All These Condemned

by John D. MacDonald

  It happened to me once, in college. I had gone into the wrong lecture. A lecture on symbolic logic. Each individual word was a perfectly good normal word, but try as I might, I could make no sense of what was being said. It made me wonder if I were going mad. As if communication were being blocked.

  I wanted to go to Noel. There was my only safety. The only known place in the world.

  But first …

  Fifteen

  (MAVIS DOCKERTY—BEFORE)

  ON THE WAY UP he had to make one of his usual snotty cracks about Wilma, on account of how he is crazy jealous. What he ought to have is a dandy mechanical wife. Take her out of the closet and plug her into a light socket. He doesn’t want me to be a person.

  After I put him in his place we drove on without talking, and I cried a little bit. He drove too damn fast, but I certainly wasn’t going to say a word about it, no matter what he did.

  I sat ’way over there in my corner of the seat and I thought about the lovely new clothes I would wear. And about being a house guest where there are important people. Big people. The only flaw in the ointment was having to go up there with Paul. Like a race where your feet are tied together, like on picnics. I couldn’t be myself, not with him along. I couldn’t be free. And I decided right then and there that I’d let Wilma know that the next time there was a party, I’d certainly appreciate it if I could come without that dead stone weight hanging around my neck like the bird on that sailor in the poem we had in seventh grade.

  And she would know what I meant, all right. She had him typed right down to the dotted i. “Mavis, dear,” she said, “he’s just a very ordinary man. He’s good in business, and I’m glad he works for me. But I couldn’t bear being married to him. God! Pipe and slippers and a household budget. You see, dear, he’s no challenge to you. And you need challenge. You need life and excitement. You didn’t know how dull your life really was, did you?”

  She has him typed. He’s Rotarian and stuffy and provincial. He’s living in the Middle Ages. I just wished and wished that somebody else was driving me up to Lake Vale. Because I could see, from his snotty mood, that he was going to try to spoil things for me. That’s all he does. Spoil things. And someday he’s going to make me so mad that I’m going to let him know about Gilman Hayes and that afternoon in Wilma’s apartment. I can just imagine the look in his eyes.

  Wilma had told me about the place, but gosh, words can’t describe it. It was like in House Beautiful. Only more so, if possible. I got real excited when I saw it. I could hardly breathe. And there was cars there already, like you don’t see just anyplace. One of those big sporty Buicks, and a little black English car with red wire wheels, and a gorgeous white Jaguar, with a cute little cartoon of Judy Jonah on the door of it. I wished I’d put my foot down harder and we had got a Jaguar. They’re so smooth looking. But no, Paul has to have this thing because he says there isn’t enough room in those.

  I nearly made a terrible booboo when a man came hurrying out. He was kind of foreign-looking and I thought he was one of the guests and then I remembered Wilma talking about the Mexican servants and I realized, just when I was about to stick my hand out and smile, that it was José. I would have been mortified to death if I’d done anything as terrible as that, shaking hands with a servant. It would be nice to have a little Mexican maid, to live in.

  The servant told us to take the path around the house. He was very polite, even if he was sort of fierce-looking. We went by a big croquet place and around to a big terrace overlooking the lake. It was like a picture, really. You could see right away that Wilma knows how to live. Like she says, gracious living is an art, and you have to work at it all the time. There were two fast-looking boats tied up at the twin docks. I saw Judy Jonah down there and Gilman Hayes was near her. They were sun-bathing. I met Judy a couple of times in the city at Wilma’s apartment, but she’s sort of strange. I mean she isn’t like you would expect, being so famous. She even looks a little plain, somehow. The others were on the terrace. Wilma hurried right over to us. You could tell she was glad to see us. Glad to see me, anyway. She gave me a little hug, and explained that we were all friends here and it would be a sort of informal-type house party. I acted pleased, but honestly, I had been hoping there would be some other important people there I hadn’t met before.

  I told her her house was lovely, and she took us back to our room. I bet that next to hers, it was the best room in the house. Like she says, it was gracious living. José was just putting the last of our suitcases on one of those rack things.

  Then Wilma said José would bring us a drink and we could freshen up and then join the others. I ordered an extra-dry Martini, but Paul, he had to ask for that damn bourbon he likes. It doesn’t even sound like a drink with any class. Now, if it was Scotch on the rocks or a Scotch mist or something. No. Bourbon and water, bourbon and water. He hasn’t got any taste. He hasn’t got any sense of gracious living. He’s provincial.

  Not only that, but after the drinks came he had to try to tell me not to get drunk and complain about the last party we went to. I know when I’m drunk and when I’m not drunk. He just doesn’t like to see anybody having any fun. He’s like a big schoolteacher. If he had his way, everybody would sit in a corner and he’d give lectures and mark papers.

  I made the mistake of standing there drinking my drink and wearing just my bra and panties. And of course, he had to start leering at me in that way he has. I told him not to get messy. Honestly, he wants to get messy at the darnedest times. There’s never any buildup. He just looks at you and boom. Right then and there. He’s got about as much romance as a toad in the grass. I didn’t even wait for him to come out of our private bath. I went out and joined the others, and believe me it was a relief to be away from him for just a few minutes after spending the whole darn day with him. Wilma helped Randy start the music and it was lovely. Honestly, I just lay back on that couch thing and José brought me a fresh drink and I looked at the blue lake and heard the music and it was like being on a cruise or something. It was perfectly lovely. Nice people and nice civilized conversation and somebody to wait on you. Judy and Gilman Hayes came up from the dock and after a while that nice Wallace Dorn arrived. I wish Paul would dress like that and act like that. Wallace is so obviously a gentleman. Paul could be just anybody. He looks like a hundred other men on the street.

  There we were, all friends, just drinking and talking and enjoying ourselves. I guess Paul would have tried to be a damp blanket if somebody had given him half a chance. But maybe he was smart enough to keep his mouth shut and not try to spoil the party for the woman who, after all, is his boss, any way you want to look at it. Anybody could see that Wilma was having a good time. She positively sparkled. It made me feel warm and good just to look at her.

  I was glad when finally it was time to eat. Everything had got sort of swarmy and when I stood up I didn’t think my legs were going to work just right. But the food was so spicy hot it made my eyes cry, and it was what I needed to make all those Martinis behave. After dinner I felt just wonderful. Floaty and half excited. I kept wishing Paul wasn’t around. I didn’t feel the least bit provincial.

  Gil Hayes had changed into pale slacks and a white shirt. He had knotted the shirttails in the front, just above the edge of the trousers, and he left it unbuttoned. The white shirt made him look real tan, and wearing it that way made his shoulders look broader and his hips look slimmer. After dinner and after some brandy Gil Hayes asked me to dance. He’d found some South American records.

  It’s funny about him. He’s a wonderful dancer. It’s maybe like it would be dancing with a big cat. He doesn’t talk at all, and he leads very strong, so it’s easy to follow him even when he’s doing very fancy things you’ve never done before. The lights were kind of dim in the big room. I knew we probably looked special the way we were dancing together. I hoped Paul would look at us once in a while. His dancing! I suppose it was just fine ’way back when he was in college, but it certainly is ol
d-fashioned. About the only thing he doesn’t do is pump your arm up and down and count out loud.

  It was real magic, dancing like that. The way he’d swoop and the little touches of him. It made me feel all prickly all over and like I couldn’t get breath enough, or get close enough to him. At first it was just exciting, making me feel awful sexy, but when it went on and on and on, it turned into like a kind of torture. It was like pain or something. When he danced me out onto the terrace, I felt almost the way you do when you’re about to faint. I wanted him to take me out of the light, out there in the darkness where there was grass. I wanted to scream at him. It would have been the quickest thing that ever happened. And then I knew that he was doing it on purpose. I knew he was torturing me. Because he kept doing things and then stopping. I didn’t want him to know how hard I was breathing, but I couldn’t stop it.

  I sort of half saw when Paul and Judy went down onto the dock. And ’way in the back of my mind I was thinking how that was. He’d probably forced himself on her. And then he could go back to the city and go to one of those stupid lunches of his and say, real casual, that he had a nice chat with Judy Jonah that week end. I bet he would bore her ears right off her head. Because what could he talk about to her? When he tries to talk about something besides his job he gets into a lot of deep-sounding stuff about life and things and I don’t think he knows half the time what he’s trying to say. It’s a kind of showing off, because he happens to know big words. What would a person like him know about life? He’s in that office all day, and when he comes home he wants to sit like a stuffed dummy and read books. There isn’t any life in him or any fun.

  When the records ended Gilman Hayes backed away from me and gave a kind of funny jerky bow and said, “Good night. I’m tired. I’m going to bed.” I could have killed him dead right there where he stood. Leaving me in that condition. I said good night and I went right by him and went to my room. I almost forgot to say good night to Wilma.

  I got in the room and I wanted to pace up and down like a tigress or something, and chew my nails right down to the hilt. Then I realized that Paul would be coming back to the room soon. I got ready for bed and ready for him quickly. He came in and, thank God, he didn’t want to chatter. When the light was out, I started pretending, even though Wilma has told me it’s a childish game. I pretended I was alone on a cruise and this was my stateroom. And I’d met a man during the day. He looked just like Gil Hayes except he was dark, and he had manners like that nice Wallace Dorn. And now we were together, and there was nothing provincial about either one of us.

  It was hard to make the game work because I’m so used to Paul and used to the way he goes about things. But I pretended hard and it made it a lot better and a sort of crazy thing happened. When, toward the end, I sort of lost my hold on the pretending, when everything goes kind of crazy anyway, I had the ridiculous idea that it was Wilma there with me. Nothing could be sillier than that, I guess.

  Just as I was going to sleep I thought that Paul hadn’t kissed me even once, but I was too darn tired to even wonder about it. He can do what he pleases. I needed him and he was there and that was that. He had no kick coming. Not after the way he’d leered at me when we first got there. Wilma says he has a pedestrian mind. You’d know that just to look at him.

  Paul was snoring when I woke up. I got out of bed quickly. It was a wonderful day and I felt just divine, just perfectly and wonderfully alive. It was warm and sunny, so after I showered, I got right into my new swimsuit. It’s one piece, a funny olivy green with a texture like velvet and no shoulder straps. I wore my robe over it and went out to breakfast on the terrace. Everybody got whisky sours first. Or rum sours, if you wanted. I think that’s a perfectly marvelous idea. I love that sour taste in the morning, and it’s so gay to get a little edge before you even eat your eggs.

  I wished Paul would sleep all day. I wished he’d sleep until it was time to go home. Gilman Hayes was in his swimsuit too. I looked at his hand and wrist in the sun. It surprised me to see his fingernails. Little bits of things, nibbled ’way down, so the pads of his fingers sort of curl up over them. His hand looked strong and square and brown in the sun, and there was a gold watch strap around his heavy wrist, and the sunbleached hair curled over the gold of the strap.

  I was just leaving when Paul came shuffling out. Steve and Noel Hess were sitting talking together. Wilma was down on the dock with Judy. I heard Wilma laugh. I went down and swam and then Gilman Hayes got on the water skis. Later he showed me how. He was very strong. I was clumsy at first, but I have natural good balance, and my legs are husky, so I was able to do it pretty well with him teaching me. I guess it was after the skiing that I noticed how Paul was drinking a lot. I looked at him and his eyes didn’t seem to work together quite the way they usually do. And his voice was blurry. Noel was drinking a lot too, which sort of astonished me. I never saw her drink before.

  Paul didn’t really get messy drunk until the croquet game. Then he was awful. For a time I was sort of ashamed of him, and then I felt good about it. He’d certainly lost his chance to ever say anything to me again about drinking. I never made such a spectacle of myself as that. We were all drinking, but Paul was the worst. I certainly wasn’t going to lower myself by helping him.

  Later on it turned out it was Judy who helped him. If he could remember it, I thought he’d have a nice story for one of those silly lunch things. Judy Jonah put me to bed, boys.

  After I ate I suddenly felt terribly sleepy. I went into our room like a mouse. The last thing I wanted to do was wake him up. I was real pooped, but he made such gargling snoring noises, I couldn’t drop off. I remembered seeing Steve and Noel go across the lake in a boat. It had sort of surprised me, but I guess if she was provincial, Wilma wouldn’t have her around. And it didn’t look like Steve would be back. I tried his door and it wasn’t locked, so I stretched out in there on his bed. It had been made up. Alcohol does sort of let you down, and then the best thing to do is sleep for a while, and when you wake up you’re as good as new, usually.

  I slept about an hour and then I went down on the dock. I got some more sun. The party had turned sleepy, but I guessed it would pick up again when it got dark. When the sun got too low, I put my robe back on and went on up to the house. Randy was sitting on the dock staring at the lake. And one boat was still gone. I wondered if he was a little sore. But he certainly had no cause to get sore, not the way he acts with Wilma. I guess Noel doesn’t do anything about that, because it is a pretty good job for Randy, and he doesn’t have to work very hard for his money.

  I did little dance steps as I went across the terrace so that the hem of my robe swirled. Gee, I felt wonderful. Life had kind of opened up. Like going down an alley for a long time and then coming out into a park. Sometimes a person gets a feeling of how things are going to be in the future. And I just knew that Paul wasn’t going to be in my future. It was funny, I was almost feeling sorry for him, the way I was going to leave him behind. Like something you outgrow, or you decide the style isn’t right for you or something, and you hang it in the back of the closet and then one day you give it away and feel just a little bit sad about giving it away.

  Wilma always says you’ve got to be objective about yourself. Look at yourself kind of cold. I looked, but I couldn’t find anything about me that I really didn’t like. I know that’s kind of awful to say. It sounds conceited. But Mary Gort had come one hell of a long way, brother, and she was going to go a long way further, too. And travel light while she was at it.

  I had José make me a drink so I could celebrate. Celebrate the end of the alley. I couldn’t even be mad at Paul any more, now that I knew how it was all going to come out. Any pretending I did from now on was going to be for real.

  It got real gay again, like I knew it was going to. It was Saturday night, wasn’t it? I like the feel of Saturday nights. There was a buffet thing, where you could fill your own plate, and Paul was still sleeping off his drunk. That was fine by me.
Noel was wonderful. Gee, she’d always been so quiet. She got real gay and funny and wonderful, just laughing all the time and making cracks and staying as close to Steve as she could. Steve is nice enough, but golly, even in flat heels I can stare him right straight in the eye, and that does nothing for me, but nothing. Men like that make me feel like some kind of a horse, but she’s little enough for him. We ate and drank and then did some swimming. I had to go to the room and put my suit back on. And when I turned out the bathroom light and went back through the dark bedroom, Paul had to say, “Mavis?” and know what time it was. I told him I hoped he felt dreadful. He certainly sounded as if he did.

  My suit was still damp and unpleasant. We drank on the dock under the floodlights and swam some and it was hardly cold at all. Of course we had some antifreeze, but I mean there wasn’t any of that wind that makes you feel cold.

  I guess it was Wilma that said swimming felt better without suits on. That was a fine idea. Randy wasn’t swimming anyway, but of those who were, Judy and Wallace Dorn were the only ones who said they’d keep their suits on. Steve went up to the switch box. Then he played a joke on us by turning the lights back on again. He’s a riot sometimes. He kills me.

  Wilma was certainly right about the swimming being better. It made you feel free and crazy and wonderful and naughty and bold. We horsed around, playing tag around the end of the docks and stuff like that. The water sort of slides by you, and it was just a little bit warmer than the air right on top. If you went down a little bit, though, it got real icy. It was all dark and mixed up. Gosh, you couldn’t tell who was getting fresh with you, but I didn’t care a bit. I kept thinking that it was just the sort of thing that stuffy old Paul would look down his long nose at. He doesn’t want anybody having any fun, especially me. I wished he’d come out.