Gay Place (50 page)

“I love you …”

He looked at her, trying to keep the right expression on his face.

“Well, I’m certain I feel pretty much the same way.”

“Lie down with me here. Would you? For a little while?”

He slid down the length of the bed and lay against her. Her breath was sweet and he knew his must be a horror. She put her arms round his neck and moved around so that her skirt was nearly up to her hips; he could catch a glimpse of her nice skin as he put his face against hers. The sun was streaming in through the blinds, and in this nearly perfect audaciousness they were conscious of the children’s voices ringing in the streets and the pots and pans being knocked about in the kitchen, Morton Gould on the radio and her mother and father sitting quietly together downstairs waiting for them to appear. She opened the front of her blouse and brought his face down against her small, soft-curving breasts. He was reminded of years past, years long forgotten, and the splendor and recklessness and intensity of late afternoon loves …

“A
NDREA … ANDREA, DEAR. THERE’S
some company to see you …”

Her mother’s voice sang to them, footsteps hesitating on the stair. Andrea rolled over him.

“All right — I’ll be down …”

Then she rolled back and they lay side by side trying to recapture whatever special emotion there had been for them. It seemed to be passing them by, just barely, and they clung to the heavy languor of the moment as if it had been the real thing and they had won it for themselves.

Presently, she leaned over and kissed him on the side of his face and got to her feet, straightening her clothes. Her throat and forehead shone in the withering heat of the early afternoon and small streaks of perspiration were coming through the back of her blouse. She looked at herself critically in the mirror.

“God! I can’t go down there looking like this. Could you see who it is?”

She looked lovely with her face and forehead shining and her hair damply matted, and he told her this. But at the same time he slipped his shoes on and started downstairs.

The sound of Stanley’s voice was a relief, and it was not until he had reached the bottom and turned into the main room that he realized Elsie was with him, talking with Andrea’s mother about the insect pictures. Stanley looked like death, but it was apparent he had come to terms with the condition. He wore a fresh suit and was making an effort to keep his mouth from going slack, and he did not complain. He stood a short distance away, staring at Andrea’s painting — the amalgam of Neil and John Tom — her cosmic lover, her legendary poet-politician folk hero.

He turned to greet Neil. The complaint — the early call, the hangover, the business with Elsie the night before: which was it? — showed only in his eyes. He could not get them quite into focus.

“Hi, Dads.”

“Hello … Hello, Elsie.” She looked up, smiled nicely and nodded, holding on to the katydid photograph. It probably made absolute good sense to her.

“I’ve written you something,” Stanley said. “Want a look?”

“Yes.”

They sat on a couch and Neil made penciled notations on the copy. They did not hear Andrea reach the bottom of the stair, but he immediately detected the surprised and faintly disapproving quality in her voice. She was already being entirely
too
nice to the girl, telling her that
of course
she should dine with them; they would
love
having her. The phone business started again, and Andrea’s father looked in.

“It’s the Governor, Neil. He must of just finished his consommé.” The old man had a terrible laugh, possibly the result of it not quite being a laugh but rather a contrivance of high-pitched grunts put together in sequence, wheezing and dreadful. He seemed determined not to show his teeth for fear they might shoot right out of his head.

“Neil. Any plans yet?”

“Some. I’m going back tonight.”

“Ah. You been bothered much this morning?”

“Yes. The goddam phone …”

“I’ve been getting some for you the last hour or so and having them transferred out there. Anything interesting?”

“No …” He thought a moment. “The papers. I’m working on a statement to give them now.”

“Anything particular you wanted to say?”

“No. Not really.”

“Then I’d suggest you hold off. Go out of business for the day …”

“All right.”

“… Piss on the fire and go home …”

“Okay …”

“Unless Edwards comes up with something. I don’t think he will. He’s trying like the devil. I understand he’s been calling the newsmen, instead of the other way around. See? You’re ahead without even opening your mouth.”

“That’s fine. I didn’t much like the idea of popping off anyhow after so much in the papers this —”

“Well listen — what I called you about … There’s a Mexican going to call you. Probably soon, as we hang up. He called me and I gave him your number, but then I got in ahead of him.”

“Who is it?”

“A Mexican.”

“From Mexico?”

“No, goddammit, hell no. American of Spanish descent. You like that better? Enrique García López. Henry. You know Henry?”

“Yes.” He remembered Henry in the Legislature and as a city judge and later as a
patrón,
a new political leader of the machine-vote counties to the south.

“Well listen — you be careful what you say to that slant-eyed bastard. He’ll probably want to make a deal.”

“What kind?”

“I don’t know. But be careful. He’s a goddam bandit.”

“Do we need him?”

“Hell yes we need him. Every goddam vote we can scrape up. But don’t promise to make him Secretary of State or anything. He’s just liable to ask for that. For a starter.”

He gave a great laugh of satisfaction.

“All right,” Neil said.

“Hey — one other thing. You really leaving tonight?”

“Yes.”

“Could you get by here to see me in the next hour?”

“Oh, hell —
listen
— This is my
last day here.
You understand? I’ve been tied up every minute of —”

“Okay,
okay.
Can I come by there?”

“Well … sure. Happy to have —”

“Be about fifteen minutes. That all right? I won’t stay long.”

He could hear the children being summoned from next door and the dinner being set out on the table. In another room Andrea was still full of false enthusiasm for Elsie. Elsie was giving it to her right back, playing the innocent.

“You can’t talk about it on the phone?”

“No.”

The Governor rang off. Before Neil had reached the other room they were called in to eat. Andrea stood at one end of the table and advised where they should take their seats. The girls were quietly stuffing themselves in the kitchen, and he went in to say hello. They showed enormous appetites, dead tired and emotionless from the excitement of the morning, scarcely interested in any dinnertime conversation. He tried desperately for a few minutes to tell them something, but even if he had known what it was he wanted to say there was some doubt whether he would have ever got through to them.

“You find all the eggs?”

“Yes.”

“Where were they hidden?”

“Yard.”

“Did you have a good Easter?”

“Yes. Grandma froze a butterfly.”

“Yes,” he said. “She sure did.”

“And a bumblebee!” said the younger sister.

The older set her fork down and began suddenly to cry. Neil was frantic.

“What’s wrong, honey? What is it?”

“There’s nothing to
do
.”

“Yes there is …”

“What?”

“… There’s …”

“Nothing!”

“There’s the park. After the naps perhaps we can all —”

The older one continued to cry.

“I want to freeze a bug,” the younger one said, looking up impatiently. Andrea came into the kitchen to speak to the children for a moment. Then she looked at him.

“I think that’s very nice.”

“What?”

“Elsie. You didn’t tell me she’s going to Washington …”

She went back to her seat at the dining table. Neil joined them and served himself. He spoke to Stanley about the decision against any statement for the papers. The old man discussed cattle and the dubious quality of the beef they were being served. The grandmother described her new Leica camera. The phone rang again.

He tried to get Andrea’s attention, but she avoided his gaze. He wondered if it were possible to get past the loneliness, the little terrors that isolated them all and were now nearly beyond comprehension. They had perpetrated such violences against one another — was there some twilight court where sentences for these crimes were miraculously, blessedly commuted? Just when you had thought a healing had set in, one of them laughed or coughed or hiccupped and the tissue tore away … He reached for the phone.

“Hello.”

“Neel? Neel Creestawnsawn?”

“Hello, Henry.”

Enrique García López bragged on him some. They talked about the time they had worked together, years ago, on legislation — never close to passage — setting up minimum housing requirements for migratory farm laborers.

“Neel?”

“Yes.”

“You got it wrapped up dawn here, boy.”

“Good … Good.”

“Mawst be like that ahverwhare.”

“I hope so, Henry. I sure hope so.”

“You think you’ll be needing my votes?”

“Well …”

“Ah doan think so. Ah think you could do without us. Spicking frankly.”

“I’m not so sure. I thought you said …”

“Sure. We’re for you, Neel. Hawndred per cent. Tell me what you need and I’ll get it for you.”

“I don’t know what
amount
I need, Henry. It’s just that —”

“That prick Adwards — he’s struck gold or sawmthing.”

“What?”

“He wants-a deal with me.”

“What, Henry?”

“That prick Adwards — he’s damn fool, Neel, you know that? — he’s offer me five thousand.”

“For what?”

“The votes. To deliver the cawnties.”

“Well, damn, Henry … I don’t think I could make it without you. Or perhaps I could. But I’d like to have you with me.”

“Ah’m with you, boy. All the way. You can be sure of that thing. But I was figuring if you got any to spare you might make it without some of mine. That way I could accept that crazy man’s money — and I need it, Neel. Ah got a little debt.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean you got the votes here if you need them. But they goin’ to Adwards, otherwhise. And if it gets too close I can always ring in a few thousand more votes Ah got. Secretly registered. Just for you. We got great pawtential down here.”

They talked some more and then ended the conversation without anything being definitely decided. The others had moved back into the main room, and Emma was clearing the dishes. The children had been taken up to bed.

“Godalmighty,” he heard the old man say. “It’s the Governor again.”

Arthur Fenstemaker came through the door, grinning hugely at everyone and looking as if he might at any moment circle the room in a compulsion of handclasps and vault up the stairs to kiss the children. He did kiss Andrea on the side of the face and squeezed her mother’s arm until the older woman began to turn red at the neck and laugh, nervously and for no reason, at everything the Governor said. The Governor stood glaring at Elsie for a moment, repeating his promise to visit her in the bookstore and make a purchase.

“But she won’t be there,” Andrea said gaily. “She’s leaving us just as soon as Stanley finds her a job in Washington.”

“Cut that stuff out, Stanley,” the Governor said. He took Neil’s arm and they went into the study. They sat in two big chairs and lit cigarettes.

“First thing when you get back, I want you to see some people for me.”

“All right.”

“First thing. Otherwise, we’ve got a disaster on our hands.”

“What’s it all about.”

“A lynchin’.”

“What?”

“Well. Almost.” The overstatement and then the qualification seemed to make Fenstemaker feel a little better. “Not really, but pretty much the same thing. A month ago this sheriff and two or three deputies and some others tied a colored man to a tree and beat him to death. With chains.”

“I haven’t heard about
any
of this.
Last month?
How did —”

“Only because I been sittin’ on it five weeks. I heard about it soon’s it happened. They were tryin’ to hush it up down there, but you don’t really ever hush up anything like that. I sent some people in to look around and then I got a couple Rangers to make an investigation. It didn’t take them long. They had the whole story for me in about a week. It’s a goddam mess. I’d like to go down there and lay some chain on a couple of those sonsofbitches …”

The Governor went into further detail. He explained how they had documented the case and were prepared to turn it over to the District Attorney.

“What do you want me to do?”

“I want you to see these people in Washington. They’ve heard about it, too. We came across a couple of their investigators asking questions all over the town. The Rangers told them they had the case nailed down and sent them back. So they know about it there.”

“What’s the problem?”

“The problem is that nothing’s going to happen. No charges, no nothin’. Nothin’ at all. And when they hear about it up there they’ll raise an awful goddam stink.”

“I should think so. What do you mean nothing will happen?”

“Well, nothin’ right off. The thing is, there’s this Judge and this D.A. and I don’t trust either one. They’re liable to put the case before a grand jury and recommend they forget all about it. They’re not exactly in mournin’ over that nigger.”

“Well for God’s sake, Arthur … What do you plan to do about it?”

“I’ll get ’em. One way or another — those two and the whole damn bunch of them are going to pay and pay and pay …”

“But what about a
trial?
Isn’t there even going to be an
indictment
?”

“… And pay,” the Governor said. “I’m going to turn them inside out. Maybe the whole goddam town while I’m at it. There may be an indictment — I
think
there will be. Who the hell knows? Maybe even a conviction. But it’s going to take time to get the thumbscrews tightened on them. And there won’t be time for anything if those people in Washington start screaming at me. You get some more of their investigators down here and we’ll have a riot. And if I don’t get some action taken in court, we’re going to have some mean goddam legislation jammed down our throats or up our behinds or however you prefer to look at it.”