“Come on, sexy. Get dressed.”
“I’d rather get undressed.”
“I guess I ought to beat people up more often.”
“I guess you ought to.”
“I guess so.”
“I guess so.” They stood looking at each other. Eve winked. “Well?”
“The kids’ll be popping in and out.”
“We’ll lock the doors.”
“Later,” Larry said.
“Why not now?”
“I’ve got some work to do. A letter to Altar about a legitimate extra, and some other things.”
“Oh” Eve shrugged. “Okay.” She turned away from him. “Do you want toast?” she asked, and she hoped her disappointment did not show.
Several times that day she went into the small office and hovered about his board, but he did not give her much attention. And several times that day she found a persistent thought nagging her mind. Now that the episode with Felix was over, she began to wonder just what had provoked it. Unable to find within herself any reasons for Felix’s bald assumption, honestly believing she had never given him the slightest indication of unrest or dissatisfaction or willingness to submit to his advances, she began to wonder just what had given him the idea.
And it was then that she once again thought of infidelity.
And immediately put it out of her mind.
To find it returning again immediately.
She had thought the weekend at Easthampton had banished the idea completely, but here it was back again, seemingly stronger after its short exile. She tried to ignore it, tried to pretend it was not there, but Larry’s indifference strengthened the vague idea until it began taking firmer shape.
Was Larry being unfaithful to her? And had he confided this to Felix? And was this why Felix had assumed he could safely approach her?
The idea was fantastic, of course.
But possible.
Preposterous.
But plausible.
She allowed it to gnaw steadily at her mind.
Perhaps, if Larry had made love to her that day — or even that night — she’d have put the idea aside temporarily. But Larry did not make love to her.
Perhaps, too, if Harry Baxter had not called the next day, she’d have put the idea out of her mind permanently.
But Harry Baxter did call the next day.
30
Wednesday morning.
The television forecasters the night before had promised temperatures in the high nineties. By eight in the morning the house was already suffocatingly hot. There was a muggy oppressiveness on the air, a clinging, crawling, penetrating, sticky heat that invaded clothing and furniture and flesh. There was a stillness to Pinecrest Manor. The lawns and the sidewalks and the roof tops baked. In the stillness, you could hear telephones ringing halfway up the block. You could hear a dog barking occasionally. The smothering blanket of August hung in the sky, bright, yellow, glaring.
She awoke to the heat.
The first thing she did was take a cold shower. She sent the kids out in shorts, with no shirts. She hoped the heat would not reach her. She wore her briefest halter, her shortest shorts, but still the heat penetrated. And as the morning doggedly wore on, it became more and more evident that the forecasters had been right. She sought the shade outdoors, but even in the shade it was difficult to breathe.
“Larry,” she said, “please! Let’s pack up and go to the beach.”
He agreed instantly. She went into the house to make some sandwiches and then discovered they were out of cold cuts. She made out a list, sent Larry to the market with it, and then went outside to the shade again. Larry had put out the children’s plastic pool and they romped and splashed in the water noisily. She watched them with adult envy and then finally went over to sit on the pool’s rim with her feet in the water. Across the street, the Signora was sitting on her shaded front stoop fanning herself. The front screen door opened and clattered shut again. Mary Garandi came out of the house.
“Hot enough for you, Eve?” she called.
Eve nodded but made no comment.
“Why don’t you get in there with the kids?” Mary called.
“I wish I could.”
“Go ahead.”
Eve smiled weakly. She heard a telephone ringing. At first, because of the stillness of the street, because sound seemed to be magnified by the heat that day, she wasn’t sure it was her phone. She listened. Persistently, the phone rang. She swung her feet over the pool’s edge and walked across the grass to the front door. Standing there, she knew the ringing was unmistakably hers. She opened the screen door and ran through the house to the bedroom. The minor exertion exhausted her. When she lifted the receiver, she was wringing wet.
“Hello?” she said.
“Mr. Cole, please. Harry Baxter is calling.”
“He just stepped out for a few minutes,” Eve said. “This is Mrs. Cole. May I take a message?”
“Just a moment, please,” the girl said. Eve waited. The girl came back onto the line. “Mr. Baxter will speak with you,” she said. “One moment.” Again Eve waited.
“Hello, Eve?” Baxter said, his voice booming cheerily onto the line.
“Hello, Mr. Baxter,” Eve said warmly. “How are you?”
“Fine, thank you.”
“And Mrs. Baxter?”
“In the pink. It’s good to talk to you, Eve. Where have you been keeping yourself?”
Eve laughed, not knowing whether or not an answer was expected of her.
“Why don’t you come in with that man of yours sometime, and we’ll have dinner together, the four of us?”
“I’d love to,” Eve said.
“How about today?”
“We’re going to the beach. It’s insufferable here. How is it in the city?”
“Worse,” Baxter said, “but I’m sitting here with air conditioning all around me.”
“Oh, lucky lucky man.”
“Why not come in after the beach? We’ll have a late dinner.”
“That’s awfully nice,” Eve said, “but we’ll probably be exhausted. Couldn’t we make it some other night?”
“Certainly,” Baxter said. “I suppose I’m being a little overanxious.”
Eve smiled and said nothing, not knowing what he meant.
“But,” Baxter went on, “time’s getting a little short, you know.”
“Yes,” Eve said, and then wondered why she had agreed with him. Time was getting a little short for what?
“So forgive my impatience, will you?”
“All right,” she said, puzzled.
“How do you feel about it, Eve?”
“We’re happy to come in anytime,” she said. “Just give us a little notice so we can get a sitter.”
“What?” Baxter said.
“Didn’t you mean...?”
Baxter chuckled. “No, no, I was talking about Puerto Rico.” He paused. “Or are you just being a shrewd business-woman?”
“Oh, Puerto Rico,” Eve said laughing.
“Yes. How do you feel about it?”
“Well, I think it’s wonderful you liked Larry’s ideas. Has construction started yet?”
There was a long pause.
Baxter chuckled and then said, “Oh, Eve, Eve, I’m too old to play this sort of game.”
“What?”
“Can I count on Larry, or can’t I?”
“What?” she said again.
“The offer I made him,” Baxter said.
“The...” She stopped. Despite the heat, she felt suddenly cold. With terrifying intuition, she realized that Baxter knew something she did not know. The instant question that leaped into her mind was “What offer?” With remarkable restraint, she kept it off her tongue. Instead, she said, “Oh, yes, the offer.”