Maybe, some day, I’d be taking that way out, too. Right now, there was only one place for me to go. Malibu.
Fifteen
The sun was warm at Malibu, so Ellen and I sat in the shade of the little beach house. Only two days had passed since our meeting in the tavern, but here we sat, and I had my arm around her waist. Just a whirlwind romance. Only there was no whirlwind about it, no romance. We merely sat and talked. We had so much to talk about.
Fireworks, for example. The way they look to you as a child. Jewels sprayed on blue velvet. That’s what she said.
“No, my dear, children don’t think that way,” I told her. “Try hard to remember, now. You’re seven. You’re standing on the top of the bluff, at the park, looking up at the sky. You sense the puff from the ground, hear the swish. You try to decide where the burst will emerge, guessing with your eyes. Then it comes. The arcs shoot out. And something inside your throat moves with them, your mouth opens, and you go—”
“Oooooh!” She squealed. “Of course, I remember, now!”
I faced her. “I’d like to ask you a very personal question, if you don’t mind.”
“What is it?”
“Did you ever experience the supreme thrill, the ultimate attainment—of riding on a merry-go-round twice in a row?”
“Three times.”
“Now you’re bragging.”
“Dad took me. And he used to give me money for the movies, on Saturday. Eleven cents. Ten for admission and a penny for—”
“Gum?”
“Yes, or licorice whips, or suckers. But sometimes I got a chocolate mint, because if you picked out one with a pink center you won a free candy bar.”
She sighed. “It’s all so far away, so long ago. But sometimes I wish I could—”
“No you don’t,” I said. “You don’t want to go back. You like it right here.”
“What about you?”
“Guess?” I squeezed her in the most convenient place. “I don’t want to stir. Maybe you are right, at that. There isn’t much fun any more because there’s no sense of personal participation left. In order to have fun nowadays, a kid pushes a button or twists a dial or drops a nickel in a slot. And his fun-integer is noise. Noise from TV programs. Noise from jukeboxes. Noise from portable radios, carried into the woods on picnics, carried down here to the beach, carried into the country to provide a constant background of mechanical voices frantically commanding the purchase of deodorants. I used to be a part of it myself, heaven pity me.”
“You were in radio?”
“Yes. Back in Iowa. I—”
“Come on. I’ve told you about me. Now it’s your turn.”
I stood up. “Getting late.”
“There’s time. You haven’t an appointment?”
“No, but—”
“Then you can’t wiggle out of it. Talk.”
I sighed. We walked arm-in-arm into the beach house. The large living room held nothing but divans and a chaise longue set near the fireplace. Rousseau reproductions graced the walls. I sat down on a sofa and stared at The Snake-Charmer. Dark figure, staring eyes...like the Professor.
“Come on. What’s the matter?”
“Look, Ellen, this isn’t going to be easy. I’m trying to make up my mind. I want to tell you, yes. But right now it’s a risk, wondering how you’ll take it. And I must tell you the truth.”
“Yes. You must.” She came over and sat next to me. She lit two cigarettes and placed the first in my mouth. It was somehow, to me, the most intimate gesture in the world. We puffed and sped smoke in silence.
“Judd.” She came close, very close. “You said you wanted to help me, didn’t you?”
“Right.”
“Well—one of the things that will help me most is to know the truth, about you.”
She called me “Judd” because she thought I was Judson Roberts, and if I was Judson Roberts I’d tell her something all right. It wouldn’t be the truth but she’d believe it. Then she’d put her arms around me—those soft sun-ripened arms—and I’d taste apricots and I’d have what I wanted. Only I wouldn’t have it really, because I wasn’t Judson Roberts but Eddie Haines. And Eddie Haines would rather tell her the truth and take his chances.
“All right,” I said. “Here goes.”
I took a deep breath and exhaled. Then I talked.
Half an hour elapsed between the time I said, “My real name is Eddie Haines,” and my last sentence, “Here I am.”
In between there were two cigarettes—the second one left in the ashtray to burn unheeded—and a grateful deepening of dusk that hid my face in shadows.
I didn’t want her to see my face. There was enough nakedness as it was, because I held nothing back. The failure, the suicide attempt, the meeting with the Professor, the Y-O-U setup, what we did to people like Caldwell, everything.
Everything except the murder of Mike Drayton, that is. I couldn’t tell her that. I wanted to, but I knew what her reaction would be. What I did say was bad enough, and I expected the awkward silence, the stiff, impersonal phrases, the cold, “We’d better go,” with which she’d conclude our relationship when I finished.
What I didn’t expect was the scent of apricots, the strong arms around me, the leaping fire of her lips.
“And I thought I had troubles,” she whispered.
“Then you don’t—?”
Her mouth answered me first, then her voice. “Of course not. Oh, I’m so glad you told me, Eddie! I knew I’d never get used to spending the rest of my life with a man named ‘Judd’!”
It got dark fast, after that.
It was black as midnight when I came home. In fact, it was midnight. There were no lights shining inside the house, not even from Rogers’ upstairs room. I let myself in and clicked the living-room switch.
Immediately, the phone jingled.
I answered. The Professor’s voice snapped across the wire. “Where have you been? I’ve called many times.”
“Sorry. Just got in.”
“Answer my question, please. Where were you?”
“Visiting Ellen Post.”
“Good.”
“I’m glad you approve.”
“I do. By the way, we collected the first fifty thousand tonight. No trouble.”
“Congratulations.”
“And that brings up another matter. I’ve got to invest the money, right away. I’m leaving for San Francisco for a few days, perhaps a week. Taking Rogers with me. You’ll carry on as usual, with one new assignment.”
“What’s that?”
“Keep on seeing Ellen Post.”
“Very pleasant assignment. I intend to.”
“You might enjoy going out and doing the town with her. She likes to drink, doesn’t she?”
“Now wait a minute. You sound as if you have ideas. And you promised me—”
“Nothing to worry about, I assure you. I just think you’re in need of relaxation. The tension of recent weeks seems to be wearing you down. Why not have some of that amusement you’re always talking about?”
Sure. The Professor was right. Live it up a little. He was my friend. My friend, who wanted me to get Ellen Post drunk in public, preparatory to working some new blackmail scheme I wasn’t supposed to know about. He and Rogers would go away and line it all up, and I’d be here laying the groundwork. But suppose I double-crossed him and wouldn’t play?
He answered that without my asking. “Don’t worry while I’m gone. Miss Bauer will communicate with me regularly. And I’ve told Jake to keep an eye on you.”
“That was thoughtful.”
“You ought to know by this time—I think of everything.”
“All right.” I kept my voice even. “Have a good trip.”
“Thank you,” said the Professor. “Enjoy yourself, while I’m gone.”