The Lonely Lady (14 page)

“Walter!” The sound wafted down on the wind.

They looked back. There was a woman standing at the edge of the road on the crest of the hill overlooking the beach. She waved.

He waved back. “My secretary,” he explained over his shoulder. “What is it?” he yelled.

“London is calling,” the woman shouted back. “I came out in the car to get you.”

“Okay.” He turned to JeriLee. “I have to go. Will you be out here again?”

“Probably.”

“Maybe we’ll see each other.”

“Maybe,” she answered.

He looked at her peculiarly. “I hope so.” He hesitated a moment. “I have a strange feeling that I intruded on your thoughts. That you wanted to be alone.”

“It’s okay,” she said. “I’m glad I saw you.”

He smiled and held out his hand. “So long.”

His hand was firm and warm. “So long, Mr. Thornton,” she said.

He turned and stared up the dunes toward the road, then stopped and looked back. “You never told me your name,” he said.

She looked up at him. “JeriLee. JeriLee Randall.”

He stood for a long moment registering the name. “Tell them I’ll call back,” he shouted up the hill, then he turned and came back down on the beach.

“Why didn’t you tell me who you were?” he asked.

“You didn’t ask me.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything.”

“You’re not angry with me?”

“No.”

“What my son did was unforgivable,” he said. I’m sorry.”

She didn’t answer.

“If you don’t want to speak to me,” he said, “I’ll understand.”

“You had nothing to do with it,” she said. “Besides, I like talking to you. You’re the only real writer I know.”

He fished out a cigarette and lit it. “You really want to become a writer?”

“Yes,” she said. She looked at him. “This time you didn’t throw it away.”

He looked at the cigarette. “That’s right. But this time I didn’t cough.”

“It’s not going to work,” she said. “You won’t give them up.”

He smiled suddenly. “I know.” He sat down on the edge of a rock. “You said you come out here to think. What about?”

“Things.”

“This time, I mean.”

She looked at him. “About going away.”

“Where?”

“I don’t know,” she said. She looked out at the sea. “Anywhere. Just away from here.”

“Have you always felt like that?”

“No.”

“Only since… since it happened?”

She thought for a moment. “Yes.” She looked into his eyes. “Port Clare is a funny town. You wouldn’t know unless you grew up here. You see, everybody makes up stories.”

“About you?”

She nodded. “They think that I…” She didn’t finish.

He was silent for a moment. “I am sorry,” he said.

She looked away but he could see the tears on her cheeks. He reached for her hand and held it. “JeriLee.”

She raised her head.

“I want to be your friend,” he said. “You can talk to me.”

The tears were flowing freely. “No,” she said. “I can’t talk to anyone. There’s nothing they can do to help.”

“I can try,” he said earnestly. “At least I owe you that for what my son did.”

“You don’t owe me anything.”

“Talk to me, JeriLee. Maybe it will help.”

She shook her head silently.

Still holding her hand, he rose to his feet and drew her close to him. “Come here, child,” he said gently, placing her head against his chest. He felt the sobs shaking her body. For a long time he stood there holding her. After a while the tears stopped.

She drew back and looked into his face. “You’re a very nice man,” she said.

Without answering, he took out his pack of cigarettes. This time he offered one to her. She took it and he lit their cigarettes. He inhaled with pleasure. “I really like smoking,” he said. “I think I’ll give up giving it up.”

She laughed. “You are funny.”

He smiled at her. “Not really. I’m just being realistic.”

“Do you really want to help me?” she asked.

He nodded. “I said I did.”

“Would you read something I wrote if I gave it to you?”

“Yes.”

“And you’ll tell me the truth about it? If it’s bad, I mean. You won’t be polite.”

“I respect writing too much to be phony about it. If it stinks I’ll tell you. But if it’s good I’ll say so.”

She was silent for a moment. “There’s something else you can do.”

“What’s that?”

“If you have time, that is,” she said hesitantly. “It would be nice if you went into the bank and let them know that you’re not angry with them because of my father.”

“Is that what they think?” he asked, the surprise plain in his voice.

She nodded.

“That’s really stupid!”

“I told you that you don’t know this town unless you grew up here,” she said. “That’s exactly how they think. My mother is worried that Dad will lose his job if you take your account away. That’s why she didn’t want to do anything about what happened to me. Dad was angry. He wanted to press charges, but she talked him out of it.”

“Then what made him speak up finally?”

“We couldn’t let Fred go to jail for something that wasn’t his fault,” she said.

He nodded soberly. He was beginning to realize that she was right about his being the kind of town you didn’t understand unless you grew up in it. “Is your father from here?”

She shook her head. “No.”

He nodded. It made sense. “I’ll make time to go down to the bank,” he said.

Her face brightened. “Thank you.”

Suddenly he wanted to meet her father again. “I’d like to have lunch with him if that’s all right with you.”

“That’s up to you. Just going there will be enough.”

“I’d like to know him,” he said. “He sounds like a nice man.”

She looked into his eyes. The words came from a feeling deep inside her. “He’s the gentlest, kindest man in the whole world.”

Chapter 18

Before the summer was over, Port Clare had a new topic of conversation. JeriLee and Walter Thornton. At first they met at the beach, where they’d sit and talk for hours. He was fascinated by her curiosity and insights into people. Her instincts led her to a subtle understanding of motivations that was far beyond her years.

When the weather grew too cool for the beach she began to drive to his house once or twice a week. He read her work and made some suggestions. She rewrote and he explained to her what worked and what did not. Then one day he gave her a copy of the play he was writing.

She asked if she could read it somewhere alone, and he allowed her to take it with her when she left. He didn’t hear from her for three days. Then late one afternoon after school she appeared with the play under her arm.

She gave him the script without comment.

“What did you think?” he asked. Suddenly it was important to him that she like it.

“I don’t know,” she said slowly. “I read it twice but I don’t think I understand it.”

“In what way?”

“Mainly the young girl. She doesn’t work. I think you tried to make her like me but she’s not. I’m not that smart. And she’s too smart to be that naïve.”

Hearing those words from her, he felt a new respect. The one thing he had not surmised was her awareness of her own naïveté.

“But if she doesn’t maneuver the people around her we don’t have the story,” he said.

“Maybe there isn’t any,” she said bluntly. “I don’t see how a man as bright as Jackson could fall in love with a girl less than a third his age. There’s nothing really there to attract him outside of her youth.”

“And you don’t think that’s enough?”

“Not just physical attraction,” she said. “And certainly not cunning. That would repel him. It would have to be something more. Now, if she were a woman, a real woman, I could understand it. But she’s not.”

“What do you think it would take to make her a real woman?” he asked.

She looked at him. “Time. Time and experience. That’s the only way people grow up. And that’s the way I’ll grow up.”

“Do you think he might have fallen in love with what she could be?”

“I hadn’t considered that,” she said. “Let me think about it.” She was silent for a few minutes, then she nodded. “It’s possible. But there would have to be more of a hint of what she could be, something that would let the audience feel there is more to her than they now see.”

“You’ve made your point,” he said. “I’ll take another look at it.”

“I feel silly. I’m like a child trying to teach an adult how to walk.”

“We can learn a great deal from children,” he said. “If we would only listen.”

“You’re not angry at me for what I said?”

“No. I’m grateful. You made me look at something that could very well have made the whole play invalid.”

She smiled, suddenly happy. “I’ve really been of help?”

“Yes,” he said, smiling. “Really.” He reached for his cigarettes. “Tonight’s the cook’s night off. Do you think your parents would object if I took you out to dinner?”

She was suddenly silent, and there was a troubled expression on her face.

“What is it?” he asked.

“I don’t think my parents would object. Dad likes and respect you. But do you think it’s wise?”

“You mean—?”

She nodded. “This is still Port Clare. People will talk.”

He looked at her. “You’re right. I don’t want to cause any more unhappiness for you.”

She met his gaze. “I’m not thinking about myself,” she said quickly. “I’m thinking about you. The way they think, there’s only one reason a man like you would go out with a girl like me.”

He smiled. “That’s very flattering. I didn’t know they thought that way about me.”

“You’re a stranger,” she said. “You’re rich. You’re divorced. You go to Hollywood and Europe and all those wild places. Only heaven knows what goes on there and what you do.”

He laughed. “I only wish they knew how dull it really is. I go there just to work, that’s all.”

“That may be the truth,” she said. “But you’ll never get them to believe it.”

“If you’re up to it,” he said, “I’d like to take that chance.”

She looked at him for a long moment, then she nodded. “Okay,” she said. “Let me check home first.”

They went to dinner at the Port Clare Inn. The next morning, just as JeriLee had predicted, the news was all over town. And for the first time since they were children she and Bernie had a bitter quarrel.

It was Bernie’s night off from work and they had gone to a movie. Afterward they had gotten in his car and driven out to the parking place at the Point.

He switched on the radio and music filled the car. He turned and reached for her.

She drew back, pushing his hands away. “No, Bernie, I’m not in the mood right now.”

He looked at her. She was staring out the window at the sea which shimmered in the moonlight. He reached for a cigarette and lit it. They didn’t speak. Finally, the cigarette finished, he flipped it out of the window and started the engine.

She looked at him in surprise. “Where are we going?”

“I’m taking you home,” he said sullenly.

“Why?”

“You know why.”

“Because I’m not in the mood to neck?”

“Not only that.”

“What else then?”

He glanced at her, his voice filled with resentment. “I was coming home from the club after work last night and I saw you with Mr. Thornton. You were driving.”

She smiled. “Of course. He doesn’t drive.”

“But he had his arm along the seat behind you. You were laughing. You never laugh with me anymore.”

“He was probably saying something funny,” she said.

“It wasn’t only that. I saw the way you were looking at him. Real sexy like.”

“Oh, Bernie.” Suddenly she felt her face flushing. She hoped he would not see it in the dark. It was not until then that she realized how excited she’d been. She knew she had not been able to sleep until she had eased the feeling inside her, but she had not related it to Mr. Thornton.

“Don’t give me that ‘Oh, Bernie’ crap,” he said, annoyed.

“You’re jealous,” she said. “You have no right to be jealous. Mr. Thornton and I are good friends. He’s helping me with my writing.”

“Oh, sure. A man like him’s going to bother with a kid writer.”

“That’s true,” she said heatedly. “He thinks I’m pretty good. And he even talks to me about his work.”

“Does he tell you about all those wild parties in Hollywood?”

“He doesn’t go to any wild parties,” she said. “He just goes there to work.”

“Oh, yeah?”

She didn’t answer.

“I might have figured it,” he said, bitterly. “First you had the hots for the son, now the old man. Maybe he’s the one you wanted all along. I remember that time you met him on the bus. You were wetting your pants even then.”

“I was not!”

“You were too,” he insisted. “Too bad I didn’t know then what I know now. Maybe people ain’t so crazy after all. Everybody in town sees the way you go around teasing—not wearing a brassiere and all that. In a way I don’t blame Walt or what he thought.”

Now she was angry. “Is that why you see me?”

“If that’s what you think, I won’t see you.”

“That’s okay with me,” she snapped.

“It’s okay with me too,” he muttered. He stopped the car in front of her house.

She got out without a word and slammed the door. “JeriLee!” he called after her. But she went into the house without looking back.

Her father looked up from the television set as she came in. “Was that Bernie?” he asked.

“Yes.”

He saw the expression on her face. “Is there anything wrong?”

“No. He’s just stupid, that’s all. I’m not going to see him anymore.”

He watched her march up the steps to her room, then turned back to the television set. But his mind wasn’t really on the late show. He had a real problem to solve. The state bank examiners were due any day and something in the maze of accounts there was almost three hundred thousand dollars missing, most of it from Walter Thornton’s account.

Chapter 19

Mr. Carson looked down at the sheet in front of him. “Did you check all the transfer vouchers?”

“Yes, sir,” John said.

“What about bank cable advices?”