She heard it too and smiled. “It’s not really going to be Fool this time, is it?”
“I don’t know. I’ll have to sort it out later.”
“Well, that ‘maybe’ is still hanging in the air, so it’s still Fred for the time being.” She strode back to the credenza and picked up her glass. “Sure you won’t have something to drink?”
“Maybe later,” he said.
She rolled the roundness of the cool glass across her cheek where he’d touched it, then briefly across the tan swell of her breasts. A trickle of moisture ran beneath the black material of her suit. “Maybe’s good enough for now,” she said.
He nodded, shifted his weight over his cane, and limped to the door. He hated to leave. Hated it! He felt as if he were walking on the bottom of the sea.
“Is Charlie still in town?” Maggie asked behind him.
He turned around. “No, he went back to Miami.”
“Good. I’m still fond of Charlie. That old man really is one of the best. I want to see him happy.”
Carver couldn’t help smiling. “You saw him happy for a while.”
“Didn’t I, though?” she said, and raised her glass and sipped.
He went out into the heat and got in the Olds. Seated behind the steering wheel, he noticed his hand was trembling.
Beth. He knew it was Beth who’d kept him from Maggie inside the cottage.
Beth had become almost a physical part of him, had burned her way deep into his life so that he couldn’t be unfaithful to her without being unfaithful to himself. He despised that kind of oneness and dependency. He knew it for a weakness. He’d guarded against it, hadn’t wanted it to happen.
But it had.
When the trembling stopped he drove away, but he couldn’t help glancing back.
36
That night they switched.
Beth followed the redhead and Carver the man who’d escorted the elderly woman the night before. That way neither escort would notice the same person in the background, a tall black woman or a bald man who walked with a cane. And this evening they picked up on them outside their homes instead of at Nightlinks.
The man, a darkly handsome guy who looked like an Arab terrorist who’d shaved off his beard, didn’t strike Carver as being as young as Beth had described. And he didn’t go to Nightlinks tonight. He was working, though, all dressed up and with someplace to go: black slacks, gray shirt open at the throat to show off a gold chain, unconstructed darker gray sport jacket. He got into his late-model maroon Buick, and Carver followed him to the Sea Lord Hotel.
He was in the lobby about twenty minutes before emerging with a roundish, pretty brunette on his arm. She had on a silky black skirt and a sleeveless white blouse with a glittering gold design down the front. She looked about forty and was staring up at her escort as if he’d been manufactured only for her delight.
Carver thought, Some way to make a living, as he slipped the Olds into drive and followed the maroon Buick back out onto A1A.
Nightlinks and the woman turned left and dropped south all the way to Lauderdale-by-the-Sea. It was dark when they pulled into the parking lot of the Holiday Inn on El Mar Drive. El Mar ran east of A1A at that point, the last street before the beach and ocean.
Carver parked nearby and watched.
The woman waited in the Buick while the man went into the hotel lobby. He returned five minutes later, climbed back into the Buick, and the woman climbed all over him. They kissed as if interested in the Guinness record, then the man got back out of the car and walked around to the passenger side. Out of sight of the woman, he ran the back of his hand across his mouth, then worked his cheeks between thumb and forefinger. Maybe she’d loosened a tooth. It had to be an occupational hazard.
Gallant and smiling, he opened the door for the woman. She took his offered hand and climbed out, tugging down her skirt with unnecessary modesty. She was grinning as if she’d just happened upon the potential of the opposite sex. Possibly she had.
Holding hands, the two of them strolled along El Mar to a restaurant a few blocks away. The sign outside said the name of the place was Aruba. It was crowded, but somehow they got a table after only a short wait. Maybe love working its wonders.
Aruba was a good restaurant from Carver’s point of view. It was located on the beach near a wooden pier that jutted far out and was softly lighted. Tourists were out enjoying the night, some of them wandering around holding ice cream cones from a shop across the street.
He went over and bought a frozen custard cone, then found a spot where he could sit as if watching the ocean, which was kind of feisty this evening, with a strong landward breeze. Actually he was watching the Nightlinks escort and his client eating at a table by the window. From where he sat, he could also see the corner doorway where the man and woman would emerge from Aruba after their meal. He wished the people he followed would always be so cooperative.
An hour later they left their table and stepped out onto the sidewalk. The man was carrying his sport jacket. He draped it over the woman’s shoulders like a cape to protect her from the sea breeze. Carver made a mental note to remember that move.
They wandered around the area for about half an hour, not going far as they ducked in and out of souvenir shops. Carver found it easy to stay relatively out of sight and keep an eye on them. When they came out of the third shop, the woman was wearing a wide-brimmed straw hat with a colorful bow on it. She removed it as the man drew her close and kissed her with conviction. Carver wasn’t surprised when they finally ended the kiss and walked hand in hand toward the hotel where the Buick was parked.
Not surprised either when they walked past the Buick. The man had already registered. He unlocked the outside door to one of the rooms and ushered the woman inside, his hand resting gently against the small of her back.
Carver went to the Olds and sat watching, listening to a Braves game on the radio.
The lights in the room were turned off in the seventh inning. Didn’t come back on until the postgame interview.
Went out again an hour later. Love and money, Carver thought, could be effective aphrodisiacs.
It was almost 2:00 A.M.when the lovers came out of the room. The woman waited in the car again while the man checked out. This time she sat with her head tilted back against the headrest, as if she might be napping.
She sat up straight when the man came outside and got into the car. They talked for a few minutes, then the Buick’s lights came on and it backed out onto El Mar.
Carver followed as it cut west on Commercial, then drove all the way to 1-95 and turned north. Love and money having been spent, they were taking the fast way back to Del Moray, rather than the scenic and romantic route along the ocean.
The woman was dropped off back at the Sea Lord, where the man had picked her up. There was a goodnight kiss, but it was perfunctory, almost businesslike. Then the man drove to his apartment on Tenth Street and presumably went to bed, this time to sleep.
Everybody seemed happy but Carver, who was tired and irritated, though he’d actually expended little energy.
Beth was in bed asleep when he got back to the cottage.
He left a note instructing her not to wake him in the morning, then lay down beside her and felt his weariness make his body seem heavy enough to sink all the way through the mattress.
Staring into darkness, he thought about the man and woman he’d followed, and the artificial happiness and passion that had seemed so real, and maybe been as real as many of life’s sustaining illusions. The ocean rushed noisily onto the beach, and the wind off the sea was moaning softly in the cottage eaves. Beth’s long thigh was resting lightly and warmly along his own. She moaned the same soft song as the wind and stirred, moving her leg closer, then away, leaving him detached and alone in the night.