Daisy said, “That would be fun.” Her voice, as usual, was without tone or color, suggesting nothing.
“The Meadows’ can drop her,” Ellen said.
“True,” said Hooper, “but I really should go so I can get up early. But thanks for the thought.”
They said their good-byes at the front door—perfunctory compliments, redundant thanks. Hooper was the last to leave, and when he extended his hand to Ellen, she took it in both of hers and said, “Thank you so much for my shark tooth.”
“You’re welcome. I’m glad you like it.”
“And thank you for being so nice to the children. They were fascinated to meet you.”
“So was I. It was a little weird, though. I must have been about Sean’s age when I knew you before. You haven’t changed much at all.”
“Well, you’ve certainly changed.”
“I hope so. I’d hate to be nine all of my life.”
“We’ll see you again before you go?”
“Count on it.”
“Wonderful.” She released his hand. He said a quick good night to Brody and walked to his car.
Ellen waited at the door until the last of the cars had pulled out of the driveway, then she turned off the outside light. Without a word, she began to pick up the glasses, coffee cups, and ashtrays from the living room.
Brody carried a stack of dessert dishes into the kitchen, set them on the sink, and said, “Well, that was all right.” He meant nothing by the remark, and sought nothing more than rote agreement.
“No thanks to you,” said Ellen.
“What?”
“You were awful.”
“I was?” He was genuinely surprised at the ferocity of her attack. “I know I got a little queasy there for a minute, but I didn’t think—”
“All evening, from start to finish, you were awful.”
“That’s a lot of crap!”
“You’ll wake the children.”
“I don’t give a damn. I’m not going to let you stand there and work out your own hang-ups by telling me I’m a shit.”
Ellen smiled bitterly. “You see? There you go again.”
“Where do I go again? What are you talking about?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Just like that. You don’t want to talk about it. Look … okay, I was wrong about the goddam meat. I shouldn’t have blown my stack. I’m sorry. Now …”
“I said I don’t want to talk about it!”
Brody was ready for a fight, but he backed off, sober enough to realize that his only weapons were cruelty and innuendo, and that Ellen was close to tears. And tears, whether shed in orgasm or in anger, disconcerted him. So he said only, “Well, I’m sorry about that.” He walked out of the kitchen and climbed the stairs.
In the bedroom, as he was undressing, the thought occurred to him that the cause of all the unpleasantness, the source of the whole mess, was a fish: a mindless beast that he had never seen. The ludicrousness of the thought made him smile.
He crawled into bed and, almost simultaneous with the touch of his head to the pillow, fell into a dreamless sleep.
A boy and his date sat drinking beer at one end of the long mahogany bar in the Randy Bear. The boy was eighteen, the son of the pharmacist at the Amity Pharmacy.
“You’ll have to tell him sometime,” said the girl.
“I know. And when I do, he’s gonna go bullshit.”
“It wasn’t your fault.”
“You know what he’ll say? It must have been my fault. I must have done something, or else they would have kept me and canned somebody else.”
“But they fired a lot of kids.”
“They kept a lot, too.”
“How did they decide who to keep?”
“They didn’t say. They just said they weren’t getting enough guests to justify a big staff, so they were letting some of us go. Boy, my old man is gonna go right through the roof.”
“Can’t he call them? He must know somebody there. I mean, if he says you really need the money for college …”
“He wouldn’t do it. That’d be begging.” The boy finished his beer. “There’s only one thing I can do. Deal.”
“Oh, Michael, don’t do that. It’s too dangerous. You could go to jail.”
“That’s quite a choice, isn’t it?” the boy said acidly. “College or jail.”
“What would you tell your father?”
“I don’t know. Maybe I’ll tell him I’m selling belts.”
8
Brody awoke with a start, jolted by a signal that told him something was wrong. He threw his arm across the bed to touch Ellen. She wasn’t there. He sat and saw her sitting in the chair by the window. Rain splashed against the windowpanes, and he heard the wind whipping through the trees.
“Lousy day, huh?” he said. She didn’t answer, continuing to stare fixedly at the drops sliding down the glass. “How come you’re up so early?”
“I couldn’t sleep.”
Brody yawned. “I sure didn’t have any trouble.”
“I’m not surprised.”
“Oh boy. Are we starting in again?”
Ellen shook her head. “No. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything.” She seemed subdued, sad.
“What’s the matter?”
“Nothing.”
“Whatever you say.” Brody got out of bed and went into the bathroom.
When he had shaved and dressed, he went down to the kitchen. The boys were finishing their breakfast, and Ellen was frying an egg for him. “What are you guys gonna do on this crummy day?” he said.
“Clean lawnmowers,” said Billy, who worked during the summer for a local gardener. “Boy, do I hate rainy days.”
“And what about you two?” Brody said to Martin and Sean.
“Martin’s going to the Boys’ Club,” said Ellen, “and Sean’s spending the day at the Santoses’.”
“And you?”
“I’ve got a full day at the hospital. Which reminds me: I won’t be home for lunch. Can you get something downtown?”
“Sure. I didn’t know you worked a full day Wednesdays.”
“I don’t, usually. But one of the other girls is sick, and I said I’d fill in.”
“Oh.”
“I’ll be back by suppertime.”
“Fine.”
“Do you think you could drop Sean and Martin off on your way to work? I want to do a little shopping on my way to the hospital.”
“No problem.”
“I’ll pick them up on my way home.”
Brody and the two younger children left first. Then Billy, wrapped from head to foot in foul-weather gear, bicycled off to work.
Ellen looked at the clock on the kitchen wall. It was a few minutes to eight. Too early? Maybe. But better to catch him now, before he went off somewhere and the chance was lost. She held her right hand out in front of her and tried to steady her fingers, but they quivered uncontrollably. She smiled at her nervousness and whispered to herself, “Some swinger you’d make.” She went upstairs to the bedroom, sat on the bed, and picked up the green phone book. She found the number for the Abelard Arms Inn, put her hand on the phone, hesitated for a moment, then picked up the receiver and dialed the number.
“Abelard Arms.”
“Mr. Hooper’s room, please. Matt Hooper.”
“Just a minute, please. Hooper. Here it is. Four-oh-five. I’ll ring it for you.”
Ellen heard the phone ring once, then again. She could hear her heart beating, and she saw the pulse throb in her right wrist. Hang up, she told herself. Hang up. There’s time.
“Hello?” said Hooper’s voice.
“Oh.” She thought, Good God, suppose he’s got Daisy Wicker in the room with him.
“Hello?”
Ellen swallowed and said, “Hi. It’s me.… I mean it’s Ellen.”
“Oh, hi.”
“I hope I didn’t wake you.”
“No. I was just getting read
y to go downstairs and have some breakfast.”
“Good. It’s not a very nice day, is it?”
“No, but I don’t really mind. It’s a luxury for me to be able to sleep this late.”
“Can you … will you be able to work today?”
“I don’t know. I was just trying to figure that out. I sure can’t go out in the boat and hope to get anything done.”
“Oh.” She paused, fighting the dizziness that was creeping up on her. Go ahead, she told herself. Ask the question. “I was wondering …” No, be careful; ease into it. “I wanted to thank you for the beautiful charm.”
“You’re welcome. I’m glad you like it. But I should be thanking you. I had a good time last night.”
“I did … we did, too. I’m glad you came.”
“Yes.”
“It was like old times.”
“Yes.”
Now, she said to herself. Do it. The words spilled from her mouth. “I was wondering, if you can’t do any work today, I mean if you can’t go out in the boat or anything, I was wondering if … if there was any chance you’d like to … if you’re free for lunch.”
“Lunch?”
“Yes. You know, if you have nothing else to do, I thought we might have some lunch.”
“We? You mean you and the chief and me?”
“No, just you and I. Martin usually has lunch at his desk. I don’t want to interfere with your plans or anything. I mean, if you’ve got a lot of work to do …”
“No, no. That’s okay. Heck, why not? Sure. What did you have in mind?”
“There’s a wonderful place up in Sag Harbor. Banner’s. Do you know it?” She hoped he didn’t. She didn’t know it either, which meant that no one there would know her. But she had heard that it was good and quiet and dark.
“No, I’ve never been there,” said Hooper. “But Sag Harbor. That’s quite a hike for lunch.”
“It’s not bad, really, only about fifteen or twenty minutes. I could meet you there whenever you like.”
“Any time’s all right with me.”
“Around twelve-thirty, then?”
“Twelve-thirty it is. See you then.”
Ellen hung up the phone. Her hands were still shaking, but she felt elated, excited. Her senses seemed alive and incredibly keen. Every time she drew a breath she savored the smells around her. Her ears jingled with a symphony of tiny house sounds—creaks and rustles and thumps. She felt more intensely feminine than she had in years—a warm, wet feeling both delicious and uncomfortable.
She went into the bathroom and took a shower. She shaved her legs and under her arms. She wished she had bought one of those feminine hygiene deodorants she had seen advertised, but, lacking that, she powdered herself and daubed cologne behind her ears, inside her elbows, behind her knees, on her nipples, and on her genitals.
There was a full-length mirror in the bedroom, and she stood before it, examining herself. Were the goods good enough? Would the offer be accepted? She had worked to keep in shape, to preserve the smoothness and sinuousness of youth. She could not bear the thought of rejection.
The goods were good. The lines in her neck were few and barely noticeable. Her face was unblemished and unscarred. There were no droops or sags or pouches. She stood straight and admired the contours of her breasts. Her waist was slim, her belly flat—the reward for endless hours of exercise after each child. The only problem, as she assessed her body critically, was her hips. By no stretch of anyone’s imagination were they girlish. They signaled motherhood. They were, as Brody once said, breeder’s hips. The recollection brought a quick flash of remorse, but excitement quickly nudged it aside. Her legs were long and—below the pad of fat on her rear—slender. Her ankles were delicate, and her feet—with the toenails neatly pruned—were perfect enough to suit any pediphile.
She dressed in her hospital clothes. From the back of her closet she took a plastic shopping bag into which she put a pair of bikini underpants, a bra, a neatly folded lavender summer dress, a pair of low-heeled pumps, a can of spray deodorant, a plastic bottle of bath powder, a toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste. She carried the bag to the garage, tossed it into the back seat of her Volkswagen beetle, backed out of the driveway, and drove to the Southampton Hospital.
The dull drive increased the fatigue she had been feeling for hours. She had not slept all night. She had first lain in bed, then sat by the window, struggling with all the twistings of emotion and conscience, desire and regret, longing and recrimination. She didn’t know exactly when she had decided on this manifestly rash, dangerous plan. She had been thinking about it—and trying not to think about it—since the day she first met Hooper. She had weighed the risks and, somehow, calculated that they were worth taking, though she was not entirely sure what she could gain from the adventure. She knew she wanted change, almost any change. She wanted to be assured and reassured that she was desirable—not just to her husband, for she had grown complacent about that, but to the people she saw as her real peers, the people among whom she still numbered herself. She felt that without some remedy, the part of herself that she most cherished would die. Perhaps the past could never be revived. But perhaps it could be recalled physically as well as mentally. She wanted an injection, a transfusion of the essence of her past, and she saw Matt Hooper as the only possible donor. The thought of love never entered her mind. Nor did she want or anticipate a relationship either profound or enduring. She sought only to be serviced, restored.
She was grateful that the work assigned her when she arrived at the hospital demanded concentration and conversation, for it prevented her from thinking. She and another volunteer changed the bedding of the elderly patients for whom the hospital community was a surrogate—and, in some cases, final—home. She had to remember the names of children in distant cities, had to fashion new excuses for why they hadn’t written. She had to feign recollection of the plots of television shows and speculate on why such-and-such a character had left his wife for a woman who was patently an adventuress.
At 11:45, Ellen told the supervisor of volunteers that she didn’t feel well. Her thyroid was acting up again, she said, and she was getting her period. She thought she’d go lie down for a while in the staff lounge. And if a nap didn’t help, she said, she’d probably go home. In fact, if she wasn’t back on the job by 1:30 or so, the supervisor could assume she had gone home. It was an explanation that she hoped was vague enough to discourage anyone from actively looking for her.
She went into the lounge, counted to twenty, and opened the door a crack to see if the corridor was empty. It was; most of the staff were in, or on their way to, the cafeteria on the other side of the building. She stepped into the corridor, closed the door softly behind her, and hurried around a corner and out a side door of the hospital that led to the staff parking lot.
She drove most of the way to Sag Harbor, then stopped at a gas station. When the tank was full and the gas paid for, she asked to use the ladies’ room. The attendant gave her the key, and she pulled her car around to the side of the station, next to the ladies’ room door. She opened the door, but before going into the ladies’ room she returned the key to the attendant. She walked to her car, removed the plastic bag from the back seat, entered the ladies’ room, and pushed the button that locked the door.
She stripped, and standing on the cold floor in her bare feet, looking at her reflection in the mirror above the sink, she felt a thrill of risk. She sprayed deodorant under her arms and on her feet. She took the clean underpants from the plastic bag and stepped into them. She shook a little powder into each cup of the bra and put it on. She took the dress from the bag, unfolded it, checked it for wrinkles, and slipped it over her head. She poured powder into each of her shoes, brushed off the bottom of each foot with a paper towel, and put on the shoes. Then she brushed her teeth and combed her hair, stuffed her hospital clothes into the plastic bag, and opened the door. She looked both ways, saw that no one was watching her, then stepped
out of the ladies’ room, tossed the bag into the car, and got in.
As she drove out of the gas station, she hunched down in her seat so the attendant, if he should chance to notice her, would not see that she had changed clothes.
It was 12:20 when she arrived at Banner’s, a small steak-and-seafood restaurant on the water in Sag Harbor. The parking lot was in the rear, for which she was grateful. On the off-chance that someone she knew might drive down the street in Sag Harbor, she didn’t want her car in plain view.
One reason she had picked Banner’s was that it was known as a favorite nighttime restaurant for yachtsmen and summer people, which meant that it probably had little luncheon trade. And it was expensive, which made it almost certain that no year-round residents, no local tradesmen, would go there for lunch. Ellen checked her wallet. She had nearly fifty dollars—all the emergency cash she and Brody kept in the house. She made a mental note of the bills: a twenty, two tens, a five, and three ones. She wanted to replace exactly what she had taken from the coffee can in the kitchen closet.
There were two other cars in the parking lot, a Chevrolet Vega and a bigger car, tan. She remembered that Hooper’s car was green and that it was named after some animal. She left her car and walked into the restaurant, holding her hands over her head to protect her hair from the light rain.
The restaurant was dark, but because the day was gloomy it took her eyes only a few seconds to adjust. There was only one room, with a bar on the right as she walked in and about twenty tables in the center. The left-hand wall was lined with eight booths. The walls were dark wood, decorated with bullfight and movie posters.
A couple—in their late twenties, Ellen guessed—was having a drink at a table by the window. The bartender, a young man with a Vandyke beard and a button-down shirt, sat by the cash register reading the New York Daily News. They were the only people in the room. Ellen looked at her watch. Almost 12:30.
The bartender looked up and said, “Hi. Can I help you?”
Ellen stepped to the bar. “Yes … yes. In a minute. But first I’d like … can you tell me where the ladies’ room is?”
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