The Loves of Harry Dancer (20 page)

“What’s the worst that can happen? You’ll be pulled off the Dancer case and reassigned.”

“And what will happen to you, Martin?”

“Same thing. Reassignment.”

“Then we’ll be apart. Maybe a world apart. Do you want that?”

“No,” he says. “Do you?”

“Never!” she cries.

Fear of separation spurs them. They embrace tightly. Clinging.

“Could we go away together?” she asks. “Just take off? The two of us?”

“Are you wealthy?”

“Don’t be silly.”

“I’m not either. Maybe the two of us could manage a year. Then what?”

“Get jobs. Both of us.”

“Doing what? With our training, what else are we suited for? Besides, they’d find us. You know that. Then the pressures would begin. We’d end up in rehab centers.”

“Oh God. What are we going to do?”

He turns in bed. Begins to lave her with his febrile tongue. Then they are mindless again. Fears fled. Ignited by their sense of sin. Pleasure heightened by surrender to treasonous evil. They deny all and find a new heaven. A more rousing hell.

Until anguished flesh can endure no more. Rubbed raw and aching, they pull apart to glare. Maddened by excess. Skin abraded with scrapes and bites. Punctures and scratches. Taste of blood. Smell of ash.

She grips his face. Bends nose to nose. Stares into his widened eyes.

“We could go over,” she says. Whispering.

“To the Others?”

“Yes.”

52

N
orma Gravesend makes a transcription of shorthand notes taken during the conference on the activities and future of Shelby Yama. This report is given to the Director. That night, a photocopy is passed along to Norma’s contact, Leonard. He codes the report and radios it to Washington. A decoded version is brought to the Chief of Operations.

He finds the contents disturbing. He immediately alerts case officer Anthony Glitner that agent Willoughby may be in peril. He suggests to Glitner, but does not order, that Willoughby break off all contacts with Shelby Yama.

The case officer, studying this intelligence, feels the Chief is unduly alarmed. It appears to Glitner that if the Department is suspicious of Yama’s activities, not authorized by higher authority, then there is a very good chance that he, Glitner, made a correct guess that Shelby Yama is thinking of defecting and trying to establish a friendly contact.

“Work on him,” he tells Willoughby. “If he hints that he wants to come over, let him know that he’ll need to establish his bona fides before we grant him sanctuary. Ask him to deliver a complete personnel roster of the Department’s Harry Dancer team.”

At almost the same time, Shelby Yama is reporting enthusiastically to Briscoe that he is making progress in turning Willoughby.

“He’s a farmerish guy,” Yama says. “Not too sophisticated. I’ve been telling him some wild stories about the way I live, and he’s swallowing them all. I can tell he’s excited. It’s Rain all over again. I’m playing Sadie Thompson to his Davidson.”

Briscoe pretends to give the matter deep thought. “If you’ve got him hooked, why don’t you slip him some of our recruiting brochures. And maybe a copy of our employment contract.”

Yama is doubtful. “I don’t think he’s ready to make the switch yet. And I don’t want to scare him off by going too far too fast.”

“You’re probably right,” Briscoe says. “You’ve had a lot more experience than I have, and I trust your judgment. Forget about the contract. But it wouldn’t do any harm to pass him the recruiting booklet. The new four-color job on slick paper with the centerfold. That’ll open his eyes.”

“And give him ideas,” the case officer says. Laughing. “Yeah, maybe I’ll do that. Show him how the other half lives.”

Two nights later, exiting from the Deerfield church, Shelby Yama hands Willoughby a manila envelope. This action is observed by Ted Charon’s Internal Security operative.

53

I
’ve known so many men,” Sally Abaddon says. “All sizes, shapes, colors. I can’t even remember them all. I don’t even try.”

“Recreational sex,” Angela Bliss says.

“I guess. It didn’t mean so much to me. Like scratching an itch.”

The two women are having lunch at an outdoor cafe on the Intracoastal Waterway. Sitting at an umbrella table. Picking at fruit salads. Sipping iced tea. Watching pleasure boats plow up and down.

Overcast day. Hot and humid. Weak breeze from the south barely moves the umbrella fringe. At a nearby table, a fat woman wields a palmetto fan. But she looks ready to faint.

“Then I met the man I’m going with now,” Sally continues. “His name’s Harry. I never told you that, did I? Being with him has been a revelation to me. What sex with love can be. It’s like an added ingredient. Salt in the stew. It’s made me realize how second-rate recreational sex really is. I mean it just doesn’t work.”

“Does he love you, Sally?”

“Not the way I love him. I know he feels an affection for me, but that’s about it. We had a long talk about all the different kinds of love there are. We agreed we’d each do our own thing. I settled for that. It’s a hundred times better than what I had.”

“But not what you need?”

“You’re very perceptive, Angela. No, it’s not totally what I need. Whatever that is. But it’s all I’m going to get from him. Do you want some ice cream?”

“I don’t think so, but you go ahead.”

“No, I better skip. I just feel so restless today. It’s probably the humidity. Very oppressive.”

“Let’s finish up, and get back to air conditioning.”

On the drive back to their motel, Sally says, “I have some little bottles of wine cooler in my fridge. It’s like a very mild sangria. Would you like to try it?”

“Sure. Anything cold. Do you want me to come to your place?”

“No,” Sally says. “I’ll bring it to yours.”

She totes a four-pack of California Cooler into Angela’s room. They open two. Swig from the bottles.

“This is better,” Angela says. “I don’t know why we went out in that heat. Are you calming down?”

“I hate to dump my problems on you, honey,” Sally says. “I know you’ve got your own. But talking to you is a real help.”

The other woman leans forward. “Don’t ever think you’re bothering me. You’re not. I only wish I could help you more.”

“Just listening is the greatest thing you can do for me. I’ve never had a girlfriend I could talk to. Just men. They’re okay, sometimes, but it’s not the same.”

They kick off their shoes. Stretch out. Sally unbuttons her shirt down to the waistband of her jeans.

“You never wear a bra, do you?” Angela says.

“Not if lean help it.”

“I do. All the time. And I don’t know why. It’s like putting a saddle on a Pekinese.”

They both laugh. Comfortable with their intimacy.

“If I had your body,” Angela says, “I’d rule the world.”

“I used to think that. But it doesn’t work out that way. It did for a while, but not anymore.

Having a good body is just genes and luck. It’s not something I did. I try to keep the carcass in shape, but I didn’t create it; I just inherited it. Sometimes I think it’s a curse. Every man I meet wants to jump on my bones.”

“Harry, too?”

“No, he’s different. Maybe that’s why I love him. He never comes on. I notice I always have to make the first move. Then he’s willing enough. But he’s also willing to spend a quiet evening just talking or walking the beach. A strange man. Very intelligent and very deep. I still haven’t figured him out completely.”

“Is he married, Sally?”

“He was. But his wife passed away a few months ago, and I don’t think he’s gotten over it yet. Sometimes I believe that’s why he acts the way he does. He’s very moody.”

“Maybe he feels going to bed with you is cheating on his wife. His dead wife.”

Sally looks at her. “That’s exactly what I think. I said you were perceptive. So my competition is his memory of a woman who’s six feet under. That’s probably why he can’t love me the way I’d like him to.”

“You think he’ll ever ask you to marry him?”

“Oh no,” Sally says. “Out of the question.”

“Why is that?”

Sally looks away. “Various reasons. It’s just not possible.”

“Why don’t you leave him?” Angela asks. “If the relationship is making you miserable.”

“Not miserable. Exactly. Just not what I’d like it to be.”

“Maybe you could find another man who’d love you the way you need.”

“I don’t want another man,” Sally says. “That’s not the answer.”

Angela Bliss now has no doubts whatsoever that Sally Abaddon will never succeed in converting Harry Dancer. She is breaking the Department’s first rule for field agents: Never get personally involved. Every agent is to be a salesperson for the Department’s creed. There is no reason for personal relationships that exist for themselves and don’t yield results.

If Angela is to be faithful to her vows, she must report Sally’s dereliction to Ted Charon, and let him take it from there. It is possible that Sally’s punishment will merely be removal from the Harry Dancer case and an official reprimand. Possible—but not likely. The Department has many degrees of retribution. Most of them severe.

Angela Bliss looks at the creamy body of the other woman. She decides. But has enough wit left to reflect that if she is rejected, then Sally must surely suffer. It is bitter to realize how she is putting this beautiful woman at risk. But she cannot help herself.

She pulls her armchair alongside Sally’s. Puts an arm across her shoulders.

“It hurts me to see you unhappy, dear,” she says. Her own voice sounding strangled to her. “You deserve the love you want.”

Sally tries to smile. “I’ll survive,” she says.

Angela isn’t so sure of that. She brushes Sally’s hair aside. Moves her lips close to Sally’s ear.

“Let me love you,” she whispers. “Please, darling. Let me. I know what you’re looking for. I can give you that. Please let me.”

Sally looks at her strangely. “Not just physical love,” she says. “That’s not the answer. I want—”

“I know, I know,” Angela says. Words tumbling out. “Devotion. Strong and absolute. A religion of two. Isn’t that it? Something steady and forever. Lasting, lasting…That’s what I want, too. We could do it, sweetheart.”

Slides a hand into Sally’s open shirtfront. Cups a warm, heavy breast. Feels the flutter.

“Could we?” Sally breathes. “Do you think we could?”

“Oh yes! Yes. That’s what love should be. A paired world. Sharing. Belonging to each other completely.”

Leans forward. Kisses the other woman on the lips. Mouths open. Tongue tips touch.

“Can we try?” Angela Bliss pleads. Almost weeping with fervor. “Please, lover, let’s try.”

Then, fumbling, awkward, rushing, they are naked in bed together. Seducing each other with words. Love. Devotion. Belonging. Sharing. Belief. Faith. Forever and ever.

While they discover each other’s body. Explore and learn. With searching fingers. Mouths hot and sliding. Frantic cries. Shrills of delight. Everything new and promising. Maddened by tenderness. Then whirling away into their fresh universe. Convinced they are creating.

Angela thrusts away. Curls into the fetal position. Eyes squinched with tears. Thin arms pressed tightly across thin breasts. Keening comes from her.

Sally bends over her. “Honey, what is it?”

The other woman whirls to face her. Reaches to touch Sally’s lips. “We can’t begin with a lie. Can’t! We must be absolutely honest with each other. Absolutely open. Isn’t that right? Isn’t it?”

Sally stares. Face slowly congealing. “Honey,” she repeats, “what is it?”

Angela’s confession spills out. She tells everything. She’s with the Department. Internal Security. Brought down from Chicago to check Sally’s loyalty.

“Briscoe thought you were turning,” she says.

The story of her bedridden husband is a lie. She is unmarried. She is at the motel to make contact. Become friends. Win Sally’s trust.

“I report to Ted Charon,” she says.

“I’m dead,” Sally says. Dully.

“No, no! I swear, lover, I haven’t told him a thing. About how you feel or—or anything. As far as they know, you’re clean. I’ve covered for you since day one.”

“Why did you do that?”

“Don’t you know, sweetheart? Because I’ve loved you from day one.”

Sally sits up in bed. Puts her back against the headboard. Broods. Angela slips away. Brings them two more opened bottles of wine cooler. Sally takes hers absently. Sips.

“Angela,” she says, “why didn’t you tell me all this before today?”

“Because I was afraid if I did, you might have said you love me just to protect yourself. You’d have thought it was a kind of blackmail. Wouldn’t you?”

“Probably. But what if I had rejected you an hour ago? Would you have turned me in?”

“I don’t know,” Angela says. Convincing herself that was the truth. “I honestly don’t know what I would have done. But I love you so much, I had to take the chance. Do you believe me?”

Sally turns her head to stare at the other woman. Suddenly she smiles. All sunshine. “Yes, honey, I believe you. I’ve got to believe you. You’re the only chance I have.”

“The only chance we have,” Angela says. “I meant everything I said to you. With all my heart. This day has opened a whole new life for me. For us. I’m a tough cookie, lover. I may not look like it or act like it, but I’m steel. I really am. And I’m not going to let you go without one hell of a fight. I love you, Sally, and I want you. Do you want me?”

Low voice: “I need you.”

“We need each other. Alone, we’re just half-women. You realize that, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Then we’ve got to put our heads together and figure out how we can get what we want. Listen, I’ve worked for the Department a long time—and I know you have, too—and when you come right down to it, the Department isn’t some great, mysterious, all-powerful organization. It’s people. Isn’t that right? People make the rules. It’s managed by people. And most of them are no smarter than we are. Believe me, darling, I know. So don’t think we haven’t got a chance. We have!”

“You’re sure?” Sally says. “You think we can get out?”

“Of course we can. But we just can’t take off; you know that. They’d catch up with us, sooner or later.”