“How’s Hampton?”
“The same.Every day, the same.Except stronger.He takes walks, he eats, but the speech thing, you know.He can’t leave the house because he cannot speak.He has one word.Da-da.Da-da, da-da.It means yes, it means no, it means I’m hungry, I’m cold, it means whatever he wants.
And believe me, everyone is meant to understand that this da-da means he wants a soft-boiled egg and that da-da means he wants a back rub.”
Her voice is level, slightly hard, but her eyes show the injury, the pity, and the fury ofliving with a man who has been ruined.
“It feels really strange,”Daniel says.“You know.That I’ve never seen him.”
“How can you?What would you do?Walk in? Pay him a visit?”
“I don’t know.But it just seems strange.I feel I should.After all…”
“Well, it just can’t happen.”She is startled by the harshness in her tone.“Maybe sometime,”she adds.“Just not now.”
“I need to take responsibility,”Daniel says.
”I’m taking responsibility,”Iris says.“Every day.And that’s enough.
He doesn’t even know exactly what happened to him.He certainly doesn’t think it had anything to do with you.I would have to draw him a series ofcartoons, and he still probably wouldn’t understand.Come on.Please.I don’t want to talk about it.I need a break from all that.”
Brusquely, even roughly—he forgives and even enjoys the bullying haste ofit—she leads him to the bedroom, pushes his shoulders.He falls onto the bed and she swoops onto him in a fury ofneed.He tries to speak against the sorrowful pressure ofher kisses and their teeth click against each other.
He feels that she isn’t ready yet, but she wants him inside ofher now.
Her sudden intake ofbreath whistles through her clenched teeth.Her eyelids flutter and she presses her fingers into his back, urgently.She whispers the details and the extent ofher pleasure into his ear, and even as he feels the joy ofbeing with and within her, a thought presents itself: Why,he wonders,didn’t she let me make her ready before I entered her?Why didn’t she let me touch her, why did she want me to push my way in?It is a thought ofsurpassing pettiness—how could the man who once had longed so fer-vently for the chance to kiss the instep ofher foot now quibble over the details oflubrication? But even as he continues to make love to her, even as he feels the sweat pouring offofhim, even as he times his movements so as to bring her pleasure, to hear that stunned, despairing, and unde-fended little yell she makes, even as her grip tightens and he feels himself drawn into the inevitable engulfing swoon ofcoming, even now he cannot repress the memory ofthat sharp little intake ofbreath.The conclusion is inescapable:the forceful penetration is what she is used to, that is what she once had with Hampton, and this is what her body craves, this is what she hungers for, and—right now—this is what she requires.
Yet somehow, through force ofwill, and by doggedly obeying the commands ofhis own desire, he is able to stay with her, and now they lie next to each other, panting and relieved.In the dim light ofhis bedroom-in-exile (he cannot imagine making his life in this house;he occupies it like a fugitive),Iris dozes off, her legs pressed together, her arms at her side, like a child miming sleep.A gentle snore hovers above her lips.
Daniel props himself up on his elbow and gazes down at her.Her breasts are nearly flat against her, the nipples elongated and with a slight droop from two years ofnursing Nelson.Her belly gently swells with each breath.What ifhis child were growing in there?
Not wanting to disturb her sleep, and not trusting himself to keep from touching her, Daniel slips out ofbed and walks as softly as he can into the front room.Naked, he sits on the sofa, finds the remote control under a cushion, and turns on theTV.The Guns of Navaroneis no longer playing, and he flips through the channels looking for something that can hold his interest for ten or fifteen minutes, after which time he feels he ought to wake Iris.He settles on one ofthe all-news cable channels, where a black lawyer named Reginald McTeer is holding forth about the O.J.Simpson case.Daniel has often seen McTeer’s endlessly smiling, media-friendly face onTV.The program must have sent a crew to McTeer’s office because he is seated at a grand desk, with shelves oflaw books framing a view ofmidtown Manhattan behind him.recorded earlier todayflashes on the bottom ofthe screen.McTeer is a stocky man in a dark suit and his signature ten-gallon cowboy hat, bright white with a red satin band.A picture ofhis light-skinned wife and their three fair children is on his desk, as well as photographs ofMcTeer enjoying his expensive hobbies and vacations—on safari, in the cockpit ofhis Mooney, on horseback, and with various well-knowns from the worlds ofpolitics and entertainment.He speaks like a man comfortable with the sound ofhis own voice, with the exhorting enthusiasm ofa preacher, or a Cadillac salesman.
“You know, Jim, all the media’s going crazy because Mr.O.J.Simpson got himself a team offirst-rate lawyers.Everyone’s going on about justice for sale.And I say:more power to him.This isAmerica, baby.
Everything’s for sale.You think the poor get the same medical care as the rich? Everything is for sale, top to bottom.What you’ve got to under-stand is that’s how the system works, that’s just what the man’s got to do.
InAmerica green trumps blackandwhite.”
McTeer smiles, and then suddenly theTV shows Jim Klein sitting in the cable station’s studio, watching McTeer on a large monitor.Klein, a silver-haired man in a blue blazer, once a newscaster for one ofthe net-works, and now nearing the end ofhis broadcast career, swivels in his chair and faces another large monitor.
It’s Kate, in Leyden, sitting on the sofa in the living room.Daniel stares at her image for several seconds, not even entirely believing it is actually her.She looks relaxed.Her legs are crossed, her delicate, patri-cian hands are folded onto her lap.She wears a white blouse, a strand of pearls.As she speaks, her name appears in writing on the bottom ofthe screen:kate ellisauthor and simpson expertnew york.
“You know, Jim, it’s very interesting,”Kate is saying,“and not without significance, that, for all his talk about the law and justice, and about the green and the white and the black, Mr.McTeer fails to mention that he was himself part ofthe original team oflawyers put together for Simpson’s defense.”As soon as she says this, the broadcast goes to a split-screen format and McTeer can be seen shaking his head, and waving his hand dismissively at the camera, clearly indicating that Kate’s comments are beneath contempt.
But Kate cannot see McTeer and she continues, undaunted, her cultured voice brimming with self-confidence.Daniel leans forward, his hands resting on his square, bare knees.She seems entirely herself, yet at the same time somehow perfect for television.It’s been months since he has seen her looking so relaxed.“Mr.McTeer was asked to be a part of O.J.’s DreamTeam and he declined.Why?Well, a statement Mr.McTeer made to the press last year should put his actions in a clear light.He said…”Kateglances at a little notebook she has left next to her on the sofa.With a lurch, Daniel recognizes it—it’s a little spiral notebook with a picture ofa whale on the cover, which he bought for her two summers ago on a weekend trip to Nantucket.“‘Life is too short, and life is too precious, and there are still things on earth that money can’t buy.’”
“With all due respect, Ms.Ellis, you can’t believe everything you read in the press,”McTeer says.“There are more writers out there than you can shake a stick at, and some ofthem are putting groceries on the table by writing a lot ofdamn foolishness about O.J.Simpson.”