'Fine, thank you, Pud.'
I maybe put a little more edge into 'Pud' than I had to, but on the whole I was being the soul of civility.
'My wife thinks you're a hunk,' he said.
His tongue was having a little trouble, and 'you're' came out as a compromise with 'you are.'
'A common misperception,' I said. 'You must have the same problem, Pud.'
He frowned at me. Even sober, I suspected, his strong suit would not be thinking.
'You got yourself a problem,' he said, 'with my name?'
'Oh, Pud,' SueSue said. 'Nobody gives a damn about your silly old name.'
Penny was quiet; she seemed sort of interested.
'The hunk don't like my name,' he said, and stared at me. The stare would have been scarier if he could focus.
'It's quite a lovely name,' I said. 'Is it short for something?'
'His father's name was Poole,' SueSue said. 'Poole Potter. He called his son Puddle.'
'I see,' I said.
'I don't think I like you talking to my wife, Hunk.'
'Of course you don't,' I said.
'So buzz off.'
He put his hand on my chest and gave me a little shove. It was too little. I didn't move.
'Pud,' I said. 'Please don't make a mistake here.'
'Mistake? What mistake? I'm telling you to buzz off.'
'You're drunk,' I said, 'and I'm even-tempered. But don't put your hands on me again.'
He had a low-ball glass in his right hand that appeared to contain bourbon. He took a bracing pull on it.
'I ought to knock you on your keister.'
'Sure,' I said, 'but you can't and you're just going to look like a goddamned fool. Why don't I apologize and you accept and we'll go our separate ways?'
'You think I can't?'
Neither Penny nor SueSue made any move to intervene. There was something a little unpleasant flickering in SueSue's eyes as she watched.
'Pud, I've been doing this for a living since before you started pickling your liver. It's not a good match for you.'
He stared at me. Some part of him got it. Some part of him knew he'd gotten in where he didn't belong. But he was too drunk to back down. He looked at SueSue. The unpleasant glint was still in her eyes. She smiled an unpleasant smile.
'Don't you let him push you around, Pud Potter,' she said.
He frowned as if he were trying to concentrate, and put his drink on a table next to him. It came the way I knew it would, a long slow looping right punch that I could have slipped while writing my memoirs. I blocked it on my left forearm. He threw a left of the same directness and velocity. I slipped the left, put my hand behind his shoulder, and used the slow force of the punch to continue him around. When he was turned, I put my foot against his butt and shoved. He stumbled forward and fell on the lawn, and got up with deep grass stains on the knees of his white slacks.
Walter Clive detached himself from the group he was entertaining and walked over. Dolly came with him.
'What seems to be the problem?' he said.
'Pud is drunk,' Penny said.
Clive nodded. 'And being Pud,' he said.
'Yes.'
Pud was standing, looking a little disoriented, ready to charge.
'SueSue,' Clive said. 'Take Pud home.'
He turned to me.
'I apologize for my son-in-law. He's a little too fond sometimes of that sippin' whiskey.'
'No harm,' I said.
Clive never looked to see if Pud was leaving. Which he was, led by SueSue away from the bright circle of Japanese lanterns. Dolly smiled at me warmly. The smile made me think of perfumed silk. I was pretty sure I knew what she did to make Clive happy.
'Penny,' Clive said, 'introduce Mr. Spenser to our trainer.'
'Sure thing, boss,' Penny said, and put her arm through mine again and led me toward another part of the terrace. Clive went back to his guests with Dolly beside him.
