If Louise wasn’t around the house very much, her son certainly made up for the slack. He appeared nearly every day, usually at a time when he very well knew that Louise was at the agency, or conveniently close to a meal. Verity sometimes sent him away, but more often, because he provided her with a few lines of coke, she lazily allowed him to hang about. They listened to music, or watched movies on television, or went out to the garage to listen to People Buying Things rehearse. Eric seemed always eager to be in his wife’s good graces, and tried desperately never to cross her. It amused Verity to trip Eric up at every opportunity, and pick small fights with him. She knew that he was acting under his mother’s orders to engineer a reconciliation, and she wondered at the opacity of the two, who didn’t understand that she would never consider setting up her marriage with Eric again, not for all the cocaine in the Miami airport.
Cassandra had very little time to worry about Louise and Eric. Iphigenia, in addition to changing its format, had just switched from being a quarterly to a monthly, so that her work at the office more than doubled in a short time. She couldn’t really complain of this, for it had been her management that had made the magazine successful enough to warrant the expansion. Most evenings she spent with People Buying Things, attending rehearsals over the garage, appearing at one club after another in and around Boston, or conferring with the publicist Ben James had recommended for the group. The proposed six-week, nine-city East coast and Midwest tour required a staggering amount of planning, detailing, conferring, and confirming. For each city, Cassandra and the publicist had to time the proper rhythm for the release of posters, fliers, flexi-discs, and photographs. They set up interviews with local alternative publications, called television stations, wrote letters, and began to fill up an enormous chart of all that was to be required of the band during those hurried six weeks.
Rocco said to her, “I can’t believe you’re doing so much for us.”
She shrugged. “I love it. I always thought I hated the telephone, hated talking to strangers, but right now I don’t even think about picking up the telephone and calling the program managers of every cable station in St. Louis.”
“I wish you were coming with us. I’m going to miss you. And who’s going to tell us what we’re supposed to do?”
“I wish I could go too, but I can’t and that’s why I’ve made up that chart.”
“I just hope all this planning is worthwhile, that the tour works.”
Cassandra looked at him with astonishment on her face. She had never once entertained the thought that the tour might prove unsuccessful. She had never felt so sure of anything in her life as she was that Rocco and Apple’s band would return triumphant to Boston.
As Christmas approached, Verity made a concerted effort to get into the spirit of the season. With Eric’s help she purchased a tall, perfectly shaped blue spruce, which they raised in the corner of the living room. Two days before Christmas, they went up to the attic and brought down all of the holiday decorations and trimmed the tree. They cut holly from the garden and placed it above all the picture frames, and laid pine branches across the mantel. On the front door they hung a large wreath of hemlock. Louise oohed and aahed appropriately, and suggested they place electric amber candles in all the windows that could be seen from the road. Verity politely said no to this suggestion—the wreath on the door was sufficient to express the holiday spirit within.
Christmas Day proved a brighter affair than either Cassandra or Verity had anticipated. The servants had been given the day off, so Cassandra fixed a small but elegant meal of Cornish game hens, chestnuts, and endive. She had planned for just herself, Verity, and Louise. Louise had wanted to call Eric over, but Cassandra said evenly, “If Eric comes then I’ll invite Rocco and Apple as well.” This was an empty threat, since Apple and Rocco were spending the early part of the day with Apple’s sister’s family in Providence.
Louise paused a moment, and then said, “Eric is always much happier at a deli anyway. . . .”
Eric, Rocco, and Apple came a little later in the afternoon, and gifts were exchanged. Louise gave Verity and Cassandra hand-painted silk scarves she had purchased in a shop in Quincy Market. Verity had two gifts for Louise, one marked “For My Mother-in-Law” and the other “For my Wicked Stepmother.” Louise’s laugh came a little harsh when she read the tags aloud. Eric’s gift Verity had marked, “For my Stepbrother.”
When all the gifts had been exchanged, and everyone was sitting back in a pile of torn paper, ribbons, bows, and discarded boxes, Cassandra went to the mantel and from beneath one of the pine branches drew out a bulky envelope. She handed it to Rocco and Apple with a smile. “This is for both of you.”
They glanced at one another. Apple took the envelope and opened it. Inside was a sheaf of printed papers with typing.
“Is that a deed to something?” Louise asked suspiciously.
“No!” cried Apple.
“What is it?” said Rocco impatiently, reaching for the document.
“It’s a contract,” said Cassandra.
“For what?” demanded Rocco.
“To play at the Orpheum,” said Apple in astonishment, handing the contract over to him.
“On Valentine’s night,” said Cassandra, “the night you return to Boston from the tour. Ben James and I thought we’d arrange a little homecoming gift.”
“The Orpheum!” said Rocco. “You know how many people that place holds?”
“You’ll sell out,” said Cassandra confidently. “Tickets go on sale tomorrow.”
The band played that night at Exit 13 in Framingham, and Cassandra went along with them. She didn’t get back until nearly four, and because the following day was a holiday at work, she slept late. She had showered, dressed, and was on her way downstairs, when she heard strange mechanical noises issuing from Verity’s bedroom through the cracked door. Cassandra pushed it gently open.
She was surprised to see her sister awake at this hour. The room was cool and smelled of the snow that had begun to fall that morning. The curtains had been pulled back and the windows were opened slightly from the tops.
Verity was stretched on her back across the rumpled bed covers, staring at the ceiling through her dark glasses. Right by her ear was a tiny cassette player, emitting a series of haphazard groans. Her black-velvet sleeping mask lay on the floor at the side of the bed.
“What in the world are you listening to?” Cassandra seated herself on the corner of the bed.
“Shhh!”
Verity listened for several seconds more, with a smile on her face. Her fingers toyed idly with the slender green ribbons sewn through the lacy collar of her full-length nightgown. Then she sat up quickly, played her fingers across the tabs at the bottom of the recorder, and rewound the cassette.
“Is that a new group?” Cassandra asked. She picked up the mask from the carpet, and put it on the night table. “Did Apple give you the tape?”
“No,” she said, “it’s not a group. It’s a recording of the Gene and Lou Show. I taped it last night.”
“I thought you hated television,” said Cassandra.
“It wasn’t on television,” said Verity. She flicked another button and the tape began playing again, but for many moments there was only silence.
“Gene and Lou?” said Cassandra, still with a puzzled voice. Then she exclaimed: “Eugene and Louise? Eugene Strable?”
Verity smiled broadly. “You got it.”
The silence on the tape was broken by a swoosh, as of a door opening across a thick carpet, followed by the muffled voice of a man—quite obviously the family lawyer. Then they heard Louise reply, though still they couldn’t make out the words. Jewelry clattered on a table, and then there was a loud creaking of springs, as if someone had sat heavily on the side of a bed.
“You put it under the bed!” whispered Cassandra, in awe.
Verity nodded, and held her finger to her lips.
Cassandra shook her head, still in disbelief.
“Here she comes!” whispered Verity.
There was another loud crashing of springs, followed by a succession of rattles and hisses.
Ouch. Gene, be careful! And don’t throw it on the floor.
Verity explained, “He’s taking off her clothes.”
“I don’t believe you did this,” said Cassandra. “Turn it up.”
Verity did so. There was a loud sizzle.
“Somebody’s zipper,” said Verity.
Louise . . .
Ummm?
I feel uncomfortable in this house. Especially in this room. Richard was a very close friend of mine.
There’s no reason to be nervous. Cassandra’s off somewhere with that band, and Verity’s sitting in the ladies’ room of some sleazy bar shoving a hundred dollars’ worth of that awful stuff up her nose. So it’s just you and me and every inch of this mattress.
Louise . . .
There was a long pause.
“How did you have the nerve to do it?” whispered Cassandra.
“Shhh! Here come the sound effects.”
More creaking of springs, which kept up for five minutes or so; and under that constant creaking forced breathing and moans—obviously from Louise—then a shrill squeak, then more moans. For several minutes they got nothing from Eugene Strable, then quite unexpectedly there came a hoarse grunt that was like nothing so much as a difficult throat-clearing. Much long slow breathing, a very little bed creaking, and, after a bit, a louder creak, footsteps, and at last, the sound of running water.
“Seven minutes and twenty seconds,” said Verity, checking a digital clock on the bedside table. She ran the tape forward, then turned it on again to a rhythmic rumble. “Louise snores,” she added before stopping the tape and rewinding it. “Aren’t these new models marvelous? They’re so small and quiet. Ninety minutes on a side, and you can’t hear it when they click off.”
“How did you do it? Louise said you were out at a singles bar.”
“Easiest thing in the world,” Verity shrugged. “Eugene was here, ostensibly on business with the real-estate office, but what lawyer makes house calls on Christmas night? And Louise kept prodding Eric to take me out somewhere. I knew something was up, so on my way out, I walked in Louise’s bedroom, put it under her bed, and turned it on. I figured they’d be up there going at it by the time I had pulled out of the driveway. I was right. After the tape ran out, it turned off automatically. This morning after they left, I got it out again. The only problem is that most of the tape is Louise snoring.”
Cassandra stared at her sister. “Louise is certainly maintaining her usual level of bad taste. Muscling in here on the strength of being our father’s widow, and then sneaking married men up to her dead husband’s bedroom.” Cassandra shook her head in amazement. “And if we confronted her with it, she’d get all huffy, and complain that we were spying.”
“I wonder what Mr. Strable sees in her,” mused Verity. “I wonder if she’s got something we don’t see. I mean, my God, Father married her.”
“Well,” said Cassandra, “Louise is very attractive in a heavily made up, I’ll-bet-you’ve-never-seen-this-outfit-before sort of way.”
“Jeannette Strable is so elegant, though,” mused Verity. “Very much the way Mother was. The way Louise never could be.”
“Maybe Eugene Strable—maybe Father—got tired of all that refinement, and that’s why they went over to Louise. Sexual slumming, in a way. I suppose,” Cassandra went on, “she must have a kind of physical electricity to her.”
“So does a cattle prod.” Verity lay back on her pillows. “I’d just like to know if she was sleeping with Eugene before Father died.” She pressed a button that ejected the cassette into the palm of her hand. Verity then went on, quickly, as if a thought had suddenly come to her, “It’s not likely Louise went after Eugene Strable just for sex, just to have an affair. Not after all the years they’ve known each other. There’s got to be another reason. I think she’s playing a deeper game than he suspects.”
Cassandra looked mystified. “What sort of game? Louise is not what you’d call subtle. What would she want from Eugene?”
“I’m not sure,” said Verity, “but I wouldn’t be surprised if it had something to do with the administration of our trust fund.”
People Buying Things drove to New York City on the morning of New Year’s Eve. Late that afternoon, after work, Cassandra took the air shuttle down in order to be present at their opening night at CBGB’s. The band, without an LP cut and still with only limited exposure, was still considered to be unestablished. The gig at an important club on a major holiday was considered to be a coup, and Ben James confided to Cassandra that he had called in a couple of favors in order to arrange it.
Verity had thought about going, but called up her sister at noon to say the trip would be too much of a bother. She’d rather sleep and read. Cassandra said in a serious voice, “You don’t get out enough. I think you’re at home too much.”
Verity laughed. “You’re getting to sound like Louise. You want to try the marital reconciliation speech too?”
Verity napped in the afternoon, and came downstairs just as twilight was settling in, but before the lights in the house had been turned on. Below the stairs, there was an amber penumbra of light shining out of the telephone niche. She heard Louise on the telephone.
“Wonderful, Eugene! . . . Ummm, all right . . . Say, eight. Have you made reservations? . . . See you at eight, then.”
Louise hung up, snapped off the lamp, and stepped out humming “Auld Lang Syne.” She came face to face with Verity. “How long have you been standing there?” she asked, her voice oozing a forced cheer.
“Half an hour. I heard every word.”
Verity wandered down the hall toward the kitchen. Louise followed her.
“Want a drink?” Verity asked.
“It’s not even five o’clock,” said Louise. “Besides, it’s New Year’s Eve, and if you start drinking now, you’ll be completely sloshed by midnight.”
“If I’m lucky, I’ll be sloshed by seven. You’re going out, I take it, with Eugene, at eight?”
“Yes,” replied Louise uncomfortably. “You were listening.”
Verity poured bourbon into a glass with a single ice cube in it.
“I’m glad Eugene and Jeannette are taking you out,” said Verity mildly. “It must be difficult for a widow to get back into the swing of things.”
Louise regarded her stepdaughter closely. “Yes,” she said at last, “it is.”
“Where are you and Eugene and Jeannette going?”
“To the Café Budapest.”
“Give Jeannette my love,” said Verity. “I don’t think I’ve even seen her since Father’s funeral. One of these days I should go over and visit her. Catch up on the news.”
After a pause, Louise asked cautiously, “What news?”
“Oh, news news,” returned Verity vaguely.
“Pour me a finger of that bourbon, please,” said Louise.“I think I will join you.”
Verity smiled, and took out another glass. As she poured the liquor, Louise asked, “And what do you have planned for this night of nights?”
“I’m going to stay in and read the five novels Barbara Cartland wrote last week.”
“You shouldn’t stay in by yourself. You should go out! Everybody goes out on New Year’s Eve.”
“I can’t think of a better reason for staying at home.”
“Eric’s not doing anything either,” said Louise thoughtfully. She looked at Verity. “I know, because I spoke to him earlier.”
Verity sipped at her drink, smiling at Louise over the rim of the glass.
“Why don’t you call him up?” said Louise, taking the smile for encouragement.
“Because the only thing I can think of that would be worse than being crushed to death by seventeen thousand drunken celebrators would be to spend an evening with your son.”
“Your husband,” L
ouise corrected. “He could keep you company. Nobody should be alone on New Year’s Eve. You’ll get depressed. He’ll get depressed. Do it for him, if not for yourself.”
“Louise, sometimes I think you are Looney Tunes on the loose.”
“Why?” said Louise, with offended dignity.
“Because you still imagine that there is a chance for a reconciliation between Eric and me.”
“I see you together all the time!” cried Louise. “Every time I come in the front door, he’s down in the living room with you listening to music. And sometimes,” she went on significantly, “you two are upstairs in the bedroom, with the door closed. It looks like there’s been a reconciliation already.”
“There hasn’t been,” said Verity. “And there won’t be.”
“You have no way of knowing that. I’m further away from it. I can see the ways things have been going better than you can. I’ll bet it won’t be too long before Eric gives up his apartment.”
“And moves in here?”
Louise nodded solemnly.
Verity considered this a few moments, then she shook her head. “I don’t think so, Louise,” she said softly. She poured more bourbon, dropped in another ice cube, find started out of the kitchen.
“I don’t think so,” she said again, looking back over her shoulder. The door swung shut behind her.
Five minutes later, Louise picked up the telephone extension in the kitchen, and punched out Eric’s number. “Eric,” she said, “listen to me. Verity didn’t go to New York after all. I’m leaving here at eight o’clock tonight, and when I go Verity’ll be here by herself. You show up at eight-thirty sharp. Don’t give her a chance to change her mind and go out somewhere. Bring a bottle of good champagne. . . . I know they’ve already got champagne over here, but that doesn’t matter. What matters is that you will have thought to bring it. Bring two bottles while you’re at it. Flowers too, and not something you pick up from a street vendor either. Go to a florist—a good one. You— . . . What?! Well, cancel! I don’t care if you’ve got a date with Brooke Shields and her damned mother together—cancel it! You be here at eight-thirty with the champagne and flowers and a smile on your face, and you seduce her. She’s ripe for it, I can tell. Everybody’s up for it on New Year’s Eve, for Christ’s sake, and Verity’s no exception. Tonight is perfect, Eric, and I’d better see your car still in the driveway when I get back, or you will never get a penny out of me again.”
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