"‘Thought,' hell—you were."
"No, dear. Close your eyes and forget that I have Eunice's voice. Think back at least ten years when I was still in passable health. If your older friend Johann had twigged that you had kicked the feet out from under some young and pretty woman, would he have twitted you?"
"Huh? Hell, yes. Johann would have slipped me the needle and broken it off."
"Would I have, Jacob? Did I ever?"
"You never caught me."
"So? I might have congratulated you, Jacob, just as I did today—had I felt that I could do so without offending you. But I would not have twitted ‘you. Do you recall a young woman whose first name was—or is—Marian? Last name had the initial ‘H'—your pet name for her, ‘Maid Marian.'"
"How in the hell?"
"Steady, darling—you let your helm fall off. That was sixteen years ago, just before I asked you to spend all your time on my affairs. So I ordered a fresh snoopsheet on you before I put the deal up to you. May I say that the fact that you had dealt so carefully with her reputation was a strong factor in my deciding that I could trust you with anything, too?—including my power of attorney, which you have held ever since and never abused. May I add, too, that I wanted to congratulate you on both your good taste and your success as a Lothario?—for of course I then had to have her snooped, too, and her husband as welt, before I could entrust my grisly secrets to you. But—also of course—I could not say a word."
"1 didn't think any part of that ever showed."
"Please, Jacob. Do you recall that you once told Eunice that you could hire a man to photograph her in her own bath—and she would never know it? As we've noted, money can do almost anything that is physically possible. Part of that snoop report was a photograph of you and Marian in what you lawyers call a ‘compromising position.'
"Good God! What did you do with it?"
"Burned it. Hated to; it was a good picture and Marian looked awfully pretty—and you looked all right yourself, you lovable old goat. Then I sent for the head of the snoop firm and told him I wanted the negative and all prints now and no nonsense—and if it ever turned out that even one print had escaped me, I would break him. Get his license, bankrupt him, put him in jail. Were you or Marian ever embarrassed by such a picture? Blackmail, or anything?"
"No. Not me—and I'm morally certain she wasn't, either."
"I guess he believed me. Jacob, do you still think I was twitting you about Gigi? Or was I congratulating you?"
"Uh... maybe neither. Maybe trying to wring a confession out of me. It's no go, wench."
"Please, Jacob. Stipulating that I was mistaken but sincere—which was it? Now that you know how I behaved about Marian."
"Eunice—Johann! You should have been a lawyer. Subject to that stipulation, I concede that it must have been a sincere congratulation. But one I can't accept, I haven't earned it. Now, damn it, tell me how you came by this delusion."
"Yes, dear. But not this minute; there comes Gigi herself." Joan put her sextant back into its box. "Sights will have to wait anyhow; this reach has taken us in so close I've lost my horizon for the Sun. Hi, Gigi, you pretty, pretty thing! Give us a kiss. Just me, Jake is on watch;"
"I'm not all that busy. Eunice, hold the wheel." He accepted a kiss while still seated, then took the helm back from his wife.
Joan said, "Been swimming, dear?"
"Uh, yes. Joan Eunice, could I see you a minute? Mr. Salomon, would you excuse us?"
"Not by that moniker I won't; you'll have to call me ‘Jake.'
"Stuff it, dear," his wife said cheerfully. "She wants a hen conference. Come along, dear. Captain, try to keep us afloat."
They found a spot in the lee of the lifeboat. "Got troubles, dear?" (Eunice, are we about to have a beef over Jake? Surely not!) (Can't be, twin. That affair started over two weeks ago... and both Gigi and Joe were relaxed about it from scratch. Which means just what we thought: It actually is a return engagement—and Jake lied to protect a lady's reputation. Predictable.)
"Well, sort of," admitted Mrs. Branca. "Uh, might as well say it bang. Next time you anchor and send a boat in
Joe and I want off."
"Oh, dear! What's wrong, Gigi? I did so hope you would stay at least the month we talked about—then as much longer as you wished."
"Well... we did expect to. But I got this seasickness problem and Joe—well, he has done some painting but... the light's not right; it's too bright and..." She trailed off. (Twin, those are excuses.) (Jake?) (Can't be, I tell you. You've got to make her come clean.)
"Gigi."
"Yes, Joan?"
"Look at me. You haven't missed a meal since Roberto put you on the seasick pill. If Joe prefers floodlights to sunlight, we'll clear out the dining saloon and it can be his studio. Put your arms around me and tell me what's really wrong."
"Uh—Joan, the ocean's just too darn big!" Gigi blinked tears and said, "I guess you think I'm a baby."
"No. It's big. Biggest ocean in the world. Some people don't like oceans. I do. That doesn't mean you have to."
"Well, I thought I would like it. I mean, you hear about it. What a wonderful thing it is to make an ocean trip. But it scares me. Uh, it scares Joe, too; he just doesn't say so. Joan Eunice, you've been awful good to us—but this isn't our scene. Joe and I, we aren't fish—we're alley cats. Always lived in cities. It's too quiet here. Especially at night. At night the quiet is so loud it wakes me up."
Joan kissed her. "All right, darling. I knew you weren't having quite the happy time I wanted you to have. Didn't know why. I'll have to visit you at your place—where it's nice for all of us. I don't like the city, it scares me. But I like it, loads, in your studio—as long as 1 don't have to go outside. But is that all that's wrong? Has anyone upset you? Or Joe?"
"Oh, no! Everybody's been swell."
"You called Jake ‘Mr. Salomon.'"
"That was because I was upset—knowing I had to tell you."
"Then you both feel easy with Jake? I know he's impressive, he even impresses me. Nothing uptight there?"
"Oh, not a bit! Uh; knowing we were walking out on Jake upset us as much as knowing we were walking out on you."
"Then may Jake and I both come visit you? Stay a few days?" (Will she duck this, Eunice?) (Why ask me, Boss? You just asked her.)
Mrs. Branca dropped her eyes, then looked up and said bluntly, "You mean a Quartet? All the way?"
"All the way."
"Well, we would, I guess you know that. But how about Jake?"
"Well? How about Jake, Gigi? You tell me."
"Uh, Jake is relaxed with us. But he's a little uptight when you're around, seems like. Joan Eunice, you caught on. Didn't you? Or you wouldn't have braced me for a Quartet."
"I caught on, dear. It's all right. No huhu."
"I told Jake I thought you had. He said, Oh, no, impossible, you slept like a log."
"I do except that I've reached the point in pregnancy where I sometimes get up to pee. But that wasn't it—Jake could be most anywhere if he's not in bed and I never check on him. What I spotted wasn't proof. Just that a man has a way of looking at a woman he's sure of. And vice versa. Nothing anybody could object to. Just ‘not uptight' describes it as well as any. I'm not even mildly jealous of Jake, it simply pleased me. Knowing how sweet you can be for a man—remember, I used to be a man—"