Jolie sipped wine and said, “Let me take the opportunity to present my pet peeve.”
“Fire away,” Ray said. “It’s open season.”
“Sara Joslyn,” Jolie said.
Ray looked blank, though he knew whom she meant. “Who? Oh, Cal’s friend.”
“She’s a nice girl,” Cal allowed.
Jolie looked sour. “She’s a nice girl reporter,” she said.
“I kinda like her,” Ray admitted.
“So do I,” Jolie said. “She’s a nice girl, as you say. After the trial, maybe we’ll all become pen pals. But tomorrow, we get serious. From here on, I don’t want her around.”
“Aw gee,” Cal said.
Ray said, “Jolie, don’t be a pain. The girl works for a nice news magazine up in New York City. They’re a weekly magazine; they aren’t going to print a word about the case until the trial’s all over and done with. What’s the harm in having her around?”
“What’s the point in having her around?”
“Cal’s got the hots for her,” Ray said.
Jolie gave that the look of contempt it deserved. “Bull,” she said.
“Why not?” Ray asked her. “Cal’s been married a couple times, he likes girls, he isn’t some faggot or anything.”
“I think I’m gonna score, too,” Cal said, grinning like Ichabod Crane.
Ray, listening, heard a voice. “Is Warren on the phone?”
Jolie said, “Maybe he’s calling a psychiatrist.”
Ray grinned. “You mean I’m driving him crazy?”
“Calling a psychiatrist for you,” Jolie said. “If Cal wants to hang out with this girl reporter, at least I don’t want her around our strategy sessions.”
Ray spread his hands. “Jolie, look at this table. Do you see her here?”
“If I see her where I don’t want to see her,” Jolie threatened, “I am going to scream until she goes away.”
“You do that,” Ray said, and Warren came back to the table, looking both grumpy and satisfied. Taking his seat, putting his napkin on his lap, he said, “The next couple of minutes should be rather interesting.”
“Why’s that?” Ray asked.
Instead of answering, Warren looked around at them all and said, “What were we discussing?”
“Reporters,” Jolie said with a curl of the lip.
“What a coincidence,” Warren said as a whole lot of really bright floodlights flashed on, out there on the golf course, impaling from half a dozen directions a golf cart stopped on the little golf-cart road out there, midway on a line between these windows and the little ball-washing box on the thirteenth tee. On the golf cart were two shabby men and a lot of expensive equipment: infrared cameras, high-definition long-range microphones, shortwave radio scanners to monitor police calls, professional-quality earphones.
The men on the golf cart, in the middle of that sudden glare, tried to do thirty things at once, and accomplished none of them. They tried to shield their eyes from the blinding light, they tried to get the golf cart started and run away from there, they tried to keep their equipment from falling off the cart, and they tried to pretend they weren’t doing any of those things. So, for about ten seconds out there, the clumped mass of golf cart and men and equipment looked like some sort of windup toy gone bonkers.
Then the Porte Regal security cops arrived, running in from all directions, waving nightsticks and Mace cans and handcuffs, and collected up the windup toy gone bonkers, then took the whole tangle away from there. And the lights went out.
“There,” Warren said. “Wasn’t that fun?”
“You saw something,” Jolie said to him.
“I saw light reflect from something shiny that moved,” Warren explained. “Probably a camera lens. I doubted there were many golfers out there in the pitch-dark, so I phoned security. I assume they were reporters of some sort.”
Jolie raised a significant eyebrow at Ray. “Reporters,” she said.
“Jolie, have some more wine,” Ray suggested.
24
Binx wanted to talk about Marcie. Sara wanted to talk about what the Galaxy was up to in connection with Ray Jones, but she couldn’t ask that question head-on, so they talked about Marcie. That is, Binx talked about Marcie. Sara could have sung the whole song right along with him, but she didn’t, because he thought he was making it all up. So she let him take a solo.
“The thing is, we were too young when we got married, we didn’t know our own minds, we didn’t know who we were. I’m not blaming Marcie, I think it’s just as tough on her as it is on me, and she’s stuck just the same way I am. And now with the kids, you know, and that drives us even further apart. We were just kids ourselves, somebody should have told us, ‘Don’t do it! Find out who you are first, don’t tie yourself down before you ever even tested those wings.’ I’m not blaming Marcie, I know it’s hell on her, too, and she’s got the kids more than I do. We came together and we thought it was love, you know, love for the ages, but what did we know? It was just sex, that’s all. We were just kids, and sex was like a new lollipop, you know, in those days we couldn’t keep our hands off each other, and then the kids started coming. I’m not blaming Marcie, we made all the decisions together, but we were wrong. What did we know? Nothing. We met in college, and her folks were all over her to marry me, and my folks were just as bad. I’m not blaming them, it was our own decision, but we weren’t ready to make a decision, neither of us. I’m not blaming Marcie, I’m as responsible as she is. More. It was up to me to be the mature one, and I just wasn’t. And then the Galaxy job came along, and the money looked so good, and we just spent it, we just bought stuff, and everything you buy it winds up you still owe on it, we’ve got all these mortgages, and paying off the cars, paying off the furniture, paying off the swimming pool, paying off all this stuff. I’m not blaming Marcie, I wanted that stuff as much as she did, or almost as much. But it means we’re stuck again, all over again. The kids, and all the debts, and when I was fired for a while we really fell behind, taking out loans and I don’t know when we’re gonna get caught up. I’m not blaming Marcie, it’s the whole lifestyle, you get it, you spend it, you know how it is at the Galaxy, the money isn’t real, so you spend it as soon as it comes in, and then you’re behind the eight ball, and you don’t know what the hell you’re gonna do. You’re stuck, that’s all. You and Jack were right to get out, you really were, but I’m stuck in it. I got Marcie, and the kids, and the house, and the cars, and the pool, and all this stuff, so I can’t make a move. I wanted life, you know? And I got the Sargasso Sea. I’m not blaming Marcie, but if only I could get away from her at some point, find somebody that understands me, has confidence in me, faith in me, I know I could turn my life around, get out from under all this shit. And I have to tell you, I’m not blaming Marcie, but she’s no help at all, she doesn’t try to save any money, give me any encouragement, act like she’s gonna stand by me, you should have heard her when I was fired for a while, no support, nothing. And sex. On a good day our sex is down to something that looks like an illustration in a plumbing manual, but when I was fired for a while it was hopeless, she had Krazy Glue in there, I swear I couldn’t—”