“Look, honey. While you’re crawling, why don’t you just crawl into bed? Not just your flesh. All of you. Bones and all.”
“Yes. I guess I’d better.”
Ed sighed and stood up and stretched. She put on her nightgown, which had been lying across the bed, and instead of being in nothing she was in something that was just a little more than nothing and somehow gave the appearance of being just a little less. Emerson watched the accomplishment of this delightful paradox with curiosity and pleasure.
CHAPTER V
SECTION 1
Spring ran into summer, and summer ran into August, and August was hot. It was reported to be the hottest August on record, and in the heat of its still, white days the aberrant hunger survived and grew and became a malignant torment, and what gave it strength and made it worse was that it had ceased to be diffuse and unattached and had become directed and dedicated. During the ascent of the year and now in the early decline, Lisa continued to tell herself, as she had told herself immediately in the car returning from the restaurant, that she would have to run, that the peril involved in fidelity for the promised year was far too great, and that flight, if not the attainment of security, was at least the postponement of disaster. But she did not run. She stayed. She stayed on into the still, hot month in the precarious fulfillment of the promised year, and where she stayed precisely for a great part of the time was in Emerson Page’s bar.
She was in the bar now, and it was cool and shadowy, and there were at hand the ingredients of the lift that had become more essential to existence and more difficult to gauge and sustain than ever before. She came here for a part of almost every afternoon, and this was something that she had promised herself to stop. Once she did stop for nearly a week, but then she resumed her visits and later her promises, and this running, losing fight between resolution and weakness only added to her burden of guilt and the magnitude of her despair. The real reason she came, and continued to come in spite of her promises, was not, of course, merely to gel a few drinks, which could have been had at home or elsewhere, nor to sit out of the heat in a cool and pleasant place, for there were other available places both cool and pleasant. She came to see Emerson Page, who had been blessed by contact and had become a symbol. Through him there was vicarious release, a transient abatement of hunger and pain. He was, in effect, a secondary stimulus to which she responded partially, though not fully, as to the primary.
At this time, however, he was not present, and she wanted him to be, and she was very annoyed that he was not. It seemed to her that his absence might very well be calculated to deny her deliberately her vicarious contact, and this was certainly sufficient to justify annoyance, or even anger. It was quite likely, moreover, that he had been counseled in his perversity by a shrewder and more vindictive head, and it was her conviction, after considering it, that this head was surely the bald one moving around behind the bar at this very moment. She was well aware that Roscoe did not like her and wished that she would not come here any more. Though it was antipathy unstated, it was perfectly apparent in the shades of gesture and expression, and it was all right with her, as far as that went, because she did not like him any better than he liked her, which was not at all, and as a matter of fact she considered him a repulsive oil man absolutely. She had already drunk too much and passed the stage of compatibility, and she watched him with cold distrust as he filled her glass from a shaker.
“Where’s Emerson?” she said.
She had started using the Christian name quite a long time ago, right after she had begun coming in alone, and this was a mild excitement in her secret intimacy with the substance through the shadow. There was also a secondary pleasure in the use of the name in that it disturbed Roscoe, who unperceptively thought that Emerson himself was the object of her interest, and this was such a screamingly funny joke as the old fool would never understand.
“He isn’t here,” the old fool said.
“I can see that, of course. I can see perfectly well where he isn’t. What I want to know is where he is.”
“He’s upstairs.”
“In the apartment?”
“That’s right.”
“Isn’t that unusual?”
“What’s unusual about a man’s being upstairs in his own apartment?”
“Why do you persist in asking questions of your own instead of answering mine? If you want to know what I think, I think it is no way to treat a customer.”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Lawes.”
“To me it seems very strange that he should be upstairs in his apartment at this particular time. It seems very strange indeed.”
“All right, Mrs. Lawes. It’s strange.”
“Yes, it is. It’s certainly strange. What I would like to know is, what is he doing up there?”
“Well, I wouldn’t know about that.”
“Are you sure? Are you quite sure that you wouldn’t know about that?”
“Look, Mrs. Lawes. A man goes upstairs to his apartment. Why he goes or what he does there is something I don’t know anything about, and it’s something I don’t want to know anything about. If you want to know the truth of it, it’s something I don’t figure is any of my business.”
“Are you being impertinent, Roscoe?”
“I hope not, Mrs. Lawes.”
“Why do you continually call me Mrs. Lawes? I wish you would not continually call me Mrs. Lawes.”
“What would you like me to call you?”
“Oh, never mind. I can see that it is quite futile to talk about it. Perhaps you can at least tell me when he will come downstairs.”
“I’d tell you if I knew, Mrs. Lawes, but I don’t.”
“Doesn’t he usually come down about the same time?”
“You never can tell. Sometimes he comes down one time, sometimes another. There’s no way to tell.”
“Do you know what it seems like to me? It seems like he may be deliberately avoiding me.”
“That isn’t true, Mrs. Lawes. You know better than that. Why should he avoid you?”
“That’s the question, isn’t it? Perhaps you could answer that one yourself.”
“I told you he isn’t trying to avoid you at all.”
“It seems very strange, that’s all.” She lifted her glass and looked at him over the edge of it. “Shall I tell you something, Roscoe?”
“If you like.”
“You don’t like me, Roscoe.”
“I wouldn’t say that, Mrs. Lawes.”
“I know you wouldn’t say it. You wouldn’t say it because you are a gentleman, and a gentleman doesn’t tell a lady he doesn’t like her, and besides, it would be bad for business. I would judge that I give this bar about as much business as any other person in town. Isn’t that so?”
“You’re a good customer, Mrs. Lawes.”
She thought this was very funny, one of these classic, understatement kinds of joke, and she lowered her glass, and looked down into it and laughed for a while silently with a slight shaking of her shoulders.
“Yes. A good customer. I am quite a good customer indeed. Shall I tell you something else, Roscoe? Would you be shocked if I were quite honest with you?”
“I don’t think so.”
“The truth is, I don’t like you, either, Roscoe. I don’t like you a damn bit more than you like me. Does that disturb you?”
“It’s always better if people like you, but sometimes it can’t be helped if they don’t.”
“You’re a philosopher, Roscoe. You are a philosophical bartender. Emerson told me once that you used to read poetry to him. Is that true?”
“Em talks too much.”
“It’s true, then. It’s true, and it embarrasses you. Why are people who read poetry so often embarrassed by the fact that they read poetry?”
>
“I’m not embarrassed, Mrs. Lawes.”
“Oh, well, deny it if it is any comfort to you. It’s beside the point, anyhow. The point is, you and I don’t like each other. There may be more in this than lies on the surface, Roscoe, but whatever lies below the surface, we will leave there. Is that agreed? If so, I will tell you the obvious reasons why we don’t like each other. To begin, you don’t like me because you are a kind of self-appointed guardian of Emerson Page and Ed Page, who are your own precious pair, and it is your opinion that I am a predatory female on the prowl, and that Emerson is the one I am currently on the prowl for, and that he is the kind of guy who, in favorable circumstances, could definitely be had. This is the reason you don’t like me, Roscoe, and the reason I don’t like you is that you are a fool, and just why you are a fool, and just how big a fool you are, I will not say, because this is my secret and amuses me very much. What do you say to all this? Am I right?”
“I don’t think we ought to be talking this way, Mrs. Lawes.”
“Don’t you? Do you think it’s improper? Do you think I am an improper woman?”
“I didn’t suggest that, Mrs. Lawes.”
“On the contrary, you did suggest it. You very definitely suggested it. However, I am not at all offended, so we had just as well drop it. I will only repeat that what you think is very amusing. It would be even more amusing if you were capable of seeing just how amusing it is.”
“I’m glad I amuse you, Mrs. Lawes. I guess it’s part of my job. Now you will have to excuse me. I have a customer.”
“Certainly, Roscoe. You are certainly excused.”
He went off to his customer, and she was no longer amused. She was depressed and frightened, and she told herself that she would finish her drink and go away and not return to this place again, ever again, but she knew quite well that she would return nevertheless, just as she always did, because here was the secondary source of desire, and here, in truth, was the primary source also, but the primary source was strictly forbidden and heavy with peril and was susceptible only to vicarious attainment through the secondary.
I will go away, she thought, I will go away, and knew that she would not.
And so she continued to sit, and eventually had another drink, and in time Emerson Page came in behind the bar and stood across from her in the borrowed significance of which he did not dream.
“Hello, Mrs. Lawes,” he said.
I will be quite casual, she thought. I will be merely a lady who has stopped in for a drink in the most natural way.
And she looked at him and felt the stirring of her early hatred and subsequent concession, a reaction of conflict that resulted from his being in her mind both an interloper and a medium, and she was not casual in the least.
“Where have you been?” she said.
“Upstairs in the apartment, taking a break. I was out earlier, and it pooped me. Hot. I’ve never seen it so hot around here. Hundred and ten at three o’clock, I understand.”
“Was Ed with you?”
“Ed? Not much. You couldn’t drag her out of that air-conditioned apartment on a day like this.”
“I didn’t mean was she out with you earlier. I meant in the apartment.”
“Oh. Yes. She was with me. Still there. Did you want to see her, Mrs. Lawes?”
“Why do you call me Mrs. Lawes? Why don’t you call me Lisa?”
“Lisa, I mean.”
“I’ve told you and told you to call me Lisa. Perhaps it’s significant that you always call me Mrs. Lawes. Maybe it’s a kind of unconscious sign that you don’t like me.”
“Oh, come off it, Lisa. Of course I like you.”
“I’m not so sure. Roscoe doesn’t like me, and Ed doesn’t like me, and it’s quite possible that you don’t like me, either.”
“Whatever gave you the idea that Ed doesn’t like you?”
“I have a feeling about such things. It’s practically infallible. I can always tell.”
“Well, this is one time your practically infallible feeling is all wrong. Ed likes you very much.”
“Really?”
“Certainly.”
“You’re not just telling me that?”
“Of course not.”
“Then why doesn’t she ever come to see me? Why doesn’t she ever invite me to come to see her? The only time we ever meet is when we happen to be here at the same time, or accidentally somewhere.”
“Well, to be frank about it, Lisa, the Laweses and the Pages have just never moved in the same social circle. I guess Ed would naturally be pretty shy about trying to move in. She’d be afraid someone would get the wrong idea about it.”
“That’s silly. That’s perfectly silly. Avery likes you. He likes you better than anyone else.”
“I don’t know about that, but, anyhow, it isn’t the point.”
“No? Can you tell me just what is the point?”
“I’m afraid not. It’s pretty confusing to a simple guy like me. I don’t know exactly what the point is, but I know what it isn’t, and it sure as hell isn’t just whether or not you happen to like a guy.”
“You know what I think? I think you’re only rationalizing. You have a feeling of inferiority and are trying to convince yourself that it’s something else.”
He laughed. “All right. Maybe that’s it.”
“Not that it matters, because you are obviously not telling me the truth, anyhow. The truth is, both you and Ed dislike me and don’t want to have any more to do with me than is necessary.”
“You don’t really believe that.”
“Do you think I am lying?”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake, Lisa! Listen to me. Ed and I both like you. We like you very much, and that’s all there is to it.”
“Well, in your case I may be open to conviction, but in Ed’s, I’m certain I am right.”
“No, you’re not. You’re absolutely wrong.”
She picked up her glass and saw that it was empty and set it down and pushed it toward him.
“Then we had better have a drink together.”
“Are you sure you want another?”
“Quite sure. You needn’t worry about it. I’m used to drinking a great deal.”
“I know.”
“What do you mean, you know?”
“Nothing, Lisa. It was just a remark.”
“To me it had an unpleasant sound. As if it meant something.”
“Wrong again. It doesn’t mean a thing.”
He fixed drinks for them. He would have made hers light, but he knew very well that she would have realized it immediately and made an issue of it, so he stuck to the prescribed ratio. She tasted it and was satisfied.
“She’s very lovely,” she said.
“What?”
“Ed. She’s very lovely.”
“Oh. Yes, she is, isn’t she?”
“How long have you been married?”
“Ten years. A little longer.”
“Ten years is a long time.”
“Not with Ed. Not nearly long enough.”
She thought of the things that had happened to her in the last decade, and it seemed like a very long time indeed. A long, bitter time. She wondered what kind of life it would be that could make ten years seem short. “A lot can happen in ten years,” she said.
“That’s right. In ten years Ed and I have come from a cheap short-order place to this. I don’t mean it’s so much, after all, but it has made money for us, and it has made us happy. It’s what we wanted, and it’s what we got.”
“Some people are lucky to get what they want.”
“Sure they are. And you’re one of them. It seems to me that you’ve been a hell of a lot luckier than most.”
; “Does it? Well, it would be quite futile to try to convince you otherwise, I can see that. Besides, it makes absolutely no difference what you believe, so it is unnecessary to try. Do you still love her?”
Emerson looked at her for a moment with a stricken look in his face, as if the sudden, brutal inference that he might not love Ed left him mute and isolated in a terrible emptiness. After a moment he laughed at the incredible idea.
“Excuse me for laughing, Lisa. It’s just that I find the idea of not loving Ed completely unbelievable.”
“Why are you so sure? I don’t mean love her the way they say it gets after you’ve been married for a long time. You know the way I don’t mean. A dull kind of business of mutual respect and devotion to servitude with an occasional tepid concession to love. I mean, do you still want her and hunger for her with passion?”
He was a guy with practically no false modesty, and he was rarely embarrassed, but now he was, and he wished that she would quit talking this way. He wondered how the hell it turned out that he was always having a Lawes get intimate with him. She was looking down into her glass with fierce intensity, and he had the strange, stripped feeling that she was seeing in the pale liquid a kind of mental picture of him and Ed in bed. This he considered an invasion of privacy, and it made him angry as well as embarrassed, and he had a hard time containing his anger. He managed it only by reminding himself that she was a woman with normal needs who was married to a personable dud and that her needs must be unfulfilled. She was starving, he thought, and he was truly sorry for her.
“I love her the same as I always have,” he said.
She shook her head, still staring intently into the glass.
“That’s an equivocation. That is obviously an equivocation.”
“Look, Lisa. I don’t think you want me to give you a clinical description of Ed and me making love.”
She looked up at him across the bar then, and he was shocked by what he saw in her eyes, and what he saw was hate and pain. He realized at once that she had been torturing herself deliberately by speaking as she had, and there was almost, but not quite, a flash of insight into the reason she had done this.
Desperate Asylum Page 15