Watching him swagger around and mouth off, I could only imagine him later, knees weak from the punch of shock at finding her gone, words hard to come by. It was like watching some tough and arrogant prizefighter in the ring, and being able at the same time to see into the future when he’d get decked and go down for the count.
I never thought the day would come when I’d have Nola Leary to thank for a night with Alex.
“She reserved a room in a motel for her mother,” said Alex, “and Mama can’t come. And I can’t wait three more weeks to see you…. So I told her we’d take it.”
“You didn’t tell her we’d take it.”
“Yes I did, love. She didn’t bat an eye. All she said was we were in luck, because she’d made sure it’d be a room on the top floor with a water view. Very romantic, she said. And she said she’d like to meet you. She hoped you’d come backstage.”
“Awesome, Alex!”
“Then you will? Can you get the night off?”
“I will! I can!”
“Spend Sunday with me?”
“Yes!”
“And fly back Sunday night…unless we can talk them into another night. That way we’d have most of Monday, too.”
“Great, Alex! We’ll try for Monday, too.”
“I can’t wait! I miss you!”
“I miss you, too!” I said. “I can’t wait either!”
But it was the same weekend Nevada was to appear in Boston, and the Sunday Huguette would leave for the Adirondacks.
THIRTY-ONE
I THOUGHT OF IT as our last date.
I’d purposely asked McCaffery for the whole weekend off, so that Friday night I could take Huguette to Sag Harbor. I got tickets for the Bay Street Theater.
“Let’s go whole pig,” she said, “dress up and go somewhere fancy for dinner after. My treat.”
“Whole hog,” I said. “We’ll treat each other.”
I wore my blue blazer with the gold buttons, a blue T-shirt and white pants, but who saw me? People were turning around to get another look at her. I was thinking it would probably be the last time I’d be somewhere with someone and get stared at for a good reason. She was decked out in this simple, slinky, way-short silver dress, no sleeves, bare back, no jewelry. Silver pumps with high high heels. Joop.
There were sad songs in the show, the worst kind of sad there is: watching someone leave who won’t come back, love-lost themes one after the other.
I thought they’d get to her, make her bawl or make her want to leave—my own eyes filled a few times. But she was not one to wallow in it. She was a fighter, fighting back. I didn’t know what sad thoughts she was thinking of Martin. I didn’t know what qualms she might have had about running off with Cog. We sat side by side, our arms touching, me probably the only one to notice, to feel it beyond the arms. I couldn’t concentrate on the play, only the songs. I was thinking my own sad thoughts: that I was losing her, that I was very, very afraid for her, that there was nothing I could do about it…was there? I was always thinking, Was there?
But I had made her a promise, and I vowed to keep it.
After the play we ate dinner down on the wharf, overlooking the bay. There was a candle lit between us at the table, and a few roses in a tall vase. It was a warm evening, and small boats bobbed in the water at anchor. Some were still out; we could see their distant lights.
She talked about the Rochans some.
“I can’t believe my own mother and father would let Nevada manipulate them. He did it! He made it possible! They don’t have money for a move, for my school. I wouldn’t be surprised if Nevada paid Martin off, too!”
“He’d take money?”
“I don’t know. His family’s very poor, Lang. A big amount of money? Maybe he would. Really, it would be his only chance to own land.”
But she didn’t dwell on it.
She asked me about what it might be like up on the Cape. I told her I supposed it would look something like Sag Harbor in some places. I told her the plot of Bus Stop, and that Alex was playing Bo. I told her about Nola Leary and Alex.
We talked until the candle had burned down and we became aware of the line of people waiting to be seated.
Then we drove back with the sunroof open, stars and a moon above us.
“A perfect evening,” she said in the driveway, “and why should it end? Come in. I’ll play ‘Paint Over It’ for you again. You only heard it once.”
In the hall the light from the answering machine was blinking.
I went in and flopped down on the nearest couch.
I could hear Cog Wheeler’s voice.
“Huguette? Nevada’s here. We’re hiding him in a suite at The Copley Plaza. I’m having dinner with him there. Listen, love, don’t count on Sunday. I can’t get away that quickly. Something’s come up, love. Where are you tonight? I’ll call you in the morning.”
Next, Nevada’s gruff tone. “You’re right to give men up, honey. Cog’s got some new flame he only met last night, and they were all over each other while we had dinner here. Do you kids still say ‘flame’ or am I dating myself? Feu, in French, I believe. This is a side of him I’ve never seen before. Maybe it’s because you dumped him. I’m glad you did. Tomorrow’s the big day, honey. I’ll think of you. Don’t be mad. Je t’aime. I’ll call you after the show, if it’s not too late.”
THIRTY-TWO
IT WAS DARK OUTSIDE when I woke up. Plato had jumped up on the bed and burrowed under the covers between us. I still had on my Timex and my T-shirt.
We’d opened the windows to hear the ocean’s roar before I’d lain
