The Incredible Charlie Carewe

by Mary Astor

  “There is one thing, Gregg, that might help you——”

  Raising his eyes to the waiter who was offering some hot coffee, Gregg said, “No thanks. What’s that, Larry?”

  Payne accepted a refill of his cup before he continued. “If you are to be helpful to them, you must keep watch on your own emotions.”

  “Oh, I realize that,” Gregg agreed, confidently.

  “You must be careful—really beware of letting him pull you down to an emotional level; don’t let him engulf you. It would mean your own destruction, and it would be futile, like shaking your fist in a hurricane.”

  Gregg laughed. “I’m a peaceful man, Larry—I go to pour oil on troubled waters, not to stir them up!”

  Gregg slowed his small sedan at the blinking of a road light ahead. It was hot and muggy and the rain had left the road dangerously slippery. Someone had gone over the edge, apparently; but there were no ambulances around. It was just a tow truck easing a Thunderbird out of the ditch.

  He had to stop for a minute to allow for cars coming toward him before he could pull around the truck, and then, as he picked up speed, he caught a glimpse of the familiar marker, “Nelson 20 mi.” As always, his pulse started gaining on him, the years fell away, and he felt like a lovesick kid as the miles decreased between him and the house of the beloved.

  To keep from precipitating any objection from Charlie, he had thought it best to return unannounced, forestalling any sort of scene which he wouldn’t be around to handle. . . . The last letter from Virginia, written shortly after Charlie had arrived, said, “As usual, there is a pall over the house. We walk on eggs, Dad and I, for Mum’s sake. She is failing very rapidly and Charlie vacillates between being the attentive, devoted, grieving son, and practicing on his bongo drums up in John’s room.” Bongo drums, for God’s sake, at his age! Virginia said he frequently went to a new, somewhat unsavory night club called the Tam o’ Shanter, where he’d made buddies of some of the boys in the band. That he’d get quite drunk and hilarious and they’d let him join in with them on the traps. “But, of course, nowadays, nobody seems a bit shocked,” she concluded, “they just think he’s a good sport and ‘fun’!”

  Gregg felt that there was little he could do except clear up the atmosphere of “walking on eggs.” Utter nonsense. All right, so there was no changing Charlie, nothing they could do, he figured to himself. He would explain fully all the things he had learned about Charlie from Larry Payne, that they must—and they would—readjust their thinking and emotional reaction to Charlie. They could learn to live with him, without catering to him to keep him in a pleasant mood; without being afraid of what he might do, without being embarrassed by some stupid buffoonery, or by the constant possibility of his getting thrown into the local hoosegow for drinking and disturbing the peace.

  “The trick is,” he went on aloud, rehearsing what he would say, “to learn to be indifferent, to accept him as he is; not give in to him for the sake of peace—if he gets into trouble, don’t try to protect him—let him take the consequences.” And he himself would be there as added protection for Bea. If only Walter could ship Charlie off and pay him to stay away someplace. But, just as Larry had said, “He defeats himself.” Mexico City, Havana, Miami—he had run out of friends. Every circle that he moved in eventually would have none of him.

  Gregg felt weary from the long drive. In spite of his eagerness to be with Virginia again, he decided to stop at the Inn and have a bite of supper. A shave and a bath would refresh him, strengthen him. He felt that, being tired, the effort of sitting down to dinner with Charlie would have such an irritating effect on him that he wouldn’t be able to give a very good example of the “acceptance and indifference” which he was hoping to advocate. Also, he had to admit, he looked and felt seedy, and he wanted so much to look well in Virginia’s eyes. Amused, he spoke aloud again. “You never give up, do you!”

  It was about nine o’clock when he drove through the big lacy wrought-iron gates and heard the drops of water plopping onto the top of his car from the wet leaves of the trees lining the drive. The smell of the sea expanded his lungs; the dark, irregular outline of the house, the glimmer of the veranda light, all the familiarity brought an ache of nostalgic pleasure to him, and in moments he would hear Virginia saying, “Why, Gregg! How nice,” and the welcome and the smile . . .

  And so he was quite unprepared for the cool, unsmiling indifference, for the hostesslike way she took his briefcase while he carried his two heavy bags up the stairs. The chandelier jingled slightly, icily, as they reached the landing. Down the corridor, he tried to make conversation. Nodding toward Charlie’s door, he asked, “Is Charlie here?” Virginia replied, “Oh no, he left about a half an hour ago.” “Well, that’s a relief!” he suggested. Nothing. No other information volunteered. He inquired about Walter. He was spending the evening at the Shelleys’. “They wanted me for a fourth for bridge, but I begged off.” The night nurse for Bea had arrived a little while ago— “How is Bea?” Gregg inquired. “About the same. She’s hardly out of bed any more, though, so she needs constant attendance.”

  “And you, Virginia? What about you! And just what in hell is the matter with you!” She had switched on the lamps in his room, and raised the windows to the summer night, and the sound of the surf and the wind rose and grew around them. She turned, and for the first time he had a clear look at her in the warm glow of the desk lamp. She was pale, her lips colorless, the shadows under her eyes made them enormous.

  “I’m so glad you’re here, Gregg, I can’t tell you how glad.” Her voice was flat, containing nothing of gladness.

  Gregg stared at her a moment and then dropped his bags where he stood and strode over to her, taking her shoulders in his hands, her eyes only a little below his own. “I want to know, Virginia! What’s happened!”

  She looked at him, and for the first time there was a shadow of a smile. “The image is gone, Gregg.” His hands tightened a little as she went on. “I think—I know I must love you very much. I think I must have loved you for a long time without realizing it.”

  The words were there. Finally—at last. The joy, the relief, should have been enormous, but it surged up against the barrier of her attitude—disturbed, haunted. He took refuge in lightness. “Well, what’s so terrible about that, my darling? Is it such a surprise to you? Am I as bad as all that?”

  The faint smile disappeared, and she turned, rubbing her forehead with the tips of her fingers.

  Concerned, he said, “You know, you look like the devil; here, sit down. Let me get you something.” He led her to the big chair and she sat into it like an automaton, her face like clay.

  He looked around, trying to remember whether or not he had some brandy or something in the cabinet, left over from the last time he’d been home.

  “Do you want me to call Bea’s nurse, Virginia? Maybe she could give you something.”

  She frowned and quickly shook her head. “No, no—I don’t want anybody to know.”

  “To know what?” She made no response. Frantically, he dug through the catchall cabinet at the end of the room. On the shelf with a can of insecticide, some saddle soap, and some small tools, he found an unopened bottle of rum. He broke the seal and opened it, still keeping his eyes on her. He didn’t want to take the time to go all the way downstairs so he rinsed out a glass in the bathroom and poured a couple of fingers of the dark liquid, offering it to her. “Drink it, Virginia. All of it. I’ll get you some water if it’s too strong.”

  She downed it, gasping, and in a few moments her color got better. “I’m sorry,” she said, “I’ve just felt so—I thought I was going to faint—like Letitia, remember Letitia, Gregg?” She laughed a little and Gregg drew up a hassock and sat in front of her, holding her hand tight in his, firmly, encouragingly.

  “It’s funny, your arriving like this,” she smiled, “you must be psychic or something. I suppose I was sending you all kinds of messages.” He waited, relieved, knowing that s
he would talk now.

  “It was this afternoon—remember the little pancake piece of white jade you gave me about a year ago?” He nodded. “It was like a talisman. I was holding it in my hands, just kind of absently, you know—it feels so cool. And I was looking out of the window, and there was a dove in the elm tree outside, and he was saying over and over—you know how that little call sounds: ‘I—mourn—my love!’ and I was thinking of Jeff. Only I realized it wasn’t Jeff—Jeff was gone, really gone. And the word wasn’t ‘mourn.’ It was ‘need.’ ‘I need my love.’ ” Her eyes filled with tears as she went on. “But I was afraid, afraid of it being just needing, and not love.”

  “But that’s part of it—what’s wrong with needing?”

  “Because I don’t want to marry you just because I feel confused and dependent and helpless. You deserve all my love, Gregg; I don’t want to come to you just because I want protection——” She started sobbing deeply, painfully, and he drew her to him, but there was no yielding, no softening.

  “Virginia!” he said sharply. “Virginia, it’s something to do with Charlie, isn’t it? Is that what you meant by wanting protection? If he’s hurt you——”

  “No, no,” Virginia protested, “that isn’t it—not quite—oh, damn it.” She brought down her fist on the arm of the chair. “If I could just stop this idiotic crying—it’s just that I’m so full of relief that you’re here—I’ve been walking around with a scream inside of me that won’t come out—since last night——”

  Gregg waited, knowing that the tears and the talk were discharging an unbearable tension, and that whatever had caused it could be dealt with in due time. Her arms were tight around his neck now, her face buried in his shoulder, and her sobbing had changed to deep staccato sighs. He shifted his seat from the hassock to the edge of the big chair so he could hold her more closely, and she clung hard to him.

  “I’m—I’m dripping tears all over your collar,” she gasped. “I’m sorry——”

  “Let ’em drip! But I think you’d feel better if you used this——” He pulled out the folded handkerchief from his jacket pocket.

  She mopped her face and blew her nose and, sniffing, said, “I’ll put it in the—hamper—you’ve probably got some laundry for Doreen——” and then, as she caught the waiting look in his eyes, she leaned back in the chair, her face splotchy but composed, her voice normal. “I can’t, I can’t tell you, Gregg. You simply wouldn’t believe me.”

  “My darling, all the things I’m guessing are driving me a little crazy; I’m ready to believe anything, you’d better get it out.”

  “But you’ll—you’ll laugh! It’s ridiculous!”

  “Why would I laugh?” he said, quietly.

  After a moment she thoughtfully traced a vein on the back of his hand as it lay on the arm of the chair. “No, you wouldn’t—we’ve been through too much together—we’ve watched Charlie ‘operate,’ as you’ve said. We know that there is something absurd, tragically absurd, in everything he’s ever done. Since he’s come back this last time, he’s been tiresomely childish, petulant; we have daily ‘episodes’—he quarrels with me, he quarrels with Dad, or tries to. Dad takes as much as he can and then thunders, ‘Get out!’ and locks himself in the library.”

  “There’s no point in giving him money, I suppose?”

  Virginia shook her head. “What’s the use? As Dad says, if we gave him any sizable amount, he’d simply blow it and come back for more.”

  “Well—you may have to arrive at a sort of investment figure—enough to keep him away occasionally. Enough to give you temporary relief.”

  “Maybe—after Mum goes. It’s a dual dilemma at the moment. By not giving him money we keep him here for her sake, because it pleases her.”

  “She’s really dying, then? Poor Bea——”

  “She might go very suddenly, or she might last for months. Herb and Elsie have been advised and they’re ready to come at a minute’s notice; and John——”

  “Where is John? With Mavis?”

  She nodded. “He’ll be back in about a week.”

  She bit her lip angrily against the threat of more tears. “You see, I can’t just think of myself. I’d like to have you take me away this night, this moment; I’d like to run where I would never have to see my brother’s face again, but I have to be here, to ‘just happen’ to follow him into Mum’s room, to divert him when he starts to quarrel with Dad. Like last night.” She rubbed her fingers over her forehead. “He seemed depressed, and had had quite a bit to drink—of course that’s another thing—he seems to have to stay on a kind of sober-drunk plateau and that exaggerates everything. One night he decided to charm the nurse by carrying Mum’s tray for her, and he took the cover off one of the dishes and then threw the whole thing on the kitchen floor. I heard the crash and ran in, and he turned to me and said, ‘This is not fit for my mother!’ Well, I had to calm the nurse and Doreen, and——”

  “Last night, Virginia. Tell me about last night.” Gregg felt that the room had suddenly become hot and airless, that Virginia was talking around in circles. He got up and went to the open window, saying, “I’m way ahead of you, darling, and I’m not laughing; but I can’t do anything—I can’t help you until you tell me about it.”

  He turned to look at her. She had leaned her head against the back of the chair and her eyes were closed.

  “Why me, Gregg? Not young; hardly ‘sexy’—such things would matter more to him than the fact that I am his sister.” She opened her eyes. “Technically,” she said harshly, “he didn’t make the grade, but even so, my skin still crawls, he came so close to—what is the cliché?—‘overpowering’ me.”

  Gregg leaned out of the window and swore softly at the sea and the night, and then drew in a deep breath before he turned and went back beside her chair. He put a hand gently on the dark hair, saying softly, “I’ll kill him, if you say so——”

  She took his hand and held it against her cheek. “Oh sure, that would fix everything just fine. Mob thoughts, my darling, cry vengeance for the lady’s honor. No, what you’ve got to do is help us both simply to bear the sight of him.”

  “You’re asking a lot—I don’t know that I can do that.” He began to pace the room, slowly, deliberately, his mind racing. “Did you tell Walter?”

  “Tell Dad!” Virginia exclaimed. “Think a minute, Gregg! Mum is dying. As long as I keep quiet about this, Charlie will. But if I open my mouth he’ll go to Mum, and no matter what kind of things he told her, it would be fatal—it would be like—like——”

  “All right, all right; here.” He flicked his lighter for the cigarette Virginia was rolling nervously in her fingers. He snapped the flame out and said, “What I can’t figure out—God, at the moment I can’t even think—you’ve already said it—‘why you’? What were the circumstances? Why in hell if he felt that way didn’t he go to Ellie Mackenzie’s? I have an idea he’s well acquainted with the place.”

  Virginia lifted her shoulders in a shrug. “Except when he chooses, Charlie has little sense of the appropriate. I was the nearest female at an unfortunate moment, I suppose.”

  “Where—what led to it—or would you rather I didn’t ask that?”

  “You mean because it might sound as though I had something to do with it?” She managed a smile. “No, I won’t think that. It’s ludicrous enough without adding that element to it. Stop pacing, darling, and try to sit quietly—and—and maybe I can talk about it now.”

  Last night Charlie had seemed depressed and was drinking more than usual. Conversation at the dinner table was irritating, with Charlie contributing meaningless generalities to everything that was said.

  “All doctors are crooks—medicine is a racket,” he interposed when Virginia and Walter were discussing the heaviness of Dr. Hagedorn’s schedule, of his kindness at dropping in on Bea at odd times.

  “Every night we have roquefort cheese dressing,” he added to Walter’s remark, “Salad’s delicious.”
<
br />   Virginia made the mistake of answering, “Not every night, Charlie; only when we have a mixed greens like this.”

  “Tell me one night,” Charlie argued, “one night, when we haven’t had roquefort! Last night? Roquefort. Night before, roquefort.”

  Walter threw down his napkin in annoyance. “It would be pleasant, Charles, if you came to dinner just one night sober! Must you saturate yourself?” Excusing himself to Virginia, he said, “I’ll have coffee in the library.”

  When they were alone Charlie had turned to Virginia. “Let’s get some air, Virgie love. I feel sickish.”

  “I felt sorry for him, in a way,” Virginia related. “He was like a child on a rainy day; a person without any resources; even the bongo drums had been silent for several days.”

  They had taken the path up to the Point, and the climb had seemed to clear his head, and he had started talking very cheerfully, as though his black mood had simply evaporated.

  “I wasn’t listening particularly to what he was talking about; I was thinking about him in a kind of pity. Walking beside me, a sometimes charming man, with—only God knows why—no signs of dissipation; and nothing but waste and destruction in the years behind him, and no goals—nothing ahead of him.”

  They had reached the wide part of the path, and something, some change of tone, brought her attention back to his monologue.

  “I can’t explain it—but I had the feeling that he was selling me some idea. I wasn’t suspicious because it was on the same old theme of how smart he was, something to do with getting around the law.”

  He had said, “I always know when I’m safe, or when something is too dangerous to try, or just how far I can go before the damned lawmakers decide they won’t have any more——”