“We can’t do it tonight,” I tell him. “It’s impossible. They’re here, and they’re checking, and they’re bound to…”
“Who, Sachs?”
“Agents. Federal agents.”
“You saw, Sachs?”
“Yes.”
“They come to you?”
“No. I don’t think they will.”
“Good.” Weglowski nods and spreads butter into his potato. “But you think they walk the track?”
“They may. I don't know. I’ve heard that they do.”
“What time the train comes?”
“Ten forty-eight. Saturday morning.”
“Okay,” Weglowski says, and spears a piece of steak, and Stuffs it into his mouth.
“Okay what?”
“Okay, Sachs, we forget tonight. Do tomorrow night instead. Nobody walking track at night, no? Can’t see nothing.” he says, and chuckles. “If walk, they do tomorrow, during day. So — they finish walk, we start wire. Simple.”
“What about your daughter’s birthday party?”
Weglowski shrugs. “Plenty more birthdays,” he says, and puts another piece of steak into his mouth. “I hope,” he adds.
Her friends are named Gloria and Steve.
We have met for dinner at Reidel’s. It is now eight-thirty, and we are on our second round of drinks. Gloria and Steve are both students at U.C.L.A., and they have been living together for eight months. Steve is twenty-four, a native of Los Angeles. His father is an artists’ representative who handles some very big motion picture stars.
“I had a chance to be in a movie with John Wayne,” he tells me. “My father actually came to me and asked if I wanted to be in this movie with John Wayne. I told him I didn’t want to be in the same room with John Wayne. He said, Why not? What’s the hell’s the matter with John Wayne?’ I said, ‘If I have to tell you what’s the matter with John Wayne, there’s no sense to our relationship.’ My father looked at me and said, ‘Would you like to be in a movie with Sean Connery?’ I think he missed the point.”
Gloria watches us as we talk. She is Sara’s age, a dark-eyed brunette who grew up with her in Philadelphia. I suspect she knows all about me and is studying me now in an attempt to determine whether I am good enough for her friend. I wonder if she knows Roger Harris of VISTA fame, and I wonder if I am being silently compared to him. My age weighs heavily. Once, when the conversation veers toward an appraisal of rock music as represented by the latest Frank Zappa album (Steve solemnly tells me that Zappa is a musical genius; I do not even know who Zappa is), Sara takes my hand under the table and squeezes it. I am grateful for her support, but somehow the gesture makes me feel even older. Gloria and Steve are now explaining why they are here today, Thursday, instead of Monday as they had first promised Sara.
“I caught the flu Monday,” Gloria says.
“Throwing up all over the place….”
“Hundred and two fever…”
“I thought she was going to die.”
“We were supposed to go to Buffalo.”
“Are you all right now?” Sara asks, concerned.
“Oh, sure. But the thing is, these kids in Buffalo were expecting us Tuesday, you know, so we thought we’d stop here to see you Monday, stay over at the apartment if you had room…”
“Plenty of room,” Sara assures her.
“Great, and then split on Tuesday, you know, but instead I got the damn flu.”
“I thought she was going to die,” Steve says again.
“I wanted to leave on Monday, anyway,” Gloria says. “I hate changing plans. Don’t you hate changing plans?”
“Yes,” Sara says.
“You were too sick to travel Monday,” Steve says.
“Sic transit gloria mundi,” Sara says, and Gloria bursts out laughing, and the two girls exchange affectionate glances.
“Anyway, here we are,” Gloria says.
“I wanted to go straight on to Buffalo,” Steve says, “but no, had to stop off and see old Sara first”
“Damn right, you had to,” Sara says.
“Sara tells us you’re from New York,” Gloria says.
“That’s right.”
‘What do you do?”
I hesitate. I do not know how much Sara has told her, and I am frankly weary of the tractor salesman lie. Sara looks at me, and then says, “Arthur is a lawyer. A brilliant lawyer.”
“What brings you here?” Steve asks.
“Case I’m working on.”
“Arthur defended the Baltimore Five,” Sara says. There is no mistaking the quiet pride in her voice. She says this directly to Gloria, who weighs the information and studies me with renewed interest.
“Did you?” Steve asks.
“Yes.”
“Good for you,” he says.
“Are you married?” Gloria asks.
“Yes.”
“The reason I ask is because I guess that’s a wedding ring.”
“Yes, that’s what it is.”
“Then you are married.”
“Yes.”
“Are you separated or anything?”
“No.”
Gloria nods. She looks at Sara. Sara stares back at her.
“How old are you?” Gloria asks.
“Forty-two.”
“Has a son almost my age,” Sara says.
“What are you doing?” Steve suddenly demands.
Gloria looks startled. “What?” she says. “Who?”
“You, you, what are you doing?”
“Nothing.”
“Then leave the guy alone, will you?” Steve says.
“I didn’t mean anything,” Gloria says. She lowers her dark eyes.
“You see,” Sara says, slowly and gently, “he’ll be here only a little while.” Gloria raises her eyes. The two girls stare at each other across the table. “The rest doesn’t matter,” Sara says, and pauses, “Okay?”
“Okay,” Gloria says.
“Shall we order then?”
“Unless Arthur wants another drink,” Gloria says, and turns to look at me. It is her apology, and I accept it at once.
“Yes,” I say, “let’s all have another drink.”
At eleven-thirty, I take Sara back to the hotel, and then phone for a taxi. The legend on the door reads VETERANS CAB COMPANY. The driver is a man in his late forties. I give him Hester’s address, and he sets the car in motion.
“Going to be here Saturday?” he asks.
“Yes,” I answer.
“Big doings,” he says.
“Yes.”
“I admire that man,” the driver says.
“So do I.”
“Bringing it to the people, that’s what he’s doing.”
“Yes.”
“Good for the country. Too much bullshit in this country nowadays.”
“Yes.”
“Straighten it out. Once and for all.”
“I hope so.”
We are silent for the rest of the short ride to Hester’s house. I pay the cabby, watch him drive off, and then walk up the flagstone path leading to the front door. There is a light burning in the living room. It is only two minutes to midnight, it is still Halloween. I press the doorbell. I fully intend to say, “Trick or treat!” when Hester answers my ring. The carved Spanish door opens.
Professor Cornelius Augustus Raines stands there with a surprised look on his face. We are both speechless for several seconds. He nods briefly then, says, “Come in, Mr. Eisler,” and adds, over his shoulder, “Hester, we have a visitor.”
Hester joins us in the entrance hall. She is wearing a quilted robe. Her hair is loose around her shoulders. I can believe for the first time that she was once a beautiful woman, as Raines assured me during our arboretum talk. She, too, is startled to see me, but the surprise does nothing to improve her “unfortunate manner.” I am convinced that nothing can improve that.