Section 3
Ed came out of the bathroom in nothing.
“What was the matter with her?” she said.
Emerson, in red-and-white-striped pajamas, was sitting up in bed with his back against the headboard. He looked at Ed and kept on looking at her.
“With whom?”
“You know whom. Lisa Lawes.”
“She drank too many martinis.”
“I know that. But why?”
“Lots of people drink too many martinis. Especially Roscoe’s martinis. Roscoe’s martinis, I understand, are considered exceptionally tempting.”
“Don’t try to high-brow talk me, you low-brow. It won’t work.”
“I’m not a low-brow. I’m a middle-brow. Most of the time, anyhow. The only time I’m a low-brow is when you corrupt me.”
“Personally, I find you much more acceptable as a low-brow. However, that’s neither here nor there when it comes to Lisa Lawes and the martinis. You know what I mean.”
“Do I?”
“Certainly. Some people drink to be sociable, and some people drink for pleasure, and some people drink for other reasons of their own which are personal and usually not pleasant. That’s the way it was with her. With Lisa.”
“And you accused me of high-brow talking you. Honey, you’re positively intellectual.”
“You needn’t be sarcastic, Em.”
“Who’s being sarcastic? I’m honestly impressed. Well, go ahead. Diagnose her for me. Tell me why Lisa drank too many martinis.”
“To escape, naturally.”
“Escape what?”
“How the hell would I know? Whatever she has inside her that needs escaping from. You saw how she went about it, Em. You can always tell that kind of drinker. There’s a sort of deadly purpose in them.”
“Is that really you saying all those things? You sound like a psychiatrist or something. Which gives me a good idea of how we could get rich fast. You could open an office and conduct all your sessions just the way you are now. For men only, of course. You’d be sensationally successful. No other psychiatrist in the world could touch you when it came to establishing rapport with the patient. Did you hear that? Rapport, I said. Don’t get the idea you’re the only one who knows any words.”
“You’re making fun of me. You aren’t taking me seriously at all.”
“On the contrary, I’m taking you very seriously, and I couldn’t agree with you more. It’s just that I don’t consider the diagnosis of Lisa Lawes particularly interesting.”
“Don’t you?”
Ed walked over and sat down on the edge of the bed and looked pensive. Besides looking other ways. Emerson’s attention was given mostly to the other ways.
“Not as interesting as you, anyhow,” he said. “Not nearly as interesting.”
“That’s because you’re not sensitive to subtleties. You respond only to the most obvious stimuli. As for me, I find her extremely interesting. Do you know why? Because she’s vulnerable, and vulnerable people are always interesting. You keep wondering what their particular vulnerability is.”
“Vulnerable? Vulnerable, for God’s sake?”
“Yes, vulnerable. And don’t sound so damned outraged about it, because it’s true. You heard the thing; she said. Bitter little remarks that were intended to hurt, and she said them as if she had to say them, as if she couldn’t help saying them in spite of not really wanting to. People who hurt others like that for no apparent reason are people who are afraid of being hurt themselves, and they are afraid of being hurt because they are somehow vulnerable. They anticipate the hurt to themselves and try to get in a few cracks first. What it amounts to is a kind of premature reprisal.”
“Honey, you’ve been reading books again. Which one did you get that from?”
“I didn’t get it from any books, damn it. You just don’t give me credit for having any brains of my own.”
“Of course I do. I not only give you credit for having brains but also for much other superior property, absolutely all of which is now on display.”
“Never mind that, now. Just stay where you are. What did she say at the bar before I got there?”
“Nothing much. I asked her if she had a good time in Mexico City, and she said no, she had a perfectly horrible time.”
“You call that nothing much? A brand new wife saying something like that? I consider it very significant.”
“So do I, to tell the truth. I also consider it none of my damn business.”
“Don’t be stuffy, Em. We’re not harming anyone just by discussing it between ourselves. What was it you said Avery told you that night? You remember. About not liking women.”
“Oh, oh. I thought you’d get around to that.”
“You did, did you? Which means we’ve both been thinking the same thing. Do you suppose that’s why it’s gone sour already?”
“You’ve lost me, honey. What’s gone sour?”
“Damn it, Em, don’t be deliberately obtuse. You know perfectly well what I mean. Their marriage, of course.”
“Has it gone sour?”
“You’re probably the most irritating man I’ve ever been married to. You were there at the bar tonight, weren’t you?”
“Sure, I was there. I was there and heard too many martinis talking. You ever listened to too many martinis? They say the most peculiar things.”
“Oh, to hell with you, Em Page. Be as evasive as you like. Furthermore, since you obviously want to be left alone, I think I’ll just go out and sleep on the sofa.”
“All right, all right. Wait a minute, woman. So I’ve got the same idea you’ve got. So the guy’s impotent or something. So he got down there in Miami and met this gal and began to think he could beat it. So he found out he couldn’t. After it was too late. So the gal’s hungry. So she’s starving, and she’s about to start prowling if she hasn’t already. So I’ve come clean with everything in my dark little mind. Satisfied?”
“Your mind’s not dark. It’s only little. What happens if she starts prowling around Emerson Page?”
“Worried, honey?”
“Not much. I think I can still take care of my own, which I may shortly demonstrate, just possibly. Why do I dislike her so much, Em? I thought I was a reasonably warm-hearted and generous person. It isn’t like me to dislike anyone so intensely in so little time, even someone so deliberately unpleasant.”
“Every married woman dislikes a woman she thinks is on the prowl, or about to go on the prowl.”
“Hear the sage of Corinth. Wisdom in a capsule. Seriously, though, I guess it isn’t exactly that I dislike her. It’s more than that, really. She makes me crawl.”
“Crawl! For God’s sake, how many martinis did you have?”
“Just two, and I can carry four with difficulty. Not all of me, of course. Crawls, I mean. Just my flesh. On my bones, sort of. You know how it is when you see something that’s repugnant to you. And I can’t understand because I can’t see any reason for it. She’s very attractive, really, in a pale sort of way. It disturbs me.”
“Look, honey. While you’re crawling, why don’t you just crawl into bed? Not just your flesh. All of you. Bones and all.”
“Yes. I guess I’d better.”
Ed sighed and stood up and stretched. She put on her nightgown, which had been lying across the bed, and instead of being in nothing she was in something that was just a little more than nothing and somehow gave the appearance of being just a little less. Emerson watched the accomplishment of this delightful paradox with curiosity and pleasure.
Chapter V
Section 1
Spring ran into summer, and summer ran into August, and August was hot. It was reported to be the hottest August on record, and in the heat of its still, white days the aberrant hunger survived and grew and became a malignant torment, and what gave it strength and made it worse was that it had ceased to be diffuse and unattached and had become directed and dedicated. During the ascent of the year and now in the early decline, Lisa continued to tell herself, as she had told herself immediately in the car returning from the restaurant, that she would have to run, that the peril involved in fidelity for the promised year was far too great, and that flight, if not the attainment of security, was at least the postponement of disaster. But she did not run. She stayed. She stayed on into the still, hot month in the precarious fulfillment of the promised year, and where she stayed precisely for a great part of the time was in Emerson Page’s bar.