Don't Rely on Gemini

by Packer, Vin

  Archie said, “Well, I’m pretty busy right now, Liddy. Can’t it wait?”

  Archie said, “I’m afraid it’s going to have to.” Archie said, “I’m sorry but—”

  Archie said, “I’m not hostile! I’m not in the least bit hostile!” Archie said, “Goddamn it, Liddy, I have important work to do!”

  “All right,” Archie said, “I’ll call you tomorrow.” He banged down the receiver.

  Then he came into the living room and complained to Dru about it.

  “You’re not that busy, Arch.”

  “Well, what the hell’s the big emergency?”

  “How do I know, but why not go over there and find out?”

  “And why can’t she tell me over the phone!”

  “Aw, it’s just not the same,” Dru said snidely.

  “See what I mean? Damned if I do, damned if I don’t.”

  “I don’t damn you if you do. I have slain the green-eyed monster, darling.”

  “He was around the other night at ‘76 House.”

  She said, “I wouldn’t care if you went over to see Liddy right now. I mean that, darling.”

  She did, too; by the next morning the diary and letters had to be inside the Pan Am bag.

  Even when Archie didn’t notice how long she spent in the bathroom, she felt too tense to read them comfortably when he was in the apartment.

  “You know?” he said. “It might be a good idea to just get it over with. She claims it’s wildly important.”

  April. Monday.

  Hi Gorgeous!

  Marg, I was dreaming today of us taking that camping trip we always talked about and wish it was possible. I would like to get away myself for it is sickening how some girls chase after a fella when he doesn’t see them that way, which I certainly don’t though she is a looker and a Virgo like you. My type, I guess, is Virgo.

  There is no electricity there though, Sweetheart, so don’t worry your pretty little head over anything right now. She can try all her tricks but I’m not falling for any of them. Her uncle knows Frank Sinatra. Marg, what are we going to do about that dog, Marg? I couldn’t get up there yesterday because of her as I said on the phone, and I really didn’t honestly think you wanted me coming up the hill as you said over the phone, so I went on out to the ally to see what was doing their. Nothing much was but she showed up and rode me for about an hour about letting my hair grow. Marg, you never said do you like it? I’m going to have sideburns but not turn into Tiny Tim or anything. (Ha! Ha!)

  Marg, my sister told me she sees Dr. Dana from time to time which is news to me, she just goes to Wethead Haven (as some call it) and pops in on him as she would say. She doesn’t suspect anything about us, don’t worry. He is a good guy and probably wants to help her, for she is a mixed-up kid with a bad temper that will get her in trouble yet.

  Sweetheart those pincher dogs are mean and can kill people I hear. I don’t like that dog. Hope we can find some way to get Dr. Dana to go out of the house to New York some nights like he thinks you do. For we have only one night a week which is not enough for a sexy Scorpio lover. Marg I’m eating lots of wheat germ for my verilitie so watch out! My new suit went over big at the ally thanks to you, and for everything. You have really changed my life you know that Marg. Love,

  Tuto

  1 May

  I feel that the advertisement was a sign to me, showing me a way somehow. The stars will intercede; I can’t explain why I feel that, but I do. Neal is so stubbornly against astrology; if CBS answers I will have to handle him with kid gloves. At least it will keep him occupied for awhile. I trust he’ll have to to go into New York for it. I think I can persuade him to do it. There has always been a little of the ham in Neal. If his appointment at Doubleday goes well, I may convince him it would help sell books, become a “personality.”

  Dru was asleep when Archie came in; and Saturday morning, before she could ask him what Liddy had wanted, Neal Dana called.

  “You’re coming out today, aren’t you?” he said. “This is Dr. Dana.”

  “We’ll be there around noon, if that suits you.”

  “I think I’ve been pompous ass!” he said. “Why don’t you and your husband postpone your visit until the cocktail hour? Around five-thirty?”

  “We’d love to,” Dru told him.

  “Mrs. Dana is still away, but maybe we can all go out to dinner later anyway.”

  She said, “My husband’s in the shower now, but I’m sure he’d like that very much. So would I,” she added, feeling suddenly very sorry for Neal Dana.

  Did he have any suspicions about his wife?

  If he didn’t, wasn’t it wrong somehow to return the bag with the letters and diary inside, after Archie had told him of the bag’s existence?

  Because of Dru and Archie, he would have learned of his wife’s infidelity; how would they set with him after that?

  Neal Dana said, “I’ll be looking for you, Mrs. Gamble.”

  “Call me Dru,” she said.

  She made a decision. The diary, the letters, were not going with them. She heard Archie singing “Addio alla madre” in the bathroom.

  She went across the room to remove the evidence from the Pan Am bag, in which she had replaced it the night before. But the nightgown, the swim suit, the slippers? Leave them. The bag had to contain something.

  Tuesday.

  Greetings!

  Marg, I know you’re mad at me but I don’t like that dog! She was there again yesterday when I tried to come to see you. I would have phoned but I knew you would be mad as a hornet so I’m writing this to leave in the mailbox pur usual. The news is I have to keep working an evening shift so even if you get more evenings I’ll be working, except for the usual Wensday. Maybe I can change it if we could take a camping trip or get away. I wish I could take the black chariot in the garage and come and snatch you away suddenly, but would my name be mud. My nerves aren’t so good. Marg, the truth is your boy is unhappy and I am mixed up about where we are heading and I don’t think we’ll ever get away to Italy or none of that. At the ally I get rode about not having a woman and even if I told them they would never believe me, but I would not do that so don’t fret. They say why don’t I take out some young girl and live it up like the lover I am, which is no refleckshun on you.

  Well that is all for now except I love you but when are we going places and doing things never I bet. This girl from the ally says sock it to me, baby and fresh things like that which you would think vulger, but a lot of kids my age talk in such a way. Marg, I wish we could get away from all this. Love,

  T.

  7 May

  I took a chance and called him at work last night, right from the same house with Neal upstairs, while my Italian record played. I wanted to say good-bye and couldn’t; instead I promised him we’d go away within 30 days, somewhere if only for a brief few weeks. Somehow! Today he appeared with a gold pin for me, which he had saved to buy me. I could have forgiven him anything, it was so sweet of him. But in bed he began to tell me how that girl liked to be loved, claiming he had heard it from his gang at the alley. Oh, I know better, and I know how it excited him to watch the pained expression that must have been in my eyes. I love him, but can I go on humiliating myself this way, without any semblance of character or integrity? Why can’t I face what I’ve become? This isn’t love! It’s a cheap affair!

  Tonight the Gambles are coming from New York, and I’m “gambling” on them, and on the stars to intercede. I must have more time with Tuto if I am ever to sort out my feelings.

  I know it sounds foolish, but I have the strangest feeling there is a way out through this “astro-twin” business. Something made me notice that ad! Fate!

  “Are all the towels in the wash?” Dru jumped at the sound of his voice. Archie came dripping across the living room. “What’s that you’re reading?” he wanted to know.

  CHAPTER 9

  Saturday afternoon Neal made himself a stiff gin and tonic before he telephoned Ma
rgaret’s mother. Mrs. Kelly lived alone in a farmhouse outside Doylestown, Pennsylvania.

  “Hi, Mrs. K.! How’re you?”

  “Neal? I’m all right. Where are you?”

  “In Grandview.”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Everything’s fine … Is Margaret there?”

  “Here? Why would Margaret be here?”

  He said, “To tell the truth, Mrs. K., we had a small disagreement.” He was reminded of his own observation about the phrase, “To tell the truth.” People who used it habitually, habitually concealed the truth.

  Mrs. Kelly said, “Margaret wouldn’t pack up and leave over a small disagreement.”

  “She didn’t pack,” Neal said. “If she did, she didn’t take much. I thought she might have run over to Bucks County for a few days.”

  “Did she take her car?”

  “No, she couldn’t; it wasn’t here.”

  “Then how was she supposed to run over to see me?”

  Neal said, “I thought she’d take the bus to New York, the train to Trenton, and have you meet her there, just as she did three years ago.”

  He took a swallow of his drink and watched a tanker glide through the blue waters of the Hudson. He felt a sudden wave of envy as he noticed the men on deck leaning lazily on the rail; he imagined the simplicity of such a transient existence and the easy camaraderie in a world away from women.

  Mrs. Kelly said, “Are things as bad between you two as they were three years ago?”

  “Not anything like that,” Neal said. “We had a silly argument. CBS is doing a special about astrology. They were advertising for people born at a certain time, and my birthdate matched one they listed. Margaret sent in my name without telling me, and I lost my temper.”

  “I don’t blame you, Neal,” Mrs. Kelly said. “She’s too involved in that nonsense.”

  Neal said, “This writer and his wife came here from New York Wednesday night. Margaret didn’t tell me anything about it until the last minute. I refused to have anything to do with them. She was too embarrassed to face them, and she became hysterical, so I told them she wasn’t home and got rid of them.” He chuckled. “Or at least I thought I’d gotten rid of them. They had an accident on the hill. I had to lend them Margaret’s car so they could get back to New York. She was damned angry over that.”

  “She had no right to be,” said Mrs. Kelly. “It was her fault they came up that hill in the first place.”

  “She was furious just the same. She said, ‘Now you’ve fixed it so I can’t go anyplace. We’ll see about that!’ “

  “What did she do?” Mrs. Kelly said.

  “Nothing Wednesday night. She slept in the guest room, she was so teed off. I had an early appointment Thursday, and I didn’t bother going in to wake her up. When I came home from work that night, she was gone.”

  “No note?” “Nothing.”

  Mrs. Kelly said, “If you want my opinion, Neal, she’s trying to worry you sick, to get even with you … She’s not here.” He said, “Are you sure?” “I promise. She’s not here.” “I don’t know where she could be, then.” “Neal?” “What?”

  “Do you have some gin and vermouth?” “Sure.”

  “You go and crack some ice and make yourself a nice dry martini. Sit back and enjoy it. Have a second one when you’re finished, and another one after that. She can just go to the dickens! Don’t you worry about her.”

  Neal said, “But she’s been gone for two and a half days!”

  “Let her stay away a whole month! She’ll come back. She did the last time, and she will this time.”

  “This isn’t like the last time, Mrs. K.,” said Neal. “Everything’s fine between us.”

  “It could have been three years ago, too, if she hadn’t been so stubborn. She’s a very selfish girl, Neal!”

  “I don’t know,” said Neal. “Maybe I was too bullheaded. It wouldn’t have hurt me to talk with those people from New York. In fact, I invited them out for drinks tonight.”

  “You’re playing right into her hands,” said Madeline Kelly. “Oh, she always gets her own way; always.”

  Neal said, “If you hear from her, will you tell her that I’ve asked the Gambles for drinks?”

  She sighed disapprovingly. “All right, dear. But she doesn’t deserve you. If you want my opinion, Margaret’s probably staying at some expensive hotel in New York, shopping and going to the theater, while you stew!”

  “I hope it’s something like that,” he said.

  “Oh, she’s all right, Neal. She always lands on her feet.”

  After Neal hung up, he put on an old record of William Kapell playing Beethoven. Then he got Sinister’s worms from the refrigerator and fed him supper.

  “Dov’è il consolato americano?” Sinister said.

  “Down the street,” Neal said.

  “Dov’è una farmacia?”

  “Right next to the American Consulate,” said Neal.

  • • •

  He looked forward to the Gambles’ arrival. The day’s depression was lifting, as it always seemed to toward evening when he made his first drink. Both Thursday and Friday night he had gotten quietly bombed up in his study, trying to work on his outline. Penny had kept their bargain and not telephoned him, though he suspected the half-dozen calls he had received since Thursday, when no one spoke, but the caller just listened to him repeat “Hello,” had been from Penny. He had promised to call her in a week. He had explained that he wanted to plan his next steps very carefully and thoroughly … just when to start mentioning to colleagues that Margaret was gone, just when to notify the police. It would be a while before Penny and he could see each other; Neal didn’t look forward to it.

  The worst time of all was in the early morning when he woke up. Then all of it didn’t seem possible, and he would find himself futilely picking away at the thing … why Penny had gone into the house when she had seen Margaret’s car in the drive, why she had remained there after she saw Margaret, why she had had to needle Margaret about being barren, why, why, why … until inevitably it came down to why Neal had ever become involved with Penny Bissel.

  He went into the kitchen to refreshen his gin and tonic and put the worms back in the refrigerator. Margaret was one of those women who never overstocked groceries. They had too much of everything else, from linens to liquor, but the kitchen shelves contained little more than staples like salt and sugar and spices, and in the freezer there were only rolls.

  He would have to shop. There was so much he would have to attend to now: discover the day the dry cleaner called, the laundryman; garden and make the bed, clean, pay the bills. He couldn’t advertise for a housekeeper yet.

  While he worked the ice cubes out of the tray he listened to the crisp, descending fanfare of the opening theme in the Beethoven concerto. Margaret had taken Neal to hear Kapell the first year they were married, when they were living in New York. Kapell had played Schubert and Liszt, and Neal had been so impressed that he had gone to Goody’s the next day to buy all his records. A few years later, Margaret and Neal heard over the radio one night that Kapell had been killed in an air crash. They had put on the record which was playing now: the Concerto No. 2 in B-Flat, and Rachmaninoff’s Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini. Tears had streamed down Margaret’s cheeks as they listened.

  He carried his drink into the living room and snapped off the hi-fi. There was no sense inviting melancholy. Every one of their records would remind him of some time with Margaret. He turned on the radio and found a rock station. Simon and Garfunkel were singing “Where have you gone, Joe DiMaggio?” from their recording of “Mrs. Robinson.”

  Sometimes Margaret had called him “Joe” because of his resemblance to the baseball hero. He steeled himself against continuing in that vein. Life wasn’t conspiring to remind him every second of Margaret; he was doing it to himself, playing in to it. He sat down, turned off the radio, and tried to think about his book, concentrating on the ideas he had
gathered for the chapter on smoking mannerisms. But like a ghostly sound from some safe time when things were normal, he heard the honk of Margaret’s horn as the Volkswagen made its way up the hill.

  The Gambles were fifteen minutes early.

  Archie Gamble sipped a Dewar’s and water, sitting with his legs crossed and a hand on one knee. He was wearing black loafers and gray slacks, a light blue sports jacket the color of his eyes, a matching blue V-neck Shetland sweater under it, white shirt and black knitted tie.

  “Astrologists,” he said, “believe that everything is under the influence of the planets and signs of the Zodiac: animals, plants, precious stones, cities, even the Twelve Disciples of Christ.”

  “Tell Neal what sign Judas was,” said Dru Gamble. She was dressed in a brown wool suit with a yellow scarf holding back her rust-colored hair; she was sipping a martini on the rocks.

  “Judas was Pisces.”

  “No, Arch, he was Gemini. Your sign. Wasn’t he?”

  “I appreciate your confidence, Dru, but Judas was Pisces.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Gamble shot her a dirty look. Neal interceded. “How did they come up with Judas’ birthdate?”

  “They didn’t. You have to remember that both Judas and astrology were around before our calendar was devised.” Gamble lit a cigarette. “The old astrologers believed that the Twelve Disciples were chosen to represent the twelve fundamental qualities. The ruling Trinity was the Sun (the Father), whose spiritual light (the Holy Spirit) was reflected by the Moon (the Son), flowing out through these dozen apostles into all of humanity, which was divided into the twelve basic types.”

  Neal said, “And which disciple was the Gemini?” “James, ‘the lesser.’ “ Gamble laughed. “Sorry about that … James was quite an eloquent preacher.”

  “A flapjaw,” Dru said, “like all Geminis.”

  “What was Peter?” Neal asked.

  “Aries, the fiery, impulsive rock upon which the Church was founded!” Gamble answered with mock authority.

  She said, “Matthew was good old Capricorn. Tax collector. Politician.”