The Rebellion of Yale Marratt (76 page)

 

 

Coleman smiled. "According to Mat Chilling, if you really loved him you
wouldn't resent that. What you might resent was that as a person he did
not love you."

 

 

"You mean so long as he professed to love me, he could love anyone else
he might he attracted to?"

 

 

"Not professed, but actually did love you."

 

 

"Balls. Would Yale accept it, if Anne went to bed with you? Would he be
all sweetness and light? I doubt it. Yet, what right has Yale to have
two women?"

 

 

Coleman shrugged. "You'll have to read Chilling's book. Actually you
equate loving a person with having sexual intercourse with him. Anne
loves me. I love her and Cindar. While I might be agreeable to enticing
them into the sack, if I could, believe it or not they want to reserve
that intimacy for Yale. But I care for them . . ." He grinned. "Just as
I care for you. You are a very pretty woman."

 

 

Barbara got up. She realized again that she was nude. She noticed that
Coleman was surveying her body very carefully. She blushed and walked
away, thinking how silly she must look.

 

 

He didn't follow her. Barbara wondered what Coleman was thinking. Probably
awful things. Then reluctantly she admitted that even while they were
talking so calmly she had a quick picture of herself being held by him
in a close sexual embrace.

 

 

Barbara approached the rest of the group. Agatha Latham was sitting
in a wicker chair with a back so high that it gave its occupant a
regal appearance. The rest were sprawled on straw mats, beach chairs,
or cushions in a semi-circle listening to her, as if she were holding
court, and this motley, half-naked group sitting at her feet were her
serfs. As Barbara sat down next to Yale, Agatha eyed her imperiously,
but she kept on talking in a surprisingly strong voice.

 

 

"I've had plenty of time to read Mat Chilling's book and think about
it," Agatha said, "and I have seen your advertising plans. I just want
to say, Yale Marratt, that I'm enjoying what you are doing. But I'm
an old lady and my long life has convinced me that if you expect to
change the world you won't do it by appealing to the better instincts
of man. Your ideas are too Utopian. You have too high a faith in the
goodness of individual men and man in general. Most men would rather
grovel in the mud. The leaders to whom they give their utmost are the
leaders with a high-sounding idea rooted in sadism. Look at what Hitler
did with Nietzsche's idea of a superman. He created an Aryan world with
a superiority complex. It became more fun to make lampshades out of Jews,
than to accept a stranger as your brother. . . ."

 

 

Sam Higgins burst out laughing. "That's what I've been telling Yale.
He thinks he's a twentieth-century jet-propelled Jesus Christ. When this
campaign breaks, there are going to be groups all over the country ready
to nail him to any handy cross. Ye gods, a million dollars to promote a
book . . . and such a book . . . something is bound to explode, and my
guess is unpleasantly. . . ."

 

 

"And wait until Cynthia and Anne really have a falling out," Clara
interrupted. "This namby-pamby niceness of two women adoring one man,
willing to share him, is a bit thick to me!" She got up and walked over
to the bar to make herself another drink. "Sam may not be the best in the
world but I wouldn't share him. Only a slutty woman would share her man."

 

 

Barbara gasped at the remark. Cynthia said nothing but the expression
on her face showed distaste. Sam tried to pass it off. "Clara didn't
mean that, kids. She just gets too blunt when she's drinking."

 

 

Anne got up. She followed Clara to the bar. "You think we're kind
of sappy, don't you?" she asked her softly. "The kind of adjustment
that you would expect Cindar or me to make, is for one of us to leave
Yale. That's the brave modern solution. The trouble with most females is
. . . they are little bitches like you who think the thing between their
legs is an indescribable treasure. . . ." With incredible swiftness Anne
snatched at Clara's bra with one hand and with the other whipped off
the panties of Clara's Bikini bathing suit. "Now, baby," Anne laughed,
"you look a little less like my idea of a slut."

 

 

Screaming, Clara attacked Anne. She tried to claw her. Everyone started
yelling at once. Yale moved with precision. In a second, he reached Clara
. . . swept her into his arms, and ran with her to the pool. When she
realized what was going to happen to her, Clara stopped screaming and
yelled, "Sam! Stop him! Stop him! He's going to drown me!" She pounded
at Yale's chest. "You rotten bastard, let me down."

 

 

At the edge of the pool, Yale smiled, and said to her softly: "You are
acting disgracefully, Clara. This will cool you off a little." He tossed
her in. She went under, swearing obscenely, and then came up sputtering.

 

 

Sam patted Yale on the back. "She'd like it better if I tried to punch
your nose," he said, "but damned if I don't think she deserved it."

 

 

 

 

 

 

9

 

 

Later, when Yale followed Cynthia and Anne upstairs to their bedroom to
get dressed for an evening cook-out on the back patio, Cynthia admitted
that her silence and preoccupation was due to the fact that she was worried.

 

 

"I don't care about Clara. She had it coming to her," Cynthia said as
she lifted her baby from her crib, "but I still don't think that you
two can act that way and get away with it. You were both lucky that it
didn't end in a free-for-all."

 

 

Entranced, as he always was when he watched Cindar nurse Adar, Yale said
nothing. Talking softly, Cynthia placed her nipple in the baby's mouth.
In a second Adar was sucking happily and kneading Cynthia's breast with
her tiny fingers.

 

 

Anne lay on their huge canopied bed with Ricky noisily gurgling into
his bottle beside her.

 

 

"You worry too much, Cindar," Anne said. "Aunt Agatha was positively
delighted. She told me that she was acquainted with several Belmont ladies
who could benefit from a similar dunking. I think she's planning to ask
you if she could invite them down here for a few weeks to stay with her,"
Anne grinned. She changed the subject. "You know, Yale. when I see you
watch Cindar nursing and see the glazed look of awe that comes into your
eyes, I get jealous. I wish I hadn't stopped nursing Ricky so soon."

 

 

Yale jumped up. He grabbed Ricky, who had finished his bottle, and to
Ricky's delight swung him around in the air. Finally, Yale plunked Ricky
in his crib, and made several crazy faces while he murmured silly baby
conversation at him. Then, before Anne could jump away from him, Yale
grabbed her . . . rolled her over, and cracked her smartly on her bare
fanny. "That's what happens to jealous women," he said, laughing. He
started to tickle her until she was gasping for breath. She begged him
to stop. Cynthia watched them, smiling.

 

 

Yale lay on the bed beside Anne. He grinned at Cynthia. "Don't look so
smug," he said. "You're next. Just as soon as you finish with Adar. Do
you know what Cindar told me last night?" he asked Anne. "She said that
she couldn't help but be a little jealous of you. After all you have
given me a son, and she has brought nothing to our house except a baby
girl who belongs to some other man." Yale chuckled. "I'm going to start
following you two around. You must be listening to those soap operas on
the radio. Where else could you pick up such hearts-and-flowers dialogue?"

 

 

Cynthia had finished nursing Adar. She put her back in her crib. Then
she pattered swiftly across the room and landed with a thud on Yale's
chest. She bit his shoulder. He yelled with pain.

 

 

"There. I told you not to tell Anne," Cynthia said. Crouching back on his
stomach, she plucked a few hairs out of his chest. "The trouble with this
marriage is that no one has any secrets!"

 

 

"That's the only thing that makes it possible! And you know it.
No secrets . . ." Yale said. He tried to grab her around the neck and
pull her forward, on top of him, but she ducked out of his grasp.

 

 

Whenever Cynthia or Anne raised any question about their living together
Yale started the formula which they all repeated with mock seriousness.

 

 

"Are you happy, Cindar?"

 

 

Cynthia smiled. "You're the best thing on the horizon so far!"

 

 

"Are you happy, Anne?"

 

 

Anne giggled. "I haven't received any other offers yet."

 

 

"Are you happy, Yale?" they chorused.

 

 

"It could be worse." He groaned. "I could have three women!"

 

 

They both grabbed him and looked at him ferociously. "You better not
try it, chum!"

 

 

The three of them lay on the bed, listening to the put-put sounds of
a power lawn mower. While everyone was resting or getting dressed for
the cookout, Ralph Weeks was evidently mowing the west lawn. Silently,
they watched the early evening shadows gather in the corners of the
room. Yale liked the twilight part of the day. He luxuriated in the
warmth and femininity that Anne and Cynthia had created in their huge
bedroom. The light French provincial furniture, he thought, blended
surprisingly well with Martha Weeks' canopied bed. Yale knew that Cynthia
and Anne were reluctant to get dressed and face the evening trying to
entertain a sullen Clara.

 

 

After her dunking Clara had come out of the pool sobbing and furious.
She had grabbed her robe, and had run back to the house. Sam had followed
her. Their departure put an uncomfortable edge on the afternoon.

 

 

Sarah and Harry Cohen decided that since it was nearly four o'clock they
had better leave. With the impending strike at the Marratt plant Harry
admitted that he had a lot of loose ends to tie together.

 

 

"I wanted to talk with you a little more about it," Harry said quietly
to Yale when he was sure that Barbara couldn't hear him. "But when your
sister came in I thought we better get off the subject. Your father may
or may not know. Chances are he has a pretty good idea . . . but there's
no sense of tipping him off if he doesn't." Harry had smiled. "I'm sorry
about things piling up on you like this . . . but there's no way I can
stop now."

 

 

Yale told him that there was no relationship between the publication of
the book and the strike.

 

 

"Well, you know your father . . ." Harry said. "Barbara will tell him
that I was here . . . obviously, a friend . . . and then he'll read the
book or see the publicity on it and zowie . . ." As he left Harry told
him he hoped that Clara wouldn't create a mess.

 

 

"Anne and Cynthia will just have to disregard what she said." Harry
shrugged. "You're going to find out, Yale, that people won't let you live
your life without interference. I have no opinions on your marriage,
but I think you are sitting on a bomb, and lighting matches too close
to the fuse."

 

 

Barbara and Bob Coleman left a few minutes later. When she was dressed
again and bidding good-bye, Barbara said to Yale, "You think you're quite
a man with the women, don't you, chum? If you want some sisterly advice
. . . if I were you I'd confine myself to the more pliable type. You'll
never get to first base with Clara."

 

 

Yale knew that Barbara probably would report her experiences to Pat and
Liz in detail. He guessed that she was probably pleased with the fiasco
that Clara had created.

 

 

Peoples McGroaty asked Yale how long Sam and Clara were staying. Yale told
him they would be with them at least until Wednesday. Peoples shook his
head. He told Yale that Clara was trouble. "Wouldn't it be better if she
and Sam stayed in town at a hotel, or one of the new motels on the New York
road?"

 

 

Yale disagreed. "Clara is all right, Peoples. She's like most people
in the world who live strictly by their emotions. Running a newspaper
. . . you should know . . . it's much easier to hate what you don't
understand than to make the mental effort to understand." Yale smiled.
"Don't worry, we'll straighten her out."

 

 

Peoples told Barbara, while Yale listened, that Yale worried him.
"His idealism frightens me. It would be a bit sticky and unbelievable
if it weren't so intense. He reminds me a lot of Mat Chilling except that
Mat was passive by comparison. Yale has such a terrible sense of mission.
He holds up a bright mirror and we are bewildered to look into it and see
our own cowardice."

 

 

Yale rubbed his toes against Cynthia's, and then against Anne's ankles.
"Are we all ashamed to see Clara again?" he asked them. He stared into
the shadowed canopy of the bed.

 

 

Cynthia answered first. "I'm not ashamed, Yale, and I don't think Anne is.
Whether it is wrong or right, morally, for us to live together, doesn't
bother me. I'm convinced that for us it is the best solution. What does
frighten me is that you seem so determined to make us a public spectacle.
If our lives were very private, we might get away with it. This way I think
we are heading for trouble."

 

 

Yale disagreed. "Not a public spectacle, Cindar . . . but not hiding
and living in fear either."

 

 

"Well, anyway, neither you nor Anne makes any attempt at concealment.
I think you are both too brash. I feel the way you both do, but I don't
believe in advertising our love. You are too trusting of people's reactions.
Even the people you have invited here Sundays have different ideas than we
have. I talked with Barbara before she went home. She had fun . . . but she
was shocked . . . being naked . . . what she calls our bigamy . . . just
wait until she reads