Jaws (30 page)

"What about your business?"

"That's gone. Or it soon will be."

"What do you mean, gone? A business doesn't just go away."

"No, but I won't own it any more. What few assets there are will belong to my... partners." He spat the word and then, as if to cleanse his mouth of its unpleasant residue,

took a long swallow of gin. "Has Martin told you about our conversation?"

"Yes." Ellen looked down at the frying pan and stirred the chicken.

"I imagine you don't think very highly of me any more."

"It's not up to me to judge you, Larry."

"I never wanted to hurt anybody. I hope you believe that."

"I believe it. How much does Eleanor know?"

"Nothing, poor dear. I want to spare her, if I can. That's one reason I want to move

away. She loves me, you know, and I'd hate to take that love away... from either of us." file:///C|/My Documents/Mike's Shit/utilities/books/pdf format/Benchley, Peter - Jaws.txt (109 of 131) [1/18/2001 2:02:23 AM]

file:///C|/My Documents/Mike's Shit/utilities/books/pdf format/Benchley, Peter - Jaws.txt Vaughan leaned against the sink. "You know something? Sometimes I think --and I've thought this from time to time over the years --that you and I would have made a wonderful couple."

Ellen reddened. "What do you mean?"

"You're from a good family. You know all the people I had to fight to get to know. We would have fit together and fit in Amity. You're lovely and good and strong. You would have been a real asset to me. And I think I could have given you a life you would have loved."

Ellen smiled. "I'm not as strong as you think, Larry. I don't know what kind of...

asset I would have been."

"Don't belittle yourself. I only hope Martin appreciates the treasure he has." Vaughan finished his drink and put the glass in the sink. "Anyway, no point in dreaming." He walked across the kitchen, touched Ellen's shoulder, and kissed the top of her head. "Good-by, dear," he said. "Think of me once in a while." Ellen looked at him. "I will." She kissed his cheek. "Where are you going?"

"I don't know. Vermont, maybe, or New Hampshire. I might sell land to the skiing crowd. Who knows? I might even take up the sport myself."

"Have you told Eleanor?"

"I told her we might be moving. She just smiled and said, 'Whatever you wish.'"

"Are you leaving soon?"

"As soon as I chat with my lawyers about my... liabilities."

"Send us a card so we'll know where you are."

"I will. Good-by." Vaughan left the room, and Ellen heard the screen door close behind him.

When she had served the children their supper, Ellen went upstairs and sat on her bed. "A life you would have loved," Vaughan had said. what would a life with Larry Vaughan have been like? There would have been money, and acceptance. She would never have missed the life she led as a girl, for it would never have ended. There would have been no craving for renewal and self-confidence and confirmation of her femininity, no need for a fling with someone like Hooper.

But no. She might have been driven to it by boredom, like so many of the women who spent their weeks in Amity while their husbands were in New York. Life with Larry Vaughan would have been life without challenge, a life of cheap satisfactions. As she pondered what Vaughan had said, she began to recognize the richness of her life: a relationship with Brody more rewarding than any Larry Vaughan would ever experience; an amalgam of minor trials and tiny triumphs that, together, added up to something akin to joy. And as her recognition grew, so did a regret that it had taken her so long to see the waste of time and emotion in trying to cling to her past. Suddenly she felt fear --fear that she was growing up too late, that something might happen to Brody before she could savor her awareness. She looked at her watch: 6:20. He should have been home by now. Something has happened to him, she thought. Oh please, God, not him.

She heard the door open downstairs. She jumped off the bed, ran into the hall and down the stairs. She wrapped her arms around Brody's neck and kissed him hard on the mouth.

"My God," he said when she let him go. "That's quite a welcome."

Chapter 13

"You're not putting that thing on my boat," said Quint. They stood on the dock in the brightening light. The sun had cleared the horizon, but it lay behind a low bank of clouds that touched the eastern sea. A gentle wind blew from the south. The boat was ready to go. Barrels lined the bow; rods stood straight in their holders, leaders snapped into eyelets on the reels. The engine chugged quietly, sputtering bubbles as tiny waves washed against the exhaust pipe, coughing diesel fumes that rose and were carried away by the breeze.

At the end of the dock a man got into a pickup truck and started the engine, and file:///C|/My Documents/Mike's Shit/utilities/books/pdf format/Benchley, Peter - Jaws.txt (110 of 131) [1/18/2001 2:02:23 AM]

file:///C|/My Documents/Mike's Shit/utilities/books/pdf format/Benchley, Peter - Jaws.txt the truck began to move slowly off down the dirt road. The words stenciled on the door of the truck read: Woods Hole Oceanographic Institute.

Quint stood with his back to the boat, facing Brody and Hooper, who stood on each side of an aluminum cage. The cage was slightly over six feet tall and six feet wide and four feet deep. Inside, there was a control panel: atop were two cylindrical tanks. On

the floor of the cage were a scuba tank, a regulator, a face mask, and a wet suit.

"Why not?" said Hooper. "It doesn't weigh much, and I can lash it down out of the way."

"Take up too much room."

"That's what I said," said Brody. "But he wouldn't listen."

"What the hell is it anyway?" said Quint.

"It's a shark cage," said Hooper. "Divers use them to protect themselves when they're swimming in the open ocean. I had it sent down from Woods Hole --in that truck that just left."

"And what do you plan to do with it?"

"When we find the fish, or when the fish finds us, I want to go down in the cage and take some pictures. No one's ever been able to photograph a fish this big before."

"Not a chance," said Quint. "Not on my boat."

"Why not?"

"It's foolishness, that's why. A sensible man knows his limits. That's beyond your

limits."

"How do you know?"

"It's beyond any man's limits. A fish that big could eat that cage for breakfast."

"But would he? I don't think so. I think he might bump it, might even mouth it, but I don't think he'd seriously try to eat it."

"He would if he saw something as juicy as you inside."

"I doubt it."

"Well, forget it."

"Look, Quint, this is a chance of a lifetime. Not just for me. I wouldn't have thought of doing it until I saw the fish yesterday. It's unique, at least in this hemisphere.

And even though people have filmed great whites before, no one's ever filmed a twentyfoot white swimming in the open ocean. Never."

"He said forget it," said Brody. "So forget it. Besides, I don't want the responsibility. We're out here to kill that fish, not make a home movie about it."

"What responsibility? You're not responsible for me."

"Oh yes I am. The town of Amity is paying for this trip, so what I say goes." Hooper said to Quint, "I'll pay you."

Quint smiled. "Oh yeah? How much?"

"Forget it," said Brody. "I don't care what Quint says. I say you're not bringing that thing along."

Hooper ignored him and said to Quint, "A hundred dollars. Cash. In advance, the way you like it." He reached into his back pocket for his wallet.

"I said no!" said Brody.

"What do you say, Quint? A hundred bucks. Cash. Here it is." He counted five twenties and held them out to Quint.

"I don't know." Then Quint reached for the money and said, "Shit, I don't suppose it's my business to keep a man from killing himself if he wants to."

"You put that cage on the boat," Brody said to Quint, "and you don't get your four

hundred." If Hooper wants to kill himself, Brody thought, let him do it on his own time.

"And if the cage doesn't go," said Hooper, "I don't go."

"Fuck yourself," said Brody. "You can stay here, for all I care."

"I don't think Quint would like that. Right, Quint? You want to go out and take on

that fish with just you and the chief? You feel good about that?"

"We'll find another man," said Brody.

"Go ahead," Hooper snapped. "Good luck." file:///C|/My Documents/Mike's Shit/utilities/books/pdf format/Benchley, Peter - Jaws.txt (111 of 131) [1/18/2001 2:02:23 AM]

file:///C|/My Documents/Mike's Shit/utilities/books/pdf format/Benchley, Peter - Jaws.txt

"Can't do it," said Quint. "Not on this short notice."

"Then the hell with it!" said Brody. "We'll go tomorrow. Hooper can go back to Woods Hole and play with his fish." Hooper was angry --angrier, in fact, than he knew,

for before he could stop himself, he had said, "That's not all I might... Oh, forget it." For several seconds, a leaden silence fell over the three men. Brody stared at Hooper, unwilling to believe what he had heard, uncertain how much substance there was in the remark and how much empty threat. Then suddenly he was overcome by rage. He reached Hooper in two steps, grabbed both sides of his collar, and rammed his fists into Hooper's throat. "What was that?" he said. "What did you say?" Hooper could hardly breathe. He clawed at Brody's fingers. "Nothing!" he said, choking. "Nothing!" He tried to back away, but Brody gripped him tighter.

"What did you mean by that?"

"Nothing, I tell you! I was angry. It was something to say."

"Where were you last Wednesday afternoon?"

"Nowhere!" Hooper's temples were throbbing. "Let me go! You're choking me!"

"Where were you?" Brody twisted his fists tighter.

"In a motel! Now let me go!"

Brody eased his grip. "With who?" he said, praying to himself, God, don't let it be

Ellen; let his alibi be a good one.

"Daisy Wicker."

"Liar!" Brody tightened his grip again, and he felt tears begin to squeeze from his

eyes.

"What do you mean?" said Hooper, struggling to free himself.

"Daisy Wicker's a goddam lesbian! What were you doing, knitting?" Hooper's thoughts were fogging. Brody's knuckles were cutting off the flow of blood to his brain. His eyelids flickered and he began to lose consciousness. Brody released him and pushed him down to the dock, where he sat, sucking air.

"What do you say to that?" said Brody. "Are you such a hotshot you can fuck a lesbian?"

Hooper's mind cleared quickly, and he said, "No. I didn't find it out until... until it

was too late."

"What do you mean? You mean she went with you to a motel and then turned you down? No dyke is gonna go to any motel room with you."

"She did!" said Hooper, desperately trying to keep pace with Brody's questions.

"She said she wanted ... that it was time she tried it straight. But then she couldn't go through with it. It was awful."

"You're bullshitting me!"

"I'm not! You can check with her yourself." Hooper knew it was a weak excuse. Brody could check it out with no trouble. But it was all he could think of. He could stop on the way home that evening and call Daisy Wicker from a phone booth, beg her to corroborate his story. Or he could simply never return to Amity --turn north and take the

ferry from Orient Point and be out of the state before Brody could reach Daisy Wicker.

"I will check," said Brody. "You can count on it." Behind him, Brody heard Quint laugh and say, "That's the funniest thing I ever did hear. Tried to lay a lesbian."

Brody tried to read Hooper's face, searching for any-thing that might betray a lie.

But Hooper kept his eyes fixed on the dock.

"Well, what do you say?" said Quint. "We going today or not? Either way, Brody, it'll cost you."

Brody felt shaken. He was tempted to cancel the trip, to return to Amity and discover the truth about Hooper and Ellen. But suppose the worst was true. What could he do then? Confront Ellen? Beat her? Walk out on her? What good would that do? He had to have time to think. He said to Quint, "We'll go."

"With the cage?"

"With the cage. If this asshole wants to kill himself, let him." file:///C|/My Documents/Mike's Shit/utilities/books/pdf format/Benchley, Peter - Jaws.txt (112 of 131) [1/18/2001 2:02:23 AM]

file:///C|/My Documents/Mike's Shit/utilities/books/pdf format/Benchley, Peter - Jaws.txt

"Okay by me," said Quint. "Let's get this circus on the road." Hooper stood and walked to the cage. "I'll get in the boat," he said hoarsely.

"If

you two can push it over to the edge of the dock and lean it toward me, then one of you come down into the boat with me, we can carry it over into the corner." Brody and Quint slid the cage across the wooden boards, and Brody was surprised at how light it was. Even with the diving gear inside, it couldn't have weighed more than two hundred pounds. They tipped it toward Hooper, who grabbed two of the bars and waited until Quint joined him in the cockpit. The two men easily carried the cage a few feet and pushed it into a corner under the overhang that supported the flying bridge. Hooper secured it with two pieces of rope.

Brody jumped aboard and said, "Let's go."

"Aren't you forgetting something?" said Quint.

"What?"

"Four hundred dollars."

Brody took an envelope from his pocket and handed it to Quint. "You're going to die a rich man, Quint."

"That's my aim. Uncleat the stern line, will you?" Quint uncleated the bow and midships spring lines and tossed them onto the dock, and when he saw that the stern line was clear, too, he pushed the throttle forward and guided the boat out of the slip. He turned right and pushed the throttle forward, and the boat moved swiftly through the calm sea --past Hicks Island and Goff Point, around Shagwong and Montauk points. Soon the lighthouse on Montauk Point was behind them, and they were cruising south by southwest in the open ocean.

Gradually, as the boat fell into the rhythm of the long ocean swells, Brody's fury