"I still want to be in advertising." He had received the True Calling and his voice trembled with it now. Despite my cynicism he preferred to believe that advertising was just as important and glamorous and soul-sustaining as his advertising professor told him it was. "Well, at least I'm glad you're not still mad at me," he added.
I nodded and waved goodnight and watched him walk into the shadows at the far end of the ramp.
Then I opened the door to my own car. The overhead light came on. In the dimness I saw Cindy Traynor.
All she said was, "God, I'm freezing to death. Hurry up. Please."
Ed Gorman
Rough Cut
TEN
She didn't seem aware when I got in and closed the door. She just stared straight ahead. Obviously she was looking at much more than the rough concrete wall.
"Are you all right?" I asked.
Nothing.
"You must be freezing, Cindy." Nothing.
I turned on the heater. Played the radio. Sat back and lit a cigarette.
"I'm sorry about having you followed," I said. "I know." Her voice, ethereal, was nonetheless startling in the quiet.
I decided to start over again. Gently. "How long have you been here?" Her car was parked next to mine.
"An hour. I'm not sure."
I reached over and touched the tip of her nose. It felt like a piece of ice. I smiled. "At least an hour."
"I talked to the young kid for a while."
I looked at Tommy Byrnes's retreating car. "Tommy?"
"Yes. He saw me sitting here and came over. He's very nice."
My eyes studied her in the darkness, her blondness, the slightly drugged beauty of her features. She looked tired. She sighed, tried something like a smile. "I don't know why I came here."
"To talk, I suppose. I need to talk to somebody, too. Given the circumstances, I'd say that's pretty normal."
"This afternoon I had some wine and took a Librium, and I thought they would help me sleep but they haven't." She shrugged. "I've never been involved in anything like this, have you?"
"No."
"My parents were very strict Lutherans. Very strict. They didn't prepare me to commit adultery or be involved in murder cases." The muzziness of her voice was starting to have a sexual effect on me, like the slow blue gaze of her sleepy eyes. "Do you ever think about death?"
"You know what?" I said. "Maybe there's a better place to have a discussion like this one."
"You didn't answer my question."
"Sure, I think about death."
"Does it scare you?"
"Yes."
"Do you believe in God?"
"Sort of."
"Yeah, me too. Sort of. My mother believes in Him absolutely and that's a great comfort to her. Last Thanksgiving I walked in on her. She was on her hands and knees, praying. I was really moved. I wish I could be like that but I'm afraid I lead a different kind of life, don't I?"
I laughed. "Maybe it's our generation."
She laughed too. "That's a handy excuse, anyway." She paused. "I was going to go into the agency and get you but I was afraid I'd run into Clay."
"He left a few hours ago."
"He's afraid."
"I know."
"I feel sorry for him. He doesn't know what to do."
I hesitated. "You know, there's a possibility he may have killed Denny."
She shook her head. "There's a possibility that any number of us may have killed Denny." She folded her hands primly and went back to staring at the wall. Then, "Where did you have in mind to go?"
'To my apartment."
"Maybe you've got the wrong impression of me. I really don't sleep around. Sorry. Denny's the only affair I ever had."
"I thought maybe we could talk."
"We're talking here."
"Where we could be more comfortable, I mean."
"I'm very vulnerable right now. I might say yes to something I'd regret."
"Did you kill him?"
"No. Did you?"
"No."
"Do you think my husband did?"
"I don't know," I said.
"Is your apartment nice?"
"It's tolerable."
"Does it have a fireplace?"
"Yes."
"Please don't try to get me into bed, all right?"
"All right."
"Promise?"
"Yes. Promise.”
"The first time I ever met Clay he was in the college library studying a Shakespeare play. He was very nice-looking and very clean-cut and he had this little-boy look of confusion on his face whenever he came to a part that he didn't understand. He sort of fascinated me-just watching him, I mean-because I sensed that here was somebody I could help. I usually attracted the type of men who ruled the earth, if you know what I mean. Everything I wanted to do was silly; I was supposed to just listen to them and everything would be fine.
"But Clay really needed somebody. He put on the swagger act but he was really lost. For one thing he was completely overshadowed by his father, who'd built the Traynor company from nothing. Both Clay and his father knew that Clay could never run the company. That's why Clay's father started grooming his nephew to take over the reins-even though Clay would always be called president-when the nephew was only fifteen years old. Clay told me that his cousin spent half his Saturdays at the company with Clay's father. Clay was never invited and he didn't seem to care. He was into his pleasures."
She was curled up at the opposite end of the couch from me. For the past three hours we'd found a respite from the events pressing in on us. I'd found some decent frozen food to pop into the microwave; we'd watched the fog curl around the window in my front room, and the fire crackled in the shadows. I was starting to trust her and like her and in the lazy moments of our time here, I sensed she was experiencing the same thing. She was not the woman I'd stereotyped her into being, particularly as she talked about Clay and how much she'd loved him once and how the loss of their love had crushed her. I knew what she was talking about.
"The one thing people never give Clay as president is that he was very good as a representative of the company at one time. Until he got so caught up with all his women." She paused, touching her head as if she had a migraine. "I thought maybe his fascination for other women would pass- I even used to pray about it-but it never did. And all the while he was getting worse and worse at his job. That's when his cousin really started accumulating power.
"Anyway, I suppose that's why I had hope for us for so long despite a lot of evidence to the contrary." She smiled with a melancholy that revitalized her face. "You know, I always tried to believe that he was just as blameless as he said he was-that all the nights he was gone he was just innocently playing poker or having a few drinks with his buddies. This was back in the sixties, the early sixties, you understand, when it was still possible to delude yourself that way." She laughed gently, sadly. "Then one night at a party I went out to our car and I found him in the back seat with a young girl. They were both naked. The human body had never disgusted me before-but it did then. It was two years before I'd even look at myself in the mirror. I just kept thinking of them in the back seat. I admit it probably wasn't easy for Clay during that time. I could have forgiven him and we could have taken up our lives again. I don't know how many times I tried-hoped.
"We didn't make love for two years. His father would have disinherited him if we divorced, so we had to keep up pretenses. Clay had his life and I had mine-which mostly consisted of watching TV and taking tranquilizers and seeing shrinks. It never occurred to me to take a lover, even during the seventies when all my female friends had lovers all the time. The only reason I finally went to bed with Denny was because I found out about Clay and the girl in your accounting department. What's her name-Belinda?"