Bingo

by Rita Mae Brown

  Elliwood wintered at the Palm Beach Polo Club west of West Palm, where she knocked the ball when she wasn’t knocking other people out of the saddle. The woman had nerves of ice.

  “Hear the rest of the news?”

  “No.”

  Ursie glowed. “Her eldest daughter joined one of those Eastern religious sects. Guess she’ll shave her head.”

  “That’s the men. The women walk around with little cymbals on their forefingers and thumbs, chanting to Krishna. The cult leader’s name is Raj Cohen.”

  “How do you know that?” Ursie missed the joke.

  “Uh, I made it up. Anyway, I’m sorry to hear that Catherine feels the need to make a flagrant display of her spiritual beliefs.”

  “Mother,” Tiffany wailed in the background.

  “Just a minute, precious.” Ursie turned back to me. “Notice anything about Regina lately?”

  “No. Why?”

  “Oh—nothing.”

  “Ursie, don’t do that. If you’ve got something on your mind, out with it.”

  “I don’t like to gossip.” Said by one who lives for it.

  “Anything that concerns Regina concerns me. I have no idea what you’re talking about because she looks wonderful.”

  “Always will, that one. I don’t know, I get a feeling. Maybe something’s not quite right at home. You know how restless Jackson gets.”

  “Sure. Every four years he wants to move, or buy a second home, or he goes over to the Porsche dealer in Baltimore and drives cars. It makes Gene crazy. They aren’t poor but they have only so much money. No Porsches for Jack.”

  “Yes.” She dragged out the yes into four syllables. “His periodic restlessness manifests itself in a roving eye.”

  I stood bolt upright and dropped my brush. “Jackson Frost? Come on, Ursie, you don’t know that, and I’ve never heard anything like that about him.”

  “You wouldn’t,” she sniffed.

  A trickle of sweat rolled down my armpits.” What?”

  “You’re practically family. Nobody would tell you or Regina if he was up to something. But I have it on good authority that three years ago he indulged himself in a little fling over in York, Pennsylvania. Regina didn’t know a thing about it but a wife senses those things, don’t you think?”

  What if her insinuation was true? I wasn’t the first. I’d kill him.

  “Like I said, Gene seems fine to me and I can’t imagine Jack doing anything like that.”

  Her voice rose, redolent with false warmth and humor. “Well, dear, of course you can’t imagine anything like that. You have no sense of what goes on between a man and a woman. Blue angels.” She made a motion over her head imitating the jets. “Goes right over your head.”

  I didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or choke her.

  21

  NICKEL BITES THE BULLET

  TUESDAY … 14 APRIL

  The South is finally forgiving Lincoln and registering Republican. I, however, will remain staunchly Democratic. As for Abraham Lincoln, regardless of his sins committed against the South, I never wished him assassinated and today was the anniversary of that wretched day in 1865. Why that stupid joke kept running through my head I didn’t know. You know the one: “Aside from that, Mrs. Lincoln, how did you like the show?” Also on April 14, fourteen years later, Alexander Solovieff tried to kill Czar Alexander the Second. April 14 must be the day for assassinations.

  I was feeling a bit of an assassin myself because I knew I was going to end my relationship with Jackson tonight. I tried not to think about it as I drove Aunt Wheezie’s Chrysler to the Square. Cars skidded to a halt. Others pulled over on the side of the road and waited for me to pass. At first, this behavior alarmed me. Then it got funny. I’d come up behind someone, toot my horn, and watch them go ape-shit. Then I’d pass and wave and they’d realize it was me. Thacker BonBon just missed a telephone pole, but when he saw it was me he had the good grace to laugh at both of us. Lolly found this exciting. Pewter hid under the seat and ten minutes of coaxing finally convinced her to come out. For a fat cat she could move fast and she burnt the wind getting out of the car. When I reached the steps of the Clarion she was washing herself as though nothing had happened.

  The sun flooded the Square with soft morning light. Goodyear was sitting in front of Brown’s Meat Market patiently waiting for Ralph Brown to open for business this lovely day. Mr. Brown was generous with juicy joint bones; shrewd, too, because everyone with a dog shopped at the meat market. Which was to say everyone. The only people who didn’t own dogs were those with allergies and we were suspicious that they invented the allergies. Not to have a pet was to court gossip that you didn’t like animals, and if you didn’t like animals it was but a short step to not liking children and after that not liking people, the worst offense imaginable.

  I knew Mother was loitering somewhere around the Square or in one of the shops but I didn’t see her. So I pushed open the door to the Clarion and found Michelle at her desk.

  “What are you doing here so early?”

  She held up the paper. “I wanted to see my Passover piece.”

  I picked up the paper on my desk. Arnie Dow or one of the compositors put fresh copies on our desks each morning. No one told him to do it; he just did.

  “Looks good in type, doesn’t it?” I read the paper as I stood over the hot plate waiting for the water to boil for my tea.

  Michelle wiped out her Garfield cup with a paper towel. “I’m going to send a copy to Mom and Dad. This is my best piece, so far.” She paused. “I think, anyway.”

  “I do too.” I smiled.

  Michelle glanced out the window. “Here comes Goodyear with a huge bone. Should I let Lolly out?”

  “No, they’ll fight over it.”

  “And here comes your mother.”

  I turned from the coffee machine in time to see Mother in her jogging outfit and her nifty Nike shoes, striding along the sidewalk. She passed the Clarion, saw me, and waved. I waved back. Between us this would amount to an apology. I held up my teacup and pointed to it. She shook her head and continued on her walk.

  “She’s got miles to go before she sleeps,” I said.

  “What?”

  “She likes to walk between two and five miles a day depending on the weather.”

  Michelle’s eyes got bigger. “My God, she’s in her eighties.”

  “Eighty-two chronologically. Her emotional age is something else again.”

  “That could be said of anyone.” Michelle heaped milk substitute in her cup. “She doesn’t look like she’s in her eighties. If I didn’t know her or you, I’d guess that your mother was in her early sixties.”

  “She really is proof that if you take care of yourself you can look good a long, long time.”

  “So are you.”

  This caught me off guard. “Oh—thank you.”

  “Did you work out this morning?”

  “I did.” I gulped down my tea. Through the steam I beheld a familiar figure coming down the library steps. Aunt Louise was tottering under the weight of books. As she hadn’t cracked a book since fourth grade, this was a revolution. “Michelle, do you see what I see?”

  She peered out the window. “Your aunt plans to read a lot.”

  “That’s impossible. I mean, she hates to read.”

  “No kidding.”

  “She says there are those who read between the lines and those who don’t read at all and she qualifies for the latter.”

  “How can anyone not want to read?”

  “Beats me.” I finished my cup and poured more. I needed an extra shot this morning. “I’d better go help the old girl, even though she’s a bandit.”

  “Bandit?”

  “I’ll tell you when I get back.”

  I reached Wheezie as she spilled her books on the sidewalk. Her greeting was not one of gratitude.

  “Where are the Southern gentlemen when you need them!”

  “Buried at Gettysburg and
Sharpsburg, Aunt Wheeze.” I bent over and gathered up her books. The titles intrigued me: Karma and You, The Way of Little Feather, The Path to Higher Consciousness, Psychic Healing, and the I Ching. “Aunt Wheeze, what are you doing with this stuff?”

  “I’m studying Eastern religions.”

  “Why? Aren’t Western ones bad enough?”

  Her cerise lipstick appeared even brighter in the dewy light. “I’m broadening my horizons.”

  “Father Christopolous won’t like it.”

  “What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Besides, these books teach me how lucky I am to be a Christian. After all, it takes a Christian to truly understand and appreciate sin. Christians believe in progress. These people just walk around in sandals.”

  “Is that a fact?” I carried the books around the back of the library to the parking lot. Her 1952 Chrysler shone like a black waterbug.

  “I’m sure I’ll learn a lot.”

  “Does this have anything to do with your beau—your contested beau?” I put the books in the front seat. The door wasn’t locked. Nobody locked their doors in Runnymede. The locksmith didn’t live who could build a lock strong enough to keep out a cat or a lover. As to thieves, we didn’t have any, other than those we elected to public office.

  “Ed’s quite interested in religion. He believes there is a collective mind.”

  “Is this collective mind sane or insane?”

  She crawled up into the driver’s seat. She had a crocheted cover on the seat plus a pillow so she could see up over the steering wheel. Aunt Louise was shrinking with age. “I intend to find out.” She started the motor. “Don’t tell my sister about this.”

  “I won’t.”

  “She thinks she’s making headway with Ed because she’s reeking of charm. She’ll probably carry on that I’m older than she is, too, even though I told Ed I’m the younger one. Well, I don’t care what she says, because I’m going to be well-read and well-rounded. I’m going to know things she doesn’t know. See.”

  “I do.”

  “Besides, all the sugar’s in the bottom of the cup.” She winked and laid rubber as she left the parking lot.

  A goodly portion of our taxes went toward repairing the damage Aunt Louise did to our parking lots and highways.

  A light fog curled around the statues in the Square. Twilight imparted to it a silvery glow. Roger filed his story on Maryland’s response to front-runner Gary Hart. We were the last two in the Clarion office.

  “Good. You did your homework.”

  “I like the political stuff.” He hesitated. “Nickel, what do you think of Michelle?”

  “Got a lot to learn but not without talent. But then I think I could say the same about myself. The more I learn, the more I know I don’t know.”

  His warm brown eyes gazed directly into mine. “I mean, what do you think about her apart from work?”

  “Oh.” I’d never once given it a thought. “Uh—she seems nice, well-bred, smart.”

  “They say women know more about women than a man does.” He took a breath. “Maybe you know things about her I don’t.”

  “I’m not being very helpful. I don’t think I have any special insights into Michelle other than that if you can get her to lighten up I figure you’ll be halfway home.”

  “Thanks.” He smiled, grabbed his coat, and whistled his way out the door.

  Alone in the office, I put the paper to bed and made a few calls on behalf of our Blue and Gray Hunt Club newsletter. I typed up an item about Elliwood Baxter’s polo handicap. I called Ursie to double-check a local tack sale date and then I shot an hour over the light box, heroically trying to lay out the newsletter. Both Pewter and I were covered in paste.

  The animals and I left once twilight turned to black velvet. I doubled back on the alleyway, hesitated, and then entered Brown, Moon & Frost.

  Jackson happily greeted me and immediately got to business. I was glad of this because it delayed the inevitable.

  “Not much time.” Jackson sat next to me on his office sofa. “You have some choices though. You can try and put together an investor package between now and the twenty-third. You don’t need anything on paper except for a profit-and-loss statement. Everybody in Runnymede knows you, and what they’d be investing in is the paper and you. The problem is there isn’t much money here. Rife and Chalfonte are the big bucks. The Yosts have some money but I doubt you’ll get any. You’d be lucky to scare up twenty-five people at ten thousand apiece.”

  “I’m afraid to go to Spots Chalfonte.”

  “She’s out of town more than in it.” He grabbed a tennis ball and squeezed it, a habit of his to improve his grip. “Mizz Chalfonte likes you, though. Apart from real estate, as far as I know, Chalfonte money has not gone into town businesses since they moved their own company to Texas in 1969. No state taxes.”

  “Texas teeters on the brink of a state tax. Maybe the factory will move back.”

  “Nah.” He looped the ball over me.

  “There’s George Spangler.”

  “Son to Kevin and you’re on Kevin’s shit list right now. So am I.”

  “What for? I haven’t done jack shit to Kevin or George Spangler.”

  “He knows we know the real story about David Wheeler and the cannon. As the two most responsible citizens observing the debacle—in his mind, anyway—we’re culprits for not coming forth with the facts that will help him and Bucky nail David.”

  “I’m on Charles Falkenroth’s shit list too.”

  “Story?”

  I nodded. “Yes.”

  Jackson spoke again. “The investor route, well—” He threw up his hands.

  “Damn.” I felt horrible. “There’s got to be a way. I wonder if I could put together a package and make the rounds of Baltimore people with money.” I paused. “Except I only know about three rich people there.”

  “There is another way. You won’t like it.” Jackson patted my knee. “You can come to terms with Diz Rife. Work out an arrangement where you own a percent of the paper. If the Clarion maintains continuity throughout the transfer it will be because of you. And Diz likes you.”

  “John Hoffman could run the Clarion.”

  “But he won’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “He has bigger fish to fry.”

  “John Hoffman?” I was incredulous.

  “Why do you think he’s spending so much time in Washington?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “He’s been interviewing like mad for jobs. It’s do or die for John. He’s not getting any younger.”

  I was stunned. How could something like this go on without my knowing about it? “How’d you find out?”

  “He interviewed at the National Geographic and at the Washington Star and I have an old friend there. Called me for the scoop and I told him John’s a good man so long as you don’t talk politics.”

  “Did you really say that?” I smiled.

  “Yes. Now what about Diz?”

  “I don’t know if I could work with him. I don’t want to be the hired help. Why would he split fifty-fifty with me on ownership?”

  “Because he likes you and he needs you. He doesn’t have to own the Clarion one hundred percent.”

  “Does he know that?”

  “Ask him.”

  “Why don’t you ask him? You’re my lawyer.”

  “He hates me and I hate him. You know that.”

  “Oh, Jackson, that’s in your imagination. Just because you both courted Regina doesn’t mean he still carries a grudge or a torch. That was a long time ago.”

  “Then why does he want to beat me at singles? Why does he want to take you away from me as a doubles partner? Whatever I have Diz wants. He’s the most covetous man I know. You’ll go a lot further if you approach him directly.” A light blond stubble covered Jack’s face. It made him look tougher when he spoke of Diz.

  I walked around the room. This was a new thought for me. I wanted time to digest it,
and time was one thing I didn’t have. “Okay. I’ll give it a shot.”

  “I knew you would. Now get back down here on this sofa.”

  “There’s another item we need to discuss.” I sat next to him. “Mr. Pierre knows.”

  Jackson’s face blanched. “If he tells your aunt we’re sunk.”

  “If he tells my mother she’ll wring my neck.” I had my priorities straight. “But he’s not going to tell.”

  “Good.” He reached up and massaged the back of my neck.

  “Did you have an affair with a woman in York a few years ago?”

  Jack was caught off guard. His hand gripped my neck. I removed it. “Where’d you hear that?”

  “Don’t answer a question with a question. Did you or didn’t you?”

  He slumped back on the sofa. “Yes.”

  My heart stopped for a split second. I was stunned at the power he had to hurt me. I pressed on. “Were there others?”

  “It’s not what you think, Nickie.”

  “What is it then? I can’t believe what a blind fool I am. I really thought I was the first. I thought you loved me.”

  “I do love you! It’s hard being married. It’s hard being faithful. I made some mistakes.”

  Now I was a mistake. “I’m sorry I was one of them.” My voice could have cut steel.

  “You’re not. You’re different.” He took a deep breath. “I’m different. I know your worth. Maybe a few years ago this would have been a sporting affair—fun, lighthearted, an escape from routine. But it’s not that. I love you.”

  “You have a funny way of showing it.” This was unfair and I knew it the minute the words were out of my mouth. Fair or not, I was gathering my courage, bolstered by his confession. “We’re through. We had no future anyway. I’ve been consumed by worry over Regina. So now I’m out.”

  “Don’t do this! Don’t hold my past against me. Hell, why am I defending myself? I’m not a promiscuous man. I’m sorry. I had two affairs in my life and I learned from them.”

  “Does Gene know about them?”

  “No.”

  “You’re still my lawyer. We’ll go on as we were before this.”

  “The hell we will. We’ll never be the same. Do you think love is a faucet and I can turn it on and off?”