Frolic of His Own (55 page)

—Thanks Trish, thanks . . . breaking through the collision of doorman and chauffeur, biting her lip at her polished steel reflection in the elevator, hunting her keys and giving it up at the door, pressing the bell, again, —Harry? as it came open, —well thank God.

—Well. You're here he said, stooping for the towel that had gone to the floor fending off her embrace in the quick disguise of returning it, or was it the other way about? but she was already past him there like some naked statuary as she filled her gaze with the light and wonder of the place, unbounded light fading in the late pale sky pierced by lights coming on in the fenestrated heights of nearby buildings like some snug welkin all its own. —I didn't expect you.

—Well obviously. I mean you could have let me know couldn't you? She turned and dropped her raincoat on a chair and seemed to narrow her vision to take notice of him standing there knotting the towel at his waist. —Have you any idea what it's been like out there?

—Yes but, how did you . . .

—Your friend Mister Mudpye came out with Trish on a lark and I finally dug it out of them. We thought you knew they kept babbling, we thought you knew, it was like pulling teeth, I mean how do you think it made me look? I've called I've left messages here I've called your office and all your idiotic secretary would tell me was he's in court while I'm out there running an absolute madhouse losing my own mind waiting to hear from you after the way you tore out of there with a few drinks and these pills you've been taking I knew it would happen, I knew something like this would happen didn't I?

—That's not when it happened Christina, I . . .

—The way you tore out of there and left me to deal with Oscar and this mess you got him into it was bound to happen sooner or later wasn't it? and you couldn't even bother to call me? simply pick up the phone and call me?

—Look Christina, there's really nothing you could have done. Stupid predicament I got myself into no reason I should bother you with it, didn't want to upset you I knew you had your hands full out there nothing you could have done anyhow.

—Didn't want to upset me! My God Harry I'm your wife aren't I? Those two silly people babbling we thought you knew while I stood there like a fool telling me there's not a scratch on the car I mean you could have been lying in the hospital with a broken neck, how was it supposed to make me look? She was taking up cushions from the sofa, from the chairs, pounding them into shape and setting them right —I mean didn't it ever occur to you that I might be worried sick about the shape you were in not hearing a word from you day after day? And now she was turning on lights, one by one bringing the room into crystal concert as the glass expanses inviting the outside world abruptly shut it out with reflections of white walls and black onyx, fluted glass and the furniture and the lamps themselves and —the plants? have you bothered to water them? off to the wet bar in the corner for a pitcher before he could answer for the sudden peal of the phone, —will you get that?

—Probably for me yes, hello? Oh hello, how . . . she's right here Oscar, just walked in. How are you?

—Here . . . and she had it, —Oscar . . . ? Well of course I am, what did you . . . I know it! We were half way in when we realized it, she . . . Well we couldn't turn back! She's sending the car back out for it, you can . . . I don't know when my God, you can just feed it something there's all that boiled chicken isn't there? and just shut it in the kitchen till the . . . well then just clean it up, you can clean it up can't you? your what? Well take an aspirin, take two aspirins Lily can help you if she's still there can't she? that she saw a mouse in the kitchen? My God Oscar listen I'm exhausted! I've been cooking running errands trying to hold things together for you out there since . . . Well there's nothing I can do, I mean you know I've got my hands full right here there's nothing I can do, I can't even think about it, I'm . . . who, Harry? He's fine. He's standing right here looking like the noblest Roman of them all while I . . . well my God see a doctor then, there's nothing I can do is there? I have to go.

—Christina look, before you . . .

—Is there anything in the house to eat? She was back at the bar filling the pitcher, —I mean I can't describe what I've already faced today in the way of food, an entire side of inedible smoked salmon and zucchini flowers stuffed with God knows what, he wanted to drive in with us can you imagine that?

—Better wait till he's back on his feet before he . . .

—Back on his feet my God he's on them all the time, marching around in one of Father's old suits growing a beard smoking cigars he calls himself the last civilized man, he's ready to come in and stage a reading of his play for some British director he's dug up and some outlandish notion of showing up in court tomorrow to testify on his appeal, I mean I said I'd been running a madhouse out there didn't I?

—But what, wait what appeal.

—His appeal Harry, this appeal he's got you to thank for getting your friend Sam to quit dragging his feet and run up his costs a little further, I mean has this little car adventure of yours completely destroyed your memory? All I find over there's an empty whisky bottle when I asked you if there's any food in the house didn't I?

—There's yes, I've sent out for Chinese there's some of that lemon chicken and some cold noodles but Oscar's appeal, you mean it's been filed?

—I just said it has didn't I? I mean you talk about language how everything's language it seems all that language does is drive us apart, I mean what did you think I meant.

—I don't know, I mean, what I mean is a matter of fact I haven't had a chance to talk to him, to Sam I mean, you mean the circuit court's already hearing oral arguments on Oscar's appeal?

—Well call him. Call Sam and ask him if you can't remember what you did ten minutes ago, is that all there is? this lemon chicken?

—There may still be some shrimp, that shrimp in black bean sauce but has Sam talked to him? to Oscar? he wants Oscar to come in and testify at the . . .

—Sam hasn't talked to anybody, Harry. Apparently somebody's talked to Sam and given him a good hard push, that's all I know and all I care to know. If you want the grim details I'm sure you can get them from your colleague in this self regulating conspiracy of yours. Are you going to go get some clothes on?

—Look Christina, just tell me what the hell's going on will you? What brought him out there anyhow.

—An immense grey limousine with a telephone and tinted windows, the kind Trish uses to épater the lower classes. They'd just been in court destroying some poor shoemaker and the miserable creature who's been emptying her mother's bedpans for forty years and thought it would be fun to come out and surprise us, I mean after all Harry you're the one who's getting the bonus for bringing in this wealthy client to get yourself made a senior partner aren't you?

—Look that's not the way it happened, you know it's not but the whole thing's highly irregular, him going out there to talk to Oscar while this appeal's pending it's just highly irregular.

—He didn't even know where he was going Harry, just some old school friend of hers he didn't know where he was till they turned in the drive but it didn't take him a moment, well old sport! Good to see you up and about, putting on a little weight? Never thought we'd have the chance to sit down and have a nice chat, that's a great play you've written, have a
cigar while Oscar stands there in a complete muddle. His car's just been stolen, the lawyers he got off a matchbook cover have him suing himself as the accident victim and he's just written a speech about a Civil War battle for some bloodthirsty Hadassah audience lusting for slaughter in the Old Testament while your Mister Mudpye explains that his play is really about the war between blacks and Jews, never mind the lawsuit, all water under the bridge old boy, always annoying to lose one here, don't drink that stuff, we brought out a little Chateau something sweet enough to turn your stomach treating Lily like help while he stares down her blouse it was all perfectly revolting.

—Wouldn't worry about Lily, Christina. Lily can take care of herself. You'll see.

—Well we've taken her in because she thinks her husband's out to get her in this idiotic divorce while she moons around about reconciling with Daddy so he'll leave her all his money to spend on cosmetics and I do the cooking for both of them while the gentleman poet reads aloud from his play my God, it all seems like a thousand years ago. Trish completely besotted by him and Oscar lapping up his flattery like that loathsome dog of hers while he bustled around in a monogramed blazer she bought him at Sulka's calling her Trishy with his hand up her dress while he talked on the phone all the way into town he's so close to her money he can taste it, ingratiating himself with all of us so we'll give this revolting spectacle our blessing. He's already in there giving her daughter's trust officer a workout and you, you're not to worry, he and the firm are behind you while he shrugs off this appeal of Oscar's just a few legal technicalities, all in the family says Trish, when it's over we'll have a marvelous party the poor thing she thinks he hung the moon. He's so quick she says, telling us how he had to explain her mother's estate lawyers' own case to them before he destroyed it. He's so quick.

—Oh, he's quick. He's quick all right.

—What's that supposed to mean? She'd sunk back on the sofa, shoulders fallen and her knees fallen wide kicking off one shoe, then the other, the full pitcher on the floor between them, —the only one who seems to get anything done in this mess while the rest of you sit around and . . .

—Might mean sometimes he's a little too quick Christina, one of these men who has to show that he's smarter than you are even when nothing's at stake, what makes him a good lawyer but you get a feeling that he's got the answer ready before he hears the question, takes short cuts, doesn't look back, sets up the game himself as if he's the only player. He'd rather win than be right.

—That's what he's paid for isn't it? what all of you get paid for? what this whole insane business you're in is all about? If you stopped looking
back and started taking a few shortcuts yourself you might manage to clean up this absurd case you're on and start living like a human being, I mean think about it Harry.

—You think I think about anything else?

—That's what I mean. If you stopped thinking so much about being right maybe you could get off this Episcopal merrygoround they've got you on, living on pills and drink while they drag expert witnesses on stress management into court for running old ladies off the road and we could both start living like human beings again, I mean I am your wife after all aren't I? Where are you going.

—Get some clothes on, I . . .

—Are you going to call Sam?

—Too late now to reach him, I'll try in the morning. Do you . . .

—Just a few legal technicalities, my God. Got a real strong case here, that's our friend Mister Basie, win or lose we'll take them in the higher court, we'll take them on appeal, it seems like a hundred years ago . . . sinking back into the cushions there, her legs slowly stretching out before her in a kind of languor rising to claim her voice with —the sun coming out over the pond while we sat there by the windows, play to the appeals court because that's where it's at he was so sure of himself, this marvelous energy just seething to break loose, this real appetite he had, his skin glistening in the sun and his hands, he had such masterful hands didn't he, as one of her own came up to scratch at her shoulder and slowly sink to ruminate at her breast, —do blacks have much hair do you think? on their bodies I mean?

—Frankly never thought about it, now . . .

—Waving that newspaper at me, piece in here on your hairy Ainu you were talking about, thought maybe you missed it? her hand fallen to stir the length of her thigh, —wouldn't have noticed it he said, he didn't remember you ever talking about your hairy . . .

—Look, do you want some of this lemon chicken now or . . .

—Don't be ridiculous.

Reflection limning reflection in the mirrored walls of the bedroom blew its dimensions, flashed with the mirrored door to the bathroom, caught the soles of her feet flung wide on the bed and her arm's impatient haste crushing his lips at her throat, at her breast, knees risen sharply akimbo forthrightly lewd intolerant of delay seizing the thick surge filling her hand toward the crest there heaving as his weight came over for the plunge withdrawn to plunge deeper in the pounding rise and fall of ravage, her nails dug in the voracious pillage of his loins, of the devouring dark and hairy paradox of intimacy mounting in a widening gulf with each silent thrust of this lubricious intercourse to distance them further one
from the other in the helpless greed of separate revelation, eyes closed, tongue lax and indolent as hers diffused her saturated depths and his all panting earnest concentration on the burst that left his head buried on her shoulder, eyes closed, hers wide, as they slipped back in desultory concert to what remained of the day, of the lemon chicken and the shrimp in black bean sauce, the pointless flicker of dinner jackets and backless gowns on actors and actresses long dead and the papers, letters, briefs and memorandums —I mean do they have to be scattered all over the house, Harry? until at last the lights went out.

Sun filling the sky waked her to find a note on a yellow legal pad that he was off to an appointment with the firm's psychiatric counselor, God only knew the purpose of that, to prepare his court appearance? and which one, his or the firm's? to actually tend to the splintered inner shell of the man himself or merely blur it further, codeine, Darvon, Valium crowding her cosmetics off the shelf over the bathroom basin where the mirror snared her startled glance as someone passing in the street might have caught her eye to pause, as she did now, for closer scrutiny bent in a frown, dissembled in a smile provoking some remembered warmth of trust revoked too late in that blasted instant of recognition by the abrupt awareness of memory itself as the dissembler of some past betrayal that had turned it sour as she seized the familiar green capped clarifying lotion from among the alien crowd of pacifiers on the shelf there and a cotton ball to wipe it on, rescued the gold capped masque adoucissant applied en couche mince sur le visage et le cou avoiding the tour des yeux and too impatient to laissez agir fifteen minutes, retirer à l'eau tiède and dropping the face cloth for a silver capped clinging, creamy makeup base to conceal shadows, flaws and fine lines, a superb shield against the elements touched up with a whitener on the lids and stroke of the eyebrow pencil God knows who you might run into in the street in this smart part of town simply walking out to do the marketing and stop at the cleaners if just then the phone hadn't rung and of course it was —Oscar? Well who else would it be at this ungodly hour, you . . . all right noon, it's noon! I told you I was exhausted didn't I? that I can't help it about the dog, didn't I? She said she'd send a car out for it and . . . well if you've given it some boiled chicken and locked it down in the laundry what are you calling me for, if you just want to complain about these pains there's nothing I . . . Well what about Harry, my God he's got other things on his mind besides your appeal Oscar, he's . . . No, this morning's paper? Why would they put his picture in the entertainment section, if they think being in court over a car accident's a joke they . . . all right goodbye, I'll look for it now . . . and she found it, pictured here with senior partner William C G Peyton III neatly folded beside an empty coffee cup.