Wheels (53 page)

About eight miles, she told him.
He shook his head and grinned. 'Tight hundred, more like
.”

Blaine and 12th was where Rollie lived, and where film scenes had been
shot the night Brett DeLosanto and Leonard Wingate watched.
Barbara had scribbled Rollie's thought in a
few key words, thinking it might work well as an opening line, when her
father walked in.
Matt Zaleski froze.
He looked incredulously at Barbara and Rollie Knight, seated on the same
settee, drinks in their hands, a whisky bottle on the floor between
them, the discarded dinner trays nearby. In her surprise, Barbara had
let the pad on which she had been writing slip from her hand and out of
sight.
Rollie Knight and Matt Zaleski, though never having spoken together at
the assembly plant, recognized each other instantly. Matt's eyes went,
unbelievingly, from Rollie's face to Barbara's. Rollie grinned and
downed his drink, making a show of self-assurance, then seemed
uncertain. His tongue moistened his lips.
"Hi, Dad I" Barbara said. "This is
Matt's voice cut across her words. Glaring at Rollie, he demanded, "What
the hell are you doing in
my house, sitting there . . . !
'
Of necessity, through years of managing an auto plant in which a major
segment of the work force was black, Matt Zaleski had acquired a patina
of racial tolerance. But it was never more than a patina, Beneath the
surface he still shared the views of his Polish parents and their Wyan
dotte neighbors who regarded any Negro as inferior. Now, seeing his own
daughter entertaining a black man in Matt's own home, an unreasoning
rage possessed him, to which tension and tiredness were an added spur.
He spoke and acted without thought of consequences.
"Dad," Barbara said sharply, "this is my friend, Mr. Knight. I invited
him, and don't . .
.”

"Shut up!
" Matt shouted as he swung toward his daughter. "I'll deal with
you later
.”

The color drained from Barbara's face. "What do you mean-you'll deal
with me
.”

Matt ignored her. His eyes still boring into Rollie Knight, he pointed to
the kitchen door through which he had just come in. "Out I"
"Dad, don't you dare I"
Barbara was on her feet, moving swiftly toward her father. When she was
within reach he slapped her hard across the face.
It was as if they were acting out a classic tragedy, and now it was
Barbara who was unbelieving. She thought: This cannot be happening. The
blow had stung and she guessed there were weal marks on her cheek, though
that part was unimportant. What mattered was of the mind. It was as if a
rock had been rolled aside, the rock a century of human progression and
understanding, only to reveal a festering rottenness beneath -the
unreason, hatred, bigotry living in Matt Zaleski's mind. And Barbara,
because she was her father's daughter, at this moment shared his guilt.
Outside, a car stopped.
Rollie, as well, was standing. An instant earlier his confidence had
deserted him because he was on unfamiliar ground. Now, as it came back,
he told Matt, "Piss on you, honk
y !
"
Matt's voice trembled. "I said get out. Now go I"
Barbara closed her eyes. Piss on you, honky
!
Well, why not? Wasn't that
how life went, returning hate for hate?
For the second time within a few minutes the house side door opened. Brett
DeLosanto came in, announcing cheerfully, "Couldn't make anybody hear
.”

He beamed at Barbara and Matt, then observed Rollie Knight. "Hi, Rollie!
Nice surprise to see you. How's the world, good friend
.”

At Brett's easy greeting to the young black man, a flicker of doubt
crossed Matt Zaleski's face.
"Piss on you too," Rollie said to Brett. He glanced contemptuously at
Barbara. And left.
Brett asked the other two, "Now what in hell was that about
.”

He had driven directly across town from Metropolitan Airport when his
flight from California landed less than an hour ago. Brett had wanted
to see Barbara, to tell her of his personal decision and plans he had
begun formulating during the journey home. His spirits had been high
and were the reason for his breezy entry. Now, he realized, something
serious was wrong.
Barbara shook her head, unable to speak because of tears she was
choking back. Brett moved across the room. Putting his arms around her,
he urged gently, "Whatever it is, let go, relax
!
We can talk about it
later
.”

Matt said uncertainly, "Look, maybe I was . .
.”

Barbara's voice overrode him. "I don't want to hear
.”

She had contr
ol of herself, and eased away from Brett who volunteered,
"If this is a family mishmash, and you'd prefer me to leave . .
.”

"I want you here," Barbara said. "And when you go, I'm leaving with
you
.”

She stopped, then regarding him directly, "You've asked me twice,
Brett, to come and live with you. If you still want me to, I will
.”

He answered fervently, "You know I do
.”

Matt Zaleski had dropped into a chair. His head came up. "Live I"
"That's right," Barbara affirmed icily. "We won't be married; neither
of us wants to be. We'll merely share the same apartment, the same bed
. .
.”

"No I" Matt roared. "By God, no
.”

She warned, "Just try to stop me I"
They faced each other briefly, then her father
dropped his eyes and put his head in his hands. His shoulders shook.
"I'll pack a few things for tonight," Barbara told Brett, "then come
back for the rest tomorrow
.”

"Listen"
Brett's eyes were on the dejected figure in the chair-1
wanted us to get together. You know it. But does it have to be this
way
.”

She answered crisply, "When you know what happened, you'll understand.
So take me or leave me-now, the way I am. If you don't, I'll go to a
hotel
.”

He flashed a quick smile. "I'll take you
.”

Barbara went upstairs.
When the two men were alone, Brett said uncomfortably, "Mr. Z., whatever
it was went wrong, I'm sorry
.”

There was no answer, and he went outside to wait for Barbara in his car. For almost half an hour Brett and Barbara cruised the streets nearby,
searching for Rollie Knight. In the first few minutes after putting her
suitcase in the car and driving away, Barbara explained what had
occurred before Brett's arrival. As she talked, his face went grim.
After a while he said, "Poor little bastard
!
No wonder he took off at
me too
.”

"And me
.”

"I guess he figures we're all alike inside. Why wouldn't he
.”

They drove down another empty street, then, near the end of it, their
headlights picked up a shadowy figure, walking. It turned out to be a
neighbor of the Zaleskis, going home.
"Rollie's gone
.”

Brett glanced across the front seat of the car
inquiringly. "We know where he lives
.”

Both knew the reason behind Brett's hesitation. It could be dangerous
in downtown Detroit at
night. Armed holdups and assaults were commonplace.
She shook her head. "We can't do anything more tonight. Let's go home
.”

"First things first
.”

He pulled to the curb and they kissed.
"Home for you," Brett said carefully, "is a new address-Country Club
Manor, West Maple at Telegraph
.”

Despite their shared depression from tonight's events, he had an
excited, breathless feeling as he swung the car northwest. Much later, lying beside each other in the darkened bedroom of Brett's
apartment, Barbara said softly, "Are your eyes open
.”

'-fes
.”

A few minutes previously Brett had rolled over onto his back.
Now, hands behind his head, he was regarding the dimness of the
ceiling.
"What were you thinking
.”

"About something clumsy I once said to you. Do you remember
.”

"Yes, I remember
.”

It had been the night Barbara had prepared dinner here and Brett had
brought Leonard Wingate home-the first meeting for the three of them.
Afterward, Brett tried to persuade Barbara to stay the night with him,
and when she wouldn't, had declared, "You're twenty-nine; you can't
possibly be a virgin, so what's our hangup
.”

"You didn't say anything when I said that," Brett pointed out, "but you
were, weren't you
.”

He heard her gentle, rippling laughter. "If anyone's in a position to
know . .
.”

"Okay, okay
.”

She sensed him smiling, then he turned sideways so that
their f aces were together once again. "Why didn't you tell me
.”

"Oh, I don't know. It isn't the sort of thing you talk about. Anyway,
was it important, really
.”

"It's important to me
.”

There was a silence, then Barbara said, "If you must know, it was
important to me, too. You see, I always wanted the first time to be with
someone I truly loved
.”

She reached out, her fingers moving lightly down
his face. "In the end, it was
.”

Brett's arms went around her, once more their bodies pressed together
as he whispered, "I love you, too
.”

He had an awareness of savoring one of life's rare and precious moments.
He had still not told Barbara of his own decision, made in Los Angeles,
or spoken of his future plans. Brett knew that if he did, they would
talk until morning, and talk was not what he wanted most tonight.
Then urgent desire, reciprocated, wiped out all other thoughts.
Afterward, again lying quietly, contentedly, beside each other, Barbara
said, "If you like, I'll tell you something
.”

"Go ahead
.”

She sighed. "If I'd known it was as wonderful as this, I wouldn't have
waited so long
.”

Chapter
twenty-three

Erica Trenton's affair with Pierre Flodenhale had begun early in June. It
started shortly after their first encounter, when the young race driver ac
companied Adam Trenton home, fo
llo
wing the weekend cottage party at Higgins
Lake.
A few days after that Sunday night, Pierre telephoned Erica and suggested
lunch. She accepted. They met next day at an out-of-the-way restaurant in
Sterling Heights.
A week later the met again and this time, after lunch, drove to a motel
where Pierre had already checked in. With a minimum of fuss, they got into
bed where Pierre proved an entirely satisfactory sex partner, so that when
she went home, late that afternoon, Erica felt better, physically and
mentally, than she had in months.
Through the remainder of June, and well into July, they continued to meet
at every opportunity, both in daytime and during evenings, the latter when
Adam had told Erica in advance that he would be working late.
For Erica the occasions were blissful sexual fulfillments of which she had
been deprived f ar too long. She also relished Pierre's youth and
freshness, as well as being excited herself by his lusty pleasure in her
body.
Their meetings were sharply in contrast with the single assignation she
had had, months earlier, with the salesman, Ollie. When Erica thought
about that experience-though she preferred not to-it was with disgust at
herself for letting it happen, even though she had been physically
frustrated, to the point of desperation, at the time.
There was no desperation now. Erica had no idea how long the affair
between herself and Pierre would last, though she knew it would never
be more than an affair for either of them, and someday would inevitably
end. But for the moment she was enjoying herself uninhibitedly and so,
it seemed, was Pierre.
The enjoyment gave each of them a sense of confidence which led, in
turn, to a carelessness about being seen together in public.
One of their favorite evening meeting places was in the pleasant
colonial surroundings of the Dearborn Inn, where the service was
friendly and good. Another attraction at the Dearborn Inn was a
cottage--one of several on the grounds-a faithful replica of the
one-time home of Edgar Allan Poe. Downstairs, the Poe cottage had two
cozy rooms and a kitchen; upstairs, a tiny bedroom under the roof. The
upstairs and downstairs portions were self-contained, and rented
separately to Inn guests.
On two occasions when Adam was away from Detroit, Pierre Flodenhale
occupied the lower portion of the Poe cottage, while Erica checked in
upstairs. When the main outside door was locked, it was nobody's
business who went up or down the inside staircase.
Erica so loved the historic little cottage, with its antique
furnishings, that once she lay back in bed and exclaimed, "What a
perfect place for lovers I It ought not to be used for anything else
.”