The Lord Won't Mind (The Peter & Charlie Trilogy) (40 page)

“I know. That’s what I can’t forgive myself.”

“Then don’t do it. Look, Skeezix. I know it hasn’t always been perfect. I don’t know. I thought you were happy. It’ll be just us from now on. The hell with everything else. Come here.”

“No.” Cut it. Cut it clean, he urged himself. That’s all he could do for him. “Don’t you understand? I couldn’t let you touch me ever again. You’re right. I’ve been a shit. Let’s leave it at that.”

Tim looked at him with eyes that were drowned in hurt. His chest heaved once. “I just don’t believe it,” he said.

Peter longed to hold him and comfort him as best he could, but he knew it would be false comfort. He wanted to tell him how happy he had been, how very nearly perfect it had seemed, how much he loved him, but he knew that to say anything would be only an attempt at self-justification. His whole being bled with the wounds he had inflicted, the wounds that had once been inflicted upon him.

“You’d better be going, Tim,” he said.

“I’m sorry I hit you. Did it hurt?”

“Quite a bit. Not as much as all the rest of it.”

“I’m so in love with you. You never said you were in love with me. I’ve got to remember that. If you had, I’d kill you now. I still can’t believe it. God, I’ve had fun with you.”

“Please, Tim. Please don’t make me say anything. It’s all piling up inside me and it wouldn’t be fair to you. I know.”

“Well, I guess this is it. Before I go, I wish you’d call me by my right name.”

“I’ve wanted to, big boy.”

“Yeah.” A ghost of a smile lifted the corners of his lips as his eyes dwelled deeply in Peter’s. He closed them suddenly and turned and went. “You can throw out anything I’ve left behind,” he called from the hall, his voice sounding strained and high-pitched. “I don’t want any of it.”

Peter heard the door close and his mouth opened and he inhaled a deep, strangled breath. He stood where Tim had left him, staring at nothing, waiting for the pain to ease. All he needed now was to learn that C. B. had proved too much for Charlie, and he would be left in the ruins of what had seemed until yesterday a good and satisfying life.

CHARLIE reached C. B.’s apartment just after she had returned from lunch. She was still dressed in smart street clothes and wore a dashing hat. She was moving about the big living room, pulling off gloves and adjusting a flower arrangement. He thought only of the news that would please her and he felt good to be with her, even though the impossible subject Peter expected him to broach to her loomed ahead of him like a foreseen disaster.

“Ah, my dearest.” She greeted him with the trace of coolness she had allowed to shade her manner toward him since he had decided to go on the stage. “Tessa said you’d called. What an odd time to come visiting. But then I suppose I must adjust to your theatrical hours from now on.”

He went to her and leaned over and kissed her, keeping at arm’s length. “No. I don’t think you’ll have to do that. Forget about theatrical hours. I’m going to sound like an awful ass, but I think you’ll be pleased. I quit the play yesterday. You were right. I couldn’t ever work in the theater. The people
are
pretty awful.” He was counting on this opening to restore her to him, and he watched with a deep stirring of relief as it happened. It didn’t make any sense to be at odds with her. Her eyes brightened. She lifted her head and clapped her hands and stretched them out to him. He took them happily.

“Oh, my dearest. Oh, dear, I feel almost sad for you. What a terrible disappointment it must be. Bear with it. I know you’ll never regret this decision. How superb you’re looking. You know, in another ten years you’re going to be most distinguished. It would’ve been wasted on the stage.” She tucked her arm under his and led him toward chairs. “You can’t know what this does for me. I feel as if we’re waking up from a bad dream. You mean it? It’s really over?”

“Definitely,” Charlie said as he seated himself cautiously. “I’m afraid it’s not all pleasant, though. Hattie was furious. She went out of her mind. I know you don’t want to hear all the details, but she got so violent that I had to use force on her.”

“You mean you struck her?”

Charlie caught a throb of exultation in her voice and studied her with curiosity. “Well, not exactly. She turned into such a madwoman that I’m afraid she got hurt.”

“My poor dearest. How unbalanced she must be to provoke you to that degree. One sees it in her. Her passion for the theater. It’s all part of it. It’s what I tried to tell you. Is she still angry with you?”

Charlie looked at the floor to make sure he knew exactly what he was going to say next and looked back at her. “It’s finished. I couldn’t stand it and cleared out. I haven’t been back. I don’t intend to see her again. The point is, I don’t know what she’s apt to do next. I thought she might’ve already tried to make trouble with you. She was in such a state that she might claim I beat her or I don’t know what. She’s capable of anything.”

“We’ll forestall her.” She moved forward to the edge of her seat, a fire of excitement in her eyes. “You must see a lawyer. I know just the man. I’ll arrange for you to see him tomorrow morning. You must tell him the whole story. If she dares make charges, we’ll be forearmed. I know the Donaldsons. They’re drunk with the illusion of power. If they’re foolhardy enough to make a move, we’ll smash them. Hattie has said enough to disqualify any claims she might make as a wife.” Her rich voice shook as she demolished them. She reached out to him, and he gave her his hand as she settled back in her chair. “This does mean divorce, I assume. Poor dearest, experience is falling on you rather heavily very early in life. Perhaps it’s just as well. You’ll know better for the future. I warned you you could never depend on people. You’ll find they’re generally made of coarser stuff than you’re accustomed to.”

His palm was sweating, and he extricated his hand to wipe it on a handkerchief. “Hattie’s changing. It’s what you said, this thing she had about the theater. Nothing else finally counts for her.”

“Ah, well, I knew from the first she would never do for you, though I did my best to befriend her. Better for her to go quickly than allow her to poison your life. You mustn’t worry about this, my dearest. See the lawyer. I’ll take care of the rest. He’ll send the bills to me, of course.”

“I don’t see how I’ll ever make it all up to you, C. B.” She was being superb. She was outdoing herself; if the situation were as simple as he was presenting it, he could sit back and let her handle everything, as she always had, but the more she said the more impossible it became for him to hint at Peter.

She continued to weave her spell: “You’ve always made it up to me for any poor thing I may have done for you, my dearest. After all, what else am I here for? I can’t tell you how thrilled I am to have you back, free of the theater, free of Hattie. I feel as if we were starting life all over again. There are so many things I have to tell you about—people I’ve been seeing, things I’ve been doing. We’ve been rather cut off, as always happens when a man marries. I’ll start your allowance again, of course. How lucky I haven’t signed the new will. I’ll tell the lawyers to destroy it. We’ll have such an exciting time together. Will you want to go back to your job? It could doubtless be arranged. Harold was terribly upset to see you go.”

“No, that’s one thing I’m sure of now.” He began to feel the beating of his heart, but he was confident that he could work his way around the subject somehow. “At least, not yet. You see, anything I do is bound to be temporary, anyway. I’m going to get caught by the war any day now. Whatever time I have left, I’ve decided I want to see if I can really do something with painting.”

“I see. Well, I won’t oppose you. I simply don’t see how you can manage from a practical point of view.”

“Well, there are various possibilities.” His palms were sweating freely now, and he was gripping the handkerchief in his hands. He tried to look at her directly but didn’t quite succeed. He heard the distant ringing of the telephone and no longer knew what he was trying to say. He tugged at the handkerchief and felt it give.

The maid stood in the doorway. “Telephone for Mr. Charlie,” she said.

A cry of alarm almost escaped him. Peter had said he wouldn’t call unless it was bad. Did this mean the end of everything? Don’t panic. C. B. would manage. He had got to her in time. She was prepared for battle.

He rose carefully with a muttered “excuse me” and went out to the telephone. When he came back, there was a new spring in his step. They smiled at each other as he resumed his seat.

“Good news?” she asked.

“Oh, no. Nothing—” Just that he was really free at last.

“Good heavens. Forgive me. I didn’t intend to pry. I’ve been thinking about what you said. Don’t you think it would be a good idea to have a talk with Harold and perhaps work out some sort of leave?”

With Peter’s eager, devoted voice still ringing in his ears, he felt a great urge to say his name, to sketch the life they were planning together. “Oh, well. Maybe,” he said.

“You mentioned various possibilities.”

“Various possibilities? Oh, yes. About painting. Well, actually, I saw Peter last night. I—”

“Peter? That’s a name I hadn’t expected to hear again.” She straightened in her seat. “You’ve been seeing him?”

“Of course not.” He was able to meet her eye as he spoke this truth. “It was just that I needed help last night. I don’t want to explain it all to you. I couldn’t let any of our real friends get mixed up in it. He was the only person I could think of. He was very good about it. I know you’re wrong about him, C. B. Whatever that fuss was all about last fall, it was mostly just a misunderstanding.”

“So you’ve suggested.” She sat very still and straight, her eyes unblinking, waiting.

“I know what I’m talking about. Anyway, it turns out he’s inherited quite a lot of money. He has an apartment on Park Avenue, and he was talking about renting a place in the country.”

“Strange. I should think I would have heard about it from his family.”

“You probably will. It’s fairly recent, I think. Some distant relative he didn’t even know. Anyway, the country would be fine for work. I thought I might go out there for the next month or two, however long it is, and really get at it. He’ll eventually be taken by the army, too.”

“You seem to have had an opportunity for quite a long talk. Did you discuss finances? Is he to pay all your expenses?”

“Of course not. It wouldn’t cost anything, anyway. I haven’t had time to really think about it, but if you approve, that is, if you’re willing to give me the allowance, there wouldn’t be any problem.”

She stirred slightly and shifted her eyes from him, and he breathed more easily. She seemed to be giving the matter serious thought. He congratulated himself for having got through it so convincingly.

“I think I have a better suggestion,” she said finally, and her voice held the smooth, indulgent resonance with which she usually addressed him. “I think you must admit that you’ve been unhappy in your relationships with others, my dearest. Why risk another disappointment? Perhaps you should have the opportunity to test your gift. I’m prepared to give you your allowance and add to it the amount of the salary you’ve been earning for whatever length of time you think reasonable. If the apartment is too small, we could find something more suitable, some sort of studio. You could always have the house in Rumson if you feel the need for country, though I have the impression that many artists prefer the city for work.”

“But C. B., I couldn’t let you do all that,” he stammered. He was unprepared for this, and yet it was so like her, offering him everything, suspending her judgment in his favor. He didn’t see how he could refuse. And why should he? The country didn’t matter; she needn’t know he was with Peter. No, that was what Peter insisted she must know.

“Since when have I stinted in helping you when I could see my way clear to do it?” she asked, putting her hand out to him again. He didn’t take it.

“Oh, never. Of course not. You’ve always been fabulous. But this is different. Well, you’ve said yourself I couldn’t accept your help if I was doing something you didn’t approve of.”

“But I do approve. You’ve presented a very persuasive case. The war does change things.”

“But it’s too much. I thought I might just do this on the little money I’ve saved. Being a guest and everything.”

“Precisely. Why put yourself under such an obligation? Surely I’m closer to you than Peter.”

“Of course. Peter is just a possibility. We’ve always gotten along pretty well together. I thought it would be sort of fun to do it with him. You know—being alone—painting can be pretty grim.”

There was a long instant of silence. Her body sagged slightly. Her eyes were full on him. “I’ve been waiting for you to betray yourself,” she said with terrible precision. “I’m afraid you have, at last.”

All of his body went cold. The skin of his face seemed to stretch taut so that he had trouble making his lips work. “But C. B.—”

“I’m not a fool, nor a complete innocent.” Her voice sank to a dark rumble of revulsion. “Do you think I don’t know that you’ve held him in your arms and succumbed to your unspeakable passion? Do you think I don’t know that you’ve debauched your art in the service of your obsession? I let it go on under my roof because I was determined to save you. I will not allow you to debase your body further. I’ve watched you grow up into beauty. I will not permit you any longer to abandon yourself to bestiality.”