Case of Lucy Bending (57 page)

Shortly before noon, during a period of endless sky and fulgent sun, the three men met again on the beach. Bending and Holloway were still dressed, but Luther Empt was wearing his rusty maroon swimming trunks, the drawstring cinched below his cannonball belly.

"I want to go in, but I don't want to go in," he declared, eyeing the churning waves. "It looks goddamn cold out there."

"Go on," Turk Bending told him. "Be a hero. Do your hangover the world of good."

"Yeah," Empt said, "I guess. Listen, what have you guys got on for tonight? Turk, the other day you were talking about a cookout or something. Is that still alive?"

"Okay with me," Bending said. "Bill, how about you?"

Holloway straightened and looked up. "A party? Sure. Why not? A cookout if the weather holds, and if it doesn't, we'll move indoors."

"Everyone brings his own food and his own bottle," Bending said.

"Right," Empt said. "No one gets stuck for the whole tab. Who's going to throw this bash?"

"Me," Holloway said. "It's my turn." He reflected that Jane would hate it, just
hate
it, and that gave him pleasure. "I'll pick up paper plates and cups, and ice cubes, and all that stuff."

"Great," Bending said. "Very informal. No one dresses up. Come as you are. About five o'clock, Bill?"

"Whenever," Holloway said, shrugging. "Let's just let it happen. But we need more bodies."

"Good thinking," Bending said. "I'll do a Paul Revere up and down the beach and alert the natives. The Hopkinses, Sanchman, the Steins, Susie Burlingham—without bra, the Gardners—everyone.''

Holloway beamed. "A
biiig
drunken orgy. Oh boy, now you're talking! I'll go get the supplies right now."

He trotted away. They watched him go. Once he stopped, tried to leap sideways and click his heels. He didn't succeed and almost fell on the sand.

"He's acting nuts," Luther said.

"Nah," Bending said. "He's just upset. Jane wants a divorce."

"Shit," Empt said. "I'm sorry to hear it. I thought they were getting along okay. But you never know about people."

"No," Turk said, "you never do. Listen, I'm going up and down the beach and tell everyone about the party."

"And have a drink at every house."

"That, too," Bending said, grinning. "Then I'll go back to Bill's and help him set up for this thing. You come over early and we can get greased before the mob arrives."

"Will do," Luther Empt promised, and after Turk left, he waded resolutely into the surf and then dived.

The water was shockingly cold for the first few moments. But then, as he swam determinedly outward, breasting the strong waves, his body temperature rose, the cobwebs were rinsed from his brain, and he began to glory in this muscle-stretching fight against the sea.

He stayed in for almost twenty minutes, swimming vigorously back and forth, parallel to the beach. He was not an expert; his overhand stroke was crude. But he had strength in arms, shoulders, back. It was good to dare the whole goddamned ocean and win.

He waded out, streaming, and chuffed up and down the strand to dry, with knees pulled high and elbows flapping. He dried quickly and went jogging toward his home, deciding he deserved a Bloody Mary after that stiff workout.

Eddie Holloway was ambling about the beach, wearing white briefs that looked to Empt not much larger than a jockstrap. Luther waved to him. Then, as he came up to his house, he met Lucy Bending, who was wearing a lacy coverup and carrying her sandals.

"Hi Mr. Empt," she said brightly.

"Hi princess," he said. "You look beautiful, as usual. I think you must be in love."

"Silly!" she said, laughing delightedly. She looked at him. "My goodness, you're really strong. I never noticed your muscles before."

He sucked in his gut, flexed his biceps, did a burlesque imitation of a weight lifter. "That's me—the circus strongman."

"No," she said with a curious smile. "Really."

He reached out to stroke her long, lustrous hair. "What a princess! One of these days you're going to make some lucky young man very, very happy."

"You think so?" she said archly.

"Oh yes. Well ..." Suddenly he felt a stirring, a faint unease. "Well, I've got to go get dressed. We're having a big party tonight at the Hollo ways'."

"Oh!" she cried. "A party! I love parties."

"I do, too," he said. "I'll see you there. Your father is out now telling people about it. You tell your friends."

"I will, Mr. Empt," she said. Then, as he moved away, she called after him, "See you at the party!"

While Empt was telling Lucy about the party, William Holloway was telling Maria, the live-in maid. He hurried from the kitchen to escape her complaints. He got into his Mercedes carrying a fresh vodka and water.

Attached to the walnut dash of the car was a glass holder (designed for boats) affixed to a gimbal so the drink would never spill. Holloway placed his tumbler into the holder and set out for the supermarket, singing Neapolitan street songs in a not unmusical tenor.

He was wheeling his cart around the corner of the gourmet section when he collided head-on with a cart being^ushed by Teresa Empt. Her cart contained six packages of chicken breasts.

They both laughed, and he told her about the party. She dawdled until she saw him safely out of the store, but he didn't know that. Then she took her purchases to the counter where Mike was working.

At home, Holloway stored the perishables away and went up to shower, feeling no pain. Not inebriated, mind you, but glowing and reasonably serene. Time was passing in a rosy dream, which was just the way he wanted it.

Jane was home and had heard about the party. To his surprise, she was wholeheartedly in favor of it—as long as she didn't have to help. He poured her a glass of white wine and then went into the kitchen to start things rolling.

Turk Bending drifted in to report that everyone he had contacted had eagerly agreed to attend, bringing their own food, drink, and guests. Then Bending had a drink and disappeared again. Luther Empt sent John Stewart Wellington over with a whole watermelon—a monster. Maria began to talk only in Spanish, which meant she had been nipping at the rum.

Holloway, moving slowly and not too methodically, set out tables and chairs, spread paper tablecloths, arranged paper plates and plastic cutlery, loaded the big brick barbecue with charcoal. During all these chores he hummed or sang aloud. It was his Italian day; he was particularly proud of his "
Vesti La Giubba."

He had things pretty well under control by 3:00
P.M
., when Wayne Bending came scuffling by, saying his father had sent him over to see if he could help with the preparations.

Holloway was delighted to see the boy. Opened a Coke for him. Gave him a bag of Cheez-Doodles. Sat him down at one of the poolside tables and joined him there.

"Well now, Wayne," he said in what he imagined were the most understanding and sympathetic of tones, "have you given more thought to what you're going to do?"

The boy looked at him directly. "Still thinking about it, sir," he said.

Holloway was shocked. Not at the reply, but because he knew, he
knew,
the lad was lying. And if he could lie so baldly to him, he who thought they had a special relationship, a special friendship, why then perhaps nothing was special at all.

He looked at Wayne, who was gazing up at the lowery sky. He thought it impossible that this youth felt nothing for him. He must have been touched by Holloway's interest and concern.

"Wayne," Holloway said quietly, "I want to help you. I've told you that several times. Isn't there anything I can do for you?"

"I'll be all right. I can take care of myself."

"You can't!" Holloway cried. "Where will you go? How will you live? You'll just make your family miserable. And

me."

"Yeah, well . . ."the boy muttered. "Like I said, there's nothing for me around here."

"Give me a chance," Holloway pleaded. "To get to know you better. Talk to you. Explain how things are. I don't want anything. I just don't like to see you throwing your life away."

"Ah, shit," Wayne said disgustedly. "I know what's going on around here. You think I don't know? Who needs it? There must be better places than this. Where people don't dump on each other."

Holloway wasn't certain what he meant. "You mean lie to each other? Cheat?"

"Yeah. Like that. And pretend they're your friends, and then throw you over. It's all bullshit. I've had it." He stood up suddenly. "Listen, is there anything I can do around here?"

"What?" Holloway said, dazed. "Oh, you mean the party. There must be something ..."

He stared at Wayne, seeing a chunky lad with beautiful eyes. If, by some magical transplant, he could take all those young agonies unto himself, he would have done so, and gladly.

It would be at once his act of virtue, a wound, a sacrifice. And, somehow, it would give significance to a life that Holloway now saw was without meaning or purpose.

"The party, Mr. Holloway?" Wayne Bending said, breaking the silence and looking at him queerly.

"What?" he said, confused. "Oh. Yes. The party. Well, I forgot to buy ice cubes. Could you bring over all you can spare from your house?"

"Sure."

"I'll put them all in plastic bags in the freezer. By the time we run out, we should have more ready in the trays."

"Okay, Mr. Holloway. I'll go get them."

He watched the boy shamble away. He thought of all the things he might have said. Should have said. About friendship, solace, compassion. About love. Instead, he had talked about ice cubes and putting plastic bags in the freezer.

Disgusted with himself, he hurled what was left of his drink, tumbler and all, into the swimming pool. Then he went into the house and mixed a fresh one.

There were brief spatters of rain that evening, but no one seemed to mind. Occasionally the clouds thinned and a crescent moon was glimpsed. It was cool enough for jackets and sweaters. The wind, blowing from the west, had a sweetish scent. "Like incense," someone said.

People began gathering early and seemed determined to stay forever. There was plenty of food, plenty of whiskey, beer, wine. Joints were passed. It was rumored that someone was carryinjg coke, but Jane Holloway couldn't find it. Just the same, she danced a demented Charleston on the pool verge.

If the party could be said to have one dominant mood, it was desperation. There were no fights, and no one jumped in the pool. Still, the adults seemed intent on abandon. As the evening gained momentum, restraint vanished, and even civility suffered.

The youngsters caught the temper, as if franticness was a communicable disease and they had been infected. Thin voices rose to screeches and there were uncontrollable dart-ings between tables, throwing of food, wild horseplay on the lawn.

People ate when they pleased, drank from the bottle nearest to hand. They grouped, separated, traded jokes, flirted, cooked at the barbecue, brayed with laughter, wandered, mingled, assured each other this was the best beach party ever—and wasn't it fun?

Holloway and Bending had been drinking since morning, but they had achieved a plateau of intoxication that enabled them to function and join in the jollity. They were no more immoderate or oafish than the guests.

It was Luther Empt who presented a dark and surly face to the company. He sat by himself at a shadowed table, swilling straight scotch and occasionally muttering and scowling. His wife and mother avoided him, and eventually so did the others. The word spread: "Luther's in one of his mean moods."

Once, early in the evening, Lucy Bending came up to him, put a soft hand on his arm, and asked if he would dance with her. He glowered until he recognized who it was, and then his face lightened.

"Princess!" he shouted. "You beautiful princess!"

"Will you dance with me, Mr. Empt?" she repeated.

"Later, sweetheart," he said. "I can't dance to this fast stuff. When they play something nice and slow."

"Promise?" she said.

"Cross my heart and hope to die," he vowed, and leaned forward to kiss her cheek. But she moved to take the kiss on her lips. "Oh, what a lovely princess you are!" he said with his raspy laugh, hugging her.

When she moved away from him, he stared after her. May was gone, and this sad, slow-brained man was just beginning to realize the enormity of his loss. Everything safe, warm, and light in his life had passed. He faced a dangerous, cold, and murky future.

Gertrude Empt and Professor Craner sat together, ate steadily and quietly, and presented a studiously pleasant mien to the roisterers about them. They finished slices of hon-eydew, looked at each other, rose simultaneously.

"A nice party," Gertrude said, "but a little noisy. What about a walk on the beach?"

"Nothing would give me more pleasure," he said gallantly.

"You're easily satisfied," she said, taking his arm.

Jane Holloway, as usual, was surrounded by a circle of admiring men, all of whom she treated with cheerful contempt. Grace Bending was part of a small group of staid matrons discussing the problems of teaching their young children "the facts of life," and meanwhile keeping a cold eye on the antics of their carousing husbands.