A change of gravity

by George V. Higgins

  He told Merrion that Emily had congratulated him on his appointment, saying she was happy because she figured he was 'finally getting tired of acting like the biggest asshole in the world." Because Hilliard was his best friend and Emily was not, Merrion did not say what he thought: that most people who knew and liked her father had for a while sadly and reluctantly shared her opinion.

  All that had been several years before Emily at age thirty-one and her partner, Karen, thirty-eight, had decided to make public their commitment to each other in a meadow setting, inviting the papers. The Pioneer Valley Record, a weekly in Cumberland, ran two pictures;

  Hilliard did not appear in them because he had not attended the ceremony.

  "I was not invited," he told Merrion. "I chose not to be. Emily called me up and told me what was going to happen. She said she'd invited her mother and Mercy'd gotten all bent out of shape and begged her not to go through with it. Pleaded with her to be satisfied with living openly with Karen, if that's what she was sure she wanted to do.

  No one was trying to stop them, so why go public and cause the rest of us all this pain and embarrassment. Emily said Mercy should have joy, not that negative reaction, that she's found her life's companion and partner, and celebrate their union, and that just shows how insensitive we are to her real needs.

  "Emily told me her mother's reaction made her think she'd better call me up and ask me whether I wanted to come, or would I rather try to make her feel bad instead, like her mother had just done. So she was asking did I want to be invited, and she would like to have my true and honest answer.

  "Remember the big kid in the sixth grade with you he'd been kept back so many times they had to let him out of gym so he could go and vote?

  Used to stick his chin out and ask you if you were trying to start a fight at recess poke you in the chest before he hit you in the guts?

  Same tone of voice.

  "I thought about the way she acted when Mercy and I were having such a grand old time of it kicking the living shit out of each other when we were breaking up. Emmy's contribution then was to make it worse for both of us by acting like she's the one who's getting hurt, squawking at me about all the bad publicity I was getting as though I'd been out there trying to get it."

  "I don't remember you working too hard to avoid it," Merrion said.

  "No," Hilliard said, his voice roughening, "I didn't. I stopped living a monk like Sam Evans said after Mercy alleged adultery. The hell was the point of celibacy after that? Sit around and beat my meat after I've been publicly accused of getting laid three times a day? But I didn't go out and arrange the damned press coverage, which is what Emily's doing. She's deliberately staging this sideshow so it'll be in all the papers that she's a lesbian. Part of my job's enforcing college rules that say no public sexual conduct or display. And I've actually got people on my campus who say that's violation of academic freedom. So now Emily's very sweetly asking me if I wouldn't love to be a part of her little pagan feast.

  "I gave it some thought. "Which'd I rather do: what my dear daughter's offering here or jump into a live volcano?" I decided I'd prefer the volcano. This isn't a celebration she's planning; this is a counterattack. No reason to stand out in front of it. So I said: "Uh uh, no thanks. Appreciate the call though. Lots of luck to you and Karen. Toodle-ooh." And that's the way we left it.

  "So, who did that leave with a key around here? You're looking at him.

  Hot-water heater tank blew a relief valve. I got Ralph Stallings to fix it this morning, actually come out on a Saturday, but I had to be there, let him in. Then wait around while he fixed it; lock up again after he left."

  "You still got a key?" Merrion said.

  "Yeah," Hilliard said. "I didn't realize it either, not for quite a long time. I first found out I still had it I dunno when it was, five, six years ago, same situation. Somebody was going to go there to do something, install something, I dunno, and that was the only day they could come and she'd been waiting a long time have it done. But it so happened she had to be someplace else that same day, so would I be a nice guy and do her a favor and go over there, let him in. I was kind of surprised myself. It wasn't like I minded or anything, I'm only just up the street and let's face it, I pretty much come and go as I like. So it was no big deal.

  "But when she first called up and asked me, did I still have my key; I admit I was kind of surprised. I said: "Yeah, I think I might still have it around here someplace; I don't think I threw it away. Why?"

  And she told me, and I said: "Well, geez, you know, the reason I'm not sure I've got it is I assumed it wasn't any good anymore. Isn't it sort of traditional, part of the ritual, that when the wife winds up with the house, she gets all the locks changed?"

  "And she said yeah, she guessed it was, but one thing and another, she never got around to it. The kids when we split up, they were still living there. Later on, they're in college, they still had to have a place to come back to. After that Tim's first marriage came apart; he lived here until he got resettled. Emmy was sort of between jobs and up in the air for a long time, figuring out what she was. So they both would've needed new keys if Mercy'd gotten the locks changed.

  '"It just seemed simpler," she said to me, "if I left things the way they were. And it wasn't as though, you know, I was ever afraid of you. I never considered myself a prospect for one of those afternoon talk-shows: "Women whose ex-husbands stalk them." I never went to bed at night thinking maybe you might be looking in the windows; I never thought you'd ever want to hurt me. Not in that way, anyway."

  Hilliard smirked. "My little Mercy, just as sweet as ever always gets her little dig in.

  '"And anyway," she says, "everybody that I know who's got a house, ex-husband or no ex-husband around, they've all got someone who doesn't live there that's got a key to it. In case someone needs to get in while they're gone, the fire department or something. Someone they can trust. Well, you're ideal far as that kind of trust's concerned anyway. You live right near me; I know if I fall down some night, break my leg or something and can't move, if I can call an ambulance I can get you up and you'll come over, let the paramedics in. And when I'm on the island, you're usually here. So I just never got around to it."

  "So anyway, that's where I was," Hilliard said. "Waiting for Ralph Stallings to come. And finish his work and then go. Sorry to've kept you waiting."

  "So, are we playing?" Merrion said, catching another whiff of cognac, thinking: Mercy's still stocking the bar in the study with V.S.O.P.

  "I called Bolo up this morning," Hilliard said, 'after I called your house first and I got your machine. That to me says you'd either left already to come here or were on the road to God-knows-where-else first, and then you're coming here. Or else that you got lucky last night and you haven't been home, and as soon as you two get through hiding the salami a few more times with last night's catch-of-the-day, you're coming directly here. I didn't have your car-phone. So I called Bolo and told him the situation. So when you got here and came looking for me, tell you what's going on, ask you to wait; I'm on my way. Bolo said when I got here to find him and he'd fit us in whenever we wanted.

  I take it you didn't bother, see Bolo."

  "No point in it," Merrion said. "Your car wasn't in the lot when I got here. Obviously you're not here. I changed my clothes and come out here. Obviously also, something's going on, which so far I don't know about, but probably will when you finally get here. So I'll sit here and wait, watch Heck's baffling kid for a while. You've known me a long time, Daniel my friend. I'm the patient sort, not a guy who craves excitement. I'm more the type who likes to sit back, take his time and see how things develop. Hell, I out waited Larry Lane and Richie Hammond, both; so far that's worked out pretty well."

  Hilliard snickered. There was no happiness in it. "Well, yeah, up 'til now it seems to've," he said. "Like the guy who fell off the roof forty stories up: when someone yelled from the twentieth floor he was gonna get killed, he said: "Oh I dunno; s
o far now it's been all right." I'm just not so sure how much longer." '"How much longer" what?" Merrion said.

  "How much longer things stay okay," Hilliard said. "I'm beginning to think time isn't always on your side. You can't always count on it being that way, time's always working for you. Stands to reason that sometimes it has to work the other way, right, in favor of somebody else. And therefore work against you.

  "You shouldn't let yourself become too sure of things. They've got a way of turning on you in a flash and taking a big bite out of you.

  Things don't always stay the same, the way we're used to and they've always been. At least that's what I'm starting to think. This could be a true fact; that we may be starting to find out what we've got on our hands now may not be something we're used to. And wed be a whole lot better off if we came to grips with it right off, started dealing with it. Things may now be very different. I think maybe we have to realize that."

  He paused and moistened his lips, gazing at Merrion as though expecting him to say something. Merrion frowned and shook his head. He said nothing.

  Hilliard cleared his throat. "Well, ah," he said 'one reason I'm late … well, the reason I'm late is the reason I told you. I hadda go over Bell Woods. But I wasn't sorry, it made me be late. It gave me some time to think. I'm seeing some stuff going on that I'm not sure I like. And I'm not sure what we do about it. I wanted to think, before I saw you, about what it is that we should do about this shit."

  "Dan," Merrion said, 'you're making me nervous here. I'm starting to get very nervous."

  "Yeah, I know what you mean," Hilliard said, looking worried and licking his lips. "That's what I mean, I was trying to say. I'm a little uneasy myself."

  TWELVE

  "I doubt Larry Lane'd recognize the clerk's job you described to me,"

  Hilliard said in the High Street office, a week deeper into the spring of '66. "If he did, he'd never admit it. My guess is he'd tell you he's never seen one like it in Canterbury. Mere suggestion'd give him palpitations."

  "He's making trouble?" Merrion said. "Who's he think he is, chief clerk or something?"

  "I haven't talked to him directly," Hilliard said. "I saw Chassy Spring at the spring Hampden County Bar Association hoedown over at the old Worthy. I thought it might be a good chance to sort of sound him out about having you come in. He was not enthusiastic. He said he wouldn't stand in the way if I told him that's what I wanted, but he also said Lane hasn't given him any indication his two-man staffs overworked."

  "There's a job open, though," Merrion said. "Like I said: I already checked that out, long time ago. Canterbury's authorized for three, three assistant clerks, Chapter Two-eighteen, Section Ten. There's only two there now, two assistant clerks so that means they need one more."

  "Well," Hilliard said, "I'm not sure that follows. They may have room for one more, but that doesn't mean they need one. Maybe Lane's a thrifty manager, conscientious public servant, saving a dollar or two the taxpayers' money here and there if he can, and he finds he can get by with two assistants. One of whom, incidentally, Spring says Lane doesn't like at all. Some protege of Roy Carnes's; Hammond, I think his name is. But what if we brace Lane and he says two assistants're a quorum? What do we do then?"

  "Since when did that ever matter?" Merrion said. "When a chairman on Counties not to mention mine's also on Ways and Means and Judiciary too has a friend and the buddy wants a job and the job he wants is open, when did it ever matter whether anyone else wanted it filled? Even if the guy dragging his feet was the guy in charge the office when did that start to matter?"

  "Oh, I couldn't give you the original example," Hilliard said, 'but I can tell you what the situation probably was. The guy in charge didn't want the vacancy filled. From the outside you never know what's going on inside courthouses. The people who're in them think of them as their private domains. Statute may say there's room for someone new, but that'll mean that someone they don't know'll then be learning all their business. Maybe they've got something going on they don't want publicized.

  "Or someone in the courthouse, the judge or the clerk himself, is saving the slot until someone gets out of the army or finishes school.

  Or the clerk reaches retirement age, which'll mean the guy he's hand-picked to succeed him'll be free to hire two new assistants. One of them being actually qualified; the other one being the retiring guy's bastard child by the fence-viewer's wife.

  "You get the idea: one of the new guys would be someone he could not appoint himself, because it might not've looked right. Might've smacked of nepotism, started no end of loose talk — but if the guy succeeding him's the guy making the appointment, then it'll be perfectly kosher. The incoming chief clerk signs the bastard's paper, in order to get his own job.

  "That's very often what the situation is, we find," Hilliard said. "And as soon as the Counties chairman sees that's what it is, the maximum heat he or anybody else outside the governor, of course can put on the guy who's set up the swap drops about fifty degrees. Technically, yeah, the chairman could probably make a demand; plant his feet and say "I want this done and I want it done now, and until it is you get no funding." He could do it once. But he'd be a fool if he did. He'd have to know once he's thrown his weight around like that, he'll never get anything else. He represents a client there, he'll have to wear a bulletproof-vest to make a safe trip to the bathroom.

  "People don't like guys who threaten them. You put yourself in a position where you've got to be able to get a guy's job if he doesn't do what you want, you're not going to get many things done. You think you can get a clerk fired if he wont lose a ticket for you? Not likely. And even if you could, there'd still be a limit on how many guys you could get fired before you made enough people mad enough at you to get together and see if they couldn't get you. People rebelling like that, pretty soon you can't get anything done. All you've got're guys chasin' around, rantin' and ravin' all over the place, trying to pay off their grudges. That's counterproductive. You want things to be the way most people like them: everything peaceful, and calm.

  "The system depends on nobody's toes getting stepped-on. Everyone gets what he wants. It begins to look like there may not be enough jobs to go so that everyone who wants someone to get one can get taken care of; well then, what we do is get together and we talk. See if maybe we can work something out. Chances are we can see our way clear to agree that the money can be found, if we all look hard enough, and therefore we can go ahead and create a few more of those very popular jobs.

  "To be given, of course, only to people who'll be grateful after they get them: don't leave that out. Because in the future there's probably going to be a way for them to express their thanks that they are without makin' a lot of fuckin' noise and commotion about doin' it. By maybe holding a slot for us when two or three open up in their office.

  It's more beneficial for everyone that way, everyone getting along."

  "Yeah," Merrion said. "Well, okay, but I don't think that's what's going on in the Canterbury court-clerk's office now, that's short one clerk. Judge Spring; you told me once he's got two kids, and both of them're now big high-powered lawyers someplace. One is down in Boston and the other's someplace else?"

  "Right," Hilliard said. "One of Chassy's boys, I forget the kid's name now, but I know he's very large in one of the big firms in Boston. The other one, I think, went to New York very high up in the financial world, some outfit that underwrites bonds. Both making about a ton of money; bucks coming in hand over fist."

  "So they're outta my picture," Merrion said. "They're not leavin' jobs like that to come back here and take this job I want they're both fryin' much bigger fish."

  "That seems about right," Hilliard said. He smiled. "Be interesting to know how Chass really feels about that: both of his kids doing so well. Proud, of course, naturally; you'd assume that. But maybe kind of envious too? That maybe if he'd done something like that himself; gone out into the big world and made a huge mark of his own. Inst
ead he plays it safe and comes back here; practices law, sends out calendars and Christmas cards every year, until the finale, he becomes the judge next town over. This's not what you call your big finish.

  Got to ask yourself: Is this guy content? Was this really what he wanted out of life? Maybe; wouldn't've been my choice.

  "I think about that. People who catch my attention for some reason, I begin to wonder how they feel about the way their lives turned out. If they think they made the right decisions. How the bad ones hurt them.

  How far they've come; how far they could've gotten if they'd been a little smarter, had a little better luck. Are they happy now; or are they disappointed? How I'll feel some day when I'm their age and now I'm the one who's looking back and seeing how my decisions all turned out."

  "Well, he's made himself a bunch of money, hasn't he?" Merrion said.

  "Didn't you also tell me Chassy plays the market like Chuck Berry plays guitar? That oughta happy him some."

  "Oh shit, yes," Hilliard said. "My father's the Spring family dentist.

  Taken care of their teeth for years. Made a good many of them in fact;

  Spring family's got very weak teeth. They've all needed bridgework and plates. He used to talk, they came in. He knew for a fact that Chassy'd made a huge amount of money, stocks and bonds and so forth.

  That didn't bother my father; what did was that the judge never gave him a hot tip."

  "Bastard," Merrion said.

  "You'd think that, wouldn't you," Hilliard said. "Least the cocksucker could do, knows what stock is going up, is tell the people that he knows, so they could make some money too. Not everybody, no, just people that he sees around a lot like my father, for example, for his teeth. Not advising them, so you'd expect him to be calling them up every day or so and saying: "Psst, buy GM; sell Coca-Cola," anything like that. No, just that he'd at least have the common decency, he knows he's going to see them, like an appointment with my father, let them in on whatever he thinks might be looking especially good.