Square in the Middle

by William Campbell Gault

  It was Lynn’s living room; I saw the Kandinsky reproduction on the wall near the front windows. My mouth was dry and bitter; I got up and fumbled my way to the kitchen for a glass of water.

  When I came back, I thought I heard a sound from the direction of the bedroom. I listened for a moment and heard nothing more.

  I started to put on my shoes and then realized my car was still at the parking lot. I would need a cab.

  I looked around for the phone — and saw Lynn standing in the hallway that led to the bedroom.

  “Did I wake you?” I asked.

  She shook her head and came further into the moonlight. She was wearing a nightgown of some thin and translucent material. She said, “I sat up for a while, watching you sleep, and then turned in and found I couldn’t sleep.”

  I could feel the pulse in my wrist and awareness grew in me. “Some party,” I said.

  She came over to sit on the studio couch. “Party people. Did you have fun?”

  “I haven’t laughed so hard in years. They’re a great gang, aren’t they?”

  “I — suppose. Did you plan on leaving, now?”

  “I — uh … Well, I thought you were asleep. Don’t you want me to leave? Will your friends …?”

  “Think badly of me? They already saw you here, asleep, when they left. The damage, if any, is done.”

  I smiled. “In their minds only.”

  “That would be the only damage that could be done — in their minds. Have you a cigarette handy?”

  I found my jacket and the package of cigarettes in the pocket. I gave her one and held a light for her. I lighted one for myself.

  “Some coffee?” she asked.

  “Not right now, thanks. What do you do, Lynn?”

  She chuckled. “Pick up squares in bars.”

  “You noticed,” I said. “You’ve got my number.”

  “I noticed nothing of the kind. But you kept insisting you were, to everybody at the party, for the final two hours before your blackout.”

  “Ouch! What a bore I must have been.”

  “On the contrary, you were a refreshing novelty. I get so fed up with all the half-wise guys and minor league cynics who usually hang around Heeney’s. I think you’re all right, Jim Gulliver.”

  “Thank you. I like you, too. And why couldn’t you sleep?”

  “With such a personable man in the next room? Don’t be naïve.”

  The silence was heavy. Finally I said, “Is there anything I could do to help you get to sleep?”

  She stood up. “That was well put. This way, Mr. Gulliver.”

  I followed her to her bedroom.

  three

  An hour or so after dawn, I heard a sob and looked over to see her crying.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “Nothing, nothing, nothing.” One hand came over to touch the scar tissue on my chest. “Where did you get that?”

  “In Italy, in the war. Why are you crying?”

  “Never mind. Italy was — that Italian Campaign was horrible, wasn’t it?”

  “All campaigns are horrible.”

  “My brother died in Italy, my big brother, my only brother. He was an infantryman. He was so proud of being an infantry soldier. Is that so special?”

  “To the infantry it is. I’d rather talk about you, Lynn.”

  “I wouldn’t. How about you, Mr. Gulliver?”

  I took a deep breath and said slowly. “Well, to begin with, I’m married.”

  “I imagined you were,” she said. “All the nice ones are. Why is that?”

  “I didn’t know they were. And I’d always thought I was happily married. I’ve always loved my wife. What happened a few hours ago has never happened before.”

  Silence. Her hand went away from my chest and she moved almost imperceptibly farther away.

  “All the wrong words, eh? I’m sorry. I’m a … I’ve no sensitivity, I guess.”

  “An honest man,” she said. “I was more startled than hurt. Is it too early to get up? Would you like some coffee now?”

  I sat up. “Stay where you are; I’ll make it. Relax.”

  The kitchen sink was full of dirty glasses and lemon rinds. I found the coffeemaker and the coffee, and searched for a spoon to measure with. The first drawer I opened was full of bills and the ones in sight were long overdue.

  I found a spoon in the next drawer and measured the coffee into the top of the glass dingus. I turned on a low flame and went back to the bedroom.

  Lynn wasn’t there; I heard the swish of a shower from the bathroom. I went to the window and looked out onto a sloping and weed-filled back yard. This house was built into the hill; the living-room windows overlooked the canyon.

  I was sitting on the bed when Lynn came back from the bathroom wearing an oversized terry-cloth robe. She looked at me gravely. “Why so sad? Or is it a hangover?”

  “No, I feel pretty good. I didn’t realize I was looking sad. Were you ever married, Lynn?”

  “For two months, when I was seventeen. It was annulled by my father.”

  “No alimony, of course.”

  She didn’t answer for a few seconds, while she stared at me. Finally, “No alimony. What is this, Jim, a character investigation?”

  I shook my head. “I’m just interested. Shouldn’t I be interested in you?”

  Again, she didn’t answer for a few seconds. Then, “I know — you saw those bills in the kitchen. Didn’t you?”

  “I saw some bills. I was looking for a spoon.”

  “My bills aren’t your business, Jim.”

  I smiled. “People with bills are what keep me in business. Those are the kind of people who come to me for loans.”

  “Well, I’m the new kind. And now, will you turn around? I’m maidenly in the mornings.”

  I went to the bathroom. The mirror showed me the circles under my eyes and the sprouting beard. Last night’s laughter had evolved into dirty dishes and a drawer full of unpaid bills.

  But I still liked Lynn Bedloe and if there was any sense of guilt following my first infidelity, I wasn’t aware of it. A husband and a father; had I no conscience?

  The shower temperature was erratic, almost scalding me as it changed from warm to hot. I turned off the hot spigot and finished with the cold. I found a razor and new blade and shaved.

  When I came into the kitchen, Lynn was washing glasses. She said, “There isn’t much besides toast that I can offer you. Not an egg nor an orange in the house.”

  “Coffee’s all I want. If you’re hungry, though, we could go out for breakfast.”

  She shook her head. “I never eat in the morning. Isn’t that Max Schuman still in business with you?”

  “Yes. But he and Miss Padbury had gone home before you came in that afternoon. Do you know Max well?”

  She shook her head. “I met him at Heeney’s once. And then, some time ago, I came in to see him about a loan. You weren’t around that time.”

  “I see. Did you buy this house recently?”

  Her voice was low. “It was my brother’s. He left it to me.”

  “The one who — was in Italy? Oh, that’s right, you told me he was your only brother. Any sisters, Lynn?”

  “No sisters, no parents, just Lynn. Do you use cream in your coffee?”

  “No. What did Max offer you on the place?”

  “Four thousand dollars — at ten percent. I had a feeling he expected more than money in return. Talking to him made me feel — unclean. What kind of man is he?”

  We were sitting at the kitchen table now, and I sipped my coffee before answering. “He’s a good business man. Why didn’t you follow through on the loan offer?”

  “Tom told me the interest rate was exorbitant — Tom Edlinger, I mean. And he told me I could do a lot better at a bank or building and loan. Then some money came in, and I didn’t need the loan. Isn’t ten percent usury?”

  “No, it’s the legal limit in California on this type of loan. If you shopped around
, you could probably get four thousand dollars of five percent money. I could get it for you if you want it.”

  She frowned and looked at her coffee. “This place is all I have.” She looked up. “It’s a sort of — anchor, something solid to hang onto. I need something solid; I think I’ll hold off on that loan.”

  “Marriage is something solid, too, Lynn.”

  Her face was a mask. “Is it? Not the marriages I’ve seen. Is yours?”

  “Ouch,” I said. “Okay, your round.”

  We sat in silence for a moment, drinking coffee. Then she said, “I’m sorry. It’s my morning nastiness. I’m really sorry, Jim.”

  “Don’t be. I had it coming. I must have sounded like Dorothy Dix. How about Tom Edlinger, Lynn?”

  “He’s thirty-three and an architect and fairly prosperous and his divorce isn’t final. Is that what you wanted to know?”

  “No. I had a feeling, last night, that he came to Heeney’s for one reason only, to see you. Am I right?”

  “I doubt it. He’s been coming there for a long time. I met him there.” She took a breath. “Before his wife considered divorcing him.”

  I looked at her, saying nothing.

  She met my gaze. “I wasn’t named in court, but I must have been named often enough out of court, especially at Heeney’s.”

  “You — like Tom?”

  “Everybody likes Tom. Don’t you?”

  “He’s clever,” I said. “He knows a lot of funny stories.” I poured some more coffee. “He’s certainly handsome enough.”

  “And well-to-do,” Lynn added quietly. “Keep talking, Jim; you’ll sell me.”

  “Does he want to marry you?”

  “He hasn’t suggested it. It’s a thing I’m sure I could arrange. Do you recommend it, Mr. Gulliver?”

  I said nothing.

  “You’re blushing,” she said. “I thought it was a lost art.”

  I said nothing.

  She smiled. “All right, you meant well. But you sound like a — scoutmaster, or something.”

  I nodded. “A square. I’ll shut up. Only this — if you have financial troubles, I want you to come to me for advice. There are some terrible pirates in that loan field. And if you want four thousand at five percent on this house, let me know. And if you want to invest some of that four thousand, I’ll take it and guarantee you fifteen percent on your money. Now, how about some more coffee?”

  Her smile was warm and friendly. “Thank you, a half cup, please.”

  I poured it for her.

  She said softly, “I’m a little monster. You do worry about me, don’t you?”

  I nodded. “Yes, I do.”

  “Why, Jim?”

  “I — I don’t know.” I shook my head and began again. “Because I think you’re — vulnerable, and kind of wonderful.”

  Silence, again, and then one tear moved down her cheek. “You, you — goddamned — square.” Her hand came across the table to pat mine.

  • • •

  Later, I said, “I’ll have to get to the parking lot for my car. I suppose I could get a bus.”

  “Take my car,” she said. “You can leave it on the lot, with the keys over the visor. I’ll get into town all right, later.”

  I phoned the office first, and told Miss Padbury I’d be in late. I hoped she wouldn’t see me pick up my car at the lot.

  At the doorway, Lynn put her fingers to her lips and then pressed them against mine. “I don’t suppose I’ll be seeing much of you. You’re not a Heeney’s type, Jim.”

  “Neither are you. You’ll be seeing me.”

  She was still standing in the doorway when I drove away.

  It was going to be a warm day; cars were already piling up in the beach parking lots. At my parking lot, I paid the attendant in advance for Lynn’s car, and went over to mine.

  I had meant to go home to change my clothes; I had the door to my car open. And then Max’s Cad came rolling in from the street. Max usually parked right next to me.

  The way it would look to him, I was just arriving in my car. I made a big show of closing the car door again, and waited.

  When he’d parked and come over to join me, he said, “This is a day for golf. But as long as you don’t take any time off, I suppose I shouldn’t.”

  “Don’t be silly,” I said. “We’re never that busy.”

  He shook his head sadly. “No, it wouldn’t be fair.”

  “Why don’t you play some golf?” I said. “It will do you good to hit something besides me for a change. Do me good, too.”

  We were on the sidewalk now, only a few buildings from the office. He stopped. “It is a beautiful day.” He frowned. “Look, if Adele calls, I had to go to Pasadena on business. Right?”

  “Right,” I said. “Wouldn’t Malibu seem more reasonable?”

  “Good. Malibu. Jim, I want you to take some time off, too.”

  “I will,” I promised. “Shall I tell Adele you won’t be home for lunch?”

  “No, I’ll call her from the club. Hell, I can get thirty-six holes in, if I take the whole day.”

  “Take it,” I said, “and I’ll take one within a week.”

  He punched my chest gently. “Partners. Buddies.” He winked and turned back toward the parking lot.

  I hadn’t played golf for four years, and it was a game I loved. I hadn’t done much of anything for four years except fuss and fume and work like a damned fool. And why?

  Every breath a man takes is one less of the allotted number. All of us, the butterflies and the drones, were heading the same way, toward the last breath and the last heartbeat. God alone knew what awaited us beyond that. I was a dope.

  Miss Padbury’s typewriter was clacking busily. She looked up as I entered. “I thought you were going to be late.”

  “I thought so, too. I met Max outside and we decided he should go out and look at that Malibu property.”

  She frowned. “What Malibu property?”

  “The Malibu property he’s going to tell Mrs. Schuman he has to look at, so naturally he won’t be home for lunch, if she calls.”

  “I see. The Malibu property at the Brentwood Country Club. I should get paid more for lying.”

  “You can’t be sure you’re lying,” I said, “but I was thinking it was about time you had another raise. You’re an ace, Miss Padbury.”

  “Thank you, sir. You’ve a 10:30 appointment with Colonel Dean.”

  “Hmmm! I wonder what’s cooking now?”

  “I don’t know. The Colonel doesn’t let the help in on his little schemes. I wish he would; I could use a gilt-edged investment that pays off like the Colonel’s schemes.”

  “If it’s good,” I promised, “I’ll let you in on it. Secretly, of course.”

  “Of course. Even — especially a secret from Mr. Schuman.”

  “We’ll see.” I smiled at her and went into my office.

  The pictures of Carol and the kids seemed to be looking at me reproachfully. I sat at the desk and wrote a letter to Carol, telling her how much I missed them all, but insisting that they stay as long as they wanted to, and hang the expense.

  Then I got the books from Miss Padbury and studied them for loans I could discount for quick money. We had a pretty slim balance at the bank and it wouldn’t be enough, I was sure, for one of the Colonel’s “schemes.”

  He’d lived in this town all his life, and he knew everybody of importance in the state. I’d met him once at a party at Max’s house, and he’d taken a liking to me, for some reason or other.

  His wife told me it was because I looked like his son had looked at my age. His son had been killed in an automobile accident twenty years ago. He’d been an only child.

  The Colonel was well over seventy, but a very sharp man around a dollar. He didn’t play for peanuts, though, and what we had in the bank was peanuts. We keep our money working.

  At 10:30 he came in. He’s a tall man and heavy. His face was tanned and his eyes were bright with inte
rest. He waited until Miss Padbury closed the door before saying, “I’ve got a hot one, Jim.”

  “Sit down, Colonel. How much money will it take?”

  “Not too much. Eighty thousand should swing it. I want enough to get title to that piece of land on Pico, between Cass and Knapp.”

  I closed my eyes and tried to visualize the land he meant. “It’s empty, isn’t it? How’s it zoned?”

  “There are a couple of houses near the Knapp Street end, a couple of — hovels. It can be zoned for anything we want, Jim.”

  “What did you have in mind?”

  “Holding it for a while. The very minimum we can do is double our money in about a year.”

  “Why is that, Colonel?”

  He looked around behind him at the closed door. He heard the sound of Miss Padbury’s typewriter clacking. Then he said quietly, “Devon’s are coming in there.”

  Devon’s were the biggest department store in the city. They had branches in Pasadena, Sherman Oaks, Palm Springs and Balboa, in addition to their big, downtown store.

  “If they were coming in, they’d have bought the land by now, wouldn’t they, Colonel? They don’t want to tip off any speculators.”

  “Only the Chairman of the Board knows they’re going to build on that land when they get it. Nobody but the Chairman and Colonel Dean and Jim Gulliver know it, right now.”

  “And some local politicians, probably,” I said.

  He shook his head. “Just the three of us, Jim. And the three of us will have our money in it.”

  “How about Max?”

  The Colonel looked at me steadily. “I’d leave that up to you, Jim. It’s you I want. I guess you know I’ve other friends I could go to. You see, the Chairman’s name can’t show in this transaction. And neither can mine. He’s my brother-in-law, Jim.”

  “I see,” I said, “I see.”

  He smiled. “A cinch.”

  Yes, indeed. The brother-in-law was the buyer openly and the seller secretly. He wouldn’t fight for a buyer’s advantageous terms. It was stockholders’ money he’d be buying with.

  It bothered me. There wasn’t anything wrong with it, I suppose, but I didn’t like it. All I liked about it was the certain profit. I asked, “How much time have I? The eighty thousand would be my share?”