Marriage Bed

by Dixon, H. Vernor

  Sam took care of my ticket and baggage at the airline counter. The flight had already been called, so he walked with me to the end of the ramp. We stared at the glistening metal skin of the four-engine plane and this was definitely farewell and that headache was returning. It was not easy leaving Sam. There had been times when I had thought I would marry him. There had been times when he almost proposed. And then another play would interfere.

  He stood there looking solemnly down into my eyes and placed his bony hands on my shoulders. “Take care of yourself, Carol.”

  “I will.”

  “Write to me often. And if anything goes wrong, for God’s sake, let me know.”

  “You think I made a mistake, don’t you?”

  “This isn’t the time or place to talk about that.”

  “But I know you think that way.”

  “Recently, yes. At first I thought your Jeffrey was a very admirable person, even though he had used an ax on my life.”

  “Now you’ve changed your mind. Tell me the truth, Sam.”

  “Very well. I think Hamlyne is simply one of the spoiled rich, a playboy, a chameleon, as changeable as a woman’s hair-do. I think he fell in love with you, head over heels, but even his too rapid courtship indicates instability. Now he realizes his new responsibility, or his brother has made him realize it, which I imagine is closer to the truth, and he regrets the whole thing. Under the community-property laws of California he is in a very difficult situation.”

  “Oh, Sam.”

  “I won’t lie to you, Carol. You asked for it. He has allowed four months to go down the drain because he hasn’t sufficient character, or courage, to make up his mind. And yet I think I know what will happen when you arrive. One look at you and he’ll be head over heels in love again.”

  Sam’s eyes were searching mine, looking for the answer to a question pertinent to him. I made the correct guess by saying, “You expect me to see that, too, and have enough character, myself, to walk out. Isn’t that it?”

  “That’s what I hope. You’ve relegated me to the role of the second husband. I have no pride, you see. I accept the part.” His hands tightened and he shook my shoulders. “I’m talking nonsense.” He smiled. “Run along. You’ll have a wonderful time. But if anything goes wrong — ”

  I was halfway up the steps to the plane’s cabin when I realized that I had not kissed Sam good-by. I stopped and turned around. The gate was closed. I waved to Sam, brushed away the surprising tears, and was thankful for the mist.

  The door closed behind me and the stewardess took my coat. As soon as we were airborne she brought me the latest novel, a corsage, and my favorite chocolates. That, I thought, is not included in the price of the ticket. Jeffrey or Sam?

  The stewardess smiled and informed me, “A Mr. Brandt, I believe. Maybe I’m talking out of turn, Mrs. Hamlyne, but from the scuttle butt I heard in the office he has candy and flowers waiting for you at every stop,”

  I sighed, “Lucky me.” But it should have been Jeffrey. He had time to make such arrangements after getting my wire.

  The girl adjusted a small pillow behind my shoulders and asked, “Which Mrs. Hamlyne are you?”

  “Are there others?”

  “I don’t mean that. You are down as Mrs. J. Hamlyne. I was wondering which, Jeffrey or John.”

  “Jeffrey.”

  “Oh.” She fairly beamed at me. “I envy you, Mrs. Hamlyne. I’ve met your husband twice; once in the air, when he was one of my passengers, and once at a polo game in Burlingame. He remembered me. He’s one of my favorite people.”

  “Really?”

  “Oh, yes. I don’t know much about polo, but anyone could see that he was sensational. I guess he’s pretty sensational at anything he does. I wanted to see him play golf, too, when he won the Cypress Point Tournament, but I was switched to another run. I think he played against his brother in that game. I’ve never seen him. What is he like?”

  I glanced at the name plates on the door leading to the pilots’ cockpit. There were two stewardesses, Betty and Louise. I asked the one I was talking to, “Are you Betty?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Well, for your information, Betty, I have never met my brother-in-law, but I know exactly what he looks like.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. He looks like my husband. John and Jeffrey are identical twins.”

  She stared at me with a puzzled frown and then a naughty little laugh crept to her lips. “That,” she purred, “should be an interesting situation.”

  “It has its possibilities.”

  She walked away to attend to another passenger, but winked at me as she left, and I turned to look out the window. We were above the clouds, but I could see city lights and highways through an occasional break. The air in the cabin was warm, almost too warm, but as I stared out into the night the temperature seemed to lower and I felt a perceptible chill.

  I looked down at the book and the chocolates in my lap. Sam was still with me. And Sam, I realized, had been lying about Jeffrey. His analysis of Jeffrey’s character, there at the airport gate, was something he had manufactured on the spur of the moment. Sam had a sharper perception of character than anyone I had ever known and rarely had reason to change his mind. Sam’s words, after his first meeting with Jeffrey, had been: “There is a man who is strictly all man.” But why the change?

  The chill passed and I closed my eyes and thought of Jeffrey and his brother together. It was going to be strange, seeing two of the same person. I wondered if I would like that.

  Chapter Two

  THE FLIGHT WEST was very short but it did give me enough time to prepare myself, at least mentally, to enter a strange new world. I have never had difficulty adapting myself to sudden changes and this was not to be an exception, even though the world I was leaving was the only one I knew.

  In my later teens my ambition had been to be an actress. I played summer stock in Rhode Island and Massachusetts, right after Mother died, but I realized soon enough that I could never be more than second-rate. It had nothing to do with my appearance, as I had ray share of suitors and stage-door Johnnies. I was not beautiful, or even especially attractive, but thick black hair and black eyes and creamy skin inherited from my mother certainly could not be considered a handicap.

  Three seasons convinced me that I was heading the wrong way. But I loved the theatre, so I wrote a play. It was awful. I wrote another and another. When I had one where the odor was less perceptible I called on Sam Brandt. I was afraid to go to a big producer. Little frogs get along better with other little frogs. Sam, at that time, had enjoyed only moderate success, but he was known and he did have a foot on the first rung of the ladder. He read my play and said that it was really very bad, but in a clever way. That was something.

  Sam worked with me, ripped the play to pieces, rewrote most of it himself, and then produced it. I still don’t know how it happened, but some spark common to the two of us had fused into an astounding success. After that there was never a failure. We collaborated on the writing and Sam did the producing and it all clicked like a T formation. Nine plays in six years and all but one sold to Hollywood.

  That was my world. The arch of the proscenium, grease paint, millions of lights in every possible color, rampant ego, interesting people, supercharged personalities, and talk, talk, talk. A cow was something you saw in pictures. Grass grew in Central Park. Bums lived in the Bowery and the wealthy in penthouses. Only words had meaning, motivation, character, conflict, story line, theme, color, atmosphere, and love, love love. Interesting words, but still just words.

  Many times I had lain awake at night and tried to cut through the mass of words to the animal creature, myself, hiding somewhere behind a superlative. There was a woman among all those words, a woman who wanted to love and be loved and live through her sensory perceptions and stop all the nonsense of words, but she was too elusive for me. I saw her in mirrors only, and then dimly. Jeffrey brought her to life and m
ade her real, for one week. After that it was words again and my old familiar world.

  Not that I disliked that world. I enjoyed every moment of it, in spite of its tinsel and its phony glamour.

  But at thirty years of age and at two hundred miles an hour I was leaving all of that to face life on a new planet. My husband was a stranger and everything about him and the life he led added up to unknown quantities. It was even possible that he no longer wanted me. Sam had sensed that and so he had belittled Jeffrey’s character to lessen the impending blow, if it should fall.

  There could be no other reason for him to place Jeffrey in the category of the spoiled rich. Being in love had not blinded me to that degree. Jeffrey had certain contradictory characteristics, but the clean and honest core of the man had been evident in every expression and every move he made. I could not have been that wrong about him; nor could Sam.

  There could be but two reasons for his odd behavior of the past months: his brother or another woman. The latter I discounted as highly improbable, not by rationalizing, but simply through the intuitive process. The former, though, was definitely a question mark. Identical twins are closer than other people, and Jeffrey, more than once, had mentioned the unusual respect and admiration he felt for his brother. It was possible, even probable, that John was not at all happy about Jeffrey’s marriage. That being the case, he could exert tremendous pressure toward a quick dissolution of the marriage. But for Jeffrey to bend to such pressure would indicate a weakness that I was positive did not exist.

  I gave up. The more I thought about it, the more confused I became. I kept it from my mind as much as possible and suffered through the flight with the attitude of wait and see.

  When we landed at Mills Field, at San Francisco, I stepped out of the plane to face a battery of photographers and reporters. I postured on the steps and managed a smile and then there was a man at my side, also facing the cameras, and I turned to smile at him, too, and my heart practically shattered. I cried, “Jeff!” and litterally threw myself into his arms. If he had not thrown his arms about me we would have fallen from the steps.

  I forgot all the recriminations that were bubbling in my brain and clung to him and kissed him and was not at all conscious of the amused lights in his eyes or that he was not returning my affection. He was in a hurry to get away from the reporters and made no effort to answer their questions. He took my arm and rushed me through the administration building to a long sleek limousine waiting in front. The chauffeur took my checks, picked up my baggage, and then spun us away from the curb and onto the highway leading to San Francisco. The sun was shining, but over the hills to the west were trailing tendrils of fog. I liked the smell of the air and settled back with a sigh.

  Then I turned to look at Jeffrey and felt as if I were sinking into a deep black void. This was my husband, the man I had married, and he was more of a stranger than ever. In the short space of four months he had become almost another person.

  I stared at him, hardly able to believe my eyes. He was wearing an Oxford-gray suit that fitted him more loosely than it should and was more in keeping with a conservative nature than with Jeffrey’s. He had lost weight. His cheeks were a bit thinner than they had been, with two deep hollows that gave his face a rather gaunt look. His blue eyes, with tiny flecks of amber in their depths, had lost all of their former warmth, and the smile that tugged at his lips was oddly cynical. His sandy hair had not changed, or the cleft in his chin, or the brilliant whiteness of his teeth, but otherwise he had altered considerably.

  The change raised a peculiar barrier I had not anticipated.

  Now it was a welcome relief that he stayed on his side of the seat. I did not want him to put his arm about me, or even touch me.

  I had difficulty finding my voice, but was finally able to ask him, “Have you been ill?”

  The tiny smile playing about his lips turned to acid. He looked away from me and stared blankly into space. “You could call it that,” he replied.

  “But, Jeff, you said nothing about it in your letters, or when we talked.”

  He raised an eyebrow and glanced at me and then his eyes had expression. They were amused, though he did try to hide it. He said, “I’m afraid, Carol, that I owe you an apology. I wanted to tell you at the plane, but then I thought it best not to let the reporters know.”

  “Know what?”

  “Jeffrey was not able to meet you. I am your brother-in-law, John.”

  So many emotions swept through me at that moment that I was left limp as a rag. I was relieved that he was not Jeffrey, yet angry, too, and felt silly for having kissed him so fervently. He had a handkerchief to his mouth and was wiping away the lipstick as my emotional storm subsided.

  He said, “Sorry it had to be this way. Jeff is on business down in El Centro, near the Mexican border. When your wire arrived I telephoned him at once and told him when you would be arriving. He tried to figure out a way to make it, but was afraid he would miss your plane, so here I am.”

  “Well,” I said, trying to pass it off lightly, “it was almost the same. It wasn’t until a moment ago that I noticed the difference beween the two of you.”

  “Difference?” He laughed. “Then I’m afraid you’re due for another surprise. There is no difference between us. There never has been.”

  “But you’re thinner than Jeff, with more of a gaunt look.”

  “Oh, that. We have each lost a little weight recently.

  We — ah — had a little argument.”

  I was beginning to relax a bit and said, “Oh, now, a little argument can’t be responsible for losing weight.”

  He looked into my eyes as his own narrowed to slits. “Anything that happens between us, Carol, affects us more deeply than it would other people. It isn’t the simple relationship of two brothers; it goes beyond that. A difference of opinion that would be minor with most people comes close to an emotional catastrophe with us.”

  He was tossing me the ball, but I refused to play. I wanted my questions answered by Jeffrey, not by John. I changed the subject by saying tritely, “Naturally, I was expecting Jeff, but it was nice of you to meet me.”

  He smiled at the obvious evasion and started talking about San Francisco. On learning that I had never been there before, he had the chauffeur drive about the city and pointed out the various landmarks. I fell in love with the city at first sight. There was something about San Francisco that suggested a miniature New York, but its hills and vistas and atmosphere were unique and individual. And the air, with its smell of fog, was like a strong heady wine. The West was different, but not so different as to be strange. I began to feel at home before the end of the drive.

  We stopped in the driveway before the Mark Hopkins Hotel, situated on the top of one of the many hills, and John explained that he had reserved rooms for us. “Jeff wants to meet you here and drive you down to Monterey himself.”

  “I hope he does. When did he say he would arrive?”

  “He wasn’t sure. In fact, he may not be able to make it. He may not close the El Centro deal in time to get up here, in which case we’ll see him at home.”

  I followed John into the lobby feeling like a stray cat that no one wanted. It could not be too far from San Francisco to El Centro, wherever that place was, at the most not more than a few hours’ flying time. I wondered what I would do if the situation had been reversed, and knew the answer to that: I would fly to him at once, no matter how urgent the business deal might be.

  We went up to one of the top floors of the hotel and to adjoining rooms. I wanted to change clothes, so I asked John to give me half an hour. While changing, I could hardly stay away from the windows. The room I was in faced east, overlooking the business district of San Francisco, the bay and the great bridge and the eastern shore and hills. It was just getting dark and lights were winking by the millions in every direction. It was easily the most spectacular view I had ever seen. I began to feel a little better about my arrival.

 
; John came in later with a bellboy carrying a tray with glasses, ice, and the necessary ingredients for a Martini. When the boy left John mixed the drinks and we stood at a window to watch the lights. It was almost impossible for me to tear myself away from the magnificence of that view.

  John said, “It doesn’t surprise me that you like San Francisco. Most New Yorkers do. In time, you’ll become a confirmed San Franciscan. We run up here often.”

  “How far do you live from here?”

  He chuckled and turned to face me. “You are now a Hamlyne, Carol. Better change that to read, “How far do we live from here?’ O.K.?”

  “O.K.” I smiled.

  “Good. Monterey is a little over a hundred miles away. It’s less than a three-hour drive by car or, by air, about thirty minutes. I don’t own my own plane, but Jeff has two of them. He’s an excellent pilot. I borrow one of his ships now and then and manage to get from A to B without hitting anything, but Jeff’s ability is far superior to mine. You’ll just have to get used to the idea of going everywhere by plane. That’s the only way he cares to travel.”

  “I don’t mind. I enjoy flying.”

  We fell silent and I sipped at the Martini and then the silence became awkward. John was just as much aware of that as I, but he stood quietly at my side and made no attempt to break the silence. Jeffrey could never have done that. He was too nervous. John’s nature, therefore, was more conservative, more placid. That was the first major difference I noticed between the two of them.

  I glanced sideways and caught John’s eyes appraising me from head to toe. He was like a man looking over a well-built filly. He seemed satisfied and even nodded. He broke the silent moment, then, without a hint that it had ever existed.

  “I suppose,” he said, apropos of nothing at all and yet really touching the subject in my mind, “that you’re wondering about my attitude toward Jeff’s marriage.”

  I did not wish to discuss it with him, as I was afraid it would lead to the quarrel that had obviously taken place between himself and Jeffrey. I said, “Well, you must have some sort of attitude, if only a neutral one. Were you expecting Jeff to marry someone he knew out here?”