The Deceivers (17 page)

   Once when he awakened he reached for her and she was gone. He awakened entirely and sat up. The light was still on and he saw her, tall and pale and vague in the shadowy place near the windows, standing and looking out between the slats of the blinds, her back to him, white across the buttocks where the sun had not touched her, with a lesser band of white across her back.

“Cindy,” he said.

She whirled and looked toward him. And came swiftly to him, chanting, “Darling, darling, darling, darling …” keeping it up until he stopped her lips with his own.

Another time he awakened and she was curled beside him, an arm across his chest, a leg linked in his—sleeping deeply, her chin touching his shoulder, her slow exhalations warm and sweet against his throat, stirring the strand of her hair that lay there. He tilted her head gently so he could reach her lips, and in that gentle way he awakened her from sleep and awakened her again.

When he awakened the last time, morning was in the room, and she was sitting on the floor by the bed, her face
close to his saying, “Ding, ding, ding, ding, ding. Good morning, my honey. I am being an alarm clock. Ding, ding, ding, ding.”

“I shall turn you off.”

She wore red denim shorts, sandals, a crisp white blouse with round red buttons down the front. Her hair was tied in a pony tail with a red ribbon.

“What happened to the sophisticate I came here with?”

“That crow in black? She took off. She sent me in to sub. She explained that you’re very dull, but sort of sweet.”

“What time is it, anyway?”

“There have been thirty little men out in front chunking car doors for hours. It is now ten minutes beyond seven. Time to get up, dear. Time to go be an executive type.”

He pulled her close and kissed her. At seven-thirty he got up, picked the red shorts and the red-button blouse off the floor and hung them on a chair back. He showered and shaved hastily. When he was dressed he went over to the bed. She looked up at him and said, “Nobody would ever know, dear.”

“Are you going to get up?”

“I was thinking there isn’t much point in it. When I’m ready, I can walk down to the gas station.” She reached out and caught his hand and tugged him off balance so that he sat on the edge of the bed.

“I want to be serious,” she said. “I know that this is wrong. I know it’s sin. But I feel absolutely wonderful. I feel like a happy bride. I love you terribly. I love you with all my heart. That’s all I want to think of now. I want to save all the remorse until after it’s all over.”

He leaned over and kissed her. “It’s a deal. I love you.”

She wrinkled her nose at him. “I know, I know, but am I any good in bed?”

“Breathtaking. Incredible. A great unsung talent.”

“Spread the word.” She pushed at him with her knee. “Now get on your horse. And I will expect you home here no later than ten after nine tonight. No dilly-dallying. No stopping off in low dives for a quickie.”

“Nag, nag, nag,” he said, and kissed her again and left.

   It was a little after eight-thirty when he stopped at the house. Marie Pounders, the cleaning woman, was sitting on the low terrace wall, a sullen and stubborn bulk in the sunshine. She stood up with a weighty abused sigh and said, “I
was figuring I better maybe walk down and catch the next bus back, maybe.”

“I’m sorry, Marie. I had to go out early today. I should have left the house open.”

“You don’t want to never leave the house open. There’s thiefs everywhere. How’s the missus?”

“She’s coming along just fine.”

She followed him into the kitchen. “I don’t expect it’s much messed up around here, you being here alone and the kids gone and all. But I got to do the windows and that’ll take up the best part of a day anyhow. But if my back gets to aching me like it has lately I’ll have to lay down a while.”

“That’ll be all right, of course.”

“I’ll be gone before you get back and I’ll go out the front door so it locks itself and the missus said you’d pay me before you go. That’s nine dollars plus forty cents on the bus.”

He paid her and went into the bedroom with the intention of rumpling the bed, but was glad to see he had forgotten to make it from the night before. When he left, Marie was banging around in the closet where the cleaning materials were kept, mumbling to herself. He wished Joan could find someone more pleasant. But Joan insisted that Marie was dependable and thorough, and after all, she came to clean not to be entertaining.

All during the fifteen-minute drive to the office, he dwelt on the sensual memories of the long night. Their immediate physical rapport had been startling. It dizzied him to remember how well she suited him. She was midway between the somewhat reptilian fascinations of Sandara Lahl Hotchkiss and her somewhat repellent devices, and the cozy and placid competence of Joan. Just one of the three nights was gone. It seemed as though an infinity of Cindy lay ahead, an endless time with her.

His day of work was a vague and misty time for him. Cindy stood at his elbow all day long. At four in the afternoon Molly Raedek phoned him and said, “If you aren’t the hardest man to locate, Carl Garrett! I called you a dozen times last night and I guess I just missed you by a whisker this morning. Ted and I want you to come to dinner tonight. I’ve just come from seeing Joan, and so that’s an order, not an invitation. I’ll feed the kids early, so there’ll just be the three of us.”

“Molly, that’s darned sweet of you and I appreciate it, but I made another date not a half hour ago.”

“Oh, darn! Well, tomorrow night then?”

“If it wouldn’t foul you up too much, Saturday night would be better.”

“So Saturday it is. About six?”

“Fine. And thanks.”

After he hung up he suddenly wondered why he and Cindy had restricted themselves to three nights. He remembered her saying, in the hospital room, that after Bucky finished his Big Swing he was going to a convention in Memphis over the weekend. If Joan wouldn’t be released until Monday, they could have five days instead of three. He decided to talk to Cindy and, if she agreed, then he could think of some way of getting out of the dinner with Molly and Ted.

And even after the five nights, it wouldn’t be sensible to say that was the end of it forever. There might be other times when it would be safe. Just as safe as this arrangement. But he guessed that it wouldn’t be wise to mention anything like that to Cindy until these three nights—or five nights—had ended.

It was an endlessly dull day. His attention wandered so badly in a conference that the others became aware of it and kidded him about it. But Jim Hardy’s kidding had an edge to it. And he longed to tell Little Ike to go straight to hell.

Mrs. Brisbie got on his nerves more than usual and he snapped at her and felt ashamed when she looked at him like a kicked dog. Goldlaw had made a stupid error in a report. Carl had not caught it, but it had been caught in New York and sent back with a very sarcastic note of query. Once, during the day, he went out to the production areas and leaned on a high railing, hoping that the churning floor would soothe him with its flavor of frantic nonsense, but the familiar magic did not work.

He left just as soon as he dared. The sky was gray and a slow viscid rain was falling. When he crossed the Governor Carson Bridge he caught a glimpse of the Silver River, dark and metallic, poisoned by a hundred kinds of industrial filth, and wondered what it had looked like when it had first earned its name.

But by the time he was halfway home his feeling of depression had lifted, and he thought of Cindy, and he remembered vividly her curious cry of completion, a surprisingly low-pitched sound, not loud, that seemed to tear her throat and burst from her lips against her will. Her car was not in the car port.

He showered and put on slacks and a short-sleeved sports shirt. The rain had nearly stopped and it threatened to be a sticky night. He decided it would be better to leave her earlier and come back to the house to shower and change for the office. He drove down to the new shopping center and looked for a gift for Joan. He found a game box of a dozen mechanical puzzles imported from England, and bought it. Joan took a childish delight in solving puzzles. While paying for it, he decided it wasn’t enough, and bought her a tiny and expensive bottle of perfume in the same drugstore.

He arrived at the hospital at seven o’clock, bearing gifts, and digesting a huge steak.

Joan had been cranked almost straight up. She was bright-eyed and full of news. Rosa was going home tomorrow. Molly and Jane and Cindy had visited her in the afternoon. She had walked around the bed, leaning heavily on Nurse Calhoun.

She opened her presents and raved over the puzzles and put them aside with a certain reluctance, and opened the perfume and smelled it and decided it was just right, and gave him the two letters that had come from the kids directly to the hospital for her. Nancy had enclosed a snapshot of herself looking rather small but confident atop a large white horse.

“Did Molly get hold of you?”

“Yes. She phoned me at the office.”

“Then you’re going over there tonight?”

“The date is for Saturday night.”

“But she told me she wanted you for tonight.”

“I know that, but I’d already made a date with Gil Sullivan. Madge is visiting her folks, so he’s alone too.” He knew that Madge was out of town, and he made a mental note to get Gil to cover for him, just in case. It would be an awkward request to make, but if anybody would catch on immediately, it would be Gil.

“But you don’t even like him!” Joan said.

“Gil is okay.”

“He loves to go out and whoop it up. Don’t you try to drink along with him, and for goodness sake don’t you let him do the driving. It’s a miracle he walked away from that accident two years ago. Gee, I wish you were going to the Raedeks instead, dear.”

“I’m a big boy now. I don’t think you have to worry about me.”

“When do you have to meet Gil?”

“Any time. Down at the grill room of the Brower.”

“Will there be anybody else along?”

“I don’t know, honey. I just said I’d meet Gil. That’s all.”

“You certainly aren’t dressed for the Brower Hotel.”

“I’ve got a jacket in the car.”

“You should wear a necktie.”

“It’s July, honey. And I’m off duty.”

“Well, you don’t have to snap at me, do you?”

“I’m sorry.”

“I wish there was some way you could call me when you get home.”

“For God’s sake, Joan!”

“Oh, all right. I guess I’m just fussing. I guess it’s just because I don’t like that Gil Sullivan. I don’t trust him.”

“You look pretty good tonight, Joanie.”

“I feel much, much better. I’m beginning to believe I might get out of here Monday, after all.”

“What time of day will you be getting out?”

“I don’t know. I’ll ask Bernie. Did Marie come?”

“Yes, she arrived, full of sour looks and dark mumblings.”

“Does the house look nice?”

“It looks okay. She was going to do the windows.”

“It always rains when she’s going to do the windows. The rest that Cindy is having is doing her worlds of good, Carl. She looked absolutely radiant today. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her look so pretty. She’s getting a marvelous tan, and her face looks so rested. A person would swear she wasn’t over twenty-one. We had a nice visit. She told me that as far as she knows, you’re getting to bed early. But I’ll bet you won’t get to bed early tonight. Not if you’re out with that Gil Sullivan.”

“Joan, I …”

“All right, dear. I won’t bring it up again. Are you going to cut the lawn over the weekend?”

“That’s when I plan to do it. And clip the raggedy hedge.”

“If it’s terribly hot, don’t try to do too much.”

He left at eight-thirty. He was ashamed that he had been irritable with her. But all that Gil Sullivan talk had gotten on his nerves. He felt both relief and intense anticipation as he straightened out on the turnpike, heading east. He found a news program on the car radio but turned it off as soon as he realized he could not follow what the man was saying. He was too engrossed in his thoughts of Cindy.

She swung the door open the moment he knocked, and, as soon as he was inside, she threw her arms around his neck, straining tall against him, kissing him with a fierce and joyous
abandon. She wore a black sheath blouse that left her shoulders bare, a colorful pleated skirt. She was barefoot.

She led him by the hand to the bureau and said, “Look. The very best people drink their champagne from champagne glasses.” The slim-stemmed glasses were fragile and handsome. “And the champagne is iced, sir, and our stock is back up to two bottles again.” She hugged him. “Oh, I’m so glad to see you. This day has been a horror.”

“Just like mine.”

“Do you want to hear about mine first?”

“Tired man gets home from office and his woman immediately starts complaining.”

“Hush. Just sit right there and listen. I’m not burdening you with this. It’s my problem and I’ll handle it myself. When I got home I wasn’t in the house ten minutes before the phone started ringing. It was Bucky, calling from St. Louis. The first thing he did was shout, ‘Where the hell were you last night?’ ‘Right here, dear,’ I said. ‘Oh, no, you weren’t. I started calling at nine and I called until two in the morning. And I called again at six this morning.’ So I said, just, as coldly as I could, ‘I was right here all the time. The phone must have been out of order.’ ‘Phone, hell,’ he said. ‘At two o’clock I had the operator try the Garretts and there wasn’t any answer there, so I had her try the Stocklands. Bill Stockland got up and went over there while I waited on the line. No car, no lights, and no answer when he pounded on the door.’ By then, darling, my knees were shaking, really, but I managed to say, ‘So that’s what that was.’ He asked me what I meant. I told him I’d heard somebody thumping on the door in the middle of the night, but I certainly wasn’t going to get up and answer it. I told him the car wasn’t there because it was in the repair garage, overnight. I think I quieted him down, but he was furious at first. He gets very jealous sometimes.”