Before Perce and I took our leave of each other, we had decided on at least the first play of our revised game plan. I set about implementing it as soon as I got back to my office.
Mrs Kletz and I sat down to compose a letter which Mrs Kletz would then copy in her handwriting on plain paper.
The finished missive reads as follows:
Dear Mrs Kipper,
We have met casually several times, but I believe I know more about your private life than you are aware.
You'll see that I am not signing this letter. Names are not important, and I don't wish to become further involved. I am writing only with the best of intentions, because I don't want you to know the pain I suffered in a comparable situation.
Mrs Kipper, I happen to know how close your relationship is with the Reverend Godfrey Knurr. I hope you will forgive me when I tell you that your 'affair' is common knowledge and a subject of sometimes malicious gossip in the circles in which we both move.
I regret to inform you that the Reverend is also currently carrying on a clandestine 'affair' with a beautiful young woman, Glynis Stonehouse. Believe me when I tell you that I have irrefutable proof of their liaison which has existed for several months.
They have been seen together by witnesses whose word cannot be doubted. Their frequent trysts, always late at night, are held aboard his houseboat moored at the 79th Street boat basin. Were you aware that the Reverend Knurr owned a lavishly furnished houseboat and uses it for midnight meetings with this young 338
beautiful woman? And possibly others?
As I said, Mrs Kipper, I am writing only to spare you the agony I recently endured in a similar situation. I wish now that a concerned friend had written to me as I am writing to you, in time to prevent me from acting foolishly and deserting a loving husband and family for the sake of an unfaithful philanderer.
I have been able to obtain a photograph of the other woman, Glynis Stonehouse, which I am enclosing with this letter.
Forgive me for writing of matters which, I am sure, must prove painful to you. But I could not endure seeing a woman of your taste and refinement suffer as I suffered, and am suffering.
A FRIEND
When Mrs Kletz finished copying the letter, we sealed it with the snapshot of Glynis Stonehouse in a plain manila envelope. Mrs Kletz addressed it in her hand.
'Just ring the bell at the front gate,' I instructed her, as I prepared to send her out on this important assignment.
'The butler, a big man, will come out. Tell him you have a letter for Mrs Kipper, give it to him, and walk away as quickly as you can.'
'Don't worry, Mr Bigg,' she said. 'I'll get out of there fast.'
She put on her Tam O'Shanter and a loden coat as billowy as a tent and set out. A half-hour later I locked the Kipper and Stonehouse files securely away and left the office. Uncharacteristically I took a cab home, so anxious was I to find a message from Cleo. I found it slipped under my door: 'Miss Cleo Hufnagel accepts with pleasure Mr Joshua Bigg's kind invitation to dinner tonight in his apartment at 8.00 p.m.'
Smiling, I changed into parka and watch cap, and then checked my larder, refrigerator, and liquor supply. I made 339
out a careful list of things I needed and then set forth with my two-wheeled shopping cart. It was a cold, misty evening, and I didn't dawdle. I bought two handsome club steaks; baking potatoes; sour cream already mixed with chives; butter (should she prefer it to the sour cream); a head of iceberg lettuce; a perfectly shaped, plasma-coloured tomato; a cucumber the size of a tough, small U-boat, and just as slippery; a bottle of creamy garlic dressing; and a frozen blueberry cheesecake. I also purchased two small shrimp cocktails that came complete with sauce in small jars that could later be used as juice glasses. A paper tablecloth. Paper napkins. An onion.
I also bought a cold six-pack of Ballantine ale, two bottles of Chianti in raffia baskets, and a quart of California brandy. And two long red candles. On impulse I stopped at a florist's shop and bought a long-stemmed yellow rose.
She tapped on my door a few minutes after 8.00 and came in smiling. She bent swiftly to kiss my cheek. She had brought me a loaf of crusty sour rye from our local Jewish bakery. It was a perfect gift; I had forgotten all about bread. Fortunately I had butter.
I gave her the yellow rose, which came close to bringing tears to her eyes and earned me another cheek-kiss, warmer this time. I led her to my favourite armchair and asked her if she'd like a fire.
'Maybe later,' she said.
I poured a glass of red wine for her and one for myself.
'Here's to you,' I toasted.
'To us,' she said.
I told her what we were having for dinner.
'Sounds marvellous,' she said in her low, whispery voice. 'I like everything.'
Suddenly, due to her words or her voice or her smile, something struck me.
'What's wrong?' Cleo asked anxiously.
I sighed.:I bought a kite. And a ball of string and a winder. But I left them at the office. I forgot to bring them home.'
She laughed. 'We weren't going to fly it tonight. But I'm glad you remembered.'
'It's a red kite,' I told her. 'Listen, I have to go into the kitchen and get things ready. You help yourself to the wine.'
'Can't I come in with you?' she said softly. 'I promise I won't get in the way.'
I couldn't remember ever having been so content in my life. I think my feeling — in addition to the beamy effects of the food and wine — came from a realization of the sense of home. I had never known a real home. Not my own. And there we were in a tiny, messy kitchen, fragrant with cooking odours and the smoke of candles, quiet with our comfort, walled around and shielded.
It was a new experience for me, being with a woman I liked. Liked? Well. . wanted to be with. I didn't have to make conversation. She didn't have to. We could be happily silent together. That was something, wasn't it?
After dinner, she murmured that she'd help me clean up.
'Oh, let's just leave everything,' I said, which was out of character for me, a very tidy man.
'You'll get roaches,' she warned.
'I already have them,' I said mournfully, and we both smiled. Her large, prominent teeth didn't offend me. I thought them charming.
We doused the candles and straggled back to the living room. We decided a blaze in the fireplace would be superfluous; the apartment was warm enough. She sat in the armchair. I sat on the floor at her feet. Her fingers stroked my hair idly. I stroked her long, prehensile toes.
Her bare toes. She groaned with pleasure.
'Do you like me, Cleo?' I asked.
'Of course I like you.'
' Then, if you like me, will you rise from your comfortable chair, find the bottle of brandy in the bar, open it, and pour us each a small glass of brandy? The glasses are in the kitchen cupboard.'
'Your wish is my command, master,' she said humbly.
She was back in a few moments with glasses of brandy, handed me one and, while she was bent over, kissed the top of my head. Then she resumed her sprawling position in the armchair, and I resumed stroking her toes.
'It was a wonderful dinner,' she said sighing.
'Thank you.'
'I'm a virgin,' she said in exactly the same tone of voice she had said, 'It was a wonderful dinner.'
What could I answer with but an equally casual, 'Yes, you mentioned it last time.'
'Did I also mention I don't want to be?' she added thoughtfully.
'Ah,' I said, hoping desperately that I could eventually contribute something better than monosyllables. When it occurred to me almost at once that a lunge qualified as something better, the ice broke.
I have told you that she was tall. Very tall. And slender.
Very slender. But I was not prepared for the sinuous elegance of her body, its lithe vigour. And the sweetness of her skin. She was a rope dipped in honey.