old sulking because his feelings had been hurt.
She laughed again, damn her. “Well, then, we’ll just have to do something about your little feelings being hurt, won’t we? I happened to have had a flat and didn’t feel up to changing a tire-which I’ve done many times, I assure you. I didn’t want to ruin this dress which I like, so I had to walk up to a house and ask the woman-one of the ‘great unwashed,’ as you said-if I might use her phone. She said yes. She was very sweet. I called the service station where we take our cars. The woman let me wait inside and even gave me coffee and a very tasty cookie. Chocolate chip, homemade, if you’re interested. I would’ve called here and left a message for you but I thought the station would send a truck sooner than they did-both their trucks were busy at the same time. But here you were suffering for thirty-four minutes all alone and unloved, cramming breadsticks into your mouth. Flecks of which, by the way, are all over your tie and jacket.”
Fortunately, the waiter appeared and I didn’t have to respond to her. Her smile was always smug but now it was downright scornful. Before I could get a word out, she said, “I’ll have a glass of Chardonnay and this little fellow here will have a Coke. I’m sorry to see he’s been sitting here all this time without ordering anything. They tried to teach him manners at the home but sometimes it’s a slow process. We’ll need more time to decide what we’ll want to eat. And do you happen to have a bib he could use?”
The young waiter’s face shifted from confusion to amusement and back to confusion. He wanted to smile about all her imperiousness but was that proper when the guy sitting across from her was from some kind of “home”? This could mean anything from cooties to frontal lobotomy.
After he was gone, she said, “I’m pretty sure that Paul will be joining us. He followed me here.”
“Why would he do that?”
“He doesn’t want me to talk to you.”
“I hope he’s calmed down some since he was in my office. He was ready for a net and the bughouse.”
And then he was there and in the Cotillion. He was a celebrity. By now the restaurant was filling up with credit-card businessmen who recognized the most resplendent of the peacocks among them. Paul Mainwaring. Where his wife had made a ballet out of finding her table, Mainwaring moved relentlessly, flicking nods and waves to people, but never smiles. We both sat silently watching him invade us which he did with dispatch and economy.
“I don’t want to make a scene here, McCain. Otherwise I’d pound your face in right now.”
“And very nice to see you, too, Mainwaring. And thanks for sparing me the trouble of kicking you in the balls while you were pounding my face in.”
The goddess, displeased, rolled her eyes. “Will you two shut up for God’s sake? This is ridiculous. And by the way, Paul, I don’t appreciate you following me around.”
He pulled a padded brown leather chair closer to his wife and sat down. Then his hand went up like a spear and the waiter rushed for us as if summoned by not one but two popes.
“The usual scotch and water, Mr. Mainwaring?” A slight tremor in the young voice.
“Of course.”
To Eve, the waiter said, “All we have is a lobster bib, Mrs. Main-waring. Would that be all right for this-” He eyed me as if I was road kill. “This little fella?”
“Oh, a lobster bib would be perfect.”
He started to bow from the waist then caught himself. “I’ll bring it back with Mr. Mainwaring’s drink.”
“Thank you so much.”
Mainwaring’s eyes had narrowed; his mouth was a bitter slash. The moment the waiter was out of earshot, he snapped, “You’re still doing that stupid ‘bib’ gag? Isn’t it about time you give it up, Eve?” He had shifted his wrath from me to his wife.
“Oh, that’s right, forgive me. I apologize for trying to have some fun. That’s against the rules, isn’t it?”
“In case you’ve forgotten, my daughter is dead. I know you two didn’t get along and most of that was her fault but couldn’t you at least try to fake some regret?”
The first thing I tried to figure out was how sincere her tears were. They were silver and lovely against her perfect cheekbones, and even the single sob was just as startling as a cynic might say it was meant to be. But there was always the possibility that Mainwaring’s words had had their desired effect and had actually surprised and hurt her.
Mainwaring sighed, glanced at me, shook his head, and leaned over to slide his arm around his wife’s shoulders. Her head was down now. She was quiet. “Forgive me, Eve. I-I’m just confused and I’m taking it out on you. With Van gone-I don’t need to deal with a scandal on top of this.”
He put a big hand under her chin and raised her head. The tears were gone from her cheeks but stood in her eyes. She used her starched napkin to dab her nose and then eyes. “And right in front of McCain.”
“You were the one who wanted to meet him. I asked you not to.” But his voice was sympathetic this time. He kissed her on the cheek.
She placed her hand over his. “But he already knows some of it.” She inclined her head toward me as she spoke. “Maybe if we explained things to him-”
He was a man long accustomed to getting his way. Since things weren’t going so well now he took his arm from her shoulders and sat there glowering. “Why don’t we just get a microphone and tell everybody in the restaurant?”
“I was trying to be helpful, Paul. He’s going to find out anyway.”
“You think I’m going to sit here while you’re telling him?”
Irritation was in her voice and eyes now. “You don’t have to be here while I do it if you don’t want to. Maybe I can persuade him to see things from our side.”
“He’s a private investigator who works for Judge Whitney. He’s not exactly a good prospect for keeping a secret.”
She looked directly at me and said, “Paul and I have an open marriage.”
PART THREE
17
So there we had it. Open marriage was something I read about in Playboy and the kind of paperbacks Kenny writes. Sometimes you see brief stories about it on TV news but it’s always reported as if the newsman is handling feces. Even the swankiest of people-despite the protestations that they love their spouse devoutly and are positive that sleeping around has no effect on the children-come off as selfish and decadent. What’s wrong with these people? Haven’t they ever heard of plain old all-American adultery?
The sexual revolution, which we heard about as often as we heard the Pentagon lies about the war, had come to Black River Falls, Iowa.
“Well there, you’ve said it, Eve. Happy now?”
“Oh, sure, Paul. I’m delirious. Can’t you tell?”
“Did your girls know about this?”
“What’s that got to do with anything?” Mainwaring was ready for an argument.
“You said Vanessa changed after Eve came. I wonder if she ever found out about your arrangement.”
“Not that I know of.”
“We were very discreet.”
“Look at his face,” Mainwaring said. “He just can’t wait to tell everybody he knows.”
“You’re right, Paul. I’m thinking of calling Walter Cronkite.”
“I’m so damned sick of you. I wish I’d never hired you.”
“Believe it or not, Paul, I’m not going to tell anybody. If your arrangement doesn’t have any bearing on Vanessa’s murder it doesn’t matter. But I have to remind you that being discreet in a town this size is difficult. Your friends at the Sleepy Time got guilty and called you, but if they told me, how many other people did they tell?”
“I’ll talk to them and they’ll be damned sorry. Damned sorry. They needed money a few years ago and were overextended at the bank. I loaned them several thousand dollars at three percent. I can call that in any time I
