'If Brannigan or Manson or the Mayor thought I was fooling around with a married woman, Glenda, I would be in trouble, and so would my business. I have a partner to consider. I just must be careful!'
She gave a little shiver, then turning, she looked at me.
'Fooling around? Is that what you call it?'
'Glenda! Of course I don't! But they would think so.'
She forced a smile.
"Don't look so worried. I told you this is the last time. I promise you I won't spoil your success story.' The bitterness in her voice was like the flick of a whip, but I had to go. I was sure Thomson would sit in his car to make certain I did leave.
'I'll contact you, Glenda. We just have to be more careful.'
I moved towards her, but she stepped back, shaking her head. 'Glenda! We must work this out! I love you, but you must understand I just can't take chances.'
'I do understand.' Again the forced smile. 'Goodbye, Larry,' and leaving me, she went into her bedroom and shut the door.
At this moment, all I could think of was Thomson, sitting in his car, waiting to see if the light in my apartment went up. I hurried across the corridor, unlocked my front door and entered. Without turning on the lights, I went to the window and looked cautiously down on to the street. His car was still there, I turned on the lights, then taking my time, so he could see me, I slowly drew the curtains.
He started his car and drove away.
Two days later, while I was coping with the morning's mail, Bill Dixon breezed into my office. I hadn't seen him for the past week. He had been working on a building project some fifty miles outside Sharnville.
'Hi, Bill,' I said, "When did you blow in?'
'Last night.' He dumped his heavy briefcase on the floor and sat down, facing me. 'I called you, but you were out.'
I had been down to the beach, alone, trying to figure out what to do about Glenda. I knew I was in a tricky situation.
After pacing the floor of my living room on the night we had parted and hearing her voice, saying I long for you, going over and over in my mind, I had thrown caution aside, and had crossed the corridor and rung her bell. The time then had been 01.30. She didn't open the door. I rang again, then I heard the elevator coming up, and scared, I retreated to my apartment The following morning before leaving for the office, I again rang her bell, and again she didn't answer. In the office, as soon as I had got rid of the mail, I telephoned her. There was no answer. By lunchtime, after trying to get her again, I was fit to be tied. I had to talk to her! But we had to talk where no prying eyes could see us. If she had been divorced, there would have been no problem, but I kept thinking that maybe her husband was having her watched, and if he cited me as the other man, this would badly dent my image in Sharnville and the business Bill and I had built up would take a financial knock. This sounds crazy in these modern days, but I knew Sharnville: leading citizens were expected to behave themselves and I was now a leading citizen.
I tried to contact her in the evening, and again the next day, without success. I went down to the garage and found her car gone. I wondered, with a sick, sinking feeling, she had left Sharnville, and I would never see her again.
That evening, I went down to the beach and considered what I should do. She was the one woman for me. I now, knew that. I was even prepared to wait two years if I had to, to marry her, but not if I could find some much quicker solution. After thinking, I decided I would have to find out more about her husband. It seemed to me that if I could meet and talk to him, offer him money, without Glenda knowing, he would be willing to free her. To me, she was worth far more than money. Although the bulk of my money was tied up in the business, I knew it would be no problem to get twenty thousand dollars from Manson on loan.
Finally, I decided I had to talk to her, and somehow, get her husband's address from her. But where was she? Where had she gone?
On this morning, as I parked my car outside the office block, I saw Sheriff Thomson striding along the sidewalk.
He paused and nodded to me.
'Hi, citizen.' This was his usual greeting to all his friends.
'Hello there.'
That's a smart young woman you sent to me . . . Mrs. Marsh.' He regarded me with his cop eyes. 'I reckon the articles she's going to write won't do Sharnville any harm.'
I forced a grin.
'That's why I suggested she should talk to you.'
'Yeah.'
There was a pause, then I said casually, 'She's doing a reportage on my business, Joe. This is important to me. I've got some more information for her, but I can't contact her.'
He pushed his Stetson hat to the back of his head.
'She's out of town right now, but she'll be back. She told me she's doing a piece on Grimmon's store, and she's got herself invited to old man Grimmon's place in L.A.' He stared thoughtfully at me. 'She'll be back. She wants to get photos of the jail.' He scowled at a motorist who was about to double park. Seeing him, the motorist drove on. 'How about a game of golf next Sunday?'
'I'd like to, Joe, but this Sunday I'm playing with Mr. Brannigan.'
He nodded.
'Mr. Brannigan, huh? I heard you play golf with him. You sure move in the top circles.'
I tried to laugh that off.
'Strictly between you and me, Joe, he plays with me because I coach him. I've got his handicap down from eighteen to twelve.'
He straightened his hat, wiped the end of his nose with the back of his hand, then nodded.
‘You've got business. I've got business. See you,' and he walked on.
So Glenda was in Los Angeles. She hadn't run away from Sharnville! I would have a chance of talking to her on her return!
***
'We've won the contract, Larry,' Bill said, beaming. 'It's a beaut! I reckon it will be worth at least a hundred thousand to us!'
For the next two hours we went over the contract to build a factory to produce furniture elements. Bill had the heaviest work of designing the factory and building it. My share of the project was to provide typewriters, calculators and photocopy machines and get them installed.
When we were through, Bill sat back and regarded me.
'Pretty good, huh? We're growing fast, but we need more capital. We'll have to carry this firm for six months before we get their money. Right now, they are asking for credit, but they are sound.'
'I'm playing golf with F.B. Sunday. I'll talk to him. He'll give us credit.'
Then out of the blue, he asked quietly, 'Who is Glenda Marsh?'
If he had reached across the desk and poked me in the jaw, I couldn't have been more shaken. I gaped at him.
'Glenda Marsh,' he repeated, his voice now sharp.
I got hold of myself.
‘Yes . . . Glenda Marsh. She arrived here this week. She is doing a reportage on Sharnville for The Investor. She's already covered our setup.' I realized I was talking too fast, and I made the effort and slowed down. 'She wants your side of the story, and to take photographs. She's already talked to Manson and Thomson and she's interviewing Grimmon right now. She's doing this reportage in depth. It'll do us a lot of good.'
'That's fine.' He hesitated, then went on, 'Look, Larry, we are partners. We have now got off the pad. We are in big business. Sharnville is rather special. Although it is growing fast, it is still small minded.'
I felt a chill run up my back.
'I'm not with you, Bill.'
'Let me spell it out. After trying to contact you last night I went to the Excelsior bar for a snack and a drink. The bar was buzzing about you and this Marsh woman. Fred Maclain was full of booze. As deputy sheriff, he has his ear to the ground. He was saying you had taken this woman out to dinner twice, and Sheriff Thomson had found you in her apartment late at night. Maclain says she is married and is trying to get a divorce. She volunteered this information to Thomson. Certain citizens here are now thinking there is something going on between this woman and you. In a couple of days, the whole town will
be buzzing.'
This was the time to have told him I was in love with Glenda, but, stupidly, I didn't.
'For God's sake!' I said. 'I did take her out twice to dinner because I wanted her to get the complete picture of what you and I have done. There was more talk to be done, and she suggested we talked in her apartment and she would give me dinner. In this small-minded town, now you tell me, that was a mistake, but we talked business all the time.'
He relaxed and grinned at me.
'That's good news, Larry. Hearing all the talk, I began to wonder if you had hot pants for this woman. As a favour, and as your partner, in the future, will you be more careful?'
'There's no favour about this, Bill! Okay, I admit I didn't think, but it never crossed my mind that these people could start gossiping. Mrs. Marsh is doing us a favour, getting us into The Investor. What's wrong in taking her out to dinner?'
'Nothing. The slip-up, Larry, was having dinner in her apartment.'
'Yes . . . that was stupid of me, but I didn't think.' I forced a grin. 'It won't happen again.'
He studied his fingernails for a long moment, then looked directly at me.
'When I need a woman, I have someone in 'Frisco. I've made sure there is no blowback. Sharnville is different. You and I are under a spotlight. For God's sake, be careful!'
‘There's nothing to be careful about!' I said angrily. ‘This is just malicious gossip.'
‘Yeah, but gossip could give us lots of trouble.' He ran his fingers through his short hair. 'I don't have to remind you we rely on Brannigan. We are expanding fast, and he is backing us. Because of his say-so, we have this big loan. Without it, Larry, expanding as we are doing, we could go bust. Now here's something you might not know. Brannigan is a Quaker. I told you when we first met, he was great, but take a wrong step, and you would be out. Some years ago, he had a secretary who really slaved for him. He thought she was the tops. Then she got snarled up with a married man, gossip started, and Brannigan threw her out. It didn't matter to him that she had been the best secretary he ever had. The fact she committed adultery made her a leper to him. He seems to have this thing: men or women fooling around with married women or men are strictly out. So for both our sakes, Larry, keep away from Glenda Marsh. If Brannigan gets a whiff of this, he would call our loan, and we would be sunk.'
‘There's nothing going on, Bill,' I lied. 'Okay, I made a mistake. Relax…it won't happen again.'
He grinned.
'Fine. Now I want you on the site tomorrow. These people are staying in 'Frisco, and it would be a smart idea for both of us to stay in their hotel and finalize the deal. How about it?'
I hesitated. I would have liked to be here when Glenda returned. Then seeing Bill's inquiring stare, I nodded.
'Okay, Bill. I'll get my desk cleared. Tomorrow then . . .'
When he had gone to his office, I sat staring out of the window. The writing was on the wall, but I wanted Glenda.
I wanted her as I had never wanted any other woman. I had to talk to her! I had to convince her that I loved her, and she meant everything to me. I was sure I could persuade her to let me buy her husband off. Once this was done, and she got her divorce, there would be no problem, and I was sure Brannigan, once he knew I was marrying her, would raise no objections.
But how to contact her? I now had to spend a couple of days in 'Frisco. She would be returning to Sharnville, probably tomorrow. I didn't want her to think I had gone away to avoid her.
For some time, I wrestled with this problem, then I did the stupidest thing I have ever done. I reached for a sheet of notepaper and wrote to her.
Dearest Glenda,
I have to go to 'Frisco for a couple of days. I have tried to contact you, so I write.
I must talk to you: please don't refuse me. Already there is gossip about us. Please be understanding about this. We must talk. I am sure we can fix this problem. Will you meet me on Sunday at eight o'clock a.m. at Ferris Point? It is about four miles from Sharnville and will be deserted at that time. We can then discuss our future
without prying eyes. Take the highway towards 'Frisco, then turn at the fifth intersection on your left. This will bring you to Ferris Point.
If you love me, as I love you. you will come.
Larry.
I put this letter in an envelope, and when I returned to my apartment that evening, I pushed the envelope under her door.
Ferris Point is a tiny bay, hedged in by sand shrubs with sand dunes, and offers perfect swimming. I often went there when I wanted to be alone. Sharnville as yet hadn't discovered it.
I drove down the sandy, uneven road to the bay, and leaving my car under the shade of a tree, I made my way through the sand shrubs and on to the stretch of golden sand.
Would she come?
I had had two hectic, but profitable days in 'Frisco. The deal had gone through, but we would need yet another loan from the bank. I was confident we would get it, and I told Bill I would talk to Brannigan this day while we played golf.
But first Glenda.
Then I saw her.
She was sitting on the sand, wearing an emerald-green bikini, her knees up to her chin, her hands gripping her ankles, the sun reflecting on her red hair.
I stopped and looked at her, and at this moment I thought she was the most desirable, wonderful woman on earth.
She looked towards me and smiled.
As I joined her, she said quietly, 'So you see, Larry, the temptation was too great. All my good intentions of not seeing you again…’ She grimaced. 'I have had you on my mind, night and day.' She released her ankles and dropped back, stretching out. 'Don't let's talk, darling... let's make love.'
I threw off my shirt and slacks as she got rid of her bikini.
I knelt over her, loving the sight of her body, wanting to kiss every inch of her.
'No . . . quickly, Larry. Come into me.'
There was an urgency in her voice that set me on fire. As I covered her and she guided me into her, she gave a soft cry.
Her legs wrapped around me. Her fingers dug into my flesh.
The sun, the sound of the sea and the rustle of leaves made a perfect background as, feverishly, we reached the climax.
Her fingers moved down my back, holding me in her.
'Again,' she gasped. 'Please... again!'
Then a voice from nowhere said, 'Break it up, you sonofabitch,' and a shoe thudded into my ribs. The kick was so violent, it threw me off her. Rolling on my back, I stared up.
A short, squat man was standing over me. I saw him as a nightmare, sharply in focus: bearded, suntanned, eyes like currants stuck in honey bread. A panama hat was pulled down, shading his bushy eyebrows. He wore a crumpled, dirty white suit.
As Glenda struggled to her feet, he hit her with the back of his hand, a vicious blow that sent her sprawling.
A murderous rage swept through me. I launched myself at f him, my hands groping for his throat. We smashed down on the sand, and for a long moment, we fought like animals.
His strength, was horrifying. Although I had a grip on his throat, he broke my hold. His fist smashed into my face, his knee came up into my groin. The hot sun suddenly turned dim as if there was a sudden eclipse. I clung on to his coat, and again his fist smashed into my face. Still this murderous rage gave me strength to throw him off. As he fell on his back, I heaved myself up and using both fists, I clubbed down on his face. My body was screaming with pain, but I didn't care. All I wanted now was to kill him. As I raised my fists to club him again, a light exploded inside my head, and the sun snapped off like a fused light.
I swam out of unconsciousness, feeling the grit of sand on my skin. I moved, and a blinding flash of pain shot through my head. I heard myself groan. I lay still. My groin ached.
My ribs ached. My face ached.
The sun burned down on me. I could hear the gentle lap of the sea on the beach, and the rustle of leaves in the breeze.
Very slowly, I gathered myself toget
her. Very slowly, my hands holding my head, I sat up. I rode the pain, hammering inside my skull, forced open my eyes and stared around the deserted beach.
No Glenda. No squat man. I had Ferris Point to myself.
I waited, my hands still holding my head, then I became aware that my hands were sticky, and with a shudder, I took them from my head and looked at them. They were red with drying blood.
Because every movement I made sent pangs of pain through me, I remained staring down at my bloodstained hands, motionless.
Maybe twenty minutes crawled by before my brain became activated.
Where was Glenda? What had happened?
I looked at my watch. The time now was 08.45. I had been unconscious for some thirty minutes. Making an effort, I struggled to my feet, t h e sea and die beach swirled around me, and I had to sit down again. I waited. Then I again made the effort, and this time, swaying like a drunk, I managed to stay upright.
The pain in my head raged. I set off slowly: each step as if I were wearing diver's boots, until I reached the sea. Kneeling, I washed the blood off my hands and scooped salt water against my aching face. The salt stung, but the sting brought me alive. I got to my feet and looked up and down the empty beach, then plodded back to my clothes.
It took me some time to dress. Twice, I had to sit down and rest, but finally I got dressed, and by now I felt more or less alive.
What had happened? Where was Glenda? Where was the squat man in the crumpled white suit?
As if in a nightmare, I trudged across the hot sand to where I had left my car. I opened the car door and sank thankfully into the driving seat. I tilted the driving mirror and stared at myself. My right eye was puffy and black. The right side of my face was swollen, green and red, where the j squat man had hit me.
Then in spite of my raging headache, my brain became more active. In two hours' time, I was due to play golf with; Brannigan, and while we played, I had to ask him to extend our credit. That was out. I had to telephone him and cancel our game. That was the first thing I must do. Then Glenda . . . but Brannigan first.
I drove away from Ferris Point. There was a cafe-bar at the top of the sand road and I slowed, then again looking at myself in the driving mirror, I realized I would cause a sensation if I went in there to use their telephone, so I drove on.
1977 - My Laugh Comes Last Page 3
