“I lost her,” Walker said.
Around two o’clock on a Sunday afternoon Shelley Pearce, Jack Glenn and a French actor named Celli were at the bar in Joe Allen’s. Because it was a rainy, chilling day and because they had spent the morning at a memorial service, they were drinking brandy and each of them was somewhat drunk.
They had begun to talk about the drunk-driving laws and about accidents friends of theirs had had when Gordon Walker came in. They watched in startled silence as he came up to join them.
“Well, hello, Gordon,” Jack said.
He introduced Walker to Celli. Celli gave Walker a hearty American handshake while the others watched him to see whether he knew who it was that he was meeting.
“How was it?” Gordon asked Shelley.
“Oh, it was good, Gordon. Real good as those things go.”
Walker nodded.
“I was gonna say you should have been there, but of course you shouldn’t.”
“I wasn’t asked.”
He signaled the bartender and ordered a Perrier.
“I mean,” Shelley said, “what do you mean, ‘How was it?’ It was god-awful. Her kids cried. He looked relieved, which he damn well was. There was press but they didn’t stay.” She took a long sip from her snifter. “The press likes a coffin and we didn’t have one.”
“It was a long time afterward to have it,” Celli said. “Because in France we do everything right away. The memorial, two months, it seems different.”
“Well,” Shelley said, “maybe they were waiting for her to …”
“Right,” Jack Glenn said quickly. “That was another blow. That she wasn’t found.”
“It wasn’t a blow,” Walker said. “It was better. I thought it was.”
“Did you, Gord?” Shelley asked. “That’s good. I see you’re drinking Perrier.”
“I had hepatitis,” he explained. “If I hadn’t had the gamma globulin shot I would have died.” He ran his finger around his glass. “So my drinking days are over.”
“Isn’t it tough?” she asked him.
“What have you been up to?” Walker asked her.
“Isn’t it tough not drinking? How do you manage it?”
“Oh,” Walker said. “Well, I watch television.” He laughed in embarrassment. “Evenings it’s hard, you get blue. And I drink a lot of tomato juice with Tabasco.” He cleared his throat. “I drink unsalted tomato juice because my blood pressure’s a little high.”
“That’s neat,” Shelley said. “That’s prudent. Do you jog?”
“Not yet. They say I might start in a month or so. When my blood pressure’s better. I’m starting to write again.”
“So you never really had a heart attack?” Jack asked.
“Apparently not.”
Shelley ordered another round and another Perrier for Walker.
“What brings you to the coast?” she asked him. “What’d you do, lurk outside? The mystery mourner?”
“I hear you opened your own shop,” Walker said to her.
“That’s right, man. Power to the people.”
“She says they’ll only represent women,” Jack said. “The truth is, she’s taking two-thirds of Keochakian’s clients. The poor guy’s on the phone twenty-four hours a day begging people to stay.”
“Did you go with her?” Walker asked Jack Glenn.
“You bet I did.”
“I don’t understand why you’re in town,” Shelley said. “You doing deals or what?”
“We’re moving out,” he said. “We’re relocating East.”
“We are?” she asked. “Who are we?”
Walker sipped his Perrier.
“Connie came back from London when I got sick. So we’re together. We’re relocating. East.”
“Oh, Gordon,” Shelley said. She put a hand to her chest as though it were her heart that was at risk. “Is that ever neat! Connie came home. For heaven’s sake! How about that, fellas?” she asked her friends. “Isn’t that neat?”
“Really glad to hear it,” Jack said.
Gordon thanked him. The Frenchman raised an eyebrow and looked into his glass.
“I haven’t been reading the trades,” Walker said. “How’s the picture?”
“It’s on the bottom of the Pacific,” Shelley said. “With the late Lee V.”
“They’re recutting it,” Jack said. He shrugged. “They shot some scenes with Joy. Lots of luck.”
“It’s wonderful that Connie came home,” Shelley said. “Hey,” she said delightedly, “how about that for a title? Connie Came Home? But I suppose people would think it was an animal picture.”
Jack Glenn laughed and bit his lip.
“I think it’s wonderful, Gordon,” Shelley said. “Plumb wonderful. Really.”
Walker looked away.
“When she died, Gordon, did you think of any great quotes from Shakespeare? He can quote Shakespeare from here to Sunday,” Shelley explained to her friends. “He’s a walking concordance. So was she. Come on, Gordo,” she insisted. “You stood on the shore when she went down for number three. What did you say?”
“I was very drunk the night it happened. The truth is, I remember very little of what went on. What I remember is pretty bad. Anyway, why don’t you stop?” he said.
“You’re no fun anymore now that you stopped drinking. Drunks aren’t fun when you’re not drunk. I bet nobody ever told you that before.”
“Often,” Walker said. “Repeatedly.”
“I can think of a quote,” Shelley said. “Too much of water hast thee, maid.” She reached across the table and pushed his Perrier into his lap. “How’s that grab?”
Walker tried to dry his clothes with his napkin.
“The reason I came here after the service,” he told Shelley, “was to see you.”
Shelley swallowed hard.
“Oh,” she said brightly. “Oh, me.”
“I was hoping that in future … I was hoping that in future you might represent me.”
She blinked and looked around Joe Allen’s as though she were expecting someone. She was smiling brightly.
“Sure, Gordon. Absolutely.”
“I have some things in mind,” he told her.
“Oh yeah?” her voice came as a croak. “Excuse me,” she said, and cleared her throat. “Like what?”
“We can talk another time. I have to go.” He stood up and shook hands with Jack and Celli. “I thought that at my present age I might stop going with the flow.”
“We’ll do good stuff,” Shelley said, not looking at him. “You better believe it. Hey. I’m sorry about your drink, Gord.”
“It’s just water,” he said. “So long.”
“Right,” Shelley said as he went toward the door. “And I paid for it too.”
“Goodbye, Shelley,” Walker said.
When he was outside they sat in silence for a while.
“Excuse me,” Celli said. “But I don’t know how to make of it.”
“You were pretty tough on the guy,” Jack Glenn said. “Pretty tough on Lu Anne too.”
Shelley turned on him.
“Goddamn it,” she said. “I mourned her. You think I didn’t mourn her? I thought she was wonderful. I always thought it was like somebody fed her a poisoned apple.”
She took out her handkerchief and cried into it. Jack ordered another round.
“One more,” he said. “One more can’t hurt.”
When the drinks came Jack handed Shelley hers. “Drink me,” he said. Shelley drank.
“She used to talk about her big night as Rosalind,” Jack said. “I think it was a student thing.”
“I was there,” Shelley said. “I had applied to Yale Rep, so I drove down from Northampton. I saw her do Rosalind.”
“And was it, like, tremendous?”
“Yeah,” Shelley said. “Yeah, it was nice.”