Bread Upon the Waters (18 page)

“Well, Allen,” Hazen said, “I have to admit I do sneak out of the office when I can and it’s a nice day. I never played hooky when I was a kid and I try to make up for it now and then.” Dressed for sport in a loud checked jacket and wearing a tweed hat tilted down over his eyes to shut out the glare of the sun, he meticulously made entries on his scorecard of hits, runs, errors, strikeouts and substitutions. He ate three frankfurters during the course of the game and drank two beers, saying “I’m not going to weigh myself for a week.”

When Jackson hit a home run he stood up and roared with the rest of the crowd and he groaned aloud when the Yankee shortstop made an error. He caught a foul ball with a one-handed lunge as the ball curved into the box and stood up and tipped his hat in mock gravity as the crowd applauded him.

There was a young boy wearing a Yankee cap sitting in the next box with his father. He had on a fielder’s glove for just such eventualities as foul balls and had leaped to catch the ball that Hazen had caught and then had sunk back into his seat embarrassedly. Hazen leaned over and gave the ball to the boy. “Here you are, lad,” he said. “This is for you.” He smiled as the boy stared with wonder and disbelief at the treasure in his hand.

“You’ve made his week, sir,” the boy’s father said.

“May he have many more like it,” Hazen said, with a little pull at the visor of the boy’s cap. Watching him, Strand remembered Hazen’s uncondescending and comradely relationship with the Ketleys’ grandson while they were playing catch. The man had a gentle, affectionate way with children and Strand wondered how he could have gone so wrong with his own son and daughters.

The entire afternoon had shown a playful and youthfully attractive streak in Hazen for which his usual composed and judicial manner of speaking and behaving had not prepared Strand and for the first time he felt a warmth for the man that broke through the watchful reserve with which he had up to then regarded the lawyer. After this day, Strand thought, it will be easier to be his friend.

Conroy was waiting with the car at the gate when they left the stadium, a benevolent policeman disregarding the fact that the car was in a no-standing zone and touching the visor of his cap as Hazen and Strand approached. Strand felt a touch of what he knew was unworthy, elitist superiority as he got into the car, leaving the thousands of other spectators to herd their way toward the steps leading to the platform of the elevated tracks.

“A fine afternoon,” Hazen said, with a sigh of contentment as he sank into the back seat of the Mercedes beside Strand. “We must do it again soon. You know, if the Yankees’d lost we’d be fretful and down and I’d be feeling the three frankfurters and complaining about heartburn. But they won and I’m looking forward to a big steak for dinner.” He laughed. “Imagine a man my age depending upon the Yankees for his digestion. Well, we’ve got to be partisans about
something
and there’s damn little else in this day and age that we can cheer about.” He took a leather-encased flask with a silver top out of the pocket of the topcoat he had left in the car when they went into the ballpark. The top had another small cup inside it and he gave it to Strand and poured for both of them. “Bourbon,” he said. “It’s more American. Well, here’s to Jackson.”

They both drank. Strand felt that it was a fitting end to the afternoon.

When the car drove up in front of Strand’s building, Hazen said, “I’m not sure about next weekend, but if I can make it, can you folks come out to the Island with me?”

“I’ll see what Leslie’s plans are,” Strand said.

As he was getting out of the car, Hazen said, “I’ll call you on Wednesday and you can tell me then.”

It was three weeks before they went to East Hampton again. Hazen had called and told Strand that he had to go out of town to places like Washington, Los Angeles, Dallas, Tulsa, and Chicago, but that if the Strands would like to go to the beach for the weekends, the Ketleys would be alerted and Conroy would drive them down. Strand had declined, without discussing the matter with Leslie. The end of term work was piling up on him, he told Hazen, and he’d better stay in town.

“Well, then,” Hazen said, “when I get back. That’s definite, isn’t it?”

“Definite,” Strand promised.

“Another thing,” Hazen said, “I’ve been in touch with the assistant district attorney and they’re going to allow the kid to plead guilty to a reduced charge, so tell Caroline to stop worrying. She won’t have to appear in court.”

“That was thoughtful of you,” Strand said, relieved.

“They’ll probably release the kid on probation and he’ll be stealing bikes the next afternoon. Oh, well, you have to pay a little for the pleasure of living in Fun City.”

“Have you heard from Romero yet?” Strand asked. Since his last conversation with the boy, Romero had avoided him and had cut all his classes. Judith, too, had avoided him. Strand couldn’t decide whether he was glad or sorry that there were no more drinks in her neat, feminine apartment, with the north light coming in through the big studio window.

“No word from your protégé. I expect he’s finding it a difficult letter to write,” Hazen said. “If you see him, tell him I look forward to talking to him.”

“I’ll tell him,” Strand said.

“Has a man called Burnside gotten in touch with you yet?”

“No.”

“He will soon. He’s the alumnus of Truscott who was a track star there. I spoke to him on the phone and he sounded agreeable. He can watch Caroline next Thursday, if that’s all right with her. Is she up to it yet?”

“She tells me she is,” Strand said. “Her gym teacher found some starting blocks and they’ve been working out every afternoon together. And she’s cut out desserts.”

Hazen laughed. “I hope she’s not fretting.”

“Not noticeably. She’s enchanted with your tennis club.”

“Good,” Hazen said. “I hear she’s much in demand. It’s amazing, the variety of friends you can make with a good forehand. It’s too bad Eleanor doesn’t play. There are a lot of important people at the club, in all kinds of businesses, and she could make some very useful contacts there.”

“Eleanor,” Strand said, “makes her own contacts.”

“I’ve noticed that. Oh, I nearly forgot—I have some tickets for concerts and the ballet and the theater piling up that I won’t be able to use. I’ll send them over with a messenger.”

“You’re too generous by half,” Strand said, but was pleased even as he said it, thinking of the nights ahead for himself and Leslie.

“Nonsense, Allen,” Hazen said. “I’d feel guilty if they went to waste.”

“Thank you, anyway.”

“If anything comes up while I’m gone,” Hazen said, “just call Conroy at the office.”

Strand wondered if Conroy, who certainly looked in need of amusement, ever got a free pair of tickets from his boss.

“I’m sure nothing will come up,” he said.

“Just in case,” Hazen said. “Well, keep well and give my love to the family.”

Love, Strand thought as he put down the phone. It was the first time he had heard Hazen use the word. A figure of speech. No more.

Hazen was in the Mercedes with Conroy at the wheel when they drove up in front of the apartment building precisely at four thirty. Strand, Leslie, Caroline and Jimmy were waiting for him. Eleanor was due to leave for Greece the next week and had so many things to do to get ready that she couldn’t take the time off to go along with them.

Jimmy was bringing along his guitar. When Strand had protested, Jimmy said that when they were at Hazen’s house the time before, over lunch, Hazen had told him he’d heard the young people talking enthusiastically about Jimmy’s performance at the bar in Bridgehampton and said that he’d like to hear what Jimmy could do on the instrument. “All right. Take it with you. But for God’s sake don’t play it unless you’re specifically asked.”

Leslie had worried a little about canceling still another Saturday’s lessons, but Caroline’s delight at the prospect of the holiday was infectious and now Leslie greeted Hazen warmly as he got out of the big car with Conroy to help them stow their bags in the trunk. It was a warm, muggy afternoon and the radio had promised more of the same for the next two days and Jimmy had voiced what they all felt about getting away to the seashore when he said, “It couldn’t have happened at a better time or to nicer people.”

When they got to the house it was still light and still hot. “We have plenty of time before dinner,” Hazen said. “I suggest we all take a dip in the ocean. Clear the city out of our souls.”

Even Strand approved of the idea after the muggy day at work. His family knew what his legs looked like and by now Hazen must have guessed that he was not built like a fullback. When they assembled on the beach fifteen minutes later Caroline and Jimmy went splashing into the waves with wild whoops of joy. Hazen lunged at the sea as though he intended to batter it into submission, and Strand and Leslie watched him swimming strongly in an impromptu race with Caroline, who had a deceptively easy stroke that made her knife through the water at a smart pace.

Leslie looked curvy and pleasantly buxom in a one-piece black bathing suit, her fine legs firm and rosy in the light of the westering sun. She was not as full-bodied as the woman in the Renoir drawing that hung in their room, but, Strand thought approvingly, if Renoir had been alive today he would have been happy to use her as a model. She went in sedately, but then plunged into a wave and swam methodically toward where Jimmy was paddling just beyond the line of the breakers. Strand went in gingerly, conscious of the way his bathing trunks flapped around his skinny legs. But once he was in he felt light and buoyant, his skin tingling deliciously in the cold water. He had a thrashing stroke that Eleanor had once described as the slowest Australian crawl in the history of swimming.

The sun was low on the horizon when they came out and Strand shivered a little and noticed that Leslie was shivering, too, as she toweled herself. They smiled at each other. “I feel ten years younger,” he said.

“What a luxury,” she said, shaking the sea water out of her hair, “to be shivering on a hot day like this.”

When Strand came downstairs, leaving Leslie to get herself ready for dinner, Hazen was already in the living room, a drink in his hand. He was wearing bright red pants, an open shirt and a linen jacket. He had told them that there was a little dinner party arranged for the evening and Strand had dressed carefully, with gray slacks and a blue blazer that Leslie had had pressed for him, and a necktie.

“Join me?” Hazen said, lifting his glass.

“Not for the moment, thanks,” Strand said. “I feel too good to drink.”

“Lucky man,” Hazen said. “The swim
was
bracing. The ocean was innocent today. But it isn’t always like that. A man drowned off this beach last summer. Tell the children to be careful.” He sipped at his drink. Then, abruptly, “I want to ask you to forgive me for the drunken scene the last time you were here.”

“I’ve forgotten it,” Strand said.

“I’m sure you haven’t, Allen.” Hazen looked at him steadily. “I had had a trying day. Most trying. It won’t happen again.” He made a dismissing gesture with his hand, the night obliterated. “By the way, I bumped into Eleanor yesterday afternoon. Did she tell you we had a drink together?”

“No.” So. No drinking at home, but a little bracer now and then to prepare for the evening. “She didn’t say anything.”

Hazen nodded. “She has more important things on her mind. There’s a bar near my office where I sometimes drop in for a drink after work. It turns out it’s near her office, too. There was a young man with her. A Mr. Gianelli.” He paused as if to see what effect the name would have made on Strand.

Noncommittally, Strand said, “I’ve only met him once. Briefly. At your house, in fact.”

“Oh, yes,” Hazen said. “He told me how much he liked the house. They kindly insisted I join them at their table. Over drinks Eleanor told me a little about herself.”

“At that age,” Strand said, “that’s likely to be the chief subject of a girl’s conversation.”

Hazen smiled. “A man’s, too,” he said. “Do you remember what you talked about mostly when you were twenty-two?”

“Not really. It was a long time ago. Nearly thirty years.” He reflected, trying to remember. His closest friend then had been a young man by the name of O’Malley, who had been a classmate of his and who described himself as a Trotskyite. O’Malley had been disappointed with him, he remembered, because Strand, according to O’Malley, was interested only in getting ahead, fitting in meekly with what O’Malley called the system. For O’Malley, the system represented a gigantic fraud, a war won, and its principles cynically betrayed, victory thrown away, Stalin triumphant and bloodstained, McCarthy rampaging and threatening America with fascism, bloody British imperial ism, the rape of Ireland. O’Malley was willing to fight on all fronts and was looking for barricades to defend. Ancient history. Strand wondered what had ever become of O’Malley and if he had ever found a suitable barricade. “I think we talked a great deal about politics in those days,” Strand said.

Hazen nodded. “There’s a subject. Were you ever in the armed services? Korea?”

“No. When I took my physical, they discovered I had a heart murmur. I never knew I had it and it’s never bothered me.”

“I enlisted,” Hazen said. “My father thought it was a good idea. I was an ensign in the Navy. Sailing a desk in Washington. Also my father’s doing. Is your father still alive?”

“No. He died a long time ago.”

“There’s much to be said for it,” Hazen said. “Having a dead father I mean. Wasted years.” He sipped carefully at his drink. Obviously there was going to be no drunken scene tonight. “Your daughter, Eleanor, strikes me as being a very clever girl.”

“She is that.”

“But dissatisfied.” Again the steady, probing look.

“A common disease for youth,” Strand said lightly.

“She says if she were a man she’d be getting twice what she’s getting now and be head of her department to boot,” Hazen said.

Strand tried not to look surprised. She had always sounded enthusiastic when talking about her work at the office.