The Carousel (27 page)

“Clive me the phone, Clive,” Roxanne insisted, with his elbow barring her.

“Then you did not meet Roxanne today. I see. A misunderstanding. Yes, of course. Well, it’s nice to talk to you. No, she can’t come to the phone this minute. She’ll call you back. Fine. Take care, Michelle.”

Very slowly, very delicately, he replaced the receiver in the cradle. Without speaking a word, he turned and looked at Roxanne.

Unexplainable pictures rise to the surface of the mind and connections are made. In split seconds she found herself in a cave, deep, sunken, and dark, with endless, turning alleys and channels, lost, frantic, trying here, there, but trapped and finding no way out. “Spelunking,” Clive had said while they watched a play on television. Queer word. Spelunking.

“Well? So you never lie to me.”

Her mouth went dry, and she was sick, nauseated, gasping. “We did have a date, but I had to cancel it because the dentist took too long. I know it sounds silly, and I’m sorry, but I thought you’d be disappointed if I didn’t have something to tell you about Michelle, so I made the lunch story up. You’ve been so good to her, so interested in her—”

“Please don’t insult my intelligence, Roxanne.” Clive was very, very calm. “Just tell me in a
few simple, truthful words where you were all day.”

“Shopping. After I finally got finished with the dentist, there wasn’t much time left, so I just went around the stores.”

“I don’t believe you, Roxanne,” he said, still calmly.

“It’s the truth. I can’t help it if you don’t believe me.”

“There’s something here,” he said to himself, “but I don’t know what it is.”

Then he, too, sat down at the table, resting his chin on his hands and frowning. She watched him, took a bite of cake and, barely able to swallow it, pushed the plate away.

“There’s something,” he muttered, still to himself, “a trail … So much information, private information, and this afternoon’s ‘going around the stores.’ In downtown Scythia dressed in a mink coat … Dressed …”

He looked over at her, observing the gold collar, which was handmade, twenty-two-carat Greek jewelry, his birthday present, taking in the rose-colored dress, scarcely concealed beneath the tiny apron, just bought a week before, worn today for the first time, as he well knew because he observed everything about her—

“Whom were you meeting today, Roxanne?”

“I met the dentist, for God’s sake.”

“Dressed like that.”

“What do you want me to wear, a pair of overalls?”

“Who was the man, Roxanne?”

“Who, the dentist? It was she, Dr. Helen Kraus.”

“I’m not joking, Roxanne. Who is he?”

“You’re insulting me. You’ve got no right to insult me. Who do you think you are?”

“I know who I am. What I’m wondering is, who are you?” He rubbed his forehead as though he were in pain.

“Listen, Clive,” she said, “you’re making a mountain out of a molehill. You’ll make yourself sick. It’s not worth it.”

“What’s not worth it? My trust in you? I want to trust you. It’s worth everything to me.” He stood up, grasping the table edge and leaning so far across it that his face approached hers. “Everything to me, do you understand?”

“You can trust me, Clive,” she said gently.

“No. Not till I clear this up. You saw somebody this afternoon. You were too late to have spent a whole long afternoon alone in the shops of downtown Scythia. There isn’t a store there that would satisfy you, now that you’ve become used to better things.”

“You don’t have to sneer at me, to remind me where I came from.”

“Don’t dodge the issue. I only want you to tell me the truth about where you were today. And I also want to know who told you about Amanda and the company stock.”

He was breathing the smell of fish into her face. She pushed the chair back and stood away from
him. He came closer and grasped her shoulders, not hard enough to hurt her but firmly, so that if she were to pull away, her dress would be torn.

“The truth. The truth, Roxanne. Clear this up for me. I don’t want to have any doubts in my mind about you. Don’t do this to me. I can’t bear it.”

The passionate appeal was frightening. There was a look in his eyes that did not seem quite sane. And she whimpered, “Let go of me.”

“No.” His hold tightened. “You mustn’t play games with me, mustn’t do this to me. I love you, Roxanne.”

His hands slipped down to caress her breasts, and his mouth clamped down on hers. It was disgusting, unbearable, and she pushed him away, but not before he saw the grimace on her face.

“Do I disgust you that much because you’re thinking of some other man? Yes, that must be it. I know the signs. You’ve found another man.”

“No. It’s your behavior that’s disgusting, your suspicions.”

“Then clear them up.”

He had backed her against the wall and was pressing against her from head to foot. For a man so ill, he was surprisingly strong. It came to her that for the rest of her life, she would have to submit to this intimacy. Yes, this revolting intimacy. And it was Ian’s fault. When it could have been so different, so wonderful.

“Clear up my doubts,” Clive said, with his breath in her face. “Go on, I’m waiting.”

All her rage, her fears, and her grievous disappointment collected into one explosion, and she burst out, “I told you where I was this afternoon. As for the other business that you’re upset over, I can’t see why it’s so awful for me to know a little something about the company’s troubles. Anyway, for God’s sake, what do you think—I mean, how much did he—” She stopped.

“ ‘He’? Who?” Clive’s eyes bulged, and all the color, the sickly color, drained out of his face, which went gray.

So she had done it. In her stress, her stupid tongue had slipped. She was so stunned that for a few seconds there was no thought in her brain. It went blank.

“You’ve been talking to my brother,” he said.

Thought flowed again. Better come out with a half truth, then get in touch with Ian so their stories would mesh.

“Okay, yes, I met him accidentally and we got talking about the business.”

Clive slumped to a chair. She thought for a moment that he was going to have a heart attack and die right there in that chair. He laid his head back on the pillow and closed his eyes. She waited, still standing flat against the wall.

“He told you to talk me into the sale. Of course,” he said. “How stupid I was not to have guessed it at once. And that’s where you were today, all dressed up. How many todays have there been, Roxanne?”

His voice was dull. It seemed to have its own
echo in it, as if he were speaking from far away. Or perhaps it was the pounding of the blood in her ears that made it sound like that.

“It was the only time,” she said.

“Lies and more lies!”

All her strength left, so that her arms dropped limply at her sides and even speech, the very forming of words, was an enormous effort. Her reply was faint. It was unbelievable and she knew it.

“I’m telling you again that I don’t lie to you, Clive. This is a misunderstanding, that’s all it is.”

If his eyes were darts, they would be penetrating her flesh, marking every entry point with a drop of her blood. She was unable to turn her head away from those eyes, and she stood there as if hypnotized, shivering.

“I’m telling
you
again, Roxanne, not to insult my intelligence. You met him ‘accidentally’ and you ‘got talking,’ did you? ‘Accidentally,’ eh? Where? At the office, at his house? What do you take me for? Or perhaps you just passed each other on the highway bumping fenders. You, dressed for afternoon tea at the Waldorf-Astoria, except that there is no Waldorf-Astoria in Scythia. Answer me! Where?”

She tried to think fast. Never an accomplished liar, she was, in this terrifying moment, completely unprepared.

“Don’t you understand that I know my brother? He never could keep his hands off a beautiful woman. So why should he have kept them off you?”

“He … no, you’re wrong … we didn’t … we only …”

“Ah, stop it, Roxanne. Save your breath. Tell me this, though, was it good with him? Yes, I’m sure it was. Far better than with me.”

And suddenly the angry light that had almost penetrated her body died out of his eyes; in their place there seeped angry tears. Between the reddening, sore-looking lids, they puddled.

He was so ugly and so pitiable! And seeing him like this she had a revelation of horror at the sight of another human being so wretched. The man was being destroyed in front of her eyes.

She began to talk, hurrying, babbling, “You mustn’t take it like this. Please. There wasn’t anything, honestly. We never did anything—”

Without warning then, he went mad. He sprang up, showing his fists. “ ‘Did anything’! You … you … you lying bitch! As if I don’t know, can’t see you—you know what I’m going to do with you? I’m going to throw you out for good. I ought to throw you out in the snow right now. I should have known! That day I brought you to Hawthorne, the day after we were married, the way he behaved. I should have guessed something.” His sleeve brushed the coffee cup, which crashed into a brown puddle on the floor. He took the other cup and threw it deliberately to the floor. “What the hell. The whole house can crash as far as I’m concerned,” he said.

She was aghast, alone there with him. When he confronted her, she cringed.

“I’m not going to hurt you. What do you think I am? But I am going to throw you out of the house, out of my life. If it weren’t snowing, I’d do it tonight. You and the baby that isn’t mine.”

“You’re crazy,” she whispered.

“Then tell me it’s mine. Swear on its life that it’s mine.”

She could not speak. It came to her that there could be no mending here, that it was really over. Then she thought, I shall have to go to Ian. He’s smart, he’s resourceful. Yes, that’s the word, resourceful. Ian will think of some way to mend this. Or if it can’t be mended, he’ll think of something else for me.

“Go on, swear on the baby’s life.”

She had never been superstitious, yet she was not able to do that.

“No,” she said.

“Of course not. Well, it will be a better-looking child than I can give you, that’s certain.”

His voice rang out. She was sure that the walls must be trembling from the force of his rage.

“Don’t lie anymore! You’re a bitch and you’re making a fool of yourself. But you can never again make one out of me. Get out of my sight. I don’t want to be in the same room with you. You ought to die. I could kill you. Get in there, where I don’t have to breathe your air.”

She ran into the bedroom, the one Clive had so cheerfully planned for guests. If there had been someplace to go, she would have fled from the house, but the snow was falling steadily, the windowpane
was almost opaque with it, and the wind was roaring. She was caught between two dangers.

From the outer room there came the sound of dishes being smashed. In his blind fury, he might have stumbled against the table, or perhaps he was deliberately destroying the house. And remembering that she had not locked her door, she got up. Through the crack, she saw the ruination of the room, and then she saw Clive racing out into the storm. The outside door closed with a mighty slam and this time the walls did shake with it.

She crept inside and sat down, huddled on the edge of the bed, too numb now for any thought except how to survive this night.

December 1990

E
arlier that same afternoon, when the first tentative light snowflakes began to fall, Amanda Grey was having a cup of tea in Sally’s living room.

“I’m so sorry Dan’s not here,” she was saying, while Sally, who was curious about this woman whom she scarcely knew, observed her carefully. With the same strong, thick hair and the same lucid eyes, she was a feminine version of Dan. The tense manner and the too rapid speech were certainly not like him.

“My lawyer and accountant will be coming up from New York on Monday,” she said, “but at the last minute, I had the idea that I’d come ahead of them and visit my brother and his family.”

Sally’s lips tightened. The words “brother” and “family” seemed inappropriate in the mouth of a person who throughout the past year had been on the attack.

“I suppose I’ve startled you, barging in like this. I should have phoned ahead.”

Sally had indeed been startled, but she was not going to stoop to any possible argument, so she answered nicely, “If you had, I wouldn’t have wanted you to take a hotel room in downtown Scythia. You could have stayed here. The house is large enough.”

“Yes, I see. It’s a lovely house. Your colors keep summer alive in weather like this.”

“This is no ‘weather,’ only a few flakes.”

“You’re forgetting, and I forgot, how long I’ve been away.” For a few moments, Amanda paused. “Yes, it’s a long, long time.”

Her voice had the falling cadence that you hear when a very old person exclaims in wonderment at the passage of his years. It did not fit the young woman whose face was brightened by coral lipstick that matched her suit.

Suddenly she became brisk. “So. Christmas is upon us. No time for looking backward. I tend to get sentimental, and I shouldn’t.”