Now?...
But a man can be afraid just so much. (I say that as an expert on being afraid.) When he reaches that limit, he can fear no more. And so, at last, my pajamas wet with cold sweat, I returned to bed and fell into restless sleep.
In the morning, Mrs. Olmstead brought me toast and coffee and asked suspiciously if I had mailed a letter she had given me yesterday. I said that I had, for she was always giving me letters to mail, and I always remembered to mail. Or almost always. She nagged me, with increasing vehemence, about the imminent peril of rats. And I swore I would do something about them, too; and, mumbling and grumbling, she at last left me alone.
I lay back down and closed my eyes... and Manny came into my room, a deceptive smile on her lovely face. For naturally, although she had learned that I was married, she showed no sign of displeasure.
“But it’s all right, darling, and I understand perfectly. You needed the money, and you were dying to sleep with me. And — here, have a drink of this nice coffee I fixed for you.”
“No! It’s poisoned, and — yahh!”
“Oh, I’m so sorry, dear! I wouldn’t have spilled it on you for the world. Let me just wipe it off—”
“Yeow! You’re scratching my eyes out! Get away, go away...!”
My eyes snapped open.
I sat up with a start.
Mrs. Olmstead was bent over me. “My goodness, goodness me!” she exclaimed. “What’s the matter, Mr. Rainstar?”
“Nothing; must’ve been having a nightmare,” I said sheepishly. “Was I making a lot of racket?”
“Were you ever! Sounded like you was scared to death.” Shaking her head grumpily, she turned toward the door. “Oh, yeah, your girlfriend wants you.”
“What?” I said.
“Reckon she’s your girlfriend, the way you’re always pawing at each other.”
“But — you mean Miss Aloe?” I stammered. “She’s here?”
“Course she’s not here. Don’t see her, do you?” She gestured exasperatedly. “Answer the phone, afore she hangs up!”
I threw on a robe and ran downstairs.
I grabbed up the phone and said hello.
“Boo, you pretty man!” Manny laughed teasingly. “What’s the matter with you, anyway?”
“Matter?” I said. “Uh, what makes you think anything’s the matter?”
“I thought you sounded rather gruff and strained. But never mind. I want to see you. Be at our place in about an hour, okay?”
I swallowed heavily. Had she decided that something was wrong? That I was hiding something?
“Britt?...”
“Why?” I said. “What did you want to see me about?”
“What?” I could almost see her frown. “What did I want to see you about?”
I apologized hastily. I said I’d just gone to sleep after tossing and turning all night, and I seemed to be coming down with the flu. “I’d love to see you, Manny, child, but I think it would be bad for you. The way I’m feeling, the farther you keep away from me the better.”
She said “Oh” disappointedly but agreed that it was probably best not to see me. She was leaving town for a couple of weeks — some business for Uncle Pat. Naturally, she would have liked a session with me before departing. But since I seemed to be coming down with something, and it wouldn’t do for her to catch it...
“You just take care of yourself, Britt. Get to feeling hale and hearty again, because you’ll have to be when I get back.”
“I’ll look forward to it,” I said. “Have a good trip, baby.”
“And, Britt. I put a two-thousand-dollar bonus check in the mail to you.”
“Oh, that’s too much,” I said. “I’m really overpaid as it is, and—”
“You just shut up!” she said sternly, then laughed. “Bye, now, darling. I gotta run.”
“Bye to you,” I said. And we hung up.
I had sent Connie three thousand dollars out of my first PXA check and another three out of the second, explaining that I’d gotten on to something good, though probably temporary, and that I’d send her all I could as long as it lasted. After all, I hadn’t sent much before, lacking much to send, and it was a sort of conscience salve for my affair with Manny.
When my bonus arrived, I mailed Connie a check for the full two thousand. Then, after waiting a few days, until I was sure she had got it, I called her.
Britt Rainstar, stupe deluxe, figured that getting so much scratch — eight grand in less than two months — would put her in a fine mood. Bonehead Britt, sometimes known as the Peabrain Pollyanna, reasoned that all that loot would buy reasonableness and tolerance from Connie. Which just goes to show you. Yessir, that shows you, and it shows something about him, too. (And please stop laughing, dammit!)
For she was verbally leaping all over me, almost before I had asked her how she was feeling.
“I want to know where you got that money, Britt. I want to know how much more you got — a full and complete accounting, as Daddy says. And don’t tell me that you got it from Hemisphere, because we’ve already talked to them and they said that you didn’t. They said that you had severed your association with them. So you tell me where you’re getting the money and exactly how much you’re getting. Or, by golly, you’ll wish you had.”
“I see,” I said numbly, surprised, though God knows I should not have been. I was always surprised, when being stupid, that people thought I was stupid. “I think I really see for the first time, namely that you and your daddy are a couple of miserable piles of shit.”
“Who from and how much? I either find out from you. Mister Britton Rainstar, or— What? What did you say to me?”
“Never mind,” I said. “I tell you the source of the money, and you check to see if I’m telling the truth — as to the quantity, that is. That’s your plan, isn’t it?”
“Well...” She hesitated. “But I have a right to know! I’m your wife.”
“Do you and are you?” I said. “A wife usually trusts her husband when he treats her as generously as I’ve been treating you.”
That made her hesitate again, brought her to a still-longer pause.
“Well, all right,” she said at last, grudgingly defensive. “I certainly don’t want to make you lose your job, and... and... well. Hemisphere had no right to get huffy about it! Anyway, just look at what you did to me!”
“I didn’t do anything to you, Connie. It was an accident.”
“Well, anyway,” she said. “Just the same!”
I didn’t say anything. Simply waited. After a long silence, I heard her take a deep breath, and she spoke with an incipient sob.
“I s-suppose you want a divorce now. You wouldn’t talk to me this way if you didn’t.”
“Divorce makes sense, Connie. You’ll get just as much money, as if we were married, and I know you can’t feel any great love for me.”
“Then you do want a divorce?”
“Yes. It’s the best thing for both of us, and—”
“WELL, YOU JUST TRY AND GET ONE!” she yelled. “I’ll have you in jail for attempted murder so fast, it’ll make your head swim! You arranged that accident that almost killed me, and the case isn’t closed yet! They’re ready to reopen it anytime Daddy and I say the word. And, golly, you try and get a divorce, and, by gosh—!”
“Connie,” I said. “You surely can’t mean that!”