Or will I? thought Dr. Harrison Brown. Maybe I’ll be in jail. Or dead...
He passed a hand over his forehad.
“Something?” said Dr. Stone.
“Headache,” said Dr. Brown.
“I haven’t let up on you, have I?” Dr. Stone rose, and Dr. Brown rose with him. “May I come again? Some Tuesday when I’m in town?”
“Please do, Doctor.”
“And you’ll give some thought to this?”
“Naturally.”
“I know I threw in a great deal all at once. Talk to Gross. If you wish, I’ll arrange an appointment for you with Blanchette.”
“I’ll think about it, Dr. Stone. And thank you.”
They shook hands, and Harry let him out and locked the door behind him.
He undressed, showered, shaved, put on fresh clothes, locked the office, jumped into his car and drove blindly through the humid streets to Park Avenue. At five minutes after eight he pulled into the curb near the canopy of the Greshams’ apartment building. He was about to turn his keys over to the doorman when he saw her in the lobby. Waiting.
She waved.
He waved.
She came out to him.
Eight
She wore a white linen dress: short sleeveless; white needle-heeled pumps; no stockings; she carried a white linen jacket and a small white purse.
Her long legs and bare arms were the color of warm fresh toast. With her copper hair pulled back in a ponytail, with just a touch of pink on her lips and no other make-up, she looked very young.
The dress was tight, and she tugged at the skirt in getting into his car. He caught a flash of brown thigh and felt his throat thicken and his heart pound and a stirring in his groin. Then she was sitting beside him, close, pulling at the skirt, lips parted.
“Hi.” She had a deep voice, intimate, hardly more than a whisper.
“Hi,” he said. “Hungry?”
“Starved.”
“Me, too. Where would you like to eat?”
“Not Giobbe’s,” she said.
He looked at her, startled.
She laughed. “Tony phoned me today,” she said.
“Then you know the place.”
“Of course. You know Tony. Always discovering places, and what Tony discovers Tony gives a real workout. Yes, darling, I’ve been to Giobbe’s. I’ve been, and been, and been.”
The car was cruising up Park Avenue. “Where, then?”
“Up and out,” she said. “Up and out and far away, where it’s cool. In the country. I want to eat with you, drink with you, dance with you and sleep with you. I want all night with you tonight. I’m not going back home.”
“Westchester?” he said. “Connecticut?”
“I know what. Jersey. There’s a place — Heavenly Grotto. Hellish name, but a heavenly place. Good music, good décor, good food, good candlelight. Kurt took me there once before we were married. There’s a heavenly motel nearby, too. Kurt and I stayed there in separate cabins. Tonight, one cabin.”
Did she expect him to believe that? “Do you know how to go?” he asked.
“Cross the George Washington Bridge. I’ll direct you from there. God, I’ve been longing for this. It’s so damned hot. The weather’s been beastly.”
“Yes.”
“Cool, where we’re going. Cool and delicious.”
He made a left turn and drove across the park and over to the West Side Highway. Already it was cooler in the breeze coming from the Hudson. They could see the bridge in the distance, thin as a lavaliere displayed in space.
“Miss me?” she said. “Since Sunday?”
“Yes.”
“And before Sunday? Miss being alone with me?”
“Yes.”
“Like my idea?”
“What idea?”
“Heavenly Grotto, and the Golden Cave.”
“Golden Cave?”
“That’s the name of the motel.” She giggled. “Isn’t that the craziest name for a motel?”
“I wish I’d known,” he said.
“Known what?”
“Motel.”
“Look, my laconic lover, you’ll have to stop being cryptic. You wish you’d known what about the motel?”
“That we were going to say overnight.”
“Why?”
“I’d have brought a change of clothing, a bag, something.”
“Oh, now please, Doctor, you’re not preparing, for surgery. This is off the cuff, an impulse, fun! How come you’re so romantic in bed, but with your feet on the ground you’re nowhere? How come?”
“Cut,” he said.
“You won’t be wearing your clothes much, anyway, sweetheart. Mostly they’ll be hanging. We’ll check in first at the Golden Cave, mister and missus, and freshen up; then we’ll go eat and dance and drink and talk; then we’ll go back to the cavelet and hang up our clothes and let ’em hang. Love me, lover?”
“Yes.”
“That’s why my servants don’t sleep in.”
“What?” he said. “What?”
“Servants who sleep in know when the lady of the house sleeps out.”
“Yes,” he said, and he thought: You’ve been married for two years, and you know me for four or five months; with whom were you sleeping out before me, my love? “We’ve got a lot to talk about tonight,” he said.
“You bet,” Karen said cheerfully. She opened her purse and took two cigarettes from a pack and lit both, putting one between his lips.
She moved away from him, snuggled down, stretched her legs, laid her head on the back rest, and half-closed her eyes.
They smoked in silence until they crossed the bridge.
The Golden Cave was gold; all the cabins were gold with white roofs. Harry parked in front of the office and went in and signed the register: Mr. and Mrs. Harrison Brown.
“How long you staying?” asked the clerk. He was a small, neat, sunburned man.
“Overnight.”
“That’ll be thirteen dollars.”
Harry paid.
“Cabin 4, this way, please,” said the man. Outside he said, “Park in front of the cabin. I’ll walk.”
He walked. Harry drove. Karen sat lazily.
In Cabin 4 the sunburned man said, “Anything you want — soft drink, cigarettes, telephone — just ask at the office. Somebody’s there all night. Check-out time is tomorrow morning, eleven o’clock. Here’s your key. Thank you very much. Come again.”
Alone, they freshened up. They did not touch each other. They talked about the beautiful night, the comforts of the spic-and-span cabin.
They drove over to the Heavenly Grotto, which was not a grotto but a two-story stone building with a purple neon sign outside. The candlelit restaurant was a maze of small rooms. The tables were covered with lavender tablecloths; there was a dance floor and a string orchestra and, rimming the room, a balcony with a wrought-iron grille. The place was crowded with well-dressed diners.
The white-jacketed maître d’ immediately said, “There’s more privacy in the booths on the balcony, sir.”
“Balcony,” Harry said. Were they that obvious?
He led them toward the steep wrought-iron stairway. “The captain upstairs will take over. His name is Danny.”
“Thank you,” Harry said.
The stairway was narrow, and Karen preceded him. The maître d’ remained at the foot of the stairs; Harry knew without glancing back that the man was admiring Karen’s legs. And why not? he thought. She has beautiful legs. She’s a beautiful woman. Let him enjoy himself. For him it’s free.
The upstairs captain led them to a booth, lit new candles and left them in the lavender glow. A waiter came with lavender menus. “Drinks first?”