Clemmie (21 page)

Once, as he was making another drink, he looked over at Raoul who leaned against the wall, thumbs hooked in the waistband of the jeans. The Indio girl was standing close to him, talking to him. Craig saw Jake Romney walk quickly over, spin the girl around, and hit her in the stomach with his fist with great force. The girl doubled, gagged and fell. There was a sudden hush in the big room. Then the conversation began again, and did not stop when Romney pulled her to her feet and struck her again. Raoul restrained him and spoke quietly to him. Romney nodded, his face chill. He went over and said good night to Clemmie and nodded at the others. Raoul had pulled the girl up. She was crying silently, hands pressed to her stomach. Romney took her by the arm and left with her. He did not notice DeVell and the boy leave. Harrikon made a florid ceremony of his departure, bowing low to kiss Clemmie’s hand.

He overheard a private conversation between Dan and Taffy Bradley. He was pleading with her to leave.

“Get me one more big stiff drink, lover, and then I’ll go.” ’

“You’ve had enough, baby. You’ll pass out again, honey.”

“I faithfully promish—promise I will stay awake long enough to fulfill my wifely obligash—obliga …”

“That’s a hell of a thing to say.”

“Get the drink!”

He moved away so as not to overhear more. He saw them when they left, right after the Kellys. Taffy gave one last glance back at Raoul. It was not a sensuous look. It was a quiet look. Young girl contemplating death. The dancer yawned. When he left, walking lithely, Bernice Hudge trotted busily at his side and got to the door first and opened it for him.

Gretchen McRory was the last. She sat on the couch and lighted a small cigar.

Clemmie went over to her and said, “Dearie, you’re not going to outwait Craig. He’s what you might call a house guest. So clump away, dearie, silly cigar and all.”

McRory’s face turned dark red. She gave Craig a look of virulent hatred. She stomped to the door, slammed it shut behind her. Clemmie laughed. “She’s so tiresome. She does illustrations. Children’s books. She’s really very good at it, but she despises children.”

She pirouetted, then spun into Craig’s arms, hung against him for a moment, then pushed away and looked up at him and wrinkled her nose. “You are dronk, Baron.”

“Need any help?”

“A faithful Swede will be in in the morning to hoe the place out, dearest. But you could make us a special nightcap. I think a very tall, tall brandy and soda. Look in the kitchen like a dear. There are some enormous glasses. Then I’ll let you go. And if I forget it, please remember to put the latch on down below. Gretchen might be lurking around down there.”

As he made the drinks, she went around and turned out most of the lights, then collapsed on the couch, propping herself up on the pillows. She looked small and drained, and when she yawned she made a little sound at the end, like the lost yowl of a kitten. He sat by her feet and they touched the glasses together.

“Like my friends?” she said casually.

“Is it required?”

“Of course not. I don’t like them. All but Taffy. Why should you? But you seemed to be hitting it off with Dan. Did you boys compare Rotary buttons or something? You looked as if you were trying to disassociate yourself from all the rest of us, including me. This is a tiresome drink, lover. Go put some brandy in it, please.”

As he walked over to the table he said, “Dan kept following me around.”

“Poor old Dan. Taffy shot him on the rise. He looks frightful. She keeps him going at a dead run. When he drops, she’s got it made. It isn’t like her to be so calculating because actually she’s kind of warm and crazy.”

“Warm for that dancer. I think the whole thing is sordid.”

She looked at him round-eyed. “But of course it is!”

“Clemmie, I just can’t imagine you and that …”

“Hush now! I will not stand for any obligatory emotional scenes. I’m much too tired and you’re much too drunk. You seem to want it between the eyes. All right. I slept with Raoul. It didn’t mean anything to him or to
me. He’s as vain as a show horse. If you want to be real stupid, ask me for a complete personal history some time. I might give it to you.”

“But these people …”

“They amuse me. There’s always something going on. There’s always emotional tension. They take their little re-shufflings in such dreadful earnest. And all evening you looked like a man in a parade trying to pretend he hadn’t stepped in anything. I have other groups, you know. One group will talk of nothing but sailing. Then there’s a horse group and a dog group. They amuse me less. And, my dear, you don’t seem to be amusing me at all right now. Not at all.”

“I don’t understand you, Clemmie.”

She sat up. “What’s this fetish people have about understanding other people. Do I ask to be understood? Do I beg for it? There’s nothing significant to understand. I want to be alive. I want to feel alive. I want to take my single turn around the track at a sprightly pace, lifting my knees high, baby. So I make things happen to me. Like Raoul. I wasn’t impressed. Children walk on high narrow railings. It’s the same motivation, probably. If I’m afraid of anything, my dearest, I’m afraid of going stale on life, of being grim, of losing all the magic of being sensuously involved in life. So why sweat something out that isn’t important? Do I look shopworn or something?”

“Clemmie …”

“Kindly stop making moose calls at me, Craig, sir. If you want to be a love, make it your turn to be a slave. Will you be?”

“Anything you want.”

“Let me see. First I want my face washed with a very cold washcloth. Then I want to be carried to my bed, and I want to be gently undressed. Then I want an alcohol rub on my back, and I want to fall asleep while that is happening, and I want to be otherwise left alone. And then tomorrow I will be all alive again, all for you. But now I am going to be a boneless doll. Can you stand one more request?”

“Of course.”

“Don’t go home. I’d like to fall asleep knowing you’re going to sleep out here. Fix that latch thing downstairs. The Swede doesn’t come until eleven. Tomorrow I am going to see that you get a haircut because you are shaggy.
And buy you a shirt I saw. Then something normal to do with the day—so utterly normal that you can stop thinking about my horrible friends. Please stay here, darling. Sleep out here. I’ll sleep so much better if I know you’re close. Now go down and make sure the outside door is on the latch or on the lock or whatever the hell it is when you push that little button so you can’t open it without a key. Then the cold cloth. Wait a minute. I’m not going to say another word, so kiss me good night now. There. Good night, darling.”

She was as relaxed and boneless as she had promised. After he had undressed her and rolled her face down on the cot, he located the rubbing alcohol in the closet in the bathroom. Light came into the bedroom from the studio. He rubbed her pale strong back, digging his fingers into the muscles, tracing hard with his palm the clean lines down to the small of her back. When he pressed hard she grunted with sleepy contentment. As he worked he thought of her with Raoul, imagined his use of her, and the thought was a dull redness in the back of his mind. It was a curious jealousy, mixed with tenderness. After a long time he seemed to feel a change, feel the texture of sleep under his fingers, and he became gentler with her. Her breathing became long and deep. He bent over her and kissed her shoulder lightly, tasting the tartness of alcohol against his lips, smelling the party smoke caught in her thick black hair. He pulled the sheet over her.

Just as he reached the door she stirred and said in a slurred yet understandable voice, a voice from the other edge of sleep, “I guess you know I’m going to marry you.” He went back and stood by the bed. She was indubitably asleep, with a faint snore of exhalation that was like the purring of a cat.

Betty James had suggested the public camp ground at Lake Eldon, nearly forty miles south of Stoddard. He had picked her up shortly after nine at the small frame
house where she lived with her mother and her two children. Her mother was a heavy woman with a tragic face, a listless, whining voice. She scrutinized Craig very carefully. It annoyed him out of all proportion to be introduced as Mr. Robertson. And he was appalled by Betty’s attitude, an entirely unsuitable elfin gaiety, coy and bouncy. It looked as though the day might be much worse than he had anticipated.

Betty’s mother warned them about all the drunken drivers, and the treacherous lake water, and the danger of getting under a tree in a thunderstorm. She told them not to buy the children a lot of stuff they couldn’t digest, and watch them every minute they were in the water, and don’t let them swim for an hour after eating. She told Betty to stay out of the sun because she knew she never tanned but each summer it seemed as though she wasn’t happy until she had to go to bed with chills and fever from a bad burn.

Though the two children were in practically a frenzy of excitement and anticipation, they seemed to be well-behaved. There was Dickie, who was six, a skinny, sandy kid with a peeling nose and hot blue eyes. And Sally, who was four, with darker complexion, somber brown eyes—chunky, square and placid.

While Craig carried the picnic basket to the car, Betty carrying thermos jug, bathing suits and towels, her mother plodded along with them, repeating all warnings, her tone of voice conveying her certainty that the day would most certainly end in some unimaginable disaster.

As they drove down the block, the kids and gear in the back, Betty beside him in the front, she gave a great sigh and said, “I thought we’d never get away from there. What did you bring?”

“Some beer in a cooler in the back end.”

“And a swimsuit?”

“No.”

“I guess you can rent one. Isn’t it a perfect day. It’s not so sticky. Yesterday was a horror, wasn’t it?”

“It certainly was.”

Once they were out of the city the miles passed smoothly. Traffic was heavy. The kids chortled in the back seat. At one point they started to quarrel. Betty swung around at once, kneeling on the front seat.

“All right, you two. Hold out your hand, Sally.”

“But he—”

“Out!” There was a quick stinging smack, and Sally began to whimper desolately.

“Now you, Dickie.” Another smack. “Don’t snivel at me. Every time you start that, the same thing happens.” She turned around and plumped back down into the seat. There was a dismal silence from the back seat for five minutes. And then they were as happy as before.

After one imperative gas station stop, requested by Sally, they reached the public camp ground at ten-thirty. It seemed to be packed. Craig pulled up beside the registration booth.

“Sorry, folks,” the tanned attendant said. “We can’t let any more cars in. There isn’t a table or a locker or an inch of beach left. This is the biggest day we’ve ever had.”

“But what do we
do
?” Betty demanded indignantly, leaning across Craig.

“I can’t help you there, lady. I got my orders: no more cars.”

Craig swung around and turned back out onto the highway. “Got any ideas?” he said.

“Nobody is going to spoil this day. Just follow this road. Go slow. It looks as though it goes all the way around the lake.”

The lake was about ten miles long, three miles wide. They passed scores of summer cottages. Dun Roamin’, Our Hideaway, Seven Pines, Nick’s Nook, Sootsus. Betty sat well forward on the seat, her jaw clamped with determination. When they came to a place advertising beach cottages to rent, she said, “Stop here. You watch the kids.”

She went into the store and office. She was gone ten minutes. When she came back a man was walking slowly with her. She was talking to him earnestly, with many gestures. He looked uncomfortable. They came up to the car.

She said, “Craig, he’s completely rented, but on one cottage, the people won’t arrive until tomorrow morning. He says it’s all cleaned up and ready for them. It has a private beach. I’ve been trying to tell him that we’ll only spend the day. We won’t disturb anything.”

“Lady, I just …”

“Do my husband and I look like the sort of people
who’ll mess up your place? We understand the situation. Just tell us how much you want.”

The man made a helpless gesture. “Sure you won’t let those kids run loose in the cottage?”

“Of course.”

“I guess I could let you take it. How about twenty dollars?”

She opened her purse, took out a ten dollar bill and handed it to him. “You know perfectly well this is ten dollars you wouldn’t have otherwise. I certainly am not going to be gouged.”

“Lady, I can’t …”

“You’ve accepted that money. Now don’t try to give it back to me. Just get us the key, please.”

The man looked as if he wished he could break into tears. He sighed. He put the bill in his pocket. He trudged back to the store. Craig pulled up beside the store. He came out and handed the key to Betty. “It’s the last one on the left. Honest to God, lady, please don’t mess it up. I got no help here until tomorrow afternoon.”

“You worry too much,” she said. “Let’s go, Craig.”

They drove down to the cottage. It was directly on the lake shore. There was a small screened porch, a tiny rustic living room, a primitive kitchen and bath, two bedrooms with unfinished walls, the studding showing. It was shining clean throughout.

“Imagine him being so nervous about
this!
” she said.

“Betty, you astonish me.”

“I know,” she said, with a grimace. “I’ve heard it so many times before. They say, ‘I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t get away with that. I wouldn’t have the nerve.’ For goodness’ sake, we’ll never see him again. And here we are, with a private beach, instead of driving around and ending up eating in some farmer’s field. Let’s get the stuff in.”

“Let me split that fee with you.”

“I wouldn’t think of it. Kids! You can get your suits on now.” They brought the stuff onto the screened porch. Craig opened two beers. The children raced up and down the beach. It was the sort of day when the water is very blue. There were fast boats, and many water skiers.