have heard me, I shall not warn you again.”
“Don’t,” Wade said curtly. “But if you do, make it on neutral territory. Gives me a little more freedom of action. Sorry, Linda. But you married him.” He rubbed his cheek gently where the heavy end of the glove had hit him. Linda Loring was smiling bitterly. She shrugged.
“We are leaving,” Loring said. “Come, Linda.”
She sat down again and reached for her glass. She gave her husband a glance of quiet contempt. “You are,” she said, “You have a number of calls to make, remember.”
“You are leaving with me,” he said furiously.
She turned her back on him. He reached suddenly and took hold of her arm. Wade took him by the shoulder and spun him around.
“Take it easy, Doc. You can’t win them all. ”
“Take your hand off me!”
“Sure, just relax,” Wade said. “I have a good idea, Doctor. Why don’t you see a good doctor?”
Somebody laughed loudly. Loring tensed like an animal all set to spring. Wade sensed it and neatly turned his back and moved away. Which left Dr. Loring holding the bag. If he went after Wade, he would look sillier than he looked now. There was nothing for him to do but leave, and he did it. He marched quickly across the room staring straight in front of him to where Candy was holding the door open. He went out, Candy shut the door, wooden- faced, and went back to the bar. I went over there and asked for some Scotch. I didn’t see where Wade went. He just disappeared. I didn’t see Eileen either. I turned my back on the room and let them sizzle while I drank my Scotch.
A small girl with mud-colored hair and a band around her forehead popped up beside me and put a glass on the bar and bleated, Candy nodded and made her another think.
The small girl turned to me. “Are you interested in Communism?” she asked me. She was glassy-eyed and she was running a small red tongue along her lips as if looking for a crumb of chocolate. “I think everyone ought to be,” she went on. “But when you ask any of the men here they just want to paw you.”
I nodded and looked over my glass at her snub nose and sun-coarsened skin.
“Not that I mind too much if it’s done nicely,” she told me, reaching for the fresh drink. She showed me her molars while she inhaled half of it.
“Don’t rely on me,” I said.
“What’s your name?”
“Marlowe.”
“With an ‘e’ or not?”
“With.”
“Ah, Marlowe,” she intoned. “Such a sad beautiful name.” She put her glass down damn nearly empty and closed her eyes and threw her head back and her arms out, almost hitting me in the eye. Her voice throbbed with emotion, saying: “Was this the face that launch’d a thousand ships and burnt the topless towers of Ilium? Sweet Helen, make me immortal with a kiss.”
She opened her eyes, grabbed her glass, and winked at me. “You were pretty good in there, chum. Been writing any poetry lately?”
“Not very much.”
“You can kiss me if you like,” she said coyly.
A guy in a shantung jacket and an open neck shirt came up behind her and grinned at me over the top of her head. He had short red hair and a face like a collapsed lung. He was as ugly a guy as I ever saw. He patted the top of the little girl’s head.
“Come on kitten. Time to go home.”
She rounded on him furiously. “You mean you got to water those goddamned tuberous begonias again?” she yelled.
“Aw listen, kitten—”
“Take your hands off me, you goddamned rapist,” she screamed, and threw the rest of her drink in his face. The rest wasn’t more than a teaspoonful and two lumps of ice.
“For Chrissake, baby, I’m your husband,” he yelled back, grabbing for a handkerchief and mopping his face. “Get it? Your husband.”
She sobbed violently and threw herself into his arms. I stepped around them and got out of there. Every cocktail party is the same, even the dialogue.
The house was leaking guests out into the evening air now. Voices were fading, cars were starting, goodbyes were bouncing around like rubber balls. I went to the french windows and out onto a flagged terrace. The ground sloped towards the lake which was as motionless as a sleeping cat. There was a short wooden pier down there with a rowboat tied to it by a white painter. Towards the far shore, which wasn’t very far, a black water-hen was doing lazy curves, like a skater. They didn’t seem to cause as much as a shallow ripple.
I stretched out on a padded aluminum chaise and lit a pipe and smoked peacefully and wondered what the hell I was doing there, Roger Wade seemed to have enough control to handle himself if he really wanted to. He had done all right with Loring. I wouldn’t have been too surprised if he had hung one on Loring’s sharp little chin. He would have been out of line by the rules, but Loring was much farther out of line.
If the rules mean anything at all any more, they mean that you don’t pick a roomful of people as the spot to threaten a man and hit him across the face with a glove when your wife is standing right beside you and you are practically accusing her of a little double time. For a man still shaky from a hard bout with the hard stuff Wade had done all right. He had done more than all right. Of course I hadn’t seen him drunk. I didn’t know what he would be
