Clemmie (16 page)

The woman slept with her back to him, on her left
side. Her left leg was across his left leg. They both lay naked on top of a wrinkled, grayish sheet. She had brown hair, worn short. A sheen of perspiration made highlights on her shoulders and on the massive mound of her hip. There was a purple pimple on her right shoulder, and a cluster of three moles at the small of her back.

He did not have the faintest idea who she could be. Or where he was. Or what day it was. He closed his eyes. He groped through memory for a starting place. And suddenly remembered the Jardine party. Just then the woman stirred and sighed and rolled over, taking the weight of her leg off his. She still slept. Her face was toward him, and, looking at it, he remembered the name. Floss Westerling. Her breath was sour. Lipstick was smeared around her mouth. Her hair was tangled and matted. He could see the coarse pores in the skin across her cheekbones. He could see where the plucked eyebrows stopped and the eyebrow pencil began. And see the gunmetal gleam of a filling between the parted lips. Her left breast was uptilted by her left forearm. It stared at him with a blind brown nipple. There was a blue vein in the white skin of the underside of the heavy breast.

He knew the sun was high. He lifted his left arm until he could look at his wrist watch.

Ten after ten.

Dear Jesus.

“Floss!” he said. His voice was thick and rusty. “Floss!” She sighed and dug her head into the pillow. He took her shoulder and shook her. It hurt his head.

Her eyes opened. They were utterly blank. She looked at him without recognition or comprehension, and then her eyes went wider and she looked startled and alarmed. She sat up abruptly, looked around for something to cover herself with, and then held her arm across her breasts.

“My God, what time is it?”

“After ten.”

She looked terrified. “I wasn’t going to go to sleep. I knew I shouldn’t go to sleep! What are we going to do?”

“Where are we?”

“I don’t know. Outside of town someplace. Fifteen miles, maybe. I drove until I saw the vacancy. We’re in trouble, Craig. Bad trouble. My God! This is awful. We’ve got to get dressed.”

She swung out of bed and trotted into the bathroom,
fatty hips bouncing. She shut the door. It took him a very long time to get to a sitting position. He sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, face in his hands. Water ran in the sink and a toilet flushed noisily. He heard her come out into the tiny bedroom.

“No peeking now,” she said with a sort of frantic coyness. He did not move. He fought waves of nausea.

“
Please
get dressed, Craig! Now.”

He lurched to his feet and stumbled to the bathroom, dropped onto his knees in front of the toilet and was agonizingly, monstrously sick. Each paroxysm felt as though it would burst his forehead open. When it was over he washed his face, drank a glass of tepid water and threw that up. He washed again and drank more water. It stayed down. He drank five glasses of water. It had a metallic taste.

He went back out. His clothes were piled on a chair. Floss sat on the bed in bra and panties, smoking a cigarette. As he started to fumble with his clothes, Floss said, “Wait a minute, dear.”

He straightened up and stared at her. “What now?”

She looked at him archly. “Such long hairy legs, grandma. Darling, the damage is all done. It can’t get any worse. And while you were in there, I remembered that little love kick he gave me. So he can sweat a while longer. Later on you can drive me into the city and I’ll register at a hotel, and when I get around to phoning him, he’ll think I’ve been at the hotel all along. He’ll come down on his hands and knees. Now come here, Craig dear. It wasn’t very good for you last night, was it? You were too drunkie, baby. This will be lots better.”

He shook his head helplessly. “I’m too damn sick, honest.”

Her face grew cool. She shrugged. “Suit yourself. Then we might as well dress.”

When she was dressed he realized that she had changed from the slacks and sweater to a dress, and she had picked up a small suitcase he did not remember. On the way back to the city they were distant with each other. She said she could get breakfast after she registered. He let her off in front of a good hotel. She walked in without looking back. She looked tall, cool, fresh and pretty—and above reproach.

As soon as he was in the house he went to the phone
and called his office. It was eleven thirty. Betty James sounded concerned. He told her he had been sick in the night and had taken a sleeping pill. He said he would be in later in the afternoon. She explained how she had taken care of his appointments, and he thanked her. He had missed an appointment with John Terrill.

He drank more water and went slowly up to the bedroom. The day was getting hotter. The sun was brass. Insects shrilled in the baked leaves. He could see a slice of Federal Street. The cars moved through a shimmer of heat waves. The sun on chrome was like needles in his eyes.

He undressed and lay on the bed.

Be proud of me, Maura. I was ghastly drunk and if my heart keeps going like this it is going to scare hell out of me. Be delighted with me. I am a big man. I kept myself from going to Clemmie. I substituted a lesser vice, a drunken and cynical romp with a big and breasty young housewife and mother, and I didn’t enjoy a minute of it. I played the standard subourbon game.

And I can’t stop thinking about Clemmie.

But the first giant step has been taken. And the worst of it is over. I’ll work like a horse, and I’ll get myself back in good physical shape, and read some of the books I’ve been planning to read, and maybe when you come back I’ll be able to look you right in the eye and smile at you and you will know that everything is all right between us.

He picked up the bedside phone on the second ring.

“Hello?”

“Fitz darling, are you terribly ill?”

“How did you … Did you call the office, Clemmie?”

“But of course, darling. I was worried.”

“I told you not to call there.”

“But I get along just beautifully with your little secretary. She’s most cordial.”

“Don’t phone me there. Ever.”

“Do I make you nervous? Are you always so ugly when you’re sick, darling? I couldn’t understand why you didn’t come by last night.”

“The party broke up late.”

“But I told you I didn’t care how late it was. Remember?”

“I know that. I know that. How plainly do I have to say it? I didn’t
want
to stop by.”

“Oh.” Her voice was small and hurt.

“I think we ought to knock it off right …”

“I know I was a mess the other night, but actually do you think I deserve this kind of punishment? I was willing to apologize.”

“That isn’t it.”

“Then what in the world could it be? I know I was a problem to you. But you couldn’t have been too upset. You did stay here.”

“This is a party line.”

“Do you think I care about that?”

“I do, damn it.”

“Craig, I’ll come right over. I must talk to you. Can I bring you something? Medicine or soup or something?”

“I’m leaving for the office in twenty minutes.”

“You don’t feel well. Let me drive you down and then I can pick you up after work. I’ve got some off-beat types stopping in for a drink about sixish. They might amuse you, dearest.”

“I’ve lost a half day. I’ll be working too late tonight. We better skip it.”

“What have I done?” she wailed.

“You haven’t done anything, damn it. I feel lousy. I got stinking drunk last night. I don’t want to see
anybody
.”

“Poor honey.”

“Clemmie, will you please …”

“I know exactly what the trouble is now, dearest. I was so stupid I didn’t understand before. And it’s one of the things about you that makes me love you so.”

“What thing?”

“That great, bloated, ridiculous conscience of yours. You’re just all crawling with guilt, aren’t you? Clemmie will fix.”

He heard her hang up. He had no idea what she might do. There was something terrifying about her intensity and determination. He dressed as quickly as he could, and was out of the house within ten minutes. As he drove away he looked in the rear view mirror, half expecting to see her car pull up in front of his house.

All afternoon he drove himself. He was curt with Betty, and when he found a mistake on the control board, he was savage with Bucky. Yet he could not get so far into his work that he failed to hear the ominous reiteration of her final words, “Clemmie will fix.” Each time his extension
rang he felt a wary tension until he knew who it was.

Before Betty left he had her bring him a sandwich and milk shake. When the office was entirely empty, he began once again to work on Ober’s assignment. For a long time he could think of no starting place. His mind felt numbed. Finally he decided to make a summary of available data. He took all of the production orders that had been completed during the past three years, those orders that were taken on to fill the forty-five per cent slack left after standard orders were scheduled. He divided the orders into three groups, the desirable, the average, the undesirable—all from a production rather than a cost or profit basis. From that he was able to work up a statement describing what constituted a favorable sub-contract. He typed his statement on Betty’s machine. The recommendation was the most difficult part. It took a half pack of cigarettes and an hour of walking before he got any glimmer of light. Then he typed three drafts, and made numerous pencil corrections on the last one.

He read it over, trying to look at it as Ober would look at it. “Statement of Problem: To find some way of achieving optimum utilization of existing equipment at Quality Metal Products Division of U.S. Automotive Corporation. An estimated fifty-five per cent of capacity is utilized by standard product lines. The remaining forty-five per cent is taken up by sub-contracts from prime manufacturers in the home appliance, automotive and marine fields. A limited number of sub-contracts are placed by retail chains. These sub-contracts are expected to pay their fair share of overhead and …”

He put it aside. He had thought he had been working with the greatest of efficiency, but actually all he had done was restate the problem and suggest that they go after orders which would be easy to handle efficiently. Make brochures. Set up a regular campaign.

He knew it was trite and he knew it wasn’t what Ober was looking for. But, hell, something had to be submitted. This could be dressed up. He put it on Betty’s desk with instructions to type it carefully, make four copies, put them in the new spring-back binders, and have them ready for his eleven thirty conference with Ober.

It was after ten when he left. The gate man said good night to him, and Craig asked, “Am I the last one out, Jeff?”

“Next to last, Mr. Fitz. Mr. Ober’s still at it.” Craig turned and saw the wide-lighted windows of Ober’s office over in the new building. As he watched he saw the tall, narrow figure of Miss Commerford pass the window, papers in her hand.

“He work like that often?”

“Comes in a lot around eight, eight-thirty, and lots of times he’s still here when I go off shift at twelve.”

Craig walked thoughtfully to his car. Another clue to the man. His daytime hours were elaborately casual, some days, when he was in town, an hour in the morning, then another hour or two after a long lunch. It was not exactly disarming or heartening to learn of this particular habit. He stopped by his car, hand on the door handle. He stood there and thought of his recommendation. It was not what you would call thinking wild or thinking big. There seemed a fair chance it would work. Even ten per cent effectiveness would improve the operations. Ober would be able to see that.

He wondered why he should be so wary of the man. Just another man, a little more complicated than most, a little more devious. But probably a fair man. Basically fair. Suddenly he remembered Clemmie again, and forgot Ober immediately. He looked up and down the street for some sign of the pale car parked in the shadows.

What could she fix, anyway? What could she do? Just gad-fly around until she had the word. It had been an upsetting episode and that was all. Clemmie and her damn fool games. Her complete lack of either self-consciousness or restraint. There was all the rest of the summer, and during that time he could push her firmly into the past and be whole again by the time Maura came home.

On the way home he stopped at a small Italian restaurant named Marino’s where the food was excellent. He had an antipasto, a small filet mignon and coffee espresso while he read the late edition of the
Stoddard News and Ledger
. In spite of his cigarette tongue, the food tasted superb. Somehow, during the day, he had thrown off the lingering effects of hangover, and now he felt wonderfully tired. He knew that part of his relaxation was due to having something tangible to present to Ober. It might not be as earth-shaking as Ober desired, but it could be made to work damn it. The restaurant was empty at eleven. Morry Marino came over and sat in the booth with him and
bought him a
strega
on the house, and for a little time they talked together about old friends and other times.

Craig was yawning as he walked to his car. By the time he unlocked the back door of his house he felt drugged by the need for sleep. Halfway across the dark kitchen he paused and was suddenly awake and alert. There was no sound in the house, but there seemed to him to be a different quality to the silence. It was an atavistic warning, coming from far beneath any exercise of logic or deduction. He waited and listened and the feeling died away and the back of his neck stopped prickling. Living alone, he thought, is turning me into an old lady. Have to get a cat, and look under the bed every night. He was sufficiently tired to be amused by the mental image.

He went up the stairs, suit coat over his arm, unknotting his tie as he went. The soft yellow glow from the street lights were enough so that he could see his way. He clicked the bedroom light switch and nothing happened. Fuse or bulb. No point in messing with it now. The bathroom lights would be enough. He hung up his coat, took off his shirt, headed past the bed for the bathroom. He caught a drifting trace of scent that stopped him in mid-stride. Very little light came into the bedroom. He looked at the double bed and was suddenly startled by a small smothered sound.