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On a previous February evening, Sammy Deegan had confirmed her suspicion. Other men had made oily little hintings, dropping little clues as to how well they could keep any secret, but Sammy, full of vodka confidence, had made the direct approach. His wife and his sister were out of town. He claimed he had seen her light. The kids were in bed. Thirty seconds after he was inside the house, he was fumbling at her, nuzzling her, murmuring to her, frightening her with his clumsy drunken strength. When she had wrestled loose and he had chased her into the kitchen, she had snatched a tack hammer from the countertop where she had left it after fixing a nail in her sandal, spun and chopped him squarely in the middle of the forehead with it. It made a deep gash and burst a vein. The alarming jet of blood sobered him and terrified her. He had lowered himself to the kitchen floor in a gingerly way, stared wall-eyed at her through the running mask of blood and said in a hushed voice, “Good Christ, Kat, where is there to put a tourniquet? Around my neck?” By some miracle she had managed to avoid hysterics. She took him to the bathroom. She found a place where she could press with her thumb and stop the regular pulsing. She made him hold his thumb on the place while she cleaned the gash, cut small strips of tape and crisscrossed them to pull it together. It stopped the bleeding. He was so full of guilt and shame he cried, but he tried to cry without moving his face very much, so it would not start up again. He walked off into the night with extraordinary care, as if he had a wineglass balanced on his head. After she had cleaned up the blood she went to the bathroom and vomited again and again. It was not the blood which had sickened her, or the fright. It was the memory of his wet wanting grin, and the rough fumbling of his hands, and the blunt, questing bulge of his sex against her when he had held her close. Sammy had answered the next-to-the-last question for her.

The last question was still there. Would another man ever have her? It would have to be with love. It would have to be like the way she had felt toward Van. But there might be no man in the world who could awaken that.

Wallace Lime had come over to talk to the three of them. Di took his hand away to light a cigarette. She smiled at them and murmured something about having to talk to Jackie, and went across the patio to where Jackie stood talking to Morton Dermond.

Morton said, “I was just telling Jackie she really does have the figure for one of those little sleeveless dresses, high at the throat, not fitted, no belt. I’d love to see you in one, Jackie. One of those fabrics that look like raw silk. They’re truly horrid on meaty women, dear, but you have a nice colty look.”

“He doesn’t know Ross,” Jackie said. “I dress for Ross, Morty. He doesn’t like the merchandise hidden under the counter. I’ve got to make the most of what I’ve got. Stretch pants and plenty of uplift.”

Dermond looked pained. “But it’s so obvious, isn’t it?”

“Oh, yes indeed!” Jackie said, with a broad dirty grin.

Dermond looked at his watch and said, “I do have to run. I’ll send you our current membership list so you can check it against your files, Jackie.” He walked away from them, taking curiously short steps for a man of his size.

Jackie giggled. “I shouldn’t tease the poor brute. He yearns for pretty dresses, but he hasn’t got the build. He always wants to dress me, and it gives me the horrid feeling his taste is better than mine, so I strike back. He’s really one of the nicer ones. He’s not too obvious, and he has the good sense not to try to mix up the two worlds he lives in. When can we have our own little organization meeting, Katty?”

“No banking hours tomorrow. Do you want to come over?”

“You come to our house, honey. Two birds with one stone. I didn’t get a chance to tell you before, but Ross wants to use you again. Now, don’t look at me like that. It’s a stinky little six bucks for an hour or any part thereof, and the sketch has been okayed, so he knows exactly what the pose will be. There’s a swirly skirt of mine he wants you in, and it won’t take more than fifteen minutes. How about right after lunch? Bring your kids.”

“It always makes me feel like such an idiot.”

“Don’t be so self-conscious, honey. Ross loves your good bones, and he says you’ve got the best color values of any redhead he’s ever used. And he says you’re as easy to work with as a pro. And I’m so horrible at it. Poor guy. I freeze every time. I hunch my shoulders and the pictures come out looking as if I had one of those iron things holding my head steady like they used in the olden days. And I haven’t got good arms, he says.”

The group was breaking up. Kat said goodbye to Melissa and the colonel and went out to her brick-colored Volkswagen parked in the sandy shade next to the Jennings’ semicircular driveway. As she drove a mile south on Mangrove Road toward Sandy Key Estates, she thought of the meeting and how it had disappointed her. Probably, from an organizational point of view, they were better organized than they had been the last time, but there was a quality of indignation and enthusiasm which was lacking. At the first meeting two years ago, everybody had tried to talk at the same time, presenting all kinds of ideas. Perhaps now they were better qualified to combat the Grassy Bay fill, but there did not seem to be as much spirit, as much righteous anger.

The side door key was under the mat, and she was glad Roy and Alicia were becoming so reliable about replacing it. She went into the empty house and felt a familiar twinge of guilt as she snapped the big air conditioner on. She took off her blouse and skirt in the bedroom and went back and stood in the cool wind of the noisy unit until she felt chilled by the evaporation of the mist of sweat on her body.

She phoned the Sinnat home. The cook-housekeeper, Mrs. Riggs, answered. She asked her to tell Esperanza to shoo the kids on home. Mrs. Riggs asked her to hold the phone. Claire came on the line and said, “I knew you’d be late on account of the meeting, Kat. So we asked the kids to stay for a hamburger cook-out, and Gus is over here fogging us down. Here’s the deal, dear. You come on up whenever you feel like it, and the upper classes will have steak later on. Then when my pair are sacked out, either Nat or Esperanza can take yours home and sit with them until you’re damn well ready to call it a night.”

“Claire, I just can’t keep imposing on—”

“You’ve never imposed on anybody, Kat. Di wants you around tonight. As soon as he got home a few minutes ago he phoned Martin and Eloise, and they’re coming over too, later on, but without the little Cable heirs, thank the good Lord. We were talking about it when you phoned. Di wants to nail Martin about why he’s optioned that land to the developers. You know Di, so it ought to be something to hear. He thinks it would be a good thing if you were here.”

“But I work for Martin!”

“You work in the bank and so does Martin. Don’t be so darn timid, Kat, really. You were a friend and neighbor long before you worked for him. We’ll expect you, dear.”

“Well... all right, but I’m not going to get into any hassle. I’ll just listen.”

“Come along whenever you’re ready.”

Seven

Brian Haas muttered, stirred, opened his eyes at a few minutes before five. Jimmy Wing put his book aside. The small bedroom was hot.