Where Love Has Gone (1962)

by Robbins, Harold

  I grinned at her. “That was just an exhibition game. Tomorrow night we’ll do the real thing. Soft lights, white tablecloths, music.”

  “Thanks for the warning. I’ll starve myself all day.” She climbed down into the boat and disappeared into the cabin.

  I waited a moment, then turned and walked down the dock. I went through the doors of the first bar I came to and asked for my friend by name. Jack Daniels.

  I got stewed and it must have been after three when I stumbled off the dock onto the boat. I tried so hard to be quiet that I tripped over a mooring rope coiled on the deck and sprawled out with a crash. By then I was too tired to make it to the cabin, so I just went to sleep where I’d fallen.

  I woke in the morning to the aroma of coffee and the fragrance of frying bacon. I sat up before I realized I was in my bunk with nothing on but my shorts. I rubbed my hand over my head. I didn’t remember getting there.

  Elizabeth must have heard me move for she left the small stove in the galley and brought me a glass filled with tomato juice. “Here, drink this.”

  I stared at her doubtfully.

  “Drink it. It will burn away the fog.”

  Automatically I swallowed it. She was right. It burned away the fog, all right, and the teeth, the throat, the stomach lining, everything. “Wow!” I gasped. “What was in that?” Dynamite?”

  She laughed. “It’s an old Swedish handover cure. Tomato juice, pepper, Worcestershire, Tabasco and aquavit. It either kills you or cures you, my father used to say.”

  “Your father was right. It’s sudden death. Where did you get the aquavit?”

  “The same place you met your friend last night. I guess it’s the nearest one, isn’t it?”

  I nodded.

  “Your friend packs a pretty good wallop.”

  “I’m out of training,” I said defensively. “I’ve had practically nothing to drink for four days. How did you get me to bed?”

  “You were nothing. My father was six-four and weighed two hundred and thirty and I used to put him to bed. It was just like the good old days.” She took the empty glass from my hand. “Hungry?”

  A moment ago I would have thrown up at the mere mention of food, now I was suddenly ravenous. I nodded.

  “Sit down at the table then,” she said, walking back to the galley. “The service doesn’t include breakfast in bed. How do you like your eggs?”

  “Sunnyside.” I climbed out of the bunk and into my pants. “Wait a minute,” I protested. “You don’t have to do the cooking.”

  But the eggs were already in the pan. There were hot rolls and butter, jam and marmalade, four eggs and a half pound of bacon, a pot of steaming coffee. I was eating like a madman when she brought her cup to the table, filled it and sat down. She lit a cigarette.

  I wiped up the last of the egg with the last of the roll and leaned back with a sigh. “That was good.”

  “I like to see a man eat.”

  “You’ve just watched a professional.” I filled my cup again. “That’s real coffee.”

  “Thank you.”

  I lit a cigarette and sipped at the coffee. I felt better than I had for a long time.

  “You have a daughter?”

  I nodded.

  “How old is she?”

  “Eight.”

  “Is her name Nora?”

  I shook my head. “No. Dani. Short for Danielle. Nora was my wife.”

  “Oh.”

  I looked at her. “What makes you ask?”

  “You kept talking about them when I was putting you to bed. You miss them both very much, don’t you?”

  “I miss my daughter,” I said gruffly. I got to my feet. “Why don’t you go out and get some fresh air? I’ll do the dishes.”

  “You take your cup of coffee out on deck. The dishes are my job for the weekend.”

  I went outside and sat down in one of the fishing chairs. The morning smog was rolling out to sea. It was going to be a hot one. I’d just finished my cup when she came up behind me.

  I turned to look at her. “Want to hit the beach today?”

  “Why go to a crowded beach when you can take your own boat out and have a private ocean?”

  “You’re the skipper,” I said, getting to my feet. “I’ll go ashore and lay in a few things for lunch.”

  She smiled. “I already took care of that. Including a dozen cans of beer if the sun gets too hot.”

  I went forward to cast off.

  The morning kept its promise. The sun was slow and reached down deep into your bones so that even the relief you found in the cool green water was only temporary. It didn’t seem to bother her though.

  She lay stretched out flat on the deck soaking up the sun. It had been almost an hour since she’d moved. I lay on the bench behind the wheel under the canopy. I was in no mood to be cooked alive.

  I pushed my cap back from over my face so that I could see. “There’s some suntan lotion in the cabin if you want it.”

  “No, thanks. I don’t burn. I just turn black. I could use another beer though. I’m all dried out.”

  I reached down into the cooler and came up with two cans. I opened them and walked out into the sun. It was like stepping into a furnace. She rolled over and sat up, reaching for the frosted can. She held it to her mouth and drank thirstily. Some of the beer escaped the corner of her mouth and ran down to her tawny shoulders. I couldn’t help staring. Bikinis and beer cans.

  She was a big girl, at least five-eight with everything scaled to size. You knew automatically that if you had a woman like that you had it all, that there was not another woman on this earth who could make it plus or minus.

  She wiped her face on the back of her arm. Then she caught me staring. She grinned. “My mother always said I was a sloppy drinker. Like my father.”

  I grinned back. “You said you were thirsty.”

  She put her hands flat on the deck behind her and leaned back on her arms, turning her face up to the sun. “God, this feels good. The sun and the ocean. I never thought I’d miss the water so much.”

  I had to force myself to look away. For the first time in my life I dug the big blonde bit. Until now they had always been something up on the screen or in the chorus at Las Vegas. But seeing a real live one up close, now I knew all the reasons.

  “If you miss the water that much,” I asked, “how come you wound up in a place like Sandsville?”

  She had her eyes closed to the sun. “I came out to Phoenix with my husband. He was a pilot in the Air Force. He flew his jet into the side of a mountain at six hundred miles an hour. When it was all over, I took this job. I’ve been there ever since.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. I looked out over the water. Some guys aren’t ever lucky. Not even once. “How long ago was that?”

  “Four years. You were a flyer, weren’t you, Luke?”

  “I was—once. But that was when I was very young.”

  “You’re not that old.”

  “I’m thirty-six going on seventy.”

  “It’s the booze that makes you feel that way. My father used to feel the same—” She stopped when she saw me staring at her. Her eyes fell. “I’m sorry, that popped out.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Twenty-four.”

  “Everything’s easy at twenty-four.”

  “Is it?” she asked, her eyes meeting mine once more. “As easy as being a widow at twenty?”

  “Now it’s my turn to be sorry.”

  “Forget it.”

  I reached down and took a sip of my beer. “Where did you get that bit about me being a flier?”

  “I’ve know about you for a long time. That’s why I came out here looking for you.”

  “For me?”

  “You were Johnny’s hero. A hot fighter pilot. A chicken colonel at twenty-five. Johnny wanted to be just like you. I had to come out and see what he would have been like—if he’d lived.”

  “And now?”

  “I don�
�t have to wonder anymore. I guess I’ll never know. Johnny wasn’t anything like you.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Last night when I put you to bed you were crying. I can’t image Johnny crying over anything once he got past the age of six. He was quick and aggressive and sometimes harsh and impatient. You’re exactly the opposite. Soft and gentle inside.”

  “I was never really a hero,” I aid. “War forces you into being something you aren’t if you want to survive. I was a survival expert.” I grinned wryly. “Though what the hell I was trying to survive for I can’t imagine.”

  Her eyes looked into mine. “I guess surviving can come to mean very little if you spend your life hiding in a whiskey barrel.”

  I looked deep into her eyes for a moment. They were clear and proud and met mine evenly. I sighed. “I guess I asked for that.” I looked at my watch. “There’s just about time for you to get in one more dip before we have to haul anchor.”

  I picked up my can of beer and went down into the cabin. It was a little cooler there. I took a sip from the can and put it on the table in front of me. Through the open hatch I heard the splash of the water as she dived.

  The telephone beside my bed bounced me back into the present. I struggled up through the warmth of memory.

  “Yes,” I mumbled.

  “Colonel Carey?”

  “Yes.”

  “Harris Gordon here.”

  Now I was awake. “Yes, Mr. Gordon.”

  “I’m sorry to be so late in calling. But I was all tied up.”

  I looked at my watch. It was after seven. I’d slept the whole afternoon. “That’s all right.”

  “Would it be all right if we put off our meeting until tomorrow morning? It’s Saturday night and I find my wife has asked some people in.”

  “I understand perfectly.”

  “Tomorrow morning at nine?”

  “Fine,” I said. “I’ll meet you in the lobby.”

  I put down the telephone and turned to look out the window. Dusk was falling and the neon was coming on. San Francisco on a Saturday night and nothing for me to do in my old hometown. So I lit a cigarette and leaned back against the pillow and went back to thinking about Elizabeth and me.

  2

  __________________________________________

  Elizabeth wore a simple white dress that night. Her hair fell down to her shoulders like spun gold against the creamy chocolate of her sun-darkened skin. It gave all the weekend cheaters in the place cricks in their necks. They’re used to beautiful women in Southern California, especially up around Malibu where the film colony comes to play, but there was something about her that drew every eye.

  The maitre d’ was no fool. He knew an attraction when he saw one. He gave us a corner window looking out over the ocean, where everyone could see us. Then he sent over a bottle of champagne and the violins.

  Elizabeth smiled at me. “You must be a very big man around here.”

  “It’s not me.” I lifted my glass. “It’s you. As a matter of fact it’s a lucky thing he doesn’t remember me. The only other time I was ever in here I was thrown out for being drunk.”

  She laughed. “He’ll change his mind once he sees me eat.” After awhile the violins went away and the dance band came on. I looked at her, and when she nodded we moved out onto the floor. I put my arm around her and where my hand touched the flesh of her bare back I could sense the strength that lay hidden there under her skin.

  I stumbled, trying to find the beat of the music. “It’s been a long time.”

  “For me too.” Then she put her face against my cheek and after that it was easy.

  I was surprised when the orchestra wrapped it up and I looked at my watch and saw that it was three o’clock. It had been a long time since an evening had gone by so quickly for me. I paid the check and laid a big tip on the maitre d’ for being so nice to us. The scent of flowers came down from the hills as we walked out into the star-filled California night. Mingled with the salt air it was real heady.

  “Want to walk down near the water?”

  She nodded and slipped her arm through mine. We went down the path that wound its way around behind the restaurant past the small motel fronting on the beach.

  The night was very still. No sounds came from the road high behind us. “I could ask you to watch the grunion running,” I said.

  “I’m a sucker for fish stories.”

  I laughed as we walked along the beach for a while until we came to a rock. We sat down and looked out at the ocean. We didn’t talk. We didn’t have to. The night was filled with a rare kind of peace.

  I flipped my butt and watched it leave a trail of sparks on its way to the water. We sat there real close, watching the surf break on the sand, not touching each other, but close just the same.

  She turned her face to me. “Luke.”

  I kissed her. No hands, no frantic clinch, just our lips touching and tasting and telling each other of the way it had been with us before. How lonely we were, how we would like it to be.

  After awhile she took her mouth away and put her hand on my shoulder and we sat that way for a long while. Then she sighed a little and raised her head. “It’s getting late, Luke. I’m tired. Let’s go back to the boat.”

  We were silent in the taxi that took us back to Santa Monica. Just our fingers spoke as they rested quickly intertwined.

  We climbed down off the dock onto the boat and came to a stop outside the cabin. Her voice was quiet and calm.

  “I’m not the type for weekend romances, Luke. When I go it’s for the long time, the whole distance. I’m not a lonely widow trying to fill an empty gap in her life. I don’t want to be used like a fire extinguisher, to put out a torch.”

  I looked into her eyes. “I understand.”

  She was silent for a moment while she sought the truth in me. “I hope you do,” she whispered softly. “I want you to.” She reached up and pressed her lips to mine. “Give me a few minutes before you come in.”

  She disappeared into the cabin and I lit a cigarette. Suddenly my hands were trembling and I was afraid. I didn’t know what I was afraid of but I was. I looked around for a drink, but all there was was a few cans of beer. I opened one and drank it quickly. It wasn’t cold anymore but I felt better after I drank it. I threw my cigarette into the water and went into the cabin.

  She was lying in my bunk, the sheet pulled up to her throat, her spun-gold hair spread over my pillow. “Turn out the light, Luke. I’m a little shy.”

  I reached over and switched it off. The light from the dock poured in through the porthole, framing her face. I fumbled my way quickly out of my clothes and knelt beside the bunk and kissed her.

  Her arms came up around my neck. “Luke, Luke.”

  I raised my head and slowly drew the sheet back. Her eyes were open now, she was watching me. After a moment’s silence, she spoke. “Am I beautiful enough for you, Luke?”

  Her breasts were full and proud. Her waist was tiny as it fell away from the bones of her high rib cage, her stomach flat with just a hint of roundness as it reached down into the swelling curve of her hips. Her thighs were strong and her legs long and straight.

  Her voice filled the silence again. “I want to be beautiful for you.”

  “My golden goddess,” I whispered, kissing her throat.

  Her arms tightened around me. “Hold me, Luke. Love me.”

  I felt the passion flooding into me. I kissed her breasts. She moaned softly and I felt her warmth spread open beneath me. Then there was nothing but the pounding of my heart and the roaring of my brain. Suddenly all the whiskey and all the whoring I had engaged in for escape turned back on me and broke the dam.

  “Oh, no!” I cried, feeling her arms freeze around me in surprise and shock. “Please, no!”

  But it was over.

  I lay very still for a moment, then I sat up slowly and reached for a cigarette. “I’m sorry, Elizabeth, I’m sorry. I should have know
n better. I guess I’m no good for anything anymore. I’m not even a decent lover.”

  I sat on the edge of the bunk staring down at the floor, not daring to look at her. She was silent for a moment, then reached up and took the cigarette from my mouth. She put it down and with the other hand turned my face to her.

  Her voice was soft and kind. “Is that what she did to you, Luke? Did she take you apart like that?”

  “I took myself apart,” I said bitterly. “Like I said, I guess I’m nothing but a lousy lover.”

  She drew my head down to the warmth of her breasts and stroked it slowly. “You’re not, Luke,” she whispered. “The trouble with you is you love too much.”

  When I woke in the morning she was gone. In her place was a note and four one-hundred-dollar bills. I opened the envelope with trembling fingers.

  Dear Luke,

  Please forgive my leaving like this. I know it may not seem fair but there is nothing else I can think of to do at this moment. Everyone carries his or her own cross and has to fight his or her own peculiar kind of war. I fought mine with Johnny died. You’re still fighting yours.

  If the time should come when you win enough of your war to come out of hiding and be the kind of man you really are, maybe we can take that long trip together. Because that’s what I really want, that is, if you want it too. I know I’m not making much sense, but then I never make too much sense when I’m crying.

  Love,

  Elizabeth

  For three months I tried to forget what she had written, then one morning I woke up in the drunk tank and everything was gone. The boat, my credit, whatever self-respect was left—all gone. They gave me thirty days on the work farm when I couldn’t get up my fine.

  At the end of the thirty days, when they gave me back my clothes, I found her note still in a pocket. I took it out and read it again, then looked at myself in the mirror. My eyes were clear for the first time in a long time. Really clear. I could see myself.

  I thought of Elizabeth and how good it would be to see here. But not like this. I didn’t want to show up looking like a bum. So I got a job as a laborer on a housing project and seven months later when the job was completed, I had worked my way up to assistant foreman. I had six hundred bucks in my jeans and an old jalopy that I could call my own.