“Is that all?”
“I think so. Yes. That’s all. Why?”
“He implied — more.”
“More? You mean...?”
“Well, he implied we really knew each other. He implied we’d...”
“I understand.” She paused. “But of course, we never did.”
“No.”
“I’m sorry we didn’t. I... I should have given you that. When you’ve given everything else, it seems so petty to cling to... I should have allowed you that.”
“Mary, the important thing is—”
“Does it embarrass you? My talking like this?”
“No.”
“Good. Because I think you should know, in fairness you should know, that I wanted you as much as you seemed to want me.”
“I’m glad to know that.”
“I was a silly little girl.”
“Perhaps not.”
“Yes, I was. A person shouldn’t draw boundary lines for love. Love is giving. I should have given you everything I had to give.”
For a moment he thought of Karin and the bombardier, and his brow creased in puzzlement.
“About Barton,” he said. “He’s writing a story. God knows what it’ll say. But you can bet it won’t be flattering. It’ll be nothing we can sue him or the paper for, but it’ll be loaded with the implication that you and I were far more than casual friends, and that our past relationship might influence the outcome of the case.”
“I see.”
“I thought I ought to warn you.”
“Thank you. I appreciate it.”
“I mean, I didn’t think your husband should...”
“Should what?”
“Should... should get the idea that... that his wife...”
She looked at him in complete surprise. “Why, I’ve told Johnny how close we were, Hank. I’ve even told him I was a little sorry you and I hadn’t made love together.”
“You told him that?”
“Yes.”
“And... and what did he say?”
“He said — I remember this very well” — she smiled — “he said it wouldn’t have mattered to him, and it might have mattered very much to us. That’s what he said.”
“He sounds like... like a remarkable man.”
“I think you’d like him.”
“Well, then the story won’t cause you any trouble.”
“No. None at all. Not with Johnny, anyway.”
“I’m relieved to hear that.”
“And this is why you came?”
“Yes.”
“You could have told me this on the phone.”
“I know I could have,” he said.
“Then why did you come?”
He paused for a moment, and then he smiled, and then he said, “I guess I wanted to make sure I hadn’t been a fool when I fell in love with a girl named Mary O’Brien.”
Seven
When he got home that afternoon, there was company waiting in the living room.
Karin met him at the door and said, “John and Fred are here. I don’t think it’s a social visit.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’ll see. They have the look of men who’ve discovered goldenrod in their neighbor’s lawn.”
“No kiss for the returning warrior?” he said.
“Why, certainly.”
She kissed him briefly, and he said, “I’ll see you later. Where’s Jennie?”
“She’s having dinner at one of her friends’. She’ll be gone until eleven or so.”
“It bodes well,” Hank said.
“Does it? I haven’t been asked yet.”
“I don’t believe in asking my women. I just drag them into my cave by the hair.”
“If I were you, I’d go talk to the Committee for the Preservation of Green Lawns in Inwood first.”
“I intend to do that right now. Did you mix some Martinis?”
“I did.”
“Good. I’d like one.”
“They’re on the bar. I’d join you, but someone around here has to get dinner going.”
“Chill some wine,” he said.
“My, my,” Karin answered. “What brings on the sudden romanticism?”
“The very sight of you, my dove,” he said, and he winked and went into the living room.
“Well, well,” he said, “this is a surprise. John, Fred, how are you?”
Both men rose as he entered the room. John McNalley was in his early thirties, a tall sinewy man with prematurely gray hair. He worked for a chemical research plant in Yonkers. Fred Pierce was an advertising man, art director for a firm which specialized in photographic layouts. In contrast to McNalley, he was short and rotund, with the sloppy look of an artist living on the Left Bank. They shook hands with Hank, and then McNalley said, “Home from the wars, eh?”
“Busy day,” Hank said. “Busy day. Either of you care for a Martini? I’m going to have one.”
Pierce looked as if he were about to accept, but McNalley promptly said, “No,” for both of them. Hank went to the bar, picked up the pitcher there, held the swizzle stick to its lip and poured a hefty Martini into his glass. He plucked two olives from the open jar on the bar top and dropped them into the glass.
“Here’s luck,” he said.
“Drink hearty,” Pierce said, and then he glanced at McNalley as if wondering whether he had his approval to speak.
Hank loosened his tie and sat down. “What can I do for you, fellas?” he said. “Donation for the P.T.A.? Little League? What is it this time?”
“Well, nothing very serious,” McNalley said.
“Just a little friendly visit, that’s all,” Pierce said, glancing again at McNalley.
“Well, it’s always good to see you,” Hank said, and he watched them over the rim of his glass, wondering why they were here, suspecting at once that this was not “just a little friendly visit.”
“Good for neighbors to get together every now and then,” McNalley said.
“Especially in a neighborhood like this one,” Pierce said. “Where everybody knows everybody else. Where the people have been living on the same street for years. It’s a good neighborhood, Hank.”
“It certainly is,” Hank replied. He was, in truth, not overly fond of Inwood. But as a prosecutor for New York County, he was required to maintain residence within the county. They had thought of moving to Greenwich Village when he’d first got the job, but Karin had rightfully insisted that Inwood would provide a more countrified environment for Jennie, who was, at the time, only five and a half years old. Still, he had never really felt any deep-rooted ties with the community.
“We’d like to keep it good,” McNalley said.
“That’s a reasonable hope,” Hank answered, sipping at the Martini. He felt rather good. He’d felt this way ever since his talk with Mary. He was hoping these two rather forlorn-looking neighbors of his would go home for dinner so that he could go kiss his wife.
Out of a clear blue sky, Pierce said, “How would you like your daughter marrying one of those Puerto Ricans?”
Hank blinked. “What? What did you say?”
“Now, just a minute, Fred,” McNalley said. “I thought we agreed that I would do the—”
“I’m sorry, John. Only, we were talking about the neighbor—”
“I know what we were talking about. Boy, you’re about as subtle as a locomotive!”
“Well, I’m sorry if I—”
“Oh, just keep quiet and let me explain this to Hank. You’re going to give him the wrong idea, for God’s sake.”
“The wrong idea about what, John?” Hank asked.
“About the neighborhood. And the city.”
“Why, I think this is a nice neighborhood,” Hank said. “And a nice city.”
“Sure you do,” McNalley said.
“See, I told you he’d agree with us,” Pierce said.