Wheels (39 page)

. . .
"Yes, but a driver's planning does it too. Before the race you plan how
you'll run it, lap by lap. In the race you plan the next lap, changing
the first plan . .
.”

The network TV personality, who had been diffident
earlier, had blossomed and was doing a skillful imitation of the U.S.
President, supposedly on television with a car maker and an environ
mentalist, trying to appease both. "Pollution, with all its faults, is
part of our great American knowhow . . . My scientiftc advisers assure
me cars are polluting less than they used-at least, they would if there
weren't more cars
.”

(Cough, cough, cough
!
) . . . "I pledge we'll have
clean air again in this country. Administration policy is to pipe it to
every home . .
.”

Among those listening, one or two looked sour, but
most laughed.
Some of the girls, including Stella and Elsie, moved from group to
group. Rowena stayed close to Adam.
Gradually, as midnight came and went, the numbers thinned. Guests
yawned, stretched
tiredly, and soon after climbed the stone stairway at the fireplace, some
calling down goodnights from the gallery to the holdouts who remained
below. One or two exited by the sun deck, presumably reaching their rooms
by the alternate route which Hank Kreisel had showed to Adam earlier.
Eventually, Kreisel himself-carrying a sourmash Bourbon-went upstairs.
Soon after, Adam noticed, Elsie disappeared. So did Brett DeLosanto and
the redhead, Stella, who had spent the last hour close together.
In the great hearth the fire was burning down to embers. Apart from Adam
and Rowena, both on a sofa near the fireplace, only one group remained
at the room's opposite end, still drinking, noisy, and obviously with
the intention of staying for a long time.
"A nightcap
.”

Adam asked.
Rowena shook her head. Her last drink-a mild Scotch and water-had lasted
her an hour. Through the evening they had talked, mostly about Adam,
though not by his choice but because Rowena adroitly parried questions
about herself. But he had learned that her teaching specialty was
English, which she admitted after laughingly quoting Cervantes: "My
memory is so bad, that many times I forget my own name
.”

Now he stood up. "Let's go outside
.”

"All right
.”

As they left, no one in the other group glanced their way.
The moon had risen. The night was cold and clear. Moonbeams shimmered
on the surface of the lake. He felt Rowena shiver, and put an arm around
her.
"Almost everyone," Adam said, "seems to have gone to bed
.”

Again Rowena's gentle laugh. I saw you noticing
.”

He turned her to him, tilted her head, and kissed her. "Let's us
.”

Their lips met again. He felt her arms around him tighten.
She whispered, "What I said was true. This isn't in the contract
.”

"I know
.”

"A girl can make her own arrangements here, but Hank sees to it she
doesn't have to
.”

She snuggled closer. "Hank would want you to know that.
He cares what you think about him
.”

"At this moment," he whispered back, "I'm not thinking of Hank at all
.”

They entered Adam's bedroom from the outside walkway-the route he had used
this morning on arrival. Inside, the room was warm. Someone, thoughtfully,
had been in to light the fire; now, tongues of flame cast light and
shadows on the ceiling. The coverlet was off the double bed, with sheets
turned back.
In front of the fire, Adam and Rowena slipped out of what they were
wearing. Soon after, he led her to the bed.
He had expected tenderness. He found, instead, a savagery in Rowena which
at first amazed, soon after excited and, before long, inflamed him, too.
Nothing in his experience had prepared him for the wild, tempestuous
passion she unleashed. For both of them, it lasted-with gaps which human
limits demanded-through the night.
Near dawn she inquired mischievously,
“D
o you still think black is
beautiful
.”

He told her, and meant it, "More than ever
.”

They had been lying, quietly, side by side. Now Rowena propped herself up
and looked at him. She was smiling. "And for a honky, you're not bad
.”

As he had yesterday afternoon, he lit two
cigarettes and gave her one. After a while she said, "I guess black is
beautiful, the way they say. But then I guess everything's beautiful if
you look at it on the right kin
d
of day
.”

"Is this that kind of day
.”

"You know what I'd say today? To
day, I'd say 'ugly is beautiful!
"
It was getting light. Adam said, "I want to see you again. How do we
manage it
.”

For the first time, Rowena's voice was sharp. "We don't, and both of us
know it
.”

When he protested, she put a finger across his lips. "We
haven't lied to each other. Don't let's begin
.”

He knew she was right, that what had begun here would end here. Detroit
was neither Paris nor London, nor even New York. At heart, Detroit was
a small town still, beginning to tolerate more than it used to, but he
could not have Detroit and Rowena-on any terms. The thought saddened
him. It continued to, through the day, and as he left Higgins Lake for
the return journey southward late that afternoon.
When he thanked his host before leaving, Hank Kreisel said, "Haven't
talked much, Adam. Wish we'd had more chance. Mind if I call you next
week
.”

He assured Kreisel that he could.
Rowena, to whom Adam had said goodbye privately, behind two locked doors
an hour earlier, was not in sight.

Chapter
sixteen

"Oh, Ch
rist
!
" Adam said. "I forgot to phone my wife
.”

He remembered,
guiltily, intending since Saturday morning to call Erica and patch up the
quarrel they had had before he left. Now it was Sunday evening and he
still hadn't. In the meantime, of course, there had been Rowena, who
eclipsed less immediate matters, and Adam had an unease, too, about facing
Erica after that.
"Shall we turn off and find a pay phone
.”

Pierre Flodenhale asked. They
were on Interstate 75, southbound, near the outskirts of Flint, and
Pierre was driving Adam's car, as he had been since leaving the Higgins
Lake cottage. The young race driver had come to the cottage with someone
else who left early, and Adam had been glad to offer him a ride, as well
as to have company on the way back to Detroit. Moreover, when Pierre
offered to drive, Adam accepted gratefully and had dozed through the
early part of the journey.
Now it was growing dark. Their headlights were among many slicing
homeward from the country to the city.
"No," Adam said. "If we stop, it will waste time. Let's keep going
.”

He put out a hand tentatively to the Citizens Band radio beneath the
instrument panel. They would be coming within range of Greater Detroit
soon, and it was possible that Erica might have switched on the kitchen
receiver, as she did on weekdays. Then he let his hand drop, deciding
not to call. He was increasingly nervous, he realized, about talking
with Erica, a nervousness which increased a half hour later as they
passed Bloomfield Hills, then, soon after, left the freeway and turned
west toward Quarton Lake.
He had intended to let Pierre, who lived in Dearborn, take the car on
directly after dropping him off. Instead, Adam invited Pierre in and was
relieved when he accepted. At least, Adam thought, he would have the foil
of a stranger for a while before having to face Erica alone.
He need not have worried.
As the car crunched to a halt on the driveway gravel of the Trentons'
house, lights went on, the front door opened, and Erica came out to greet
Adam warmly.
'Welcome, darling
!
I missed you
.”

She kissed him, and he knew it was her
way of showing that Saturday's incident was over and need not be mentioned
again.
What Adam did not know was that part of Erica's good spirits stemmed from
a dress watch which she was wearing, the watch acquired during a further
shoplifting adventure while he had been away.
Pierre Flodenhale climbed out from behind the wheel. Adam introduced him.
Erica gave her most dazzling smile. "I've seen you race
.”

She added, "If
I'd known you were driving Adam home, though, I might have been nervous.'
"He's a lot slower than I am," Adam said. 'Didn't break the speed limit
once
.”

"How dull
!
I hope the party was livelier
.”

"Not all that much, Mrs. Trenton. Compared with some I've been at, it was
quiet. Gets that way, I guess, when you only have men
.”

Don’
t push it, pall Adam wanted to caution. He saw Erica glance at Pierre
shrewdly, and suspected the young race driver was not used to the company
of highly intelligent, perceptive women. Pierre was clearly impressed with
Erica, though, who looked young and beautiful in silk Pucci pajamas, her long ash-blond hair falling around her shoulders.
They went into the house, mixed drinks, and took them to the kitchen
where Erica made fried egg sandwiches for them all, and coffee. Adam
left the other two briefly-to make a telephone call, and, tired as he
was, to collect files he must work on tonight in preparation for the
morning. When he returned, Erica was listening attentively to a
discourse on auto racing-an extension, apparently, to Pierre's remarks
to the group around him at the cottage.
Pierre had a sheet of paper spread out on which he had drawn the layout
of a speedway track. ". . . so heading in to the main
stretch in front
of the stands, you want the straightest line possible. At two hundred
miles an hour, if you let the car wander you lose time bad. Wind's usually across the track, so you stay close to the wall, hug that old wall
tight as you can . .
.”

"I've seen drivers do it," Erica said. "It always frightens me. If you
ever hit the wall at a speed like that . .
.”

"If you do, you're safer hitting flat, Mrs. Trenton. I've been in a few
walls . .
.”

"Call me Erica," Erica said. "Have you really
.”

Adam, listening, was amused. He had taken Erica to auto races, but had
never known her to show this much concern. He thought: perhaps it was
because she and Pierre liked each other instinctively. The fact that
they did was obvious, and the young race driver was glowing, responding
boyishly to Erica's interest. Adam felt grateful for the chance to
regain his own composure without being the focus of his wife's
attention. Despite his return home, thoughts of Rowena were still
strong in Adam's mind.
'E
very track you race on, Erica," Pierre was saying, "a driver has to
learn to handle it like it was a . .
.”

He hesitated for a simi
le, then
added, "like a violin
.”

"Or a woman," Erica said. They both laughed.
"You have to know where every bump is in that old track, the low spots,
what the surf ace gets like with a real hot sun, or after a sprinkle of
rain. So you practice and practice, driving and driving, 'til you find the
best way, the fastest line around
.”