Square in the Middle

by William Campbell Gault

  “I don’t understand you, Mrs. Edlinger.”

  “I think you do. Mind if I sit down?”

  I rose to the crouch permissible by the confines of the booth. “Of course not, Mrs. Edlinger. Could I order you something?”

  She shook her head and carefully wormed into a seat across from me. She watched the liquid in her glass anxiously as she did this.

  When we were both seated again, she said, “You look like a nice guy, Mr. Gulliver.”

  I said nothing.

  She stared around slowly and then said, “I guess I’ve left my bag in the other booth. I’ll get it; I want a cigarette.”

  “I’ll get it,” I said.

  When I went to the other booth, I caught a gesture from the bartender. He shook his head and indicated the door with one hand.

  I didn’t know if he meant I should leave or he would give the heave to Mrs. Edlinger. I got her purse and came back.

  “Thank you,” she said very distinctly. “I am not going to be a nuisance, Mr. Gulliver. I’m not that drunk — yet.”

  I said nothing.

  She found a cigarette and I held a light for her. She inhaled deeply and said, “I thought I might run into some of those other freeloaders here. I never expected to see you.”

  “What other freeloaders, Mrs. Edlinger?”

  “Tom’s idiot friends. The ones who broke up our marriage.”

  “I’m not familiar with the story, Mrs. Edlinger,” I said quietly.

  “Maybe not,” she said. “Did you know Tom well?”

  “No, not very well. Well enough to guess he had a lot of charm.”

  “And a talent,” she said, “but the Heeney gang wouldn’t know about that or care about the charm. Tom also had enough money to pick up the tab; that’s what they loved about him.”

  “Are you sure that’s a fair judgment, Mrs. Edlinger?” I asked.

  “I’m sure and you will be. You’re a married man; what can they bring you but trouble?”

  “Some laughs.”

  She looked at me in drunken gravity. “Are you laughing now?”

  “Not at the moment. Mrs. Edlinger, why do you worry about me? I’m a big boy; I can take care of myself.”

  “Really …? And who’ll take care of your wife?”

  “I don’t — think that need concern you, Mrs. Edlinger.”

  “Don’t be stuffy,” she said calmly. “I can give you the story on all of them. Don’t you want to know about your new friends, Mr. Gulliver?”

  I didn’t answer. The waitress brought my short ribs, and I started to eat. Rita Edlinger continued to smoke and stare at me.

  All we needed was a Star photographer now for another front-page story — SHYLOCK WOOS WIDOW. Not that Rita Edlinger was a bona fide widow or I was a bona fide Shylock. The Star could overlook the factual details.

  The short ribs were good and so were the peas. I didn’t look at Rita Edlinger.

  She said quietly, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

  “I’m not embarrassed,” I lied. I looked at her frankly. “I suppose — I mean, you loved him, didn’t you? You …”

  She nodded. “Do you love your wife, Mr. Gulliver? And your kids?”

  “Very much.” I looked at my food.

  “But you don’t want to know about this gang?”

  “There’ll be a man,” I said, “questioning you about them. He will appreciate everything you have to tell him about them.”

  “A policeman, you mean?”

  I shook my head. “A private investigator.”

  Her voice showed a new interest. “You hired a private investigator?”

  “I won’t go on record as saying I did that.”

  She smiled and sipped her drink. “Well, that’s very interesting. Perhaps you’re not quite as naïve as you seem, James Gulliver.”

  “It’s quite possible,” I agreed. “Wouldn’t you like to eat something? At least, some soup …?”

  Her smile was warmer and I felt her attraction. She put the cigarette out carefully. “You’re a worrier, Jim. You’re a bleeding heart. I’ll have soup if it will make you happy. Onion soup; they’re noted for it.”

  I beckoned the waitress and ordered the soup. Rita Edlinger added, “And bring plenty of that grated Parmesan cheese.” She set her drink farther away. It was only half-consumed.

  Her eyes were reminiscent. “You’re a bleeding heart,” she repeated, “and a certain girl we both know has you smack in the middle of a mess because you are what you are. A soft little girl with big cow eyes and round heels has her hot little hands around your heart and she’s squeezing the life out of you.”

  “Let’s talk about something else,” I said.

  “All right,” she said calmly, “let’s talk about Tom Edlinger and his Spanish wife, Rita. They were very happy. Rita had the money and Tom had the ideas and the talent and together they built some pretty nice homes in this area. And then, for some reason or other, Tom got to hanging around bars….”

  “Don’t,” I interrupted. “What can you gain by going all over it?”

  “Don’t worry,” she said, “I’m not going to get out of hand. I won’t embarrass you.”

  “I wasn’t thinking of me; I was thinking of you.”

  She nodded. “You would. Which makes you ineligible for the Heeney gang. Well, to continue, Rita was no convent-schooled señorita. She knew a thing or two about men. So I went along with Tom to the bars and especially this one. Only Rita didn’t fit in as she should.” She traced a circle on the tablecloth with one carmine fingernail and looked up smilingly. “Do you think they might have thought I was a — Mexican? Do you think that could have been it?”

  “I’ve no idea,” I said.

  Her onion soup came and she studied it. She picked up a spoon. “Haven’t any of them ever told you what was wrong with Rita?”

  I lied with a shake of the head.

  “Perhaps I was too possessive?”

  I shrugged.

  “Perhaps I thought our bed should be Tom’s only bed? I suppose that’s not a really civilized thought.”

  “A lot of people think it’s the only right thought.”

  “I did. Perhaps I put on some weight. Could that have been it? Do you think I’m getting that heavy, Mexican look, Jim?”

  I shook my head. “I think you are extremely attractive, Mrs. Edlinger.”

  She nodded. “So did some of the other Heeney citizens. Perhaps I shouldn’t have told them off so violently. That must have been the Latin in me. I’m boring you, aren’t I?”

  “No,” I said, “but you’re torturing yourself. It’s not sensible. You’ve a lot of living ahead of you, Rita.”

  She shook her head. “A lot of years, but no living. I died with Tom. I just hope to live long enough to see the lot of them in their own personal hells.”

  I couldn’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t sound stuffy. I didn’t think it was the time to sound stuffy.

  She ladled the cheese into her soup. “Don’t look so pained. I’m through. It’s off my chest.”

  The waitress brought my coffee.

  “Do you know what catharsis means, Jim?” Rita asked.

  I frowned. “I think so.”

  “I learned it from my first psychiatrist. I suppose you knew I — had experience with psychiatrists?”

  I lied again with a shake of the head.

  “I have to be careful,” she said. “I’m not supposed to get all wrought up. Talking to you probably helped me.”

  “I hope so,” I told her sincerely. “A woman who loves as deeply as you do can’t be dead, Rita. There are a lot of worthwhile men in this world.”

  “Men like the pipsqueaks,” she said lightly. “Men like the nothing girls, the thin-boned little girls with big eyes. Men fall in love with the images of their little daughters or their mothers. This is a daughter period we’re going through.”

  “Not me,” I said. “My wife’s as — full-bodied as you
are, Rita.”

  She looked at me softly, her lustrous eyes dimly wet. “Save that, Jim Gulliver, no matter who you have to sacrifice. Take it from another bleeder, Jim, you’ll find nothing you’re looking for at Heeney’s.”

  “You might be right,” I said. “I’m not quite as — worthless as the Star makes me out. Nor quite as stupid as Sergeant Dyke thinks. Did he question you?”

  She nodded. “And I gave him an earful. He could write a book on this gang, now.”

  I smiled. “You’re feeling better, aren’t you?”

  She nodded. “I certainly am. I don’t know if it’s the onion soup or Jim Gulliver’s ear.” She made a face. “If you do get thrown out of the house, when your wife gets back from Arrowhead, perhaps we — can console each other.”

  I grinned. “I’ll keep the offer in mind. How did you know my wife wasn’t back from Arrowhead?”

  “I guessed it. There hasn’t been time for the paper to get there. You can safely leave me now, Jim; I’m going to be all right.” She nodded at the still unconsumed drink. “You can take that back to the bar on your way.”

  I had finished my coffee; I stood up and looked down at her. “Good luck, Rita. I hope we’ll meet again.”

  “Not while you’re still married, I hope we don’t,” she said. “Good luck to you, Jim.”

  I took her drink back to the bar and told the bartender, “She doesn’t want any more of this. Send her over a cup of coffee when she has finished the soup, will you?”

  “Sure thing, Mr. Gulliver. I … She made trouble in here once before. I was a little nervous about her.”

  “She’s Tom Edlinger’s former wife,” I said.

  His smile was wry. “Don’t I know it? Doesn’t everybody she talks to soon find it out?” He looked at me warily. “Was that something to crow about, being Tom Edlinger’s wife?”

  “I don’t know,” I said wearily. “I didn’t know him very well.”

  The hazy morning had turned into a sunny afternoon. I walked along Wilshire, looking in the shop windows. Four blocks of that and I’d had enough; I went back to the office.

  Miss Padbury was typing as I entered. She said, “Mr. Schuman wants to see you immediately.”

  Max was on the phone when I went into his office. He was saying, “… all right, you goniff, take my blood. That house is in the best section of Brentwood, stupid. If I didn’t need the money in a hurry, I wouldn’t even be talking to a thief like you. I should have known what to expect from a first-tee lawyer. You get no more strokes from me, schtunk.” He smiled. “All right, Sam, three strokes and six percent, a fair trade. You’ll have your money back in sixty days.” He hung up.

  “Now what?” I asked him. “Is that your home you’re borrowing money on?”

  “Keeerect. How much can you get on yours? Is it loaded?”

  “Slow up, Max,” I said. “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing I want to bother you with now. Can you get a quick ten thousand for a half-interest in a fortune?”

  “I can get it from Hillview in five minutes if you’ll tell me what this is all about.”

  He looked at me coolly. “Don’t you trust me or my judgment?”

  “Sometimes. You went way sour on that Venice deal that bounced on us yesterday.”

  He grimaced in mock pain. “Below the belt, yet. Jim, you’ve got enough on your Iowa conscience now. Just get me ten thousand dollars. Call up your friends at Hillview and see if they’ll get it over here in five minutes. I’ll bet you ten dollars to five they don’t.”

  Irritation moved through me. I kept my voice even. “Is what you’re planning honest, Max?”

  He held his right hand up, palm forward. “On my Scout honor. And if you can’t get the ten thousand, don’t worry about it. I’ve got friends. And you’re still in for half.”

  “You’re bucking the Colonel,” I said.

  He shook his head. “I’m working for Gulliver-Schuman.”

  “You’re committing suicide.”

  His voice was mild. “Would that bother you?”

  I studied him, saying nothing.

  He smiled. “I’m sorry. I apologize, partner.”

  I said nothing.

  “And you with all the trouble you’re in. I am sorry, Jim.”

  “Not enough to make you completely ethical, though.”

  This time he studied me. This time he was silent.

  “All right,” I said. “I’m no lily. Don’t say it; I know it.” I picked up the phone and dialed Hillview.

  I got Blake on the phone and asked, “Could you get ten thousand over here in two minutes so I could win a bet? I’d sign a personal note.”

  “Check all right, Jim?”

  “Fine.”

  “How long a note?”

  “Sixty days. Ninety. Suit yourself; I’ll probably extend it when it’s due.”

  “It’s on the way, Jim.”

  I hung up and said to Max, “Let’s check our watches.”

  He shook his head and took his wallet out. He pulled out a ten and offered it.

  I said, “Buy Adele the biggest box of candy you can get for that. Tell her it’s from one of her admirers. I’m going home after I endorse the check over to you, Max. I’m going home to wait for Carol.”

  seven

  He came over to put a hand on my shoulder. “Jim, you’re — well, how can I word it? But baby, when you get home, think. It’s no time to go all noble and honest when Carol walks in. If you ever conned anybody, baby, that would be the time. And if you want to use me, any damned way you can work me into the story, do it. And Adele will back us both up. Believe me, both of us love both of you very much.”

  “Thanks, Max,” I said. “I’ll try to be smart. And you, too, Max. Don’t underestimate Colonel Dean.”

  “I don’t. And I don’t overestimate him, either.”

  The check came and Max shook his head. “Six minutes, and now I still have to buy Adele the candy.”

  I patted his cheek. “Maybe you can get it wholesale, Max. Guard the fort, general.”

  He saluted as I went out.

  On the parking lot, the attendant didn’t wave, as he usually did. I drove out and headed down Wilshire toward the ocean. I could have gone over to San Vicente and down through the Canyon but I avoided the Canyon today.

  The ocean was sparkling; the beach parking lots were filled and cars were parked along the Coast Highway without a gap. We rarely went to the beach. Well, we rarely went anywhere….

  About a block past the mouth of the Canyon, I saw the old Packard parked but I didn’t scan the beach for Lynn. I went by and came up Sunset.

  Carol wasn’t home yet. At least, the Ford wasn’t anywhere in evidence.

  From across the street, Ginny Nolan waved and I waved back. I thought she hesitated for a moment, as though intending to come over. But then she went back to trimming her shrubs.

  I went into the house and opened all the windows. I vacuumed the living room and ran a dust mop over the kitchen linoleum, and washed the dishes that were stacked on the drainboard.

  In our bedroom, I picked up my clothes and put my dirty shirts and socks and underwear into the hamper.

  All men were pigs, Carol had assured me once. How would she know? She’d been my girl since we were punks in high school. What did she know about men? She knew about me, she understood me. I hoped she did.

  I went into the den and sat looking out at the back yard. We had thought of putting in a pool back there. There was plenty of room for it. Why hadn’t we? I’d forgotten just why we hadn’t but I supposed it was because I wanted to continue putting all the money out to work again as soon as it came in.

  It was time to stop putting all the money to work. It was time to live a little. Arrowhead was the first vacation Carol had taken since we moved out here.

  Heeney’s had been my first.

  I looked at my watch and thought it had stopped, but I checked it with the kitchen clock and it hadn’t. I read th
e Times all the way through to the “Miscellaneous for Sale” and went into the kitchen to warm some milk.

  I was never very good at waiting; even the Army hadn’t taught me that. And perhaps I was waiting without reason. Perhaps the Star didn’t have any distribution at Lake Arrowhead.

  I was halfway through the glass of milk when the Ford pulled into the driveway.

  I stood there, looking out the kitchen window, making no move toward the front door. I wanted to see Carol’s face; I wanted to see how angry she looked.

  The Ford is a station wagon, and young Jim was lowering the tailgate now and pulling out a box of groceries. Sue looked toward the house and then pointed at the Olds near the garage. She said something to Carol and then ran toward the front door. I got just one glimpse of Carol’s frozen face before I went to open the door to Sue.

  She hugged me, as I crouched to pick her up. “Oh, Daddy, we had so much fun until today. Today Mama got grouchy. She hardly talks to us, Daddy.”

  I put her down and went out to the Ford. Carol’s eyes met mine and I asked, “Have you seen the Star?”

  She nodded and went past me, toward the house.

  Young Jim looked up at me. “What’s the matter, Pop? What’s wrong?”

  “Your mother isn’t feeling well,” I said. I rumpled his hair. “Have a good time?”

  “Until today.” He shook his head. “Ouch — today …” He was still carrying the box of groceries and I took it from him. He was frowning. “Was it because you found that man, Pop? You couldn’t help that, could you?”

  “Well — no, I couldn’t. Women are — different, Jim. Maybe your mother doesn’t think I should have reported the murder and got myself involved.”

  He shook his head. “That wasn’t it. There’s something else wrong, Pop. Am I too young to know?”

  “That could be, Jim. Let’s drop the subject for now, huh?”

  He shrugged. “Okay.” He went past me, toward the house.

  Carol was alone in the kitchen. I set the groceries on the table and turned to look at her.

  She’s about five-seven and all firm and well-shaped womanhood. She has eyes so blue I’ve no similes to describe them and they were now staring bleakly out the small window over the sink. She was perfectly motionless.