Private Lies (14 page)

"Quite a brilliant fellow, Eliot," he said,
sitting on the chair as he took off his shoes. Maggie had settled herself in
the bed, propped the pillows, and put on her reading glasses. When he mentioned
Eliot she took them off again.

"I quite agree," she said. "A very unusual
man."

"Inspiring, too."

"You noticed that?"

"Yes, I did. He's fun to be around. Deep. Interesting.
The way he described Africa."

"And Carol. She was equally as eloquent."

He ignored her comment and pressed on.

"Do you enjoy working with him?"

"Yes, I do," she said. "He's patient,
analytical, and brilliant. He has a mind that cuts to the quick."

"Yes, he does," Ken agreed.

"She, as well."

"They seem to live well," Ken said. "He's
got lots of style, don't you think?"

"Oh, yes. That he has."

Enough, he decided. When he didn't speak further she put on
her glasses and began to read. After a while, it was Maggie who spoke.

"She's quite beautiful, isn't she?"

Ken turned to look at her. Her glasses were off again and
she was swinging them lazily.

"Pleasant," he said. "I find her
pleasant."

"I think she's more than that, Ken. A woman that gets
a man like Eliot isn't just pleasant. There must be a lot more to her."

"Yes. I suppose. If you put it in that context."

"She seems to worship the ground he walks on."

Ken paused, contemplating the opportunity, searching
himself for exactly the right nuance.

"Wouldn't you?" he asked. "A man so
accomplished." He hoped he had screened out rancor, envy, or jealousy.

"I'm proud he's my friend, not just my client,"
she said. Not "our" friend, he noted, wondering if he was finally
making some headway.

Suddenly he remembered something he had written once when
he was writing copy for a lawn-grass product. "Obey the soil's need. Never
overseed." He remained silent as he undressed and got into his pajamas.
Only then did he speak again, hoping to divert her attention from her book.

"I find the African thing very tempting," he
said.

She looked up from her book and turned to him, her eyes
brightening.

"God, yes."

"It would cost a bundle, I'll bet."

"I'm sure of that," she said.

"But it would be the experience of a lifetime."

"Yes, it would." He could tell that it was
working on her, that a commitment was growing in her mind.

"We could borrow it maybe," Ken said casually.

"You think we could?" she asked.

He thought about that, how it could be accomplished. The
idea was growing in his mind as well. Africa seemed the perfect atmosphere for
matters to thrive between Eliot and Maggie. Maybe he could borrow the money
from his company, against his pension plan. Call it an investment.

After a while, Maggie put out the light.

"Africa," she sighed. "How romantic. I'd
love it."

Romantic, he thought. Exactly right. He lay beside her, not
touching, not wishing to touch her. He thought of Carol lying beside Eliot in
another part of the hotel. Had she done her job, he wondered, seeding Eliot's
mind?

He dozed, then awoke with a start, trying to remember the
dream that had disturbed him.

It was then that he got out of bed and sat in the chair,
watching the sleeping Maggie, wondering if she could absorb ideas in her sleep,
a method often suggested as a persuasive technique, but not proven
scientifically.

"Love Eliot," he whispered. "Arouse him.
Make him fall in love with you. Free Carol. Liberate us."

He whispered these words over and over again like some
weird mantra. Then he tried others in the same vein. She did not stir. Finally,
he felt silly, like an Indian medicine man offering meaningless incantations.
He was allowing his hopes to dominate his logic, but somehow this method seemed
less menacing, more honest.

Then he grew drowsy, crawled back into bed, and fell
asleep.

THEY DROVE IN the rented Oldsmobile along the Potomac on
the road to Mount Vernon, past trees painted in autumn colors. Ken drove, one
hand on the wheel, one hand in Carol's. Occasionally he would lift her hand and
brush it with his lips.

"A whole day together," she said.

"For them, too."

"Yes," she said. She felt good and her thoughts
drifted back to the events of yesterday, her mind recycling last night's
conversation with Eliot after they had returned to their room.

She had, following Ken's instructions, sung Maggie's
praises.

"She's quite a lady," she told Eliot, eyes
averted from his, pretending absorption in the chore of brushing her hair.

When she had come out of the shower, Eliot had been sitting
at the desk making notes on a yellow pad. There was something about the way he
was working, hunched over, crowded in, that suggested he was being
overprotective about whatever he was doing. But, then, it could have been her
imagination, another aspect of her paranoia.

When he did not turn around, she repeated the comment.
Perhaps he had not heard.

"She's quite a lady."

"Who?" he said, continuing to make his notes,
still hunched over like a schoolboy preventing someone from copying a test
paper.

"Maggie," she said after a long pause.

At the mention of her name, he stopped writing. Then he
tore off the page he had been working on and turned it over. There seemed an
air of secrecy about the act, but Carol quickly dismissed it from her mind. She
decided she was simply observing too hard, a consequence of her own deceptive
conduct.

But when he swiveled to observe her, she was surprised at
the intensity of his scrutiny. For the moment, she felt a stab of cold fear.
Then she rebuked herself for reacting to her own guilt.

"She's a real professional asset," Carol said.
Hearing her own words calmed her, so matter-of-fact and devoid of the slightest
hint of emotion. Also, Eliot's imagined scrutiny seemed to soften and he smiled
benignly.

"Yes, she is," he agreed.

"I'm sure she'll get a great deal out of this
convention," Carol said.

"Yes," Eliot replied. "It should be quite
productive for us."

"My impression is that she's a crackerjack at what she
does."

"I agree," he said. "And she does know
computers."

Eliot was wearing a robe over his naked body and when he
stood up it opened, showing his genitals. For a moment, she thought he might be
on the verge of reaching out for a rare embrace. He didn't, for which she was
grateful. Instead, he turned, took the paper on which he had been writing,
folded it casually, and stuffed it into the briefcase beside the desk. Then he
moved into the bathroom and started to brush his teeth.

Carol got into bed and, with the remote, flipped on the
television set, going through the various offered programs by rote, merely
passing time. When he came back into the room, she clicked off the set and he
got into the bed, opening a file on his lap.

"She's pretty, too. Don't you think?" Carol said,
hoping he would see it as an extension of her earlier remarks.

"I suppose," he said abstractedly.

"Seems an odd match," she said after a while.
"Maggie and Ken."

"Why odd?" he asked.

She did not look at him directly, but she could see him
peripherally. He had closed the file and was looking at her, a puzzled look on
his face. She did not turn to look at him.

"It just struck me," she said cautiously.
"She seems more your type than his." There was a gamble in that, but
she took it anyway, a deeper probe into the realm of suggestive persuasion.

"My type?"

"You seem to have lots in common."

He laughed and shrugged.

"Do you feel threatened by Maggie?"

"Don't be silly," she said, reaching out and
patting his hand. Considering his vanity, it didn't seem much of a gamble after
all. "I mean in a cerebral way."

Was she being too blatant? There was, of course, a strong
current of logic in her remark. She was certainly less intellectual than
Maggie, more of an ornament and admiring companion than a brainy equal. But
that was the way they had defined their roles from the beginning. Eliot, at the
time of their meeting and courtship, didn't seem interested in a professional
helpmate, someone to assist him in his work. His wifely requirements were more
old-fashioned and she accommodated herself to that idea. Besides, his work was
far too esoteric to arouse her interest.

"Well, we do have many common interests and she does
know her business," he said. "She's organized my work with great
skill. I'm very pleased with what she's doing."

"I'm glad," Carol said. "I really like
her."

From the corner of her eye she could still see him studying
her. One thing was certain. She had captured his attention.

"You both seem so simpatico," she said, knowing
instantly that she had gone too far.

"What are you trying to tell me, Carol?" he asked
abruptly. "Maggie and Ken are our friends."

"Of course they are. I was only..."

"She's wonderful, I agree with you. As for Ken, he's
smart and insightful." He paused. "Don't you think?"

"He's nice enough," she said, denuding her remark
of any conviction or enthusiasm. She decided that she had bungled this new
effort.

"I'm not too familiar with men of his type, I'll
admit," Eliot said. "He comes from a different world and plies a
trade that could be considered slightly disreputable. But I find him very
affable."

"I'll say this," Carol said, clearing her throat.
"He is an acquired taste."

"Maggie says he's deep and introspective. And much
misunderstood."

"Creative people generally are," she said,
realizing that her knee-jerk defense was the wrong tack. And yet his sudden
interest in Ken made her uncomfortable. When the four of them were together,
Ken hardly revealed himself, and Eliot's attitude seemed patronizing.

"I suppose," he commented, showing little
interest.

She heard him prop the pillows and open the file again.

"He's very lucky to have a warm and open girl like
Maggie for a wife," Carol said after a long pause. She hoped this remark
might refocus the conversation.

"If you draw him out," Eliot said, "I think
he'll be a lot more interesting. Sometimes these relationships have to be
worked on."

That remark also seemed out of kilter. Eliot rarely worked
on relationships. She remained silent while he continued to read, unable to
come up with anything imaginative.

"Anyway, tomorrow you and Ken will get a chance to
know each other better," he said. "I'm sure you'll find him fine
company."

Wrong direction, she thought. She was really bad at this,
she decided. But even if she were better, more subtle, more devious, more
suggestive, Eliot was essentially too tepid, too controlled, to be a fertile
target for this process. And if he didn't catch the scent, how was he supposed
to be enticed by its lure? Had he sincerely seconded her suggestion about Africa? Or had she read more into it than was apparent?

Her own experience should have warned her, she rebuked
herself. To persuade Eliot of anything required massive effort, not just words.
In Carol's case, she had transformed herself by checklist, becoming what she
imagined he wanted in a wife—to be docile, available, amiable, and to gratify
his vanity, a showpiece, cool, elegant, obedient.

She wished Ken were here, not to be seen or heard, of
course, but to tell her what to say and how to say it. She was already running
out of words and ideas. She was on the verge of turning her back on Eliot in
frustration and going to sleep when she heard him drop the file on the floor.

"You wouldn't mind them with us on safari, would you,
Carol?"

She held her breath, desperately trying to hide her
excitement. There it was. Had it worked? Her suggestion at dinner had had a delayed
fuse, but it had exploded at last. The idea had come to her out of the blue. Of
course, Africa. It was the perfect place. She checked her elation. It was too
early to declare victory.

"It certainly might enhance Maggie's value to your
work," she said cautiously.

"Yes, it would," he agreed.

"You think she'd leave Ken for that long a
stretch?" Carol asked.

"I wouldn't think of it," Eliot said. "I
would expect he'd go as well."

"Might be fun seeing other people's reactions,"
she said.

It had always been his preference to go with her alone, the
two of them and Jack Meade, their longtime guide, and his staff.

Meade, a mercurial character, was the best guide in Africa, when he wasn't on the bottle. He had taken them on their rounds of the wilderness
parks in Kenya, Zambia, and Tanzania.

After the second trip, Carol was bored with Africa, although, as always, she maintained an enthusiastic façade. How many lions,
gazelles, elephants, cheetahs, wildebeests, giraffes, buffaloes, and an endless
list of other species was it possible to observe with fresh eyes? Eliot never
tired of it, treating it as if it were his sacred duty to monitor the situation
periodically and report on it to organizations with which he was affiliated.

As with most of the other tagalong chores of their
marriage, Carol faked her responses. Availability was everything.

The savannas of Africa offered a cornucopia of suggestive
sensations for what she and Ken had in mind for Eliot and Maggie. Turn any
corner and there it was—a happy humping ground. The sights were pervasive. Even
Eliot had reacted, making love to her, abandoning all restraint, after seeing a
lion mounting a lioness every ten minutes for hours.

At the same time, she forced herself to close her mind to
any projection of how she and Ken would behave in Africa. For them abstinence
would have to be the order of the day. It would be foolhardy to risk their
future together.

"Maggie's eyewitness experience might be very helpful
to our project," Eliot said. "I think I'd benefit from her seeing
firsthand what wildlife preservation is all about. You know we are
computerizing my photographs."

"But can they afford it?" Carol asked casually.

"Of course. It would be a business trip. I wouldn't
expect them to pay their way. Yes. A business trip for her."

"A perk for him," she said, yawning deliberately.
She wanted to scream with delight. Instead she closed her eyes and said
nothing, concentrating on controlling her happiness.

Maybe, just maybe, this might work after all.

There were few cars on the road, and once they had passed
the outskirts of Alexandria the road curved gently in such a way as to create
the illusion that theirs was the only car on the road traveling through one of
those enchanted forests depicted in English nursery-rhyme books. As Ken drove
on Carol nestled herself in his shoulder and he caressed her hair.

"We could just keep going, never come back, never look
back, start over," he said suddenly.

"We might just have that chance," she mused.

"I mean right now. Before things get more involved."

His comment surprised her and she thought it odd since she
had just finished telling him about her success and how Eliot was going to pay
for their safari. Reflecting over Ken's reaction, she had expected more
enthusiasm.

"It was your idea, Ken. I was the doubting Thomas,
remember."

He was silent for a while, watching the road and continuing
to caress her. She sensed that something was awry.

"What is it?" she asked.

His response was to turn the car into a recess in the
parkway that led to a parking lot, obviously created for strollers who wished
to follow the footpaths beside the Potomac. They got out of the car and,
holding hands, walked in silence through stands of evergreens and came out on a
promontory that opened to a view of the river and the capital city beyond.

A cool breeze caught a pile of dead leaves and moved them
in odd patterns toward the water's edge. After a while, he stopped and, holding
her in the crook of his arm, looked across the river.

"You're having second thoughts, right?" she
asked, searching his eyes for the answer.

"Not second thoughts, exactly. Qualms," he said.

"That it won't work?" she asked.

"That it will," he replied.

"I don't understand."

He kissed her cheek and held her close, pressing her to
him.

"I want you more than anything in the world.
Full-time. Every day. Night and day. Until time ends. And I know we owe
ourselves that."

"Yes, we do," she agreed. "We've got years
to make up." She poked him playfully with her elbow. "And it can't
all be made up on Fridays."

Ken chuckled and pressed Carol closer. But when she looked
up at his face, she saw a trepidation that she had never seen before.

"It's the idea of it, the sheer ruthlessness of
it." He shook his head and sucked in a deep breath. "Even though I
see it as a way out for us, even though I'm the fellow that thought of it, I
don't feel comfortable about it. The whole idea of manipulating other people
just sticks in my craw. That's what's so offensive to me about my work, this
business of creating needs in people's minds. I don't feel right about
it."

"But it works. I saw it happen. And, as you said, it
will be great all around. Nobody will get hurt and everybody will get what they
want."

He turned her head with his hand and kissed her deeply on
the mouth, their tongues intertwining.

"It would make things a lot simpler if we just told
them," he said when they had disengaged. "Let the chips fall where
they may."

She stepped back from him, putting his face in focus, then
caressed his cheek.

"That again," she sighed, then looked into his
eyes. "You think I'm terrible, squirreling away my nest egg, wanting to
protect it at all costs."