Vida (6 page)

Who was Cahoon? It must be a local case. “Maybe you could show it to me?” Was
we
Susannah too? “A big house you rented?”

“Nah, a shack. In back of another house two blocks from the bay. Paper walls and hot and cold running ants.”

She heard herself laugh, realizing she was a little drunk. The zinfandel was good, and she had had three glasses without considering, on top of the sherry. Her head was floating. She never drank now, and the wine had gone straight to her brain and then suffused through her body. What presents he had bought her!—wine and cheese and a fancy meal at Lundy’s and a night in a beautiful clean motel by the real ocean, the Atlantic, and his body and his voice and his presence and his love. She felt cherished, coddled, enveloped in caring. Rain pattered on the roof, gurgled in the eaves, but she was out of the storm for once and snug …

The first time, the very first time he had brought her to his apartment, she had expected the usual bachelor grubbiness. He had one room and it was untidy, but he had sat her down on the couch, given her an aperitif— something she had never heard of at the time, and in memory it remained something absolutely exotic staining her tongue with fruit and fragrances and hidden herbs—and gone to prepare a fettuccine Alfredo with a salad whose dressing he made in his blender and garlic bread he slathered with something he told her was pesto di basilico. She was more than impressed. He was politically correct; he was Leigh Pfeiffer of the spring mobilization; he was smart and witty and brave and a marshal at peace parades. And the first man who had ever cooked for her. He knew how to live very, very well on fifty a week.

She had not quite decided that evening whether she was going to let herself succumb to him or not. She was waiting for the pass. But after they had eaten and eaten, he said, “We’re much too full to enjoy making love. Let’s go take a walk by the river. It’s gorgeous outside, and we can have an espresso in a while. After all, we have the whole night. We even have the morning.”

She had been finessed. That neatly. She appreciated the ease of the maneuver even as she resigned herself to it. But wickedly she said, “If you never ask, nobody ever says no. Right?”

How he had grinned at her, swinging around in the doorway, lithe and skinny with his satyr beard pointing at her and those marvelous light eyes glinting into hers. “You want to say no? Go ahead. Supper’s on the house.”

She didn’t want to say no. Then or now. They were still mated; they were still married. The Network was in a slack period, a phase that scared and threatened her, but might nonetheless give her the freedom to choose to live within commuting distance of Leigh once again. She was beginning to think about programs to propose at the annual Board meeting, more important this year than it was usually because of the widespread sense she had picked up on her way from L.A. that the Network was drifting perilously.

In Cincinnati people had been excited by the pirate-TV technology, but in Omaha the fugitives were doing nothing more progressive than study groups and infighting. It had taken her a week to get the two factions to speak to each other again. Back in Denver the fugitives had had V.D. scare, and nobody was sleeping with anybody and depression was being passed along like a flu bug. She had put them on paramilitary discipline with hikes and target practice, but it was only a holding action.

Perhaps she could propose some kind of action centered on pirate media and get Leigh involved. It would be good for him politically. Then they would share work and begin anew to share a life. Eva would like such a project. Vida was always trying to come up with some new way that Eva’s music could be used and thus given some place of importance in their world. Eva had been cut off from an audience for years. Involve Eva’s music, involve Leigh’s knowledge of radio and print media (she had a quick image of counterfeit editions of newspapers, the editorial page-through clandestinely replaced). Involve the Network in a lively new project that would jolt everyone out of depression and lethargy and infighting! Cheek pressed against Leigh’s arm and lips to his warm skin, whose fur tickled her, she lay plotting changes.

3

Vida was always a little nervous in public with Leigh, for he had the habit of commanding and the willingness to confront when service was not up to his specifications. On the other hand, he could be charming, and that sometimes ended up worse, making him the center of local attention. He was chatting with the woman at the desk about what was open for breakfast.

“Oh, if you and your”—the woman glanced at her hand—”‘wife’ want a nice breakfast, the Surf Clam’s open early”“ As Vida walked after Leigh, the woman looked her over: Vida could feel the hostile gaze like a crab scuttling across her back. Mrs. Pine-Acres wanted to run a family business. No whores, no fugitives, no clandestine rendezvous. She had to remember to dig out that worn gold band she had in her pack—not her own wedding ring, symbolically thrown into the sea at the Battery that day in ‘68, but Ruby’s old wedding ring from her first marriage to Tom, Vida’s father. With her husband, she had forgotten to wear it.

The Surf Clam at seven thirty was almost deserted. A group of fishermen warming up from the raw wind, a family on their way to or from church, a couple having a quiet spat in a booth, their eyes glaring over pursed lips and stiffly held menus.

“Mrs. Pine-Acres thought we were pitching illicit woo in her nice big bed” Vida said, playing with envelopes of sugar on the beige Formica table-top. Pictures of famous women on the packets. Clara Barton. Julia Ward Howe.

“Should I be boldly wicked and order waffles? Probably frozen. Pancakes? I’d face the calories if the taste was right … Reminds me, talked to your lawyer lately?”

“No” She did not have any reason to he in touch with the law firm and hadn’t yet checked the drop she used.

“Oh … So they didn’t tell you the divorce is finally coming through?” Leigh high-signed the waitress, who was elbows on the counter deep in conversation with a young man in a slicker.

“It is?” Now she remembered that they had vaguely discussed the possibility of eventual divorce in April. Once or twice before he had begun proceedings, but dropped them. “You had a lot of heat on you lately?”

“Almost none. I assume the phone’s tapped—we’ve always lived that way. But not bad. Here she comes: at long last, service.”

They ordered. The waitress poured coffee and left. A Jeep stopped outside and a man came to order coffee to go.

Leigh continued, “The Feds check me once in a while, fill out their routine forms. Julio tells me when they been by.”

“He’s still there!” Julio, one of the janitors in their building, had always kept them cued to surveillance. “How is he?”

“Julio’s got bleeding ulcers. He’s on some medication that makes him feel lousy, but without it he could die … Every so often there’s a flurry. I don’t mean to imply I’m a forgotten man. Last May when I was doing a piece on the longshoremen, I was tailed for a couple of weeks. Thought it was the Red Squad or the Feds, but my God, it was the Mafia! I was flattered”

“Be careful when you go back. With Kevin busted, it may heat up. I guess disavowing me legally might help, but they’ll likely continue to watch you when they get active in wanting me.”

He glared. The waitress brought his pancakes and her eggs, keeping him quiet until she had gone again. Then he said in a low grating voice, “They’d watch me if you’d never done anything more exciting than knit argyles,
Vinnie.
I’m one of the most prominent media voices on the left. They watch me for
me.”

Oh, my, she thought, what provoked that? “Of course, sweetheart. Everybody knows your broadcast journalism. But sometimes you get extra heat from me when you least expect it … How come you suddenly decided to go ahead with the … ?”

“The what?” he asked stubbornly when she trailed off. “The piece on the longshoremen?”

“The legal proceedings.”

“Ah, babes, we talked about that so many times. I can’t explain to Susannah why I stay married to you. Listen, we have to clear this up. I want to be able to tell her about you.”

“No,” she said levelly, sitting upright and methodically eating her eggs.

“She doesn’t know where in hell I am this weekend. She thinks I’m in bloody Chicago, and she’s going to be wondering why I haven’t called her. I lied to her all week. I’m going to have to lie to her when I go home again.”

“Lying now and then is something we all have to get used to,” she said, chopping her eggs fine.

”Why lie to
her?
She’d understand.”

“I never met the lady. Why take chances?” Vida tore a piece from her English muffin and mopped at the yolk. The muffin felt like bits of furniture stuffing in her mouth.

“Damn it, Vida, do you want to meet her?”

“Could you remember my name?” Vida sipped her coffee, carefully placed the cup on the Formica. The liquid was lukewarm and acid in her throat. “I have no need to meet her. In no way would her knowledge that you see me help me survive or accomplish any political purpose. Or am I missing something?”

“You’re jealous of her!” He sat back grinning.

“I’m jealous of her. Of course. But whether or not I am, I must act rationally or I won’t continue to survive. Jealousy would lead me to insist you tell her I’m still your … lover, that we see each other, that I’m still in your life, that I want to be with you. That the only reason I’m not with you is because they won’t let me be. But caution and the desire to survive and the accumulated political wisdom of the Network lead me to tell you that she cannot know.”

“She’s not about to talk to anybody else. I think making her suspicious of me is far more dangerous”

“I don’t. Surely you can handle that. You’ve always been skilled at keeping space for yourself … Did I ever demand you account to me in any way? Surely she trusts you.”

“Sure she trusts me, and here I am letting her down.”

“Leigh, it seems important to you right now to tell this lover, but you’ve had many women over the years. Suppose you’d told every one of them about me? Suppose you’d told just half of them?”

“I never wanted to. I wasn’t living with them.”

“You lived with some on and off. Remember Fran? And you have wanted to tell before, Leigh. You wanted to tell Lohania.”

“That was different”

“Right. Lohania had more real interest. But not enough for me to let you do it … Leigh, all relationships feel permanent when they’re good. But usually they end. We’ve been close for thirteen years, and that counts for something in how I trust you.” She was aware that under the obvious argument she was debating him about the sudden importance of Susannah, of a relationship which had been one of three diversions in March and which now represented a surrogate wife, a hearth goddess. “You can’t tell how long your affair with Susannah may last”

”It’s pretty real.” His voice was low and surly. He squished his remaining pancake around the plate. “We’ve been involved for a year already. I can tell what I want, Vinnie. I’ve never had any trouble telling what I want and what I don’t want.”

“Right, and the hot lover you want in October is frequently the nagging bitch you’re bored with by January”‘ She heard her voice rapping out and drew a deep breath. This was Leigh, not an enemy. “I don’t want you to be lonely. God knows how long our separation is going to last. But you can’t gamble politically that this new affair will be there in two years. You can’t gamble with others’ lives and freedom that you won’t do something to infuriate her, that you won’t walk out in a huff. That one of you won’t fall madly in love with somebody else … You’re a wonderful man. A woman may do and be anything for a while to please you. But small incompatibilities swell into large ones over time—”

“Sometimes people get closer. She’s not pleasing me. She’s a strong woman too in her own way.”

“How old is she?”

“Twenty-six. She’s mature. She’s not a kid, if that’s what you’re getting at.” He was absolutely furious.

She was glad Natalie couldn’t overhear the conversation, because she felt guilty enough about trying to undermine Susannah; but Susannah was young and free. What could Leigh mean to her? “Leigh, I can’t let you tell her. Next year we can review the situation. But I don’t even know what she’s into politically. Have you ever really checked her out?”

“V— … Vinnie! I’ve been living with the woman!”

“We all felt close to Randy, and he was more than an informer, he was an agent! Leigh, I don’t want to upset you. A security check is a nasty business. Only you can’t make what’s a purely political judgment on a purely sexual basis”

“It isn’t purely sexual!” But he was looking a little shaken. He would think for a while that it might be.

“I can tell you care about her, and I’m sure she’s crazy about you.” She made herself smile. “How many women have wanted to marry you over my dead body these thirteen years? That’s not a basis for bringing her into the Network!”

As they walked out of the restaurant, the sky was a blurred watery blue. They could hear foghorns moaning; a wall of cotton batting stood out to sea, but the sun was burning off the overcast. The day felt washed and hung out to dry. Leigh took her hand as they scrambled down to the beach. Now she understood what had been going on between them in Lundy’s. He had felt guilty. He had been living as a couple with Susannah. When Vida and Leigh had lived together, he had always needed to be open with her about his sexual encounters; he had wanted to carry back experiences and observations and problems to her. Thus even the other friends and lovers they had became part of their common experience.