“Oh, Byron, it is you!” Her heart leaped. Then it swooped. “Listen, where are you? I can meet you. Unless you’d rather come up here. I’ve got to see you. We can’t talk over the phone.”
“We can try.”
“Well, of course if you don’t want to see me—” She sat down on the avocado bedspread and reached for a cigarette. Her hand was trembling.
“I don’t think Tenny would approve. Do you?”
“So you’ve seen him.” She decided against the cigarette. Her hand, still trembling, began a little pleating project on her black net petticoat. Pleat, smooth. Pleat, smooth. “Listen, Byron, look at it from my point of view.”
“I am. It’s very educational.”
“Don’t be such a dog in the manger. After all, a girl’s got to think of her future. I never noticed you breaking your neck to make me any offers. I mean, any that were going to get me any further than a rainy week-end in Atlantic City. Tenny may not look like such a bargain—”
“No? From your point of view I’d say he was just about perfect. Especially now that he’s moved up into my old spot. I know, money isn’t everything, but Tenny has other assets. He’s so nice and unsuspecting. You can have your future, plus all the fun on the side that comes along.”
“I don’t have to take that from you,” she said icily. Pleat, smooth. Pleat, smooth. “And to think I bawled when they said you were dead! Oh Byron, please, if only I could see you I’m sure I could explain—”
“I know how persuasive you can be, dear. So I’m not taking any chances.”
“You mean you don’t trust yourself?” She stretched her legs and smiled.
“I don’t trust you, that’s for sure. How long had you been dipping into the till before I passed to my reward?”
She stopped smiling. She said, too quickly, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, come on, Carol. You’re talking to me, not to Tenny. I’ve got to hand it to you, you saw your chance and grabbed it. It would have worked, too, if only I’d had the decency to stay d-e-a-d.”
“You think Tenny’s going to take your word instead of mine? You can’t prove it. Couldn’t even if it was true. Why, he’ll laugh in your face!”
“He wasn’t laughing when I left him,” said Byron.
“You rat! Wait. Just wait. Don’t think you can barge in like this and louse me up — out of spite, that’s all, nothing but spite—”
“Oh, I don’t know. I might just possibly want to clear my name.”
“Your name,” she screeched. “Your name is mud! And not just in my book, either. What about your precious wife? Oh, brother, would I like to listen in on that little reunion! Even your mother—”
She stopped for breath. Well, what was he waiting for? Why didn’t he say something? Silence. Not a word out of him.
“Byron? Byron, you there?”
“I’m here,” he said. He didn’t sound angry, or even upset. Just tired. “That’s the whole problem, isn’t it? I’m here. Okay, Carol. I’ll be seeing you. That is, if you’re going to Mother’s party.” And just like that, he hung up on her.
Presently she remembered to hang up too. But her hand remained curved around the phone, as if waiting for a signal. Call Tenny? Not now, not yet. She was too churned up, she needed time to pull herself together. And anyway, why hadn’t Tenny called her? Only one reason, she thought, and shivered. Proof. Byron must have some actual proof that had convinced Tenny.
She had been so sure, had figured out every possible angle except this impossible one: it had never crossed her mind that Byron might not be dead, that he might come back. The whole scheme grew out of his death. Depended on it. And collapsed without it.
Oh, she knew the fix she was in — she wasn’t one to kid herself. That was why she had latched onto Tenny while she had the chance. There weren’t going to be too many more chances — never mind how persuasive she might still be at moments. And now — she could forget about being Tenny’s secretary, let alone his wife. She’d be lucky if she stayed out of jail.
But to make a run for it now — even if she had any place to run to — would be to admit her guilt. And Tenny might not be absolutely convinced, after all. So he wasn’t laughing when Byron left him. Naturally not; Carol or no Carol, he would be seeing the end of his lovely little fling as a bigshot. Poor old Tenny. He might still call her. It was worth a gamble. Wasn’t it? Was it?
Yes, no, yes, no, in the same compulsive circle that kept her fingers busy with their pleat, smooth. Oh, if only she knew what Byron had on her! If only she knew where to find him...
I’d kill him, she thought with cold certainty. I wouldn’t care what it cost me. I’d kill him for this — and enjoy it.
No one expected Estrella’s birthday reunion to be anything less than an ordeal. But in the end no one was quite brave enough — or cowardly enough, who knew? — to risk staying away. By the same token, they had all decided against sounding out the others on the question of Byron’s return. There had been no inquiries, however tentative, no exchange of information. Each had hung back, waiting for someone else to take the first step — until now it was too late for anybody to budge. Byron alone could break the deadlock.
Itching with curiosity (Do the others know? How much do they know?), aching with anxiety, burning with their secret yet mutual knowledge, they sat in Estrella’s living room and waited for Byron to liberate them. They waited. And waited. And waited.
His name remained unmentionable, his chair vacant. (Not literally, since it was a buffet supper; Estrella was grateful for that one small favor.) All the same, the sense of vacancy clamped down on them like a mercilessly tightening vise. The bursts of desperate chatter, even Estrella’s, grew fewer and farther between. The silence itself lost its flavor of expectancy as one by one they abandoned waiting — he would not come now, he would never come — and turned into a speculation that was even more tense than the waiting.
There was a constant, furtive exchange of glances among them, each pair of eyes seeking to catch another pair unawares, instantly shifting to avoid being caught. The very air seemed to thrum with the question that obsessed them alclass="underline" Why isn’t he here? And the answer: Because someone, someone else...
Not I, thought Estrella. I only wished, and only for that one moment, and I didn’t mean it then. Not really. Why, he’s my favorite son! Certainly not I. But then who? I never did trust Mary Ethel — you mark my words, I said, but he wouldn’t listen.
And Carol’s another. She’s got her hooks into Tenny now, but it used to be Byron — yes, she’s capable of anything. Even Tenny — the temper tantrums he used to have as a child. He’s always been jealous—
What am I thinking? What am I going to do about Dr. Mehallah?
Not I, thought Tenny, my conscience is perfectly clear. Which is more than can be said for some other people. Not mentioning any names. I knew she wouldn’t show up at the office today — that’s why I stayed home myself. And I had no intention whatever of escorting her here tonight. She could have saved her ridiculous story about, don’t bother, she’d be in the neighborhood anyway, et cetera. I can make excuses too. I’ll make one tonight when we both leave. If we ever do. I wish I could believe it was the fund juggling they quarreled about. Maybe he blamed her, threatened her. No, of course not. I know what it was, all right. He told her it was Mary Ethel he wanted, not her. That’s why she did it, the only reason.
Oh, Carol, Carol, you said you loved me!..