He knew that once the silence broke, Baxter’s offer would again be dragged into the living room. And this time it would not be allowed to bleed unnoticed on the rug. This time it would be rolled over and scrutinized. Answers would be demanded decisions would be expected. He did not want to decide. He did not want to lose Maggie, nor — he realized with some surprise — did he want to lose Eve. What the hell do you want? he asked himself. A harem?
He dreaded the lifting of the silence because he had the uncertain sneaking dread that Eve would accomplish it by announcing she was leaving him. He did not want Eve to leave him. But he recognized the irrevocable error of having concealed Baxter’s proposal. What possible excuse could he find to justify such behavior?
And exactly how much had Baxter told her? Did she realize the full scope of the opportunity he’d presented? Was she aware that this could be a turning point in their lives, the possible answer to his professional dreams? And if she knew that, how could he excuse the fact that he had not discussed it with her? A sudden shocking thought came to him. Had she spoken to anyone else? Had Altar ever called on the nights he’d used him for an alibi?
Hastily, he went to the phone and dialed Altar’s home.
“Hello?”
“Altar?”
“Yes, who’s this?”
“Larry.”
“Oh, hello, Larry. What’s up?”
“Nothing much. I was planning on going up to the house this week. I thought you might like to come with me.”
“Oh, good. I was up last Saturday. Di Labbia’s really clipping along. All the outside painting is done, and they’d already started to paint inside. When do you think he’ll be finished?”
“The end of the month easily,” Larry said.
“I wanted to discuss colors with you,” Altar said. “I don’t know what color to paint the study.”
“Well, that’s up to you. I can make suggestions, but the final choice—”
“Maybe black would be appropriate,” Altar said.
“Black?”
“Well, Stone’ll be published soon. The reviews may be bad.”
“I doubt it,” Larry said.
“I’m on pins and needles. I’m stupid, I know. I shouldn’t feel this way. But I can’t help it.”
“Just relax,” Larry said. “They’ll probably be raves.”
“God, I hope so. It’s only seventeen days, you know.”
“What is?”
“To publication date. August thirtieth.”
“You mean you’re counting them?”
“I’m crossing them off on the calendar. August thirtieth. I get nervous even mentioning the date.”
“Take a Miltown.”
“I do. Regularly. They don’t help. I think I’ll get a woman tonight.”
“Good idea.”
“Aw, that won’t help either. I’m worthless until that damn book is published and I see the reviews.”
“Don’t curse it.”
“No, I shouldn’t curse it. It’s not a damn book, it’s a beautiful book, a lovely book. But I can’t wait for the damn thing to be published.
Larry laughed.
“Don’t laugh! Suppose I didn’t like the house you designed after it was all built?”
“It wouldn’t matter to me.”
“Sure, you’d get your damn ten per cent anyway. I’m surrounded by ten-per-centers. My agent, you...”
“The book’ll be all right. Don’t worry about it.”
“Don’t worry about it. That’s like telling a man with cancer not to have cancer. The Book-of-the-Month Club News arrived yesterday. They gave it a rousing shove.”
“What do you mean?”
“Stone. Didn’t I tell you it was Book-of-the-Month for September?”
“No.”
“Well, it is. They send out this thing announcing their selections. Marquand or one of the other people up there usually writes a sort of review on the selection. They sound as if they really like this one.”
“Well, that’s good.”
“Well, it’s not so good. They always like their selections. They’re certainly not going to give a bad review to their own selection.”
“Oh, I see.”
“But it’s pretty good because it sounds honestly enthusiastic. That’s one of the most difficult things to do nowadays. Sound honestly enthusiastic, I mean. Do you think people like to buy books in September?”
“Sure.”
“Well, I hope so.”
They were silent for a moment.
Then Larry said, “You haven’t called here recently, have you?”
“No. Why?”
“I thought you might have spoken to Eve.”
“I only talk to wives when I have plans for them.”
“All right.”
“So, now that I know why you really called, you can hang up.”
“Go to hell,” Larry said.
“Are you really going up to the house tomorrow or the next day?”
“Did I say tomorrow?”
“You said this week. You can’t go on Sunday. Not if you expect to see Di Labbia.”
“Is tomorrow Friday already?”
“All day,” Altar said, and then he chuckled. “My mother always says that. Ask her, ‘Is today Wednesday?’ and she’ll answer, ‘All day.’ She’s a character in Stone. Did I tell you?”
“No.”
“I’m worried about that damn book,” Altar said.
In his best family-relations-counselor voice, Larry said, “Mr. Altar, go, go to these people, beg their forgiveness, tell them your heart...”
“Aw, no sympathy in the world,” Altar said. “That’s the trouble. No sympathy.”
“I’ll leave you to your miseries,” Larry said.
“Everyone always does. Are we going up to the house or not?”
“Let it wait until next week.”
“I figured. Thanks for the call. If I turn on the gas or jump out the window, you’ll be sorry.”
“I will.”
“It’s too late to make amends,” Altar said, and he hung up.
Larry grinned. Perhaps, he thought solemnly, it is too late to make amends. He hung up, and then steeled himself for the eventual shattering of the silence.
The communication for the next week was handled in the classically comic tradition of transmission through the children.
“Ask your father to pass me the butter please, Chris.”
“Whyn’t you ask him yourself, Ma? He’s sitting right there.”
“Ask him, please.”
“Daddy, will you please pass Mommy the butter?”
“Here, Chris.”
“Thank you.”
“Thank your father, Chris.”
“I did.”
“For me.”
“Mommy says thanks, Dad.”
The silence persisted.
Maggie, unaware of the explosion in Larry’s home, busily made plans for the weekend they would share at the end of the month. She had already approached Don and he’d agreed to let her go provided his mother would come to stay with Patrick while she was away. He had not seemed at all surprised by her request, had asked relatively few questions about where she planned to go or what she planned to do. Breathlessly, on the telephone, she told Larry she could leave on Thursday night, August twenty-ninth. Would the house be finished by then? Could he get away by then? He could not tell her of the argument which had been caused by the Puerto Rican offer without revealing the offer to her. And so he said he would ask Eve as soon as the opportunity presented itself.