McMurtry, Larry - Novel 05 (39 page)

 
          
 
"No woman likes to be caught in the act,
either,'* she said. "
Particularly if she's got a
daughter like Belinda."

 
          
 
Actually we had only managed to get undressed
in the most basic areas.

 
          
 
"She's got an instinct for
hanky-panky," Jean added. "Only there hasn't been any for so long she
may have lost it."

 
          
 
After a bit she went up to the bathroom and
came down wearing a blue bathrobe. She was extremely appealing and I grew
hopeful of more lovemaking, but Jean seemed rather reserved. She was listening.
Some instinct had been awakened. After a bit she tucked her robe about her,
very demurely. A moment later Belinda appeared at the foot of the stairs,
clutching her beaver.

 
          
 
"You shutted my door," she said to
her mother.

 
          
 
"We were thinking of playing some
records," Jean said. "We didn't want to wake you up."

 
          
 
Belinda came over and crawled up in her
mother's lap. Jean attempted to smooth out a few of her curls, an impossible
task.

 
          
 
"Is he spending the night?" Belinda
asked.

 
          
 
"Nope," Jean said. "Wanta kick
him out?"

 
          
 
Belinda yawned. "Don't care," she
said. She buried her face in her mother's bathrobe and was soon asleep.

 
          
 
"Where's the trunk I sold you?" I
asked.

 
          
 
Jean reached across Belinda and took my hand.
"Why, it's in my bedroom, where all the really super things are," she
said.

 
          
 
"I don't guess I'm going to get to see it
tonight, am I?"

 
          
 
"I wouldn't think you'd have the
time," Jean said, dryly. "You probably ought to be getting back to
the lady you stood up."

 
          
 
"I don't think it matters whether I get
back or not," I said. "I imagine the damage is done."

 
          
 
"Oh, ho, ho," Jean said. "You
underestimate us ladies. We're forgiving creatures. We don't banish a man for
five minutes' indiscretion.

 
          
 
"Jimmy said she was engaged," she
remarked. "That seemed a little odd."

 
          
 
"Yeah," I said.
"Seems
that way to me too."

 
          
 
"Well, maybe it isn't," Jean said.
"Maybe you just like women who aren't available."

 
          
 
That was such a surprising suggestion that I
didn't answer.

 
          
 
"Seeing me with Jimmy might have given
you the notion that I wasn't particularly available, either," she said.
"Your girl friend's not quite married, and I'm not quite divorced. Maybe
that's what attracts you to us."

 
          
 
"It is not," I said. "It could
just be something normal, like your
eyes, that
attracted me to you. You have wonderful eyes."

 
          
 
Jean immediately looked
chastened,
and moved closer to me. She shifted Belinda so that her feet were in my lap. We
kissed for a bit.

 
          
 
"That's a bad thing I do," Jean
said. "I posit the abnormal in everything that happens to me, now. I guess
there's no reason why you couldn't have a normal attraction, whatever that is.
It just doesn't seem to be your pattern."

 
          
 
"I don't really have a pattern," I
said. "I just let things happen."

 
          
 
Jean gave me a dig with her elbow. "Well,
if you want to see my bedroom you're gonna have to be a little more
active," she said. "I've reached the stage where I require gentlemen
to earn their privileges."

 
          
 
"Well," I said, "I could take
you out to dinner. We could go to a movie."

 
          
 
"Keep talking," Jean said.
"You're making progress. I haven't been taken out in so long that the very
words sound quaint. Jimmy and I never went out."

 
          
 
"Why not?"

 
          
 
"Because he's too tight to spend money in
restaurants," she said. "Buying the girls
burgers
is
about as extravagant as he ever gets. He would never buy anything
that wasn't necessary to his pleasure.
Magazines, for
instance.
I think the reason I broke up with him is because he yelled
and screamed every time I bought a magazine. I happen to love to read
magazines. But Jimmy couldn't see wasting money on something you'd just throw
away in a couple of days."

 
          
 
At that point I remembered that I was
technically scheduled to leave for
New Mexico
in the morning. Of course my defection
might have turned Cindy against that plan, but if it hadn't, things looked
complicated.

 
          
 
I guess the thought of this complication made
me frown, because Jean put a hand on my forehead and rubbed gently.

 
          
 
"You just got a crease in your
brow," she said.

 
          
 
"Yeah, because I just remembered I was
supposed to go to
New Mexico
in the morning," I said. "It might interfere with my taking
you out for about a week."

 
          
 
Jean's look was rather noncommittal.

 
          
 
"We could make a date, though," I
said. "I won't be more than ten days. Why don't we make a date for ten
days from tonight?"

 
          
 
"What's in
New Mexico
?" she asked.

 
          
 
I told her all about the boots of Billy the
Kid, which fascinated her. Then we kissed some more, over the recumbent,
peacefully sleeping Belinda. I thought she might take me upstairs for the
night, which would eliminate the problem of
New Mexico
, but Jean balked.

 
          
 
"Why not?"
I said.

 
          
 
"Oh, I don't know," Jean said.
"I think I'll just keep you waiting until you take me out. It seems kind
of Victorian. It's been about five years since I was taken out. It's funny how
the most normal things come to seem the most exotic, if you stop doing
them."

 
          
 
"I guess I'm a poor judge of
people," I said. "Jimmy looked normal, the one time I saw him."

 
          
 
"Well, he's a charmer," Jean said.
"He charms everyone. He even charmed me, once upon a time. Naturally most
people think I'm to blame for everything. Even my folks think it, since he's
totally charming whenever he gets around them."

 
          
 
"Does that bother you?”

 
          
 
"Sure," she said. "You can't
win against charm. The fact that he's intensely selfish, phobically tight, and
has had girl friends practically from day one doesn't mean anything. People
look at that winning little face of his and two minutes later they're making
excuses for him."

 
          
 
Jean leaned over the back of the couch and
peeked very cautiously through the blinds.

 
          
 
"I'm sure there's a detective out there
somewhere," she said. "Jimmy can't bear to have his curiosity
thwarted. He'll spend thousands, if necessary, to find out what's going
on."

 
          
 
She draped Belinda over her shoulder and went
around peeping out windows, but of course she couldn't see a thing.

 
          
 
"Maybe the detective will follow you all
the way to New

 
          
 
Mexico
," she said, grinning. "Think how
much that will cost. Jimmy’s going to be furious."

 
          
 
Then she wished me a pleasant trip and kissed
me goodnight.

 
          
 
As I was driving through
Wheaton
I happened to pass a newsstand that was
open, so I stopped and bought her sixty dollars' worth of magazines. I bought
one of practically every magazine they had: fashion magazines, political
magazines, movie magazines. I even bought her a surfboarding magazine. Then I
tied them in a bundle and went back and left them on her porch, inside her
screen door. The house was dark but there was a faint glow from what must have
been her bedroom window—the kind of glow made by a TV set. The glow made me
wistful. I would have liked to be in bed with Jean, watching TV. I went back
and sat in my car for a while, feeling indecisive. Maybe Jean would like it if
I knocked. Maybe she was feeling wistful, too. My sudden reappearance might
come as a happy surprise.

 
          
 
On the other hand, it might make her mad as
hell. Jean hadn't looked wistful at all when she said goodnight. She had looked
cheerful and friendly. Now she was probably just lying in bed watching a late
movie, not missing me or anyone. I kept sort of hoping the glow would go out,
so I would know she was definitely asleep, but it didn't and I finally just
drove off, feeling very half and half.

 
          
 
I drove all the way to
Washington
fantasizing about what might have happened
if I had gone back and knocked on Jean's door. In fantasy the gamble was wildly
successful and led to a night of passion and coziness in 4he mysterious bedroom
containing the wonderful dower chest. I knew it was only a fantasy, but I kept
fantasizing it right up to the moment I let myself in Cindy's door.

 
          
 
Cindy was sitting in the middle of the bed in
her nightgown, surrounded by piles of damp Kleenex. I was prepared for anger,
but not for such a picture of devastation. She looked like she had been crying
for about six hours. At some point she had run out of Kleenex and had simply
let the tears run down the front of her nightgown, which was soaked. Her tear
ducts were evidently just as healthy as the rest of her, but she had finally
emptied them and was just sitting blankly when I walked in. When she heard me
she looked around and cringed, as if she were a dog who had just been beaten
and was about to be beaten again.

 
          
 
"What's the matter?" I asked, aware
that the question was inadequate. I couldn't think of any other way to start.

 
          
 
"I've never been treated like this
before," she said, in an exhausted little voice very unlike the voice she
normally used.

 
          
 
I sat down on the bed and put my arm around
her, which she accepted passively. She had several damp Kleenex wadded in one
hand and I made her let me have them so I could throw them in the wastebasket.
My first project was to clear the bed of damp Kleenex.

 
          
 
"Gosh," I said. "I'm really
sorry. It was just one party. I had no idea you'd be this upset."

 
          
 
"Were you with another woman?" she
asked, looking up at me. The skin around her eyes was puffy, but it didn't stop
her from asking the right question. Instinctively, in about a tenth of a
second, I lined up all the lies I might tell her, but then I didn't use any of
them. It's difficult to lie to a person who has just been humbled to the degree
Cindy had. Lying to her strength was easier than lying to her hopelessness.

 
          
 
"Yeah," I said.

 
          
 
She didn't seem surprised or any more hurt.
Her brain had figured it out anyway and confirmation may have been a small
relief.

 
          
 
"I've never been rejected before,"
she said. "Not in my whole life."

 
          
 
"I'm not rejecting you," I said.
"I was just asked to dinner by a lady who owns an antique shop, so I
went."

 
          
 
"You planned it in advance and you didn't
tell me," she said.

 
          
 
"Well," I said, "I didn't know
Lilah was going to throw a party."

 
          
 
I was well aware that my response did not
exactly dovetail with her accusation.

 
          
 
"I bet you fucked her, too," she
said numbly.

 
          
 
I just nodded.

 
          
 
"She's probably just some little hippie
that sells junk," Cindy said.

 
          
 
Her statement had practically no energy in it.
I saw no point in trying to explain that Jean was a nice woman. The notion that
I had been sleeping with a hippie seemed to provide a modicum of comfort. An
excess of truth needn't be rushed, it seemed to me. Truth can be counted on to
arrive under its own power, where women are concerned.

 
          
 
"Now I don't know what to do," Cindy
said. A minute later she got up, went to the bathroom, washed her face, and
gave her teeth their usual careful brushing.

 
          
 
I considered that a good sign. Though
devastated, she was not so far gone as to neglect her teeth. For Cindy to have
gone to bed without brushing her teeth would be an indication of profound
despair. She did not neglect to use dental floss. When she realized her
nightgown was soaked at the neck she took it ofl" and put it neatly into
her clothes hamper.

 
          
 
Then she rummaged around in a drawer and found
a huge T-shirt, which she put on.

 
          
 
"I got it from Maurice," she said.
Maurice had been the NBA guard.

 
          
 
I watched her warily, expecting that as her
generally healthy instincts slowly reasserted themselves anger would suddenly
make its appearance. I expected it to strike with hurricane force, whenever it
struck, and I wanted to give myself at least an even chance.

 
          
 
But Cindy came meekly back to bed. "You
ought to go brush your teeth," she said, as if we were getting into bed on
a normal night.

 
          
 
When I got in bed she immediately took my
hand.

 
          
 
"I wish you hadn't done this to me,"
she said. "Is she a hippie or what?"

 
          
 
"No," I said. "She's a nice
woman with two little girls."

 
          
 
"You couldn't have picked a worse
time," she said. "I saw Spud this afternoon."

 
          
 
Although I had sensed that Spud was in our
future, I hadn't expected him to check in quite so soon.

 
          
 
"What do you mean *saw' him?" I
asked. "Are you telling me you slept with him?"

 
          
 
"Don't be so mean," Cindy said.
"I thought you were kind, only now everything you do is
mean
."

 
          
 
I hadn't meant to sound mean. It was more
surprise than anger that had prompted the question. I had been feeling very
guilty—illogically—and now the illogical basis of my guilt was starkly exposed.
Cindy had had Spud, and I had had Jean. We had betrayed one another almost
simultaneously, although since our own relationship was sort of accidental and
our feelings undeclared betrayal might seem too strong a word.

 
          
 
On the other hand I felt betrayed, not to
mention confused. Why had she cried for six hours because she suspected I was
with another woman if she had just started an affair with another man?

 
          
 
The longer I thought about it, the more
confused I felt. I couldn't even think of what questions to ask. Neither could
Cindy, evidently. We were both locked in silence. It was strange to feel both
guilty and abused at the same time. In a sense I ought to have welcomed Spud's
interest in Cindy, since my interest in Jean had risen so rapidly. On the other
hand, my interest in Cindy hadn't really sunk.

 
          
 
In a little while the wistfulness I had felt
when I was waiting indecisively outside Jean's house came back and transferred
itself to Cindy. I had a sort of innocent wish that we could just cancel the
day and be as we had been the day before. The feeling got so strong that I
turned to Cindy and tried to kiss her. She turned gratefully toward me, perhaps
with the same need, but the kiss proceeded to die. Instead of a rising of the
blood all we came up with was friendly puzzlement. We were just sort of bumping
mouths in our confusion.

 
          
 
By mutual agreement we gave up on the kiss.

 
          
 
"I thought you'd want to talk,"
Cindy said.

 
          
 
"I do,” I said. "But you said I was
mean when I didn't have a mean intention."

 
          
 
"Couldn't you be more patient?" she
asked. "I just said it because you scared me."

 
          
 
"So what about
Spud?"
I said.

 
          
 
"Don't berate me," Cindy said.

 
          
 
I had spoken as mildly as I knew
how,
I didn't know what to make of things at all. What had
happened to the big, confident social climber? She had been there that morning,
but all that was left was a healthy body.

 
          
 
"I'm just asking," I said, in my
gentlest voice. "I don't have the right to berate you."

 
          
 
"That's right," Cindy said, as if
the thought surprised her. "I shouldn't let you get away with it."

 
          
 
"But I'm not doing it," I insisted.
"There's no question of getting away with it."

 
          
 
Cindy fell silent again, evidently discouraged
by the conversation, which I also found peculiarly discouraging. Our attempts
to talk were just as inept as our attempt to kiss.

 
          
 
"Just talk about Spud," I said.
"I'm not judging you. You're free. Just talk about him a little."

 
          
 
Cindy sighed. "He's a lot sexier than you
but he scares me," she said.

 
          
 
That hadn't been exactly what I had been
expecting to hear.

 
          
 
"Where does Harris fit into all
this?" I asked.

 
          
 
"He doesn't fit in at all," Cindy
said. "That's the nice thing about having Harris as a fiance. Harris is
really sweet. I wish you didn't have such a problem about him."

 
          
 
It was nothing to the problem I was about to
have with Spud, but I didn't tell her that.

 
          
 
"Does that woman have big tits?"
Cindy asked.

 
          
 
I did not see Jean's breasts, but I knew they
weren't large.

 
          
 
"No," I said. "She's a small
woman."

 
          
 
"That's one good thing," Cindy said.

 
          
 
"Why does Spud scare you?" I asked.

 
          
 
Cindy thought for a while. "Spud's very
successful," she said. "He’s about as successful as anyone gets
around here. I don't think he has much time for me.

 
          
 
"It was his secretary that called
me," she added. "I guess he doesn't call people himself"

 
          
 
"I'm surprised he even fucks them
himself," I said, bitterly. I had been worried about Spud all along,
although all along only amounted to one day.

 
          
 
"He does, though," Cindy said.
"That's the problem. Now I feel like doing anything he tells me to."

 
          
 
"I don't see why it's a problem," I
said. "You don't owe me anything. You can do anything you want to
do."

 
          
 
Then she began to cry again, sobbing hard and
gasping for breath. I put my arms around her and she cried on my chest. It was
a hard cry, but finally it ended.

 
          
 
"Oh, I hate being confused," she
said. "I've never been this confused.
If you'd just come
home when you were supposed to and not gone and fucked that woman things would
be a lot better."

 
          
 
"Maybe I secretly knew what you were
doing with Spud," I suggested. "Maybe I was secretly just sort of
staying even."

 
          
 
The statement was total bullshit, but it gave
Cindy something new to think about. She sat up in bed and wiped the tears off
her face with the bottom of the long T-shirt.