Chris

by Randy Salem

  She could wait until tomorrow to start worrying about Tongariva. But right now she had to figure a way around Dizz for this weekend.

  CHAPTER 11

  Dizz was in a rage which, apparently, she had been working on all day. Not a screaming rage. Dizz never screamed. But sullen, silent, and decidedly unfriendly.

  Chris tried for an hour. She told Dizz about Max and about the shells and about Jonathan. She talked on happily about the importance of the find and her own joy at the part she was going to play in making it. She was excited and the more she talked, the more excited she became.

  And Dizz listened. Or at least seemed to. She had nothing to say. There was an expression on her face that clearly said she couldn't be less interested.

  Chris saw the expression and she felt her hands grow cold and the heart go dead within her. She never expected Dizz to take an interest in her work nor to offer encouragement. But she could say something. Anything. She didn't have to sit there and look at her like she wished Chris would just go away.

  Damn it, Chris thought. You've been much too sweet the past couple of days, my girl. And I, wistful fool that I am, forgot for a while. I must be getting soft in the brain.

  Chris poured herself a second cup of coffee. She sat stirring it slowly. She could think of nothing more to say.

  "Are you quite finished, Chris?" Dizz said icily.

  Chris did not look up. "Yes," she said, "I'm quite finished, Dizz." Her voice was dead. Her enthusiasm over the trip, over life, over living, over anything she'd ever been happy about sneaked off into a corner and died.

  "Then let me get the dishes cleared up," Dizz said. "George will be here early."

  Chris picked up the cup of coffee and carried it with her to her bedroom. She closed the door quietly and went to sit at the desk. She pulled out a drawer, propped her feet on it and leaned back in the chair. She stared at the wall in front of her. She did not see it or anything else.

  She wanted desperately to think about Carol, about the weekend and Tongariva. She wanted to think about anything but Dizz.

  But no matter where she searched in her mind, it was always Dizz she found there. Dizz, whom she'd held last night and loved. And with whom she had failed. Dizz whom she loved and beside whom a career and Carol and everything else mattered not at all. She wanted Dizz to care, to shout and rage if necessary, but not to sit there, bored and annoyed. Not to dismiss her. Not to say, get up and go away. I can't stand you.

  Oh, Dizz, her soul cried out, what have I done wrong now?

  Or maybe it wasn't she this time. Maybe Dizz'd had a spat with Georgie boy. She must have talked to him today. That's it. It's not me. It's that damned George. She doesn't care about me. It's George.

  Sure—she's afraid that George is angry at her and won't care about her. She's afraid that he won't want to climb into bed with her anymore.

  Well, don't worry, kid. No man in the world ever looked at you without getting hot. No man ever looked at that body without wanting to climb all over it. George'll take one look at you, and that's it. And you'll probably let him. The hell with me. The hell with us. You like George today. You don't want him to be mad at you. And if he touches you—

  By the pernicious route of abject self-pity, Chris managed swiftly to work herself into a state of complete depression. She did not shift her position. She stared bleakly in front of her and saw nothing. After a while she was not even thinking. She was numb.

  Dimly, from miles away, she heard the buzzer ring in the kitchen. Still she did not move. She wanted no part of George. She wanted to be alone with her misery, did not want George to see the tears at the edge of her eyes or know by the quaver in her voice that she had given up. She did not want him to realize that she knew he could pick Dizz up and run away with her.

  Dizz did not come to call her. She could hear them out there, talking and laughing now and then.

  Laughing at me, probably, Chris thought. Poor dear fool who gets all excited about a sea shell. Poor dear fool. Poor fool.

  She began to see pictures in her mind. Pictures of George taking Dizz in his arms. Kissing her, caressing her. Whispering to her and loving her. Dizz—her girl.

  Then other pictures, a whole procession of them. A movie, sort of, in technicolor. Not to mention stereophonic sound. She was stalking George across an island jungle, driving him to the sea—driving him into her element where she could catch and kill him. And somewhere, in a secret cave, was Dizz, waiting to be rescued. And the tide was coming in and the water rising and in ten minutes Dizz would be drowned. She had to hurry and...

  At the hottest point of the chase, a knock sounded at the bedroom door. Chris tumbled back to reality; the hot-blooded hero sat up abruptly. She braced her hands against the desk, her arms stiff in front of her.

  "Chris," Dizz called. "May I come in?"

  "Of course," Chris answered.

  Dizz opened the door and walked in and across to sit on the bed. There was something very deliberate in her movements and something very deliberate on her face.

  Chris looked past her to the living room. There was no one there. "Where's George?" she said.

  "I sent him home," Dizz said. "I told him I had to talk to you about something."

  "Oh?" Chris felt her eyebrows rise toward her hairline.

  Dizz propped her elbows on one knee and leaned her chin on her fist. "I don't quite know how to say this, Chris," she began. "But I have to find out."

  "Darling, there is no reason why you can't say whatever's on your mind." Chris felt little of the confidence she displayed. She had the terrible feeling that Dizz was going to tell her something about George and herself, something that would leave Chris alone and out of it. Maybe they were already having an affair. Maybe Dizz wanted to marry him.

  "Well," Dizz said, "Jonathan called back right after you left. He wanted to talk to me. You know what an old maid he is," she said, a little apologetically.

  In a flash of understanding Chris knew what was coming—Jonathan was still. out to break them up and would use any method he could find. No wonder he'd been so generous with Carol's time. Chris braced herself.

  "Anyhow," Dizz went on, "he said, you know, that he didn't want to start anything. But he thought I should know that you spent yesterday afternoon with his new assistant, whom he describes as a gorgeous brunette."

  "So?" Chris said casually. She did not feel casual. The hair on her scalp prickled and the palms of her hands were suddenly damp.

  Dizz hesitated. "I wouldn't have given it a second thought," she said. "Except that you got home pretty late last night, plastered and ashamed of yourself."

  Chris waited, sitting very still.

  "Darling," Dizz said slowly, "I know you're not always happy with me. I knew it last night. I felt you crying. I have a fairly good idea of what you do on weekends. I can't really blame you. And I can accept it." She looked down at the floor. "But the idea of you getting serious about someone else just never occurred to me before. I don't like it."

  Chris felt the tension relax and she settled more comfortably into the chair. She wouldn't know what to do if Dizz wanted to leave her. But if all that bothered Dizz was that Chris might be taking off, well…

  Chris' hearty laugh betokened infinite relief. 'Is that all that's eating you?" she said.

  "Isn't it enough?" Dizz said with annoyance. She was not taking the situation lightly.

  "Look," Chris said seriously, "let me set you straight about something. I'm in love with you, Dizz. Four years more so than the night I met you. I still flip every time I look at you. Nobody, but nobody does to me what you do. And don't forget it." She said it with all the sincerity in her and she knew that it was so.

  Dizz looked at her sharply. "And what does this Carol Martin do for you?"

  Chris was silent for a long minute. Then she said, "Let me put it to you this way. Carol is a marine biologist. She understands when I get elated over a sea shell. That's the only thing she's got over you."
r />   Dizz cocked her head on one side and thought it over carefully. She gave no indication of understanding or of belief.

  "Will you be seeing a lot of her?" Dizz said.

  "I'll be working with her pretty closely until I leave for Tongariva," Chris answered.

  "Is she going with, you?"

  "Of course not," Chris said. She was getting irritable. Not because Dizz did not believe her so much as the fact that she would not let it drop. Dizz would believe whatever she wanted to, regardless of the truth. But Chris, with a sense of guilt teasing her, could think of no words to make Dizz be still.

  Dizz sat still, frowning to herself. "Chris," she said, not looking at her, "do you love this girl?"

  Chris thought it over carefully. She did not want to lie to Dizz. Dizz would know if she did. At the moment she could safely say that she was not in love with Carol. Just deeply fond of her. But, despite what she believed to be her undying love for Dizz, Chris could not promise that her feelings for Carol would not grow beyond fondness.

  For Chris was wise enough to know that it was possible for her to love them both and at the same time. One of them desperately and without hope, the other constructively and with shared enjoyment. She did not care to contemplate what would happen if the time came for her to make a choice. For the moment she was not ready to part with either. Carol, because she offered tenderness and affection and understanding. And Dizz—well, just because she was Dizz.

  She decided to take an indirect tack.

  "Dizz," she said, "do you know that while you were out there with George, I was sitting in here driving myself mad? I was sick with jealousy and fear. And when you came in, I thought you were going to say you're eloping with him or something." It hurt her to admit it, to let Dizz see behind it. But she could think of no other way out.

  Dizz laughed as heartily as Chris had a few minutes before. "You ninny," she said. "George is just a friend. I enjoy him, that's all."

  Chris grinned. "See what I mean?"

  "What?" Dizz said, looking puzzled. Then the face relaxed. "Oh," she said.

  Chris got off the chair and squatted down before Dizz. She took both the girl's hands in her own. "Honey," she said, "I'm repeating myself, but I love you. You're a part of me, like my hair or an arm. I wouldn't be complete without either. Or without you." She kissed the curled fingers. "And if you ever hear me cry, it's not because you don't make me happy. It's because I haven't done the same for you."

  They were quiet together for a long time, with their hands clinging. Chris saw in Dizz's eyes something close to tenderness. It had been many heartaches ago since Dizz had looked at her like that. And many tears.

  Finally Dizz said, "You won't leave me?"

  Chris sighed. "No," she said. "I won't leave you." And if I could believe that you would keep that glow, she thought, I would never even look at any one else.

  Dizz stood up. With a finger she tousled Chris' hair. "Shall we drink to that?" she said. "I could use one."

  "Sure," Chris answered. "I'll take coffee, though. No more alcohol or cigarettes till I get back from Tongariva."

  Dizz fixed herself a drink and got coffee for Chris. She came back to the bedroom and put both drinks on the desk. She sat down on the chair. Chris had sprawled out on the bed and lay with her hands linked behind her head. She was relaxed now, the pieces of her world all back in place. She was ready to believe they could go on together forever, as they had always gone on, and that nothing could interfere.

  "How long will you be gone?" Dizz asked.

  "A month. Maybe more."

  "Chris," Dizz said, "tell me honestly. Will this be a dangerous job? I can't help remembering the last one."

  "I thought we settled all that this morning," Chris smiled. "It could be, of course. Any diving job could be. I prefer to consider the cheerier aspects."

  "I know," Dizz said. "But how do you think I feel, sitting here for a month? Not knowing whether you'll be corning home in one piece or ten—or none."

  Chris nodded. "You're right," she said. "You can always come along, you know."

  "This may be the shock of your life, my dear, but I have every intention of doing just that," Dizz said triumphantly.

  "Do you mean that?" Chris said, afraid to believe it.

  "I do," she replied. "No gorgeous brunette is going to know more about this trip than I do!"

  "Ouch," Chris said. "I thought you were afraid I'd drown."

  Dizz picked up her glass and drained it in three long swallows. "I believe in killing two birds with every stone," she said.

  At the mention of the gorgeous brunette, Chris remembered her proposal to Carol. Somehow it all seemed very far away and just not very vital. Dizz was going to Tongariva with her. The first time since that trip to Nova Scotia. Maybe, alone and away from the city, they could get a new start together, work out some of their mutual disappointments. If it could be again like it was that first night, the hell with sea shells. And with Carol

  But she had promised. And she knew Carol loved her. And she needed the trip anyway. And... And if she didn't go, Chris told herself, she might spend the rest of her life wondering about what she could have had with Carol. Learning to resent Dizz, even to hate her, when she climbed into her solitary bed and slept her lonely sleep. Wondering till the day she died if it wouldn't have worked out better with Carol.

  Chris remembered painfully the hideous result of last night's attempt with Dizz. And the bitterness she held in her heart. And the softness and the sweetness of Carol. She knew she had to find out.

  "Honey," Chris said, "I thought I'd take a trip down to the Inlet this weekend while you're off seeing your family. I want to see if I still know how to swim."

  "Will you need any help?" Dizz asked.

  "Not really. It would be fun to have you along. But it's probably the last chance you’ll have to get home for awhile." Oh, Chris, she thought, you're such a shrewdie.

  "That's right. I hadn't thought of that" Dizz admitted. "I guess I can trust you for a weekend. How are you going?"

  "I thought I'd rent a car," Chris said. "That's the easiest way."

  "I'll ask George if you can borrow his. I don't think he'd mind," Dizz said.

  Chris did not protest. Things were confused enough without adding to it.

  "Well, I'm going to bed," Dizz said, getting up and starting for the door. "We didn't get much sleep "last night."

  Chris blew her a kiss. "Good night" she said.

  Dizz paused just outside the door. "Chris," she said, the old ice creeping back into her voice. "I didn't mean to get sloppily sentimental awhile ago. I've always told you that you were free to leave at any time."

  "Forget it," Chris said. She knew the disappointment was audible. She had enjoyed the moment's delusion of foreverness. But Dizz didn't know the word.

  Chris got up from the bed and picked up the cup of coffee. It was cold. She put it down.

  Somehow, she thought, it would straighten out. She could work something out with Carol. And Dizz. It would have to be all right with Dizz. She needed Dizz more than she would ever need anything else.

  CHAPTER 12

  Chris walked through the archway and into the solarium. She snapped on the lamp hanging on a cord above the desk and threw her jacket over the back of a chair.

  It was just before nine, Saturday morning. Carol had not yet arrived. Considering the fact that they had been working fourteen hours a day, Chris was not surprised. She'd had trouble waking up herself.

  She sat down at her desk and pulled over a thick folder of notes. Inside she found the checklist of data to be gathered. She read carefully through the list, checking off each item already covered. Everything was in order.

  In three days she and Carol and the public library had amassed enough information to write a guide book to Tongariva and the Pacific islands in general. On Monday morning Jonathan would be expecting their report. He had taken care of the sea plane and diving equipment and clearance for the expedi
tion. He'd spent a lot of money and he wasn't especially happy about it. Chris knew that her end of the deal had to be perfect.

  Chris was satisfied that she and Carol had done a superior job. And glad there was little left to be done today. She was tired to death.

  Not only had she been working hard. She had been under an emotional strain that kept her from sleep when she finally crawled into bed.

  Carol had proved to be little short of perfection as a co-worker. They had exchanged few words during the long hours, and then their talk was strictly business. Both had been completely absorbed in the job at hand. Yet just when Chris found her head throbbing and her back beginning to ache, Carol was there with coffee and sandwiches and a smile.

  Dizz had proved to be decidedly less cooperative. It was something beyond the usual chameleon moodiness. Chris had long since grown accustomed to the flickering warmth that changed abruptly back to the more usual chill of boredom and disinterest. But during these past three nights had been added a subtle flavoring of disgust and contempt that Chris had not known before.

  Dizz did not believe that Chris was working until midnight. She hadn't said that in so many words—she wouldn't—but there was no warm supper when Chris got home; there wasn't even much pretense at civility. Dizz simply sat there on the couch, cold and serene, watching Chris, smoking, not saying a word. She had not been drinking. She was, indeed, sternly sober. And watching.

  She was not listening when Chris spoke to her. She was not talking. And the one time Chris had made a move to kiss her, she had turned away in revulsion.

  Alone and miserable in her bed, Chris had stared blankly at the ceiling until dawn came, until the alarm rang. And when she dared think at all, it was simply to pray that she could hold Dizz until they got away together. She dared not think that she could not win Dizz back.

  And somehow it had gotten to be Saturday. In a half dozen hours she and Carol would be on their way to the Inlet in George's car. Dizz would bring the car around and leave her the keys. Not that she had said so—she had left a note on the kitchen table.