Ticket to Ride (16 page)

We'd had small steaks and scotches and waters and a number of cigarettes. We'd said hello to a combined total of a dozen people (mine were clients, hers were friends). And we'd danced slow to a medley of Platters songs played by a house band that had been in grade school when the Platters had been popular. We'd even danced fast several times. Now we were having our second drinks, sitting in a tiny dark alcove that overlooked the dance floor.

She wore a pale-blue dress and matching one-inch heels. Her face was lightly made up and even prettier than usual. She'd always been a sort of sophisticated version of the girl next door, and adulthood had only enhanced that impression.

She was also stubborn, a quality I'd forgotten about. Not until now was she willing to go back to the brief conversation we'd had earlier about the letter.

“This letter you were telling me about two or three days ago.”

“Very funny. It was just about an hour ago. You've held up pretty well for a geezer. I was afraid you might fall asleep on me.”

“They were arguing about a letter.”

“They sure were. Davenport said they had to get busy and find it.”

Somebody looking for a letter might explain why somebody had tossed my office and Kenny's trailer, knocking out both Turk and Kenny in the process.

“Tell me about Linda's husband.”

“Do I have to? This soon after eating?” She reached over and patted my hand. “Only because I'm having a good time.” She sipped her scotch and said, “I read a lot of British mystery novels. They're like fantasies for me. Pure escape. Murder in all those little villages. And David fits right in there. He's the bounder who seduces all the beautiful married women and lives off his wife's inheritance.”

“You mean that literally?”

“The part about sleeping with beautiful married women? Of course. My parents are big at the country club, and they always have stories about who David is sleeping with on the side. He's even been beaten up a few times. Once badly enough to put him in the hospital for a week. Lou despised him. He always begged Linda to get rid of him. But that's the irony. You know what a snob she is. A very arrogant woman. But she's completely at the mercy of her husband. I never thought I'd feel sorry for her, but I can't help myself. It's almost as if she's deranged. Obviously she knows what he's doing. And she also knows that he practically destroyed the two small businesses Lou put him in charge of. Lou had to step in to save them from declaring bankruptcy. She could have so many men—men just as handsome but men who'd treat her the way she deserves. It's pretty sad when you see them together. The way she looks at him. It's like puppy love to the highest power. Bryce used to talk about it, too. He and David loathed each other.”

“But Lou put up with him living under the same roof?”

“Well, the north section is kind of separate from the rest of the house. You know how big the place is. Linda and David have their bedroom and study and living room over there. And their own separate entrance when they choose to use it. And they take most of their meals in the living room. The maid always makes two separate meals—excuse me, ‘made' two separate meals—one for Lou because of his health, and the other one for Linda and David.”

“Does David work?”

“Oh? You didn't know? He's a writer. Or says he is. He's been working on this novel for a couple of years now. He won't let anybody read it until it's finished, Linda says. I doubt it even exists.”

A waitress worked her way over to our alcove. The white silk blouse and the black skirt with the large sash-like black leather belt combined with her long dark hair and exceptional height to give her a dramatic effect.

We decided on one more drink, and then Wendy said to the young woman, “I'd like to wake up some day looking like you.”

The waitress had a wide TV-commercial smile. “Are you kidding? You've got those aristocratic facial bones and those beautiful eyes. I'll be happy to trade you.”

“You're going to get a very nice tip out of this,” I said to her. After she was gone, I said, “She's striking, but you're a lot betterlooking.”

“Maybe. But there're a lot of women who look like me. Young housewives. Millions of us. But she—” She picked up her cigarette, took a deep drag, and said, “Does it bother you that we're getting older?”

“Well, if we weren't getting older we'd be dead.”

“That's very cute, Sam, but how about an honest answer? I wanted to do something with my life after I finished college, and I didn't. I wanted to make Bryce love me, and I didn't. I wanted to have a child, preferably a daughter, and I didn't.”

“You're not exactly haggard.”

“No, but I'm weary sometimes. And I'm only twenty-eight. If I'm this weary now, what'll I be like when I turn thirty-five?” Then she waved her words away. “I'm feeling sorry for myself because I've got this stupid idea that maybe we'll sleep together tonight and I want to, but I more don't want to.”

“Then we won't.”

“I haven't slept with a man in two years.”

“You've dated a few. I've seen you out sometimes.”

“In the movies it's always sex sex sex, but it's never been that way with me. Maybe there's something wrong with me. I really need to feel something for the man I have in my bed.”

“I'm not much for one-night stands myself.”

“But I'll bet you've had some.”

“What I've had—mostly—is a series of relationships that didn't work out.”

“Pamela Forrest? God, I used to feel so sorry for you in high school. The way you followed her around. And Stu was such a shit to everybody. I always thought they deserved each other. I always thought you should have married Mary. She was so sweet and pretty and nice.”

“Everybody thought I should've married her. But I just didn't love her the way she wanted me to—the way I should have.”

“And then this last one?”

“Jane.”

“I saw you a few times on the dance boat that goes downriver. I was there with one of my gentleman friends. He was quite taken with her looks. And I have to say she is a very elegant woman. Very big-city.” The soft laugh. “Needless to say, I didn't invite him in for a drink.”

“I'm not over her completely yet, but I'm getting there.”

“Well, this should be interesting then, Sam. I'm worried about going to bed because it has to mean something to me, and you're still in love with somebody else.”

“Not exactly. I'm getting over someone else. There's a difference.”

The waitress returned with our drinks. We thanked her and she left.

“By the way,” Wendy said. “David can be very funny—but not on purpose. He always does this he-man thing. God, I hate that. I guess he still thinks he can charm me into bed. I was very cruel to him one day. I needed to move a lot of furniture around. The neighbor I usually use had a baseball game he had to play. And by coincidence I ran into David at the supermarket. I told him about my furniture and he went all strongman on me. Seemed he loved moving heavy stuff around. One of his favorite things in the whole wide world. I could read his mind, of course. He had pictures of us in bed doing all sorts of things you can still get arrested for in some states. He'd slide a few chairs around and then we'd be naked and racing to my bedroom. But he didn't know what he was in for. I had heavy chairs I needed moved from the basement up to the first floor and other heavy things I needed moved from the first floor up into the attic. I kept offering to help him but he wouldn't let me. So I just sat in the family room and drank Pepsi and smoked cigarettes and watched soap operas. You should have seen him when he was done. He had a bad crimp in his back and he couldn't get his right hand to close, and I could see that his legs were shaking. I thought he was going to fall down. The last thing he had on his mind was sex. He just sort of doddered his way out to his little sports car and took off. I'm sure he didn't want me to see him when he collapsed. I laughed for days.”

“You're a cruel woman.”

“I'd like to think I taught him a lesson about being faithful, but I know better. He still manages to slide his arm around me every time we're in the same room. If I was Linda, I'd send him to a vet and have him neutered.” Then: “Aren't I terrible? God, he was hilarious. He looked like a lame horse when he hobbled his way out to his car.”

On the way back from Wendy's—a quick kiss at the door; the promise of another date tomorrow night—I realized that somebody was following me. A yellow VW bug isn't a car that lends itself to stealth, for one thing. And neither does pulling up close and then fading back again, for a second thing. The third thing was that her engine died when she was behind me at a stoplight. I decided that this was a good time to see what she wanted.

She was grinding the key in the ignition when I knocked on her window. She rolled it down. “Evening, Pauline.” I was surprised to see her without Roy Davenport. I didn't think he'd ever let his women out of his sight.

“Oh. It's you. I'm surprised to see you.”

“Sure you are. I think you flooded your car. Give it a little rest and then try again but go easy on the gas. Then you can start following me again.”

We were at a residential intersection that had little traffic this time of night. The windows of the small houses gleamed with TV fantasy, and it was easy to imagine that all the people watching were happy as storybook bears in their storybook homes.

Pauline wore a black blouse sheer enough to help define her nipples in their equally sheer bra. Her legs were tanned against her white shorts.

“I seen you coming out of the restaurant tonight. With that Wendy woman. I figured you'd go to her place. Because you were obviously on a date and all. I just wanted to talk to you.”

“You could always try the telephone.”

“I did try the telephone. I got a little tipsy and I think I dialed your number over and over.”

That would explain all the calls Mrs. Goldman had told me about.

“What'd you want to talk about?”

“Stuff—I mean, I know you don't get along with Roy. And that's who I needed to talk to. Somebody who doesn't get along with Roy.”

“Did you want to talk about anything special?”

She bit her lip, inhaled deeply. “I was just scared, is all.”

She was still scared. “Try starting your car again. If you get it going, pull around the corner and park. You can get in my car and we'll talk.”

“I'm a shitty driver.”

She got it the first try. She made it around the corner and parked under the dark weight of a maple tree. I pulled in right behind her. When I'd first seen her today, she'd been careful to walk in what she apparently thought was a provocative way. She'd been doing a parody of Jayne Mansfield doing a parody of Marilyn Monroe. But now she took small, quick steps; nervous ones.

She got in the car and opened her purse and took out a pack of cigarettes and a half-pint silver flask. The half-pint is always referred to as “the lady's model.” Yes, the delicate female who needs a snort every ten minutes to get through her day as a neurosurgeon. She took a gulp's worth and then she lighted her cigarette. “I like that song.”

At the moment we were hearing “Help.”

“I think Paul's cute.”

“Does Roy know you're out tonight?”

“Are you kidding? He'd kill me if he found out. He's got business somewhere. He said he wouldn't be back until after midnight. He was real nervous after this phone call. I'm pretty sure it was Raines he was talking to.”

“David Raines? They work together?”

She snorted. “Work together? They're like peas in a pod.”

“Since when?”

“Since I came to town a couple of years ago.”

Davenport and Raines again. An odd pairing. But a damned interesting one.

She took a second belt from the flask. She wasn't drunk, but she would be soon if she kept up this way.

She swallowed. “If you were nicer, I'd offer you a drink.” She smiled. “And maybe something else, too. You weren't at that Wendy woman's house very long. It mustn't have went too good, huh? She didn't come through?”

I liked her. She was as blunt as my six-year-old niece. “It was our first date.”

“Oh. Still, you could've made out for a little while or something. There're a lot of things you can do without getting down and screwing, you know.”

“I'll mention that to her the next time I see her. Now let's get back to Roy on the telephone. So, what did Roy say when he was on the phone?”

She was tamping another cigarette from her pack when she said: “Two times I heard him say something about a letter.”

“Did he say anything about the letter? What it might say? Or who had it? Or anything like that?”