Promises (39 page)

“How would you folks like to go to the club and spend the day? Lunch, swim, and dinner too?”

She wanted to answer that she was tired, that she would like most to draw the covers over her head and go back to sleep, but instead she answered, “It’s too much for you to take all this crew, Fred. If you want to take Danny—I don’t know about Megan and Julie—”

“Excuse me for interrupting, but you certainly know that I know what day this is. I can tell by your voice that I woke you too. Now get dressed, have breakfast, and I’ll come around for you all at ten-thirty. No, don’t answer me, I’m hanging up.”

Of course, she reflected that evening, he had been right. He usually was right. And the day had been good for all of them, especially for herself and her morale. Dressed in a white skirt and a royal-blue top, she had looked smart. This had been the first time in months when, not counting school people, she had confronted a crowd in a social setting, and it had gone well. With Fred beside her she had not felt like a fifth wheel.

And then there was Stephen. He had left a message on the answering machine.

“Looking over some documents of yours, I saw this date. I know it’s a hard day for you, so I thought I’d call to offer a little pep talk in case you might need one, although I hope you don’t.”

“Every little bit helps,” she said when she called back to thank him.

“By the way, I just learned that we are practically neighbors. It didn’t strike me at first when you gave me your change of address.”

“I didn’t know, either, until we moved in and Fred told me.”

“How are you all liking it?”

“It’s a tremendous change,” she said frankly, feeling
no need for disguise. “It’s hard on the children. Danny’s lost his ball game—he’s a baseball freak, and there’s nobody here for him. Fred took pity on him and had a catch with him yesterday.”

“There are always a couple of games in the park. I play myself whenever I have time, which isn’t often. I’ll be there tomorrow afternoon, in fact. Why don’t you bring him down and introduce us?”

“You’ve been a big help to Dan,” Margaret said some weeks later.

Back in his office he was the man she had first met, while on the ball field in his shorts he had looked like an overgrown boy.

“I’m glad. He’s a good kid. Well, getting back to business, I’m sorry about all the delay.”

“I don’t mind the delay so much, Stephen. I’m sure it frustrates my so-called husband and his Randi, which is rather nice. What worries me is having money for college. Megan’s starting her senior year.”

“Margaret, I don’t want to get your hopes up. A man’s not obliged to provide college. He’s not obliged to provide anything once a child reaches eighteen.”

“I can’t believe it!” she cried. “She was his pride. I can see them working at the computer, I can hear them talking politics and tennis and—I can’t understand it.”

“I’m going to argue, of course. But he’s away now, his lawyer said. He’s gone to California for a couple of weeks.”

Margaret was almost speechless. California! How many times had she suggested a vacation, only to be told that it cost too much?

“I am so bitterly resentful, Stephen,” she said.

“I know what you’re thinking. But the day will come when he will regret everything. By then you won’t even care.”

“You think so?”

It seemed impossible that she would ever cease to care. Despising Adam as she did, she never yet went through a single day without a thought of him. Passing a bag of popcorn at the market, she recalled the winter evenings when they watched television in the den. Overhearing a stranger say the word
porcupine
, she remembered the time that one of those queer animals had wandered past their picnic table. All the odd moments that kept flashing and flashing!

“I’m certain,” Stephen said.

“You sound like the psychologist.”

“I’ve heard so much that sometimes I feel like one.” He paused. “Dan told me he’s having trouble with French. I thought perhaps I could help him, if you’d like. My mother was French, and I speak it well.”

“Why, that would be very kind of you. Thank you,” Margaret said.

Very kind, she reflected on the way home. At the same time she knew that there was more than kindness behind Stephen’s offer. Certain glances and tones that a woman recognized, however subtle, were unmistakable. Had she perhaps been too cool, too formal, with her thanks? But no, she was not ready to encourage anyone.

And it seemed quite possible to her, so crushed, so burdened, so determined to be self-reliant and courageous, that she never would be ready.

A
dam’s spirit had always responded to the fall, its colors and the return of brisk air. This morning, though, as he drove toward Elmsford on his way to work, he felt no response to the season other than a sickening apprehension, settled somewhere in the region of his stomach. Ever since his return from California—a trip that, while itself enjoyable, had been undertaken only after much persuasion on Randi’s part and had cost a very troubling sum—he had been expecting something to happen.

After several years’ worth of false, tormenting rumors, of plans altered and delayed, the die had finally been cast. Magnum was taking over ADS. The expanded operation was to be entirely reorganized. Day by day, drop by drop, news of this came filtering down from the top.

Yesterday’s latest was Rudy Hudson’s return to the main office as head man at triple his present salary. So one of these days there would be news for Adam Crane
too. He had an uncanny feeling that this would be the day.

His secretary came in shortly before noon, looking—how? concerned? excited? curious?

“One of those men from Magnum, a Mr. Baldwin, wants to see you.”

“When?”

“Now.”

His knees went weak when he stood up. And he told himself this was absurd; there was no reason why the news should not be splendid. He had, after all, been with the company for twenty years.

Mr. Baldwin rose to greet Adam. He was a tall man, fit and youthful, with just the right touch of gray in his thick hair. Adam thought immediately how interesting it was that top executives were so often men of striking good looks. His next thought was: But I am good-looking too.

They sat down, and Mr. Baldwin smiled. “I’m told that you’ve been here a long time,” he said.

“Yes. It’s my first and only job.”

Mr. Baldwin nodded. “You don’t find much of that these days. Unfortunately. With all the reorganizations going on.”

There were too many pauses in the man’s speech. They meant that he was uncomfortable with what he had to say. There could be no other interpretation, could there? If he had good news, wouldn’t he start out with something hearty, such as “Congratulations! I know you’ll be delighted to hear …” But not necessarily. It might just be his manner. And Adam waited, leaning forward in the chair.

“The downsizing that results from these reorganizations.…
We all know that it can be economically healthy.… Making the new company, while larger, nevertheless leaner and stronger.… Although that does sound like a contradiction.” Then came the smile again.

The tension of expectation drained out of Adam, and he leaned back in the chair. He did not need to hear any more. He knew.

“Unfortunately and undeservedly, too many individuals have to suffer in this process. I’m so sorry, Mr. Crane, that you have to be one of them.”

Adam’s mouth went dry and he thought his lip twitched. For an instant, afraid that his voice would quaver, he was afraid to speak.

“I’m sure you’ll have no trouble being placed somewhere else. And of course, we’ll give you the finest possible recommendation. In fact, we are setting up a service right in this building to assist—”

“No,” Adam said. That would be the final humiliation, to crawl back here and ask for help. “No, thank you. I’ll—I’ll manage.”

What could the man be thinking, with that quiet expression and that quiet voice, so correctly sympathetic? Was he feeling calm, indifferent, or cruel in his possession of the power to destroy—all so easily—another human being? No, Adam decided after a few silent, heavy-laden moments, he’s probably just embarrassed and wishing he hadn’t been given this nasty job to do.

“I’m sorry, really sorry,” Baldwin said.

The tall clock in the corner of this handsome office went
bong!
The short interview had fulfilled its purpose. It was time to go. And yet Adam was not quite ready.

“I’ve been here twenty years,” he said.

“I know. It must be hard. Very hard.”

“Will you tell me something? Since there has had to be some selection process, who is to remain and who is to be let go, I would like to know: Why me? I have kept abreast of everything that’s happening in the field. I know my job. Why me?”

Baldwin was playing with his pen, rolling it on the desktop with a gesture that did not quite befit his dignity. It was evident that the question troubled him exceedingly.

He began, “Well, I—” when Adam interrupted.

“I know I’ve asked a question that you’re not obliged to answer and probably don’t want to answer. Yet, I believe I have a human right to know. And so I’m asking for an answer, confidentially and man to man.”

A softness passed across Baldwin’s face. He pities me, Adam thought.

Presently, Baldwin said, “Under those conditions I will tell you. I hope I’m not making a mistake. I’m a newcomer here, and I can only repeat what I’ve been told.”

“And that is?”

“That you have not been carrying your weight. I don’t know whether it’s true or not.”

Adam got up and bowed. “It’s not true,” he said.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Crane, I’m genuinely sorry.”

“Thank you.” And bowing once more, Adam went out.

He was burning within. He thought his very heart was on fire. Of course they had to let someone go, and of course it had to be he because they had never liked him. And he recalled that day in the washroom when he
had overheard them, Jenks and some others, discussing him.

“—cold bastard, thinks he’s too superior to bother with you.”

“—he’ll never get anywhere.”

“—I always liked Margaret, though.”

In his office he stood in the center of the room and stared without aim. Except for the photograph of his children—the one that included Margaret he had discarded—there was nothing in the room that belonged to him. In a few days someone else would take his place, here at this desk, on this chair. He had simply passed through.

His secretary came in to remind him that he had an appointment right after lunch.

“Cancel it,” he said. “I’m going home.”

And with that he went out, leaving her to stare after him in astonishment. No doubt, before the day was over, she would understand.

He drove home in a state of deadening fatigue, his vision blurred. The landscape was gray with fog, as depressed as he was. Fall was edging into winter, and the air was musty with the smell of wet fallen leaves.

At a stoplight he drew up alongside Gil and Louise in their BMW. For an instant their glances crossed until Louise, with a look of utmost contempt, turned her head away. This brief contact reminded him that it was the night of the party at their house when he had made his final decision to leave Margaret. The contact reminded him, too, of the day not long ago when he had seen Fred Davis getting gas at a service station in Randolph Corner. He had had then an aborted impulse to get out of his car and ask Fred how things were really
going at the apartment. Fred would know. Julie and Danny—usually Danny, the bigmouth—spoke often enough of Uncle Fred, of treats and movies. Suddenly now he felt a pang of jealousy to think of Fred Davis with his children.

A strange thought occurred to him: If Randi were a
wife
, he would not be so much in dread of bringing this disaster home, for a wife would have to accept it, whereas before Randi he must appear impressive, a worthy, undefeated lover. Aberrant, crazy thoughts!

After a while, though, and very gradually, he began to argue himself into some semblance of resolve. Wasn’t he only one among many who had lost a job? He would certainly find another. And he went into his house—half of it at least was his, considering how much money he had put into it—poured a small drink, and lay down on the sofa, there to plan what his next move could be.

A few minutes later he heard Randi’s car. She came crying, “What are you doing home? Are you sick?”

“No, no. But what are you doing home at two o’clock?”

“I had no appointments. No business appointments, that is. But what’s the matter? You look queer.”

“Don’t be alarmed. Take your jacket off, sit down, and I’ll tell you.”

She looked particularly rosy, he thought, vivid with healthy blood and energy. As if responding to her affect, he sat up straight and, speaking almost with bravado, told her what had happened.

“I lost my job this morning. I’m out.”

“You what?”

“Yes, it happens. I’m one of the great unemployed. But don’t worry, it won’t be for long.”

“I can’t believe it! A job like yours … Why, you’re one of the big shots!”