A Choice of Enemies (7 page)

Norman, who had heard the story many times before, joined Sally in the laughter that followed all the same, but he was not aware, as the others certainly were, that he was also holding her hand. He and Sally didn’t realize that the Winklemans and Charlie had been nudging each other whenever they looked in their direction. Joey alone remained aloof.

Finally, it was time to go. Before Norman could protest Joey announced that she had called a taxi and that they could easily drop Sally off on their way home.

The Winklemans went upstairs to bed.

“I’m so glad for Norman,” Bella said. “I think she’s a very sweet girl.”

“I hope it works out for Norm, too. That guy’s so lonely it’s a crime.”

Charlie was too excited to sleep. “They’re like a couple of kids together,” he said to Joey.

“Norman’s going to get hurt.”

“How come?”

“She’s far too young for him.”

“Me,” Charlie said, “I like them under fifteen. Sixteen tops. Yum, yum.”

The next morning, at nine-thirty, Norman presented himself at Sally’s hotel again. This time she was waiting for him. They kissed eagerly, and after breakfast Norman helped to move her things into Karp’s house. The cooking facilities in Sally’s bed-sitter looked fine and there was even a telephone extension on the table, but the gas heater seemed inadequate. The kitchenette part of the room closed like a cupboard. The walls, originally a bright yellow, were by this time a depressing brown. Bright yellow squares, where the last tenant’s pictures had used to hang, glared angrily at you. There was an abandoned Penguin on the mantelpiece.
Ballet
by Arnold Haskell. The kind of room, Norman imagined, where once or twice a year there had been bottle parties. Warm punch out of sticky glasses. A red-stained slice of lemon adhering to the bottom of your glass all night. A bearded boy with a guitar, perhaps.

Sally was enthralled. She told him excitedly of her plans to make the room more “homey.” Norman was briefly conscious of the years that separated them. For her a rented room was an adventure. He remembered it as a place where you were alone. Terribly alone.

Karp told Norman that his room would not be ready until Monday and then Norman went off to have lunch with Charlie.

“I’m surprised you’ve got time for me these days,” Charlie said.

“What do you mean?”

“Hey,” Charlie said. “Hey there.”

Norman grinned foolishly. “Do you like Sally?” he asked.

“What are you trying to promote – a triangle?” Charlie laughed. “She’s crazy about you.”

“I wish I thought so.”

“Are you kidding?”

“No.”

“Hell, that girl can’t keep her eyes off you. You’re like a couple of honeymooners together. An iceberg of a guy like you. I’m shocked. Personally, I think you’re a couple of dirty pigs.”

Norman laughed self-consciously and then quickly changed the subject. Charlie was disturbed. He complained to Norman that Winkleman was stalling. He had not yet been paid his advance on the script. So that afternoon Norman phoned Winkleman, told him to give Charlie some money, and promised to begin work on the script on Monday.

“That’s a nice girl you’ve got there,” Winkleman said.

Norman and Sally became inseparable. On Wednesday he borrowed Bob Landis’s car and took her to Cambridge. They rented a canoe, ate a picnic lunch beside the Cam, and on the midnight drive back to London she slept with her head on his shoulder. The next afternoon they visited Hampton Court together. They managed to avoid the Winklemans and Charlie and Joey until Saturday night, when Norman had promised to bring Sally home for dinner. In all that short febrile time, though everyone had put them down for lovers, they had not been to bed together. Norman, after the first night’s failure, had shied away from trying to make love to her again. He lived in perpetual fear of rejection. With the fear, though, he also had his dream. He and Sally were married, they had three children, and they were uniquely happy. They did not hang impressionist prints on their walls. Sally, like him, enjoyed making love in the mornings. But when the kids came that was seldom possible. The kids woke them early each morning, jumping up and down on their not-Swedish Modern double bed.

After they had dinner with Charlie and Joey on Saturday night Sally invited him into her room for a drink, even though it was quite late.

Sally sat on the floor, her legs tucked under her wide green skirt and her blouse sufficiently open at the neck so that he could see
where her breasts began. Norman told her about the time he spent with his father in Spain and Sally spoke about her parents. Their conversation was forced. Norman was always so annoyingly a man of no frivolity that she was constantly afraid of making a fool of herself with him. When Sally wasn’t getting up to twist a dripping faucet tight or to pull the curtains or replace a book, she seemed just a little petulant.

“Well,” she said at last, “here we are.”

“Here we are.” Norman cleared his throat. “Bob says we can have his car again tomorrow. We can drive down to Brighton, if you like.”

Sally gathered that Norman was particularly proud of his community of friends. There was, to be sure, an instinctive generosity about the way they lent each other money, their cars, and even – as in Norman’s case – a flat. There was plenty to be said for a group of men who, though they were naturally competitors and professionally jealous of each other’s success, still did their utmost to share out the available work. But what astonished her was the ways in which the “enlightened” left was similar to the less intelligent groups it despised. The loyalties, the generosity, like those of the Rotary, lost in purity by being confined to the group strictly. You didn’t wear a badge with your first name on it, you weren’t asked the name of your “home town,” but your contributions were “concrete,” your faith “progressive,” and your enemies “reactionary.”
Joe Hill
ousted
Down By The Old Mill Stream
, but, though the sentiment was loftier, it was still uncritical, still stickily there. It seemed to Sally that Norman and his friends were not, as they supposed, non-conformists, but conformists to another rule.

“All right,” she said. “If you like.”

This time when she rose to fill his glass again, and Norman circled her waist with his arm, she did not withdraw or look at him severely. Instead she came closer to him.

“Oh please,” she said. “Hurry. I want you to.”

He raised a hand to her breast. Sally shut her eyes, murmured something inaudible, and fitted her body closer to his. As they sank down on the bed together he began to undo the buttons of her blouse. Sally leaped up, her slip coming off with a black swish, and in a moment she stood naked before him.

“You’re beautiful,” he said.

Then, as they fell into another embrace, the phone began to ring. That startled them. Norman sat up, he began to sweat. The phone rang again and again. Sally, trying to pull him down to her, said huskily, “Let it ring. Who cares?”

It was Joey. He knew it. Anger knotted inside him.

“It’s probably not for me.” Sally offered him her mouth again, but as he took her in his arms the phone rang and rang. A buzzer sounded. Obviously the phone call was for her.

“All right,” she said sharply. “I’ll get it.”

But just as she reached the phone the ringing stopped. Standing there in the nude on a cold floor, a dead receiver in her hand, she was consumed by a searing rage, but she did not weep.

“I can’t understand,” Norman said, “at this hour … who …?”

Norman slipped into his trousers. Sally poured her slip over her head, wriggling to help it down, and then sank wearily back on the bed. She rose quickly again and poured him another drink.

“I suddenly feel like the heroine of a smutty story. You know, the school teacher visiting Europe and.…”

“I’m sorry.”

“You needn’t be sorry.”

Norman got up and replaced the receiver on the hook.

“Say something,” she said. “Please.”

“I could tell you how I feel about you, but I’m afraid –”

“– of Joey?”

“Why should I –”

“I was only joking,” she said.

“It was a bad joke.”

“All right. It was a bad joke. I’m sorry. But there’s no need for you to be angry.”

“I’m not angry.”

He took her in his arms once more. They kissed; he fondled her breast. But it was no use. It was too late. They broke apart.

“Oh,” she said. “I feel like I’m being scratched all over inside. I feel terrible.”

Norman frowned helplessly. His excitement, his longing for her, had been so urgent, that he had reached a climax while they had embraced. Now, all excitement temporarily spent, he felt tense. Though he ached with love for her, he was afraid that if he was called on right now he would prove inadequate, so Sally’s presence embarrassed and angered him, and with himself he was absolutely disgusted. Norman reached for his jacket.

“Don’t go,” she said. “Stay and have another drink.”

“No. I must go. That was probably Joey on the phone.”

“So what. Do you think I care if she knows you spent the night here?”

This was an invitation. He realized that. But he didn’t sit down again; he slipped into his jacket.

“I’ve hurt you,” she said.

“No.”

She came close to him. “I like you so much, Norman Price,” and rested her head against his shoulder. “Are you very angry with me?”

“No,” he said. “No, my darling,” and he was gone.

“Darling.” Sally was alarmed. Coming from Norman “darling” was far too solemn. He had never called her “darling” before.

Charlie and Joey were ready for bed when Norman arrived.

“Ah,” Charlie said, “here he is.”

Norman turned angrily on Joey. “Did you phone Sally about half an hour ago?”

“Yes,” she said coldly. “Why didn’t you answer?”

“It looks to me that you phoned at
one
in the morning simply to see if I was with her.”

“A telegram came for you. I thought it might be important.”

“I told her that it could wait until you got back.”

“A telegram?”

“It must have come this afternoon,” Charlie said. “I went out for a coffee and found it in the mail box. Here, maybe you won something on a quiz show.…”

But Norman turned very pale.

“Anything wrong?” Joey asked.

“What is it, Norman?”

“It’s from my Aunt Dorothy in Boston.…”

“What?”

“Nicky’s dead.”

“Who?”

“His brother.”

“There are no details,” Norman said. “Nothing.”

“Oh, Norman, I
am
sorry,” Joey said.

Norman retreated into his cramped little study and shut the door after him. He sat down on the tattered sofa and read the telegram over and over again. Removing his glasses, he wiped his eyes and lay down on the sofa and rested there until a soft knocking at the door startled him.

“Can I get you anything?” Joey asked.

“No.”

“A drink might help,” Charlie suggested meekly.

“No. No thanks.”

“Are you sure?”

“Please go away.”

Before he turned out the lights, Norman wrote out his name and address on a piece of paper and fastened the paper to his arm with an elastic band. Eventually he got up and undressed, but he didn’t sleep.

Dawn came. Buses began to lumber down Church Street.

Tall, he thought. Nicky had been tall with our father’s eyes and smile and with a lot of Dr. Max Price’s brilliance too. Nicky had inherited the gift, not me.

Norman got up at last around ten and joined Charlie and Joey in the kitchen.

“Did you sleep?” Joey asked.

“Yes.”

“I guess there’s nothing I can say, is there?”

“I’m
O.K.
, Charlie.”

Joey served him coffee. “You were very fond of him, weren’t you?”

“I’d rather not talk about it.”

But he was grateful to both of them just for being there. They were old friends. He wasn’t required to show a stiff upper lip or a drooping one, either. Being himself was good enough for Charlie and Joey.

The bells of St. Mary Abbot’s began to chime.

“Sally phoned,” Charlie said cheerfully. “She seems to think you’re angry with her or something.…”

“Look, Charlie, there is something you can do for me. Would you call Air France and see if you can get me on the next plane to Paris?”

Charlie looked imploringly at Joey.

“Go ahead,” Joey said. “It’ll do Norman good to get away.”

Charlie went into the living room to phone.

“What happened?” Joey asked. “Is it the girl?”

“Her name is Sally,” Norman said sharply. Then, as he told her something of Sally, he realized for the first time that he was grateful that Joey had phoned last night. He had been afraid to make love to Sally.

“So you’re going to use your brother’s death as an excuse for running away.”

Norman did not want to discuss Sally any more. Not this morning. “Jesus,” he said, “I’m not serious about her. I –”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure. I wanted to go to bed with her, that’s all.”

“You’re sure you’re not running –”

“I’m not running away.”

The bells of St. Mary Abbot’s started up again.

“What am I to tell her if she phones again?”

“Tell her anything you want.”

“O.K.,”
Charlie said. “You leave in two hours. Is that too soon?”

“No. Thanks a lot, Charlie.”

“How long will you be gone?” Joey asked.

“A couple of months at least.”

“Look,” Charlie said, “I’m flat broke right now but –”

“I don’t need any money, Charlie.”

“– but I’m going to see Winkleman in half an hour, he phoned earlier, and I’m getting a pretty big advance on my script to begin with, so –”

Norman’s face clouded. “Don’t tell him I’m going away.”

“Why?” Joey asked quickly.

“No special reason,” Norman said. “I’ll write him.”

It’s no use, Norman thought. Charlie won’t get a second payment until I get back. I hope he isn’t counting too heavily on the money.

The bells of St. Mary Abbot’s began to chime again.