Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 25, No. 7, July, 1980
You Get What You Deserve
by William Bankier
People saw Carolina in the morning at their own peril...
Had he not been married to Carolina Hagerty, Gabriel Parsons would never have been allowed inside the Mount Stephen Club. Now here he was under a ceiling panelled by Scottish craftsmen brought to Montreal for that purpose in the early part of the century, doing his effortless number with a pint of beer in his hand. Gabe’s specialty was charming people, ladies a little more successfully than men, with his clever conversation and his boyish smile.
“The simple truth is, I may never write another novel,” he said. The ladies frowned and cooed as they sipped their champagne, but Gabe was on firm ground. He was being sincere. “Seriously. Deadly Instruments came out four years ago. Since then—”
“I loved that book! A series of murders in a symphony orchestra!”
“You must do us another, Mr. Parsons!”
“I can’t seem to find the time. All I write these days are newspaper reviews of other people’s books.”
“I never bother to read the novels. A Gabriel Parsons essay is better than the original.”
“For that, sweet lady, a kiss on the cheek. There. And another glass of champagne from this ubiquitous waiter’s tray.” Gabe sent away the pewter mug he had brought with him for a refill of beer. He liked beer. And he felt it placed a subtle emphasis on his working-class origins to have his tankard in evidence among the crystal goblets.
Carolina was drifting from one island of drinkers to another. “I saw that kiss,” she scolded, presenting her cheek so that Gabriel could bestow one on her. She was a tall, handsome woman, with healthy skin and narrow blue eyes. Reduced by half, her features could have been described as baby doll. She paid forty dollars to have her tawny hair cut carelessly short and brushed forward. “Is Gabriel seducing all my friends again?”
“I wish he would. Me anyway.”
“He’s infuriatingly faithful to you, Carolina. Where did you find such a gem?”
“She had him made in her father’s factory. Gabe is too good to be real.”
No credit to Gabriel Parsons, his fidelity was a fact. He was a monogamist. As a single man, he had flirted and courted, occasionally loved, but never more than one woman at a time. Married now and at the ripe age of forty-eight, he could no more carry on an illicit affair than he could chug-a-lug his beer and sing “Roses of Picardy” at the same time.
“You don’t deserve him, Carolina,” one of the younger women said. “If there were any justice, someone would take Gabe away from you.”
The girl was hinting at Carolina Hagerty’s extramarital exploits. It was considered ironic that she divorced her previous husband, Robert Hurst, on grounds of infidelity. A woman of her resources could do as she pleased, of course, but still it seemed unfair that poor Bob was cut adrift only for practicing what his wife had always preached to any of her friends who would listen.
“Look at those calves,” she would say, referring to the legs of a band leader on a raised platform in the Normandie Room at the Mount Royal Hotel. “How would you like to get your hands on those?” Then she d arrange to do just that in her hospitality suite while her husband was left to see the departing guests into the January night.
Now it was almost time to put the bite on this well heeled crew at the charity affair at the Mount Stephen. They knew why they had been invited. Carolina would ask, and it would be given. Receipts would be issued, and the ultimate loser would be the Internal Revenue Department in Ottawa.
“Gabriel, a word in your ear.” Carolina drew her husband into an alcove. He was portly, but he could be steered like a barge on water. “Will you deliver the pitch? Make it persuasive. I want no checks under five hundred dollars.”
“I will, of course. But why?”
“Because Bob is here. He’s in the anteroom. He sent in word he must see me.” Carolina was aggressively open about her meetings with her previous husband. If Gabriel didn’t like it, that was his problem.
Gabe liked it. “Give old Bob my best. Tell him we’d like to see him out at High Heaven.”
“I certainly will not.” Carolina preferred to see Bob Hurst, when it pleased her, at a motel on Upper Lachine Road. “Will you give the pitch?”
“Avec plaisir. Leave it to me. Will I see you in the morning?”
That was a laugh. People did not see Carolina Hagerty-Hurst-Parsons in the morning — or, if they did, it was at their peril. She was a night person.
“Darling, you know better. Just spend your usual industrious morning at the typewriter and I’ll see you after lunch.” A quick kiss and she was gone.
For a change, Carolina went back with Bob to his place — a dismal habitat. He lived in a small apartment across the road from Sir George Williams University on Maisonneuve Boulevard. As they went in, Carolina hoped she would see one of Gabriel’s former colleagues from his years as an assistant professor of English. Not that Gabriel cared, but she enjoyed reminding the world that she needed about ten times as much love as her husband was able to provide.
“This was a good wine when I opened it three days ago,” Bob said. He made a theatrical business of using his strong, sunburned hands to squeeze the last drops from the bottle. “They import it from the Galapagos Islands to sell to the winos in Dominion Square. It’s called Park Bench Reserve.”
“To what do I owe this pleasure?”
“Can’t I just be starved for your company?”
“I see ambition in those erotic little eyes.”
“Don’t you want me to succeed?”
“At whose expense? Never mind, what’s the project?”
“My aqua-school. Don’t make a face. I’ve found a perfect location beside the lake in Ste. Agathe. There are crowds of tourists there all summer and they’ll pay through the snorkel for scuba lessons.”
“What will you do in the winter? Fish through the ice?”
“I need ten thousand to get it off the ground.”
“Get off my back.”
“If I did, you wouldn’t like it.”
“Hands off, Robert. I hate being rough-housed.”
In fact, she loved it.
Later, as she was combing her hair with lacquered fingernails, Robert said, “How is the angel Gabriel?”
“Angelic. I don’t know what I ever did to deserve such a blessing.”
“Does he know you came out with me?”
“Yes.”
“What was his reaction?”
“The usual. Live and let live. Tolerance Forever. As long as we’re both happy.” She laughed. “At times like this I can’t understand why I hate him.”
“Why did you marry him?”
“Because it was such a relief to encounter a civilized man after you. Because he graces my entrances and makes all my girl friends jealous. Because I take pride in being married to a published author. Because he’s almost old enough to be the father I always wanted closer to me.”
“Greedy girl. You’ve never been satisfied with having the income from Hagerty Electronics. You wanted Hagerty as well.”
“At least I’m honest about it.”
“Forget your father. He’s dead.”
“And you’re next.” His young neck was muscular but she managed to clamp her hands around it.
She was morose when it was time to go. He was pensive.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked as he poured milk from a quart bottle into their mugs of coffee on the kitchen table.