“So would I.”
“Did you — you got the money all right?”
“Yes, sure.” He hesitated. “You want it now, or have you got time to come in for a drink?”
“I don’t know, it’s kind of early. The whole five hundred, did you get?”
“Here it is. Count it.”
“No. No, really—”
“Count it, go on.”
She counted the money quickly and put it in the back pocket of her jeans as if she was trying to get it out of sight as fast as possible.
“I don’t want to pry,” George said, “but I’d kind of like to know who the guy is. I deserve that much for my trouble, don’t I?”
“You’re going to get paid back. What difference does it make who the guy is?”
“Just say I’m nosy.”
“Sorry, I can’t tell you.”
“All right, it’s your business.”
Hazel turned away, avoiding his eyes. She was tempted to give him back the money right away and make a confession: I was going to play what you’d think was a dirty trick, George, only I’ve changed my mind.
But her mind refused to change. She thought, it isn’t actually a dirty trick, it’s for his own good. He said himself he wished he’d never met her. It’s my fault that he did and now it’s my fault that she’s going away. Everyone will be better off.
She said, looking a little guilty: “Maybe I could use a drink at that. I’m not dressed, though. I didn’t figure on coming in.”
“That’s all right. There’s nobody around except Judge Bowridge.”
“Is he—?”
“He is.”
“That’s too bad.”
They went inside. The judge was still sitting at the bar, his arms forming a circle around the half-finished martini. He was talking quietly but distinctly to himself in a language which neither George nor Hazel recognized but which George from past experience assumed was Latin.
“Carpe diem,” said the judge, “quam minimum credula postero. What happened to you, Anderson?”
“I went out to meet Hazel.”
“Hazel. My dear lady, I did not recognize you without your hair. Here, sit down, take off your glasses, let me admire you. O mater pulchra filia pulchrior.”
“I bet you say that to all the girls,” Hazel said, laughing.
“No, indeed. I speak from the heart. Sit down, sit down, the night is young.”
“It’s morning.”
“I was merely using a figure of speech. I am quite aware that it’s morning. Sunday morning, as a matter of fact. I am always perfectly oriented, even when I’ve been drinking. And I might as well confess that I’ve had one or two drinks throughout the night.”
“Maybe it’s time you thought about going home.”
“I have thought about it,” Bowridge said solemnly. “It seems like an excellent idea.”
“Then—”
“But not one which appeals to me. Carpe diem, I say. Seize the day. Swing it by the tail. Let it know who’s boss.”
Hazel’s smile was a little forced. For one thing she wasn’t sure what he was talking about, and for another she had never before seen Judge Bowridge when he’d been drinking. She had heard about his periodic bats, from George and a dozen other people, but she hadn’t witnessed one, and it embarrassed her.
“I sense opprobrium in the air,” Bowridge said. “Chide me no chides, Hazel.”
“It sounds like you’re talking in riddles.”
“Like the Sphinx. Yes. But that is not my sole resemblance to the Sphinx. We are both old, desiccated, frangible. I know many fine riddles. For example, what is it that can go up the chimney down, but not down the chimney up?”
Hazel took a careful sip of the beer George had drawn for her, and tried to look thoughtful.
“It’s very simple,” the judge said. “Go on, guess.”
“I can’t.”
“Give up?”
“Yes.”
“It’s an umbrella.”
“Oh.”
“A very fine riddle, that. You don’t happen to know any, do you?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Well, no matter, no matter. We will play Twenty Questions instead. Would you like that?”
“I really don’t know,” Hazel said earnestly. “I’ve never played them. Besides, I’ve got to go, I have an important engagement.”
Bowridge frowned. “It’s very peculiar, every time I suggest a game of Twenty Questions, people suddenly discover that they have an engagement somewhere. Is there something intrinsically repulsive about the game itself, or am I the repelling factor?”
“I really have a date. I’ve got to deliver some money.”
“Money. How very interesting. To whom?”
They were both watching her, the judge owlishly, over the top of his spectacles, and George with obvious eagerness, as if he believed that Hazel, now that she was in the presence of a Judge of the Superior Court, must tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth. To some extent Hazel shared this feeling but it did not alter her decision to lie, it only made it more difficult to carry out.
George said, earnestly, “Listen, Hazel, has it entered your brain that if you give this guy money to run out on his wife, you’re kind of responsible for what happens?”
“I am not.”
“Just think about it.”
“I already have. He could get the money from someone else. The only reason he asked me is because, well, he just thought of me first, is all. He has lots of friends he could have asked.” She knew that this was a lie. Gordon had no close friends. “He would go away anyway, even without any money. I’m not responsible one bit. And I don’t see why you’re acting so petty about it.”
“It isn’t the money, it’s the way you let yourself get dragged into everybody’s business. You can’t walk up the street without getting involved with somebody.”
“You don’t have to worry about me.”
“I am not worried about you,” George said stiffly. “I’m pointing out to you a simple fact.”
“I already know some simple facts.”
“For instance, just for instance, remember the day you got the bright idea of driving over to Ojai to look up your mother’s long-lost cousin Gladys. That was all right, if it would have stopped there. But no. It turns out Gladys has a sister and the sister is living right here in town, teaching school. So naturally you look up the sister too, and by a strange coincidence she happens to be having a nervous breakdown and has to give up her job and has nothing to live on. The rest is history.”
“You’re getting awfully stuffy in your old age, George. I remember the bums you were always bringing home with you.”
“They didn’t stay for a couple of years.”
“I used to dread getting up in the mornings, never knowing how many bodies I’d have to step over to get to the kitchen.”
“That was different. We were married then, you had me to protect you.”
“The only thing you ever protected me from was having a good time.”
“That’s a lie, by Jesus!”
“And it’s none of your damned business who lives in my house because it’s my house.”
“I gave it to you.”
“The judge gave it to me.”
“I signed the prop—”
“Now, now,” the judge said, looking sad. “Now, now, now.”
“I signed the property settle—”
“Order in the court.”
“—meat.”
“You’re in contempt, Anderson. I fine you one martini.”
George looked down at the floor, mute and stubborn.
“You refuse to pay, Anderson?”
“That’s right. I called you a cab.”
“You realize what this means, of course. If you should ever be forced to appear in my court, I shall take a very dim view of your innocence, a very dim view indeed.”