; they'd been sitting there for twenty minutes and Ali thought it strange they'd hardly spoken.
"Hello, gracious lady!" The voice was Joe's, and Alice felt herself grow tense. He walked from the hallway into view; he was in swimming trunks. There was something ugly about Joe's body; it dwarfed objects around it. "You're out of ice, so I made a phone call to get some."
"At this hour?"
"It's easier than one of us driving."
"Who'd you call?"
"Rudy at the liquor store."
"It's closed."
Car done walked towards her, weaving a bit. "I got him at home; he wasn't in bed. ... He does little favors for me. I told him to leave a couple of bags on the front porch and charge it to me."
"That wasn't necessary. I mean the charging."
"Every little bit helps."
"Please." She walked towards the sofa if for no other reason than to get away from Cardone's gin-laden breath. He followed her.
"Did you think over what I told you?"
"You're very generous, but we don't need any help."
"Is that what John said?"
"It's what he would say."
"Then you haven't talked to him?"
"No."
Cardone took her hand gently. She instinctively tried to pull it away, but he held it—firmly, with no trace of hostility, only warmth; but he held it nevertheless. "I may be a little loaded but I want you to take me seriously. . . . I've been a lucky man; it hasn't been hard at all, not really. . . . Frankly, I even feel a little guilty, you know what I mean? I admire Johnny. I think the world of him because he contributes, ... I don't contribute much; I just take. I don't hurt anybody, but I take. . . . You'd make me feel better if you'd let me give ... for a change."
He let her hand go and because she didn't expect it, her forearm snapped back against her waist. She was momentarily embarrassed. And perplexed. "Why are you so determined to give us something. What brought it up?"
Cardone sat down heavily on the arm of the couch. "You hear things. Rumors, gossip, maybe."
"About us? About us and money?"
"Well, if s not true. It's simply not true."
"Then let's put it another way. Three years ago when Dick and Ginny and Bernie and Leila went skiing with us at Gstaad, you and Johnny didn't want to go. Isn't that right?"
Alice blinked, trying to follow Joe's logic. "Yes, I remember. We thought we'd rather take the children to Nassau."
"But now John's very interested in Switzerland, isn't that right?" Joe's body was swaying slightly.
"Not that I know of. He hasn't told me about it."
"Then if it's not Switzerland, maybe it's Italy. Maybe he's interested in Sicily; it's a very interesting place."
"I simply don't understand you."
Cardone got off the arm of the couch and steadied himself. "You and I aren't so very different, are we? I mean, what credentials we have weren't exactly handed to us, were they? . . . We've earned them, after our own Goddamn fashion...."
"I think that's insulting."
"I'm sorry, I don't mean to be insulting. . . . I just want to be honest, and honesty starts with where you are .. . where you were."
"You're drunk."
"I certainly am. I'm drunk and I'm nervous.: Lousy combination. . . . You talk to John. You, tell him to see me tomorrow or the next day. You tell him not to worry about Switzerland or Italy, all right? You tell him, no matter what, that I'm clean and I like people who contribute but don't hurt other people. That I'll pay."
Cardone took two steps toward Ali and grabbed her left hand. Gently but insistently, he brought it to his lips, eyes closed, and kissed her palm. Ali had seen that type of kiss before; in her childhood she'd seen her father's fanatical adherents do the same. Then Joe turned and staggered into the hallway.
At the window a shifting of light, a reflection, a change of brightness caught Ali's eye. She turned her head. What she saw caused her to freeze. Outside on the lawn, no more than six feet from the glass, stood Betty Cardone in a white bathing suit, washed in the blue-green light of the swimming pool.
Betty had seen what had happened between Alice and her husband. Her eyes told Ali that.
Joe's wife stared through the window and her look was cruel.
The full tones of the young Sinatra filled the warm summer night as the four couples sat around the pool. Individually—it seemed never by twos to John Tanner—one or another would slip into the water and paddle lazily back and forth.
The women talked of schools and children while the men, on the opposite side of the deck, spoke less quietly of the market, politics, an inscrutable economy.
Tanner sat on the base of the diving board near Joe. He'd never seen him so drunk, and he bore watching. If any or all around the deck were part of Omega, Joe was the weakest link. He'd be the first to break.
Small arguments flared up, quickly subsiding. At one point, Joe's voice was too loud and Betty reacted swiftly but quietly.
"You're drunk, husband-mine. Watch out."
"Joe's all right, Betty," said Bernie, clapping Cardone's knee. "It was rotten-hot in New York today, remember?"
"You were in New York, too, Bernie," answered Ginny Tremayne, stretching her legs over the side of the pool. "Was it really that rotten-hot?"
"Rotten-hot, sweetheart." It was Dick who spoke across the water to his wife.
Tanner saw Osterman and Tremayne exchange glances. Their unspoken communication referred to Cardone but it was not meant that he, Tanner, should understand or even notice. Then Dick got up and asked who'd like refills.
Only Joe answered yes.
"I'll get it," said Tanner.
"Hell, no," replied Dick. "You watch the ballplayer. I want to call the kid anyway. We told her to be back by one; it's damn near two. These days you have to check."
"You're a mean father," said Leila.
"So long as I'm not a grandfather." Tremayne walked across the grass to the kitchen door.
There was silence for several seconds, then the girls took up their relaxed conversation and Bernie lowered himself over the side into the pool.
Joe Cardone and Tanner did not speak.
Several minutes later, Dick came out of the kitchen door carrying two glasses. "Hey, Ginny! Peg was teed off that I woke her up. What do you think of that?"
"I think she was bored with her date."
Tremayne approached Cardone and handed him his glass. "There you are, fullback."
"I was a Goddamn halfback. I ran circles around your Goddamn Levi Jackson at the Yale Bowl!"
"Sure. But I talked
to Levi. He said they could always get you. All they had to do was yell 'tomato sauce' and you went for the sidelines!"
"Pretty Goddamn funny! I murdered that black son of a bitch!"
"He speaks well of you, too," said Bernie, smiling over the side of the pool.
"And I speak well of you, Bernie! And big Dick, here!" Cardone clumsily got to his feet. "I speak well of you!"
"Hey, Joe " Tanner got off the board.
"Really, Joe, just sit down," ordered Betty. "You'll fall over."
"Da Vinci!"
It was only a name but Cardone shouted it out. And then he shouted it again.
"Da Vinci. . . ." He drew out the sound, making the dialect sharply Italian.
"What does that mean?" asked Tremayne.
"You tell me," roared Cardone through the tense stillness around the pool.
"He's crazy," said Leila.
"He's positively drunk, if nobody minds my saying so," added Ginny.
"Since we can't—at least I can't—tell you what a Da Vinci is, maybe you'll explain." Bernie spoke lightly.
"Cut it out! Just cut it out!" Cardone clenched and reclenched his fists.
Osterman climbed out of the water and approached Joe. His hands hung loosely at his sides. "Cool it, Joe. Please Cool it."
"Zurichchchchr The scream from Joe Cardone could be heard for miles, thought Tanner. It was happening! He'd said it!
"What do you mean, Joe?" Tremayne took a halting step toward Cardone.
"Zurich! That's what I mean!"
"It's a city in Switzerland! So what the hell else?" Osterman stood facing Cardone; he wasn't about to give quarter. "You say what you mean!"
"No!" Tremayne took Osterman by the shoulder.
"Don't talk to me," yelled Cardone. "You're the one who..."
"Stop it! All of you!" Betty stood on the concrete deck at the end of the pool. Tanner would never have believed such strength could come from Cardone's wife.
But there it was. The three men parted from one another, as chastised dogs. The women looked up at Betty, and then Leila and Ginny walked away while Ali stood immobile, uncomprehending.
Betty continued, reverting now to the soft, suburban housewife she seemed to be. "You're all behaving childishly and I know it's time for Joe to go home."
"I... I think we all can have a nightcap, Betty," said Tanner. "How about it?"
The Osterman weekend Page 14
