"Adamson's Elixir. We'll remember that," Charles said.
Vic waved to them, and moved a little away, so that he could seat himself somewhere alone in the auditorium. He greeted two or three more mothers of friends of Trixie's whom he knew very slightly, but he managed to sit next to people whom he did not know. He preferred to be alone while he listened to the chorus that Trixie was in, but it was not because of what he had just done at the quarry, he thought. He would always have preferred to he alone at such a thing. The auditorium had elongated paneled windows on either side, a balcony above, and a huge stage that dwarfed the massed figures of the children, none of whom was more than ten years old. He listened appreciatively to a chorus singing the lullaby from 'Hansel and Gretel', and then to a rollicking campfire song whose words were about marshmallows, woods and trees, sunsets and midnight swims. Then a sweet, melodic lullaby of Schubert, and then the Highland School singing Saint-Saëns's "The Swan."
'Over the wa—ter the—snow—white swan'…
They were little boys and little girls together, and though the boys seemed shriller, the girls were louder and more enthusiastic. They glided smoothly into the repeated chorus which he had heard Trixie humming around the house for weeks. And then, as the final lines dwindled away, symbolizing the disappearing swan, it seemed to Vic that he could hear Trixie's voice alone from the crowded stage. Trixie was in the first row, standing every now and then on tiptoe, her face with its open mouth upturned.
'The swan—like mist has gone—with the light—the light' —
It seemed to him that she was singing in joyous celebration of Cameron's disappearance, instead of the swan's. As well she might, he, thought.
Chapter 22
When Vic came home that day from his office Melinda was on the telephone in her room. She hung up almost as soon he had closed the door, and came into the living room with a frowning, irritated expression on her face.
"Hello," Vic said to her. "How're you today?"
"Fine," Melinda said. She had a cigarette in one hand and a drink in the other.
Trixie came out of her room. "Hi, Daddy! Did you hear me?" "I certainly did! You were fine. I could hear you over everybody else!" He swung her up into the air.
"But we didn't win first prize!" she yelled, kicking and giggling. Vic dodged her sturdy little brown shoes and set her down. "You won second. What's the matter with that?"
"It isn't first!"
"You have a point. Well, I thought you were fine. It sounded beautiful."
"I'm pretty glad it's over," Trixie, said, closing her eyes and languidly wiping her forehead, a gesture she had learned from her mother.
"Why?"
"I'm pretty sick of that song."
"I'll bet you are."
Melinda sighed heavily, impatient as usual with their conversation. "Trixie, 'why' don't you go into your room?"
Trixie looked at her, feigning more affront than she really felt, Vic thought, then went skipping off down the hall to her room. It was always a surprise to Vic that Trixie obeyed Melinda, and it was always a reassurance that Trixie's extroverted psyche was practically indestructible.
"Well, I got Brian off at eleven," Vic said. He reached into t inside pocket of his jacket and brought out Brian's poem. "I le asked me to give you this. It's a poem he wrote last night."
Melinda took it with a sour, absent expression, frowned at ii for a moment, then dropped it on the cocktail table. She strolled toward a window with her glass in her hand. She had on high heels, a narrow black skirt, a fresh white cotton blouse, and she looked as if she had dressed to go out to meet someone, though she had rolled the sleeves of the blouse up part way, untidily, in some moment of impatience.
"Did you have your car greased yet?" Vic asked.
"No."
"Would you like me to take it tomorrow? It should've been done about ten days ago."
"No, I don't want you to take it."
"Well—did you start the divorce proceedings today?" Vic asked.
She waited a long while, then said, "No, I did not."
"Is Cameron coming over tonight?"
"He might."
Vic nodded, though there was no one to see him, because Melinda's back was turned. "At what time? For dinner?" "I don't happen to know!"
The telephone rang and Melinda dashed for it in her room. "Hello? Who? ... Oh ... No, he's not, but I'm expecting to hear from him. Shall I have him call you? ... I see ... Yes ... Well, I wish I knew, too. He was supposed to call me this afternoon ... Listen! If you do hear from him, please have him call 'me'. Will you? ... Thanks. Good-bye, Mr. Ferris."
Melinda came back into the living room, got her glass from the windowsill, and took it into the kitchen to refill it. Vic sat down with the evening paper. He could have used a drink, but it was a small point of discipline to him this evening to forgo a drink. Melinda came back with her fresh drink and sat down on the sofa. Ten minutes or so passed in silence. Vic had made up his mind not to say anything more about Cameron, or to say anything about the telephone call from Ferris, or about any other telephone call that might come.
And then the telephone rang again, and Melinda ran into her bedroom. "Hello?" she said hopefully. "Oh, hi… 'No', have you heard? ... Oh ... 'Gosh'!" she exploded with such surprise that Vic tensed the least bit. "That's funny ... That's not like him at all... I know, Don, and I'm terribly sorry, but I've been waiting for 'him'. I called June
