“We could send everyone to town and haul the body into the mountains.”
“We could spend the rest of our lives at Ossining too. Get hold of yourself. Take three deep breaths. Go ahead, now—do it.”
“Why?”
“Trust me. Do it. Relax your shoulders when you breathe.”
He did. I heard the air moving and saw his chest heave as he followed my instructions.
“Now,” I said, “I want you to think about this ludicrous plan, and what’s sure to happen if you continue the insanity. I want you to tell me you were only making a sick joke.”
He opened his mouth to speak, but I interrupted him.
“You haven’t thought long enough yet.”
Eventually his demeanor changed. His expression softened, and the old Lennie emerged from behind the slightly glazed eyes. I’d gotten through to him. Thank God.
“You think it’s insanity?” he asked quietly
“I do, Lennie.”
He slumped into the wheeled chair next to the desk. He was breathing heavily and for a long moment wouldn’t meet my eyes. “I was only joking about shooting Ray, you know,” he said finally, his voice subdued. “I’d never do that.”
“I know you wouldn’t, Lennie. You’re not a killer. But I need that gun before someone is accidentally hurt.”
“I promised Highat I’d never let anyone else touch it,” he said again.
“I’m sure he wasn’t contemplating circumstances like these.”
“The insanity is past now, Bradley. You don’t need to take the gun.”
“I’d feel better if you’d let me have it.”
He raised a hand, as if in benediction.
“I don’t blame you, but, please—I’m not a child. Let me keep some small part of my pride intact.”
I was reluctant to leave the gun in his possession, but what could I do? After all, it was his own gun in his own house.
“What if I leave it in the drawer?” he said. “I won’t take it out again. I promise. Highat and Elisabeth are coming this afternoon. I’ll give the gun back to Highat.”
“You’ll leave it alone until Highat gets here?”
“Yes. I promise.”
“Okay,” I said.
My Boston trip wasn’t going to happen today. There was no way I was leaving Schoolcross until that gun was safely locked up. Lennie had come to his senses, but I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if he shot someone. He was going to be graced with my company for the entire afternoon. But what about the next day, and the day after that? I felt hopelessly stuck.
“Where’s Nora?” I asked.
“She’s still in town, stocking up. Her parents will be here soon.”
“Let’s go outside,” I said. “It’s cold, but it’ll do us good. If we keep talking this over, maybe we’ll come up with an idea.”
Lennie agreed immediately and went to get his jacket. I heard him call to Mrs. Rhodes that we were going for a walk. When he came back wearing his winter coat, I was already waiting by the door.
“Let’s go by the Quaker Cottage first,” I said. “I need to change.”
I also needed to telephone the buyer of The Birthday Party. The man would be irritated, but there was nothing that could be done about it now. I’d tell him that an important personal matter had come up.
Lennie and I quickened our pace, and soon we could see Tamara’s now-empty cottage and little garage through the bare trees. Leaves had drifted into piles on the front porch, and a set of her abandoned wind chimes, blown by a gust, was snagged by its bottom on an empty hook. The place looked desolate as we passed, and I saw Lennie glance at the house and shudder.
As we walked past, I noticed three bay-leaf-green translucent blocks artfully placed on a stone retaining wall that ran low along the border of the small flagstone terrace. Someone—Tamara, no doubt—had positioned the blocks there, apparently as a casual artistic gesture, a nod to feng shui, but I had never before noticed them. Of the type commonly used in building partitions, such as the wall of a glass shower stall, here the simple, unadorned blocks were captivating and ineffably poignant. No one had told me until after her death that Tamara’s husband had died of lung cancer five years earlier, shortly before her second miscarriage. I realized how harshly I had always judged Tamara.
This made me even more sympathetic to Lennie’s unbalanced mental state. You can’t judge other people until you’ve experienced what they’ve gone through. The truth wouldn’t be kind to Lennie; his predicament couldn’t be explained away. There aren’t any innocent explanations for a woman saying to a man, “Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me,” and from what I knew of Nora, she wasn’t the type to live a lie for long.
“Thank you again, Bradley, for talking me through that craziness,” Lennie said. “I was absolutely convinced that Ray had killed Lars and Tamara, and that I was going to be next.”
As we passed through the screening crescent of pines around the Quaker Cottage, Lennie said he was comfortable in his winter coat and would wait out front while I went inside. Since I wouldn’t be traveling to Boston, I changed into warmer pants and my walking shoes, then found a blue wool sweater to wear under my coat. I might as well be dressed sensibly if Lennie and I were going to be outdoors in December.
When I called my client, his secretary said he was out but that she hoped to hear from him. I asked her to deliver the message that I wouldn’t be able to meet him today and, since I expected to be with Lennie, gave the number at the Big House so I could be reached for an explanation.
When I’d found my gloves and stepped back outside, Lennie was waiting anxiously, swinging his arms against the cold and exhaling white clouds. For today’s walk I chose one of the wooded trails that led to the most remote part of the farm, far away from either Ray’s house or the North Stable.
My plan was to keep Lennie company for the afternoon, offer a sympathetic ear, and divert trouble. The gun worried me most, but Highat would arrive this afternoon and I’d insist he take it back. But then what?
“I was thinking about kendo,” Lennie said, interrupting my thoughts, “and the relevance of what Noboro taught us—like what it means for two men to be sworn enemies, or the need to stay vigilant, and how the idea of a fair fight becomes meaningless between enemies.”
His obsessive nature now had a new channel of focus—kendo.
“In fact, I wonder how I could think about this triangular situation between me, Nora, and Ray, if I didn’t have the theoretical framework Noboro gave me. Do you understand, Bradley?”
This was classic Lennie—pondering the choice of theoretical frameworks for analyzing his own cuckoldry.
“Maybe,” I said.
In a way, I did understand. The kendo philosophy gave him a more manly way of contemplating his predicament—sworn enemies, vigilance, a fight without fairness, only winning or death.
“Because the man has utterly betrayed me,” said Lennie. “They’ve both betrayed me, but I’m angrier at Ray for stealing my wife than I am at Nora for falling for his nonsense. You’d think it would be the other way around.” He looked off into the distance, weighing some nuance of feeling, and said, “I find I still love her, maybe more than ever. Love is funny, isn’t it?”
I remembered that Linda had said she was expecting a call from someone else and queasiness gripped my stomach. Was Lennie’s problem with his digestion contagious? Lennie stopped walking, as if suddenly stricken.
“Do you think Nora told Ray that I think he killed Lars? Maybe Ray is planning to get rid of me. And you too. You’re the only one who saw him kill Raider and the only one except Mario who saw him argue with Lars. And Mario was too drunk to remember anything.”
The physical sensation of paranoia’s onset had become familiar since I’d found “Tamara” in the well. Lennie and I both scanned the woods.
The sky was overcast, with only a few rays of light penetrating the clouds. Though the trees were bare, the undergrowth was tangled and hidden in shado
w. It would be impossible to see anyone who wanted to conceal himself. I regretted our decision to walk through the most remote area of Schoolcross.
“We should head back.”
“Yeah,” he said, and we reversed course.
“Let’s call the cops about Raider,” I said.
“I can’t. Nora would say it was cowardly—and it would be cowardly. I don’t want to lose the chance of getting her back.”
The thought of Ray plotting to kill us was more than I could bear, and I found the backbone to say what I should have said days ago.
“This has gone too far, Lennie. I’ll make the call, and I’ll take the blame for it with Nora. There’ll be a lot of explaining to the police, but it’s the right thing to do.”
I felt his relief grow as my decision sank in. The nightmare had gone on long enough.
“When are you going to call them, Bradley?”
“As soon as we get back.”
“Do you think they’ll come out and arrest him right away? How long will it take?” he asked.
“I have no idea.”
“What do we do meanwhile?”
It was a tricky situation. Ray would become enraged when he learned of what he would no doubt consider my treachery. By that time I hoped for Lennie’s sake that there were a lot of policemen around.
“We avoid him,” I said. “I plan to be well away from Schoolcross, and I advise you to take an extended vacation, as well.”
“I’m not going to hide from him in my own home,” he said. “If he comes after me, I have to face him. Anyway, I have an advantage now. I’m expecting him. I need to maintain zanshin—not let him close the maai.”
“With due respect to Noboro, zanshin and maai won’t help you if it comes to a fight with Ray. He’s as close to professional as a man can get at killing. You should have seen him on Sixty-Fourth Street. Raider was dead before he knew there was danger.”
A shudder ran down my spine. I hated the memory of the knife sliding so easily between Raider’s ribs.
“She’s my wife, Bradley. You forget that I’m the man who’s been wronged here. Ray ought to be worrying about me.”
“Maybe he is, Lennie. Maybe he’s thinking about you right now.”
When Lennie and I arrived back at the Big House, Nora’s Mercedes was parked on the edge of the driveway, and her parents’ Cadillac was in the garage. The snow was sticking; the Mercedes already was covered in white, except for a few bare spots on the hood from the lingering warmth of the engine.
We looked at the cars, then at each other, shrugged, and entered the Big House through the front door. I’d planned on using the phone on the desk to make my call to the police, but Highat was in the studio looking at a work in progress.
As I greeted Highat, I could tell that the uncovered canvas had distressed Lennie. He had told me he was experimenting with a stylistic innovation that would create a sensation among his followers and the critics, but hadn’t yet allowed anyone, even Nora, to see it. But to cover the painting at this point would be unpardonably rude. To my surprise that’s what Lennie did, however, turning it face-inward on a special rotating stand. Following a moment of awkward silence, Highat glanced toward the sitting room door.
“Let’s join the others,” he said, taking my arm lightly. “Elisabeth and I met Ray and Nora in the drive, and I asked him in for a drink. He’s built one of his famous fires.”
Lennie remained alone in the studio, while Highat, smiling broadly, escorted me through the door. Ray and Elisabeth were in the sitting room, drinks in hand, but before I could say a word or admire the Christmas tree in the corner, Nora came storming in, looking for me.
“Bradley!” she said. “Why did you agree to sell one of Ray’s paintings and leave the buyer standing at Logan?”
“I . . . I . . . I tried to call him and tell him I was delayed . . .”
“I just got off the phone. He’s furious. He wanted delivery of that painting before Christmas. He said you’d agreed to meet him.”
Everyone stared as my face turned scarlet from the public rebuke. I knew how fiercely protective Nora was toward Lennie’s career, but I’d never before seen her in action on behalf of Ray—and especially not directed at me. The lengthy silence that followed was broken by Lennie’s voice, which came booming into the sitting room from the studio.
“Don’t blame Bradley, Nora,” he called out. “Come in here, please!”
The volume and tone with which Lennie demanded Nora’s presence stopped everyone in their tracks. Highat and Elisabeth exchanged quizzical looks.
Finally, Nora answered. “I’m busy with our guests,” she called. “What do you want?”
“I want you to come here,” Lennie said. “Now!”
No one had ever heard him speak to Nora so harshly. The missed appointment in Boston was completely forgotten as an embarrassed silence again filled the room.
“No,” Nora said firmly to the doorway. “I’m busy. Whatever it is, it will have to wait.”
Highat assumed the peacemaker’s role.
“Lennie,” he called, “come join us for a drink.”
“Not while that man is in my house,” Lennie called back.
He was so furious that his voice choked. Nora’s parents scanned the sitting room, looking for “that man.” Their eyes examined and rejected me before settling on Ray.
“Do you mean me, Lennie?” Ray called.
“Tell that man he’s not welcome here,” Lennie said. “He has to leave immediately.”
“What’s this all about?” Elisabeth asked Nora.
Nora shrugged and looked at me. The others in the room followed her gaze.
“Lennie’s upset,” I said to the room at large. Then I spoke directly to Ray. “Maybe it would be best if you left.”
He still stood casually by the fireplace, untouched drink in hand, but a heat rose up his neck and spread to his face.
“I’ll talk to him,” he said, and moved toward the doorway.
“That probably isn’t a good idea, Ray,” I said, following him. “Let’s go to the Quaker Cottage and have a drink together.”
Ray ignored me, striding into the studio, where he stopped about five paces from Lennie, who stood beside his desk. The desk drawer where Lennie kept the Webley was open again. This was all happening too fast. I stepped in front of Ray and put my hand on Lennie’s arm. Elisabeth and Highat had remained in the sitting room, but Nora followed us and now stood just inside the doorway.
“Stop it, both of you,” she said. “Bradley, make them stop.”
She turned to the sitting room.
“Daddy . . .” she said.
“I’ll leave if I’m not welcome here, Lennie,” said Ray calmly, but his eyes glowed with anger.
“Get out of my house, you bastard,” Lennie told him.
Ray flinched. He was a bastard, and he was sensitive about it. Was Lennie simply furious to find Ray in his house so unexpectedly, or was he intentionally provoking an attack so he could shoot him with the Webley?
Ray picked up a paintbrush from the worktable. The brush was one with a substantial bristle and, more chilling, a thin aluminum handle with a dull point at the end. He stroked the bristles with his fingers as he stood facing Lennie. Ray’s caress of the bristles was the only sign of nervousness.
“There’s no need to be insulting,” said Ray quietly. “I told you I was ready to leave.”
Lennie’s arms hung loosely in front of his body, all ten fingers pointing to the floor; he was wiggling them slowly, like a gunfighter in a cowboy movie.
“Get out, you bastard,” Lennie said again. “I want you out of this house now, and off Schoolcross.”
“Stop it, Lennie,” said Nora from the doorway. “You’re making a fool of yourself.”
Highat entered the studio.
“What in the world is going on?” he asked. “It’s Christmas. Is this necessary?”
Instead of leaving, Ray moved a step forward, toward Lennie
. I was standing between them, so he moved toward me too, but his gaze was focused on Lennie.
“Careful, Lennie,” I said. “He’s got a weapon.”
“Stay out of this, Bradley,” Ray said.
“Weapon?” said Highat. “The man’s holding a paintbrush.”
“Please, Ray,” I said. “Leave.”
“Get out of here, you bastard,” hissed Lennie, his eyes locked on Ray’s. “Go back to the rat hole I found you in.”
“What’s this all about, Nora?” asked Highat.
Just by looking at Nora, the answer was clear. This was all about her. She stood rooted near the door, and I knew what the doe had looked like when the bucks locked antlers.
Almost pleading, I said in a whisper, “Please leave, Ray. Lennie has a gun, and he’s completely unhinged. He’ll shoot you.”
Either Ray didn’t hear me or didn’t care. He took another step forward, still closing the distance. They were less than three paces apart when the telephone rang. We all stood there, silent and unmoving. The phone was sitting on the desk, inches from Lennie’s right hand. Finally Highat said, “For God’s sake, Lennie, would you please answer it?”
Lennie picked up the phone and said, “Hello?”
“It’s for you,” he said, pulling the elastic cord in front of his body to hand me the receiver.
Highat gently took Ray’s arm and the tension dissipated as I untangled the cord from around Lennie. I also used the opportunity to close the desk drawer with my legs. Highat spoke to Ray in a low, earnest tone.
The voice on the phone said, “Bradley, I have to talk to you.” It was Linda.
“Of course,” I said, startled to be speaking to her. “What is it?”
“Not on the phone. I need to see you tonight. Now. At home.” She was weeping.
“My God, what’s wrong?” I cried into the phone. “Has Mary been hurt?”
“Now, Bradley, please!” Linda sobbed as the connection broke. Everyone was staring at me. I re-dialed frantically and got a busy signal.
“Lennie, I’ve got to go!”
“What’s happened, Bradley?” he answered. “Is everything all right?”
My obvious alarm shook him from the rage that had been building ever since he’d discovered Ray in his house.
It's Not About Sex Page 22