rises, at which time she moves her head back a little and accepts him into her mouth.
“We have witnessed a travesty ofjustice,”Kate is saying.
Daniel, his eyes closed now, gropes for the remote control and turns offthe set.
Iris leaves shortly after.Daniel returns to his bed, which is full ofthe warmth and aromas ofsex.He tries to sink into it, but sleep seems to have turned its back on him, and he gets dressed and drives into the vil-lage for a drink or two (or three or four—who cares?) at theWindsor Bistro, though it is after midnight.As he nears the Bistro and sees that its dark-red neon sign is still lit, bleeding its deep, pleasantly lurid colors into the black air, he feels a little swoon ofpure gratitude for the place and everyone who makes it run:how monstrous the night can be with-out a place to go.
It’s crowded at the Bistro, more crowded than he’s ever seen it.Is the entire town wracked with desire, unable to sleep? Daniel stands near the entrance, next to the coatroom, which, now that it’s summer, is filled with elaborate arrangements offlowers.He looks in on tonight’s crowd, he is not quite ready to venture further in.It’s not as ifthe people here tonight are strangers to him—everyone in Leyden is familiar, to a cer-tain extent—but they are not people he really knows, not people he can confidently call by name.They’re a boisterous bunch, gathered together in groups ofsix, seven, or eight, with wild laughter being the order of the night.Tonight’s customers are acting as ifthey were having their last manic round ofgrog on a sinking ship.The owner’s normally saturnine boyfriend, rather than playing from his usual repertoire offolk-rock torch songs, is leading some ofthe customers in“Rainy DayWomen.”
Daniel thinks ofhimself as one ofthe original customers ofthe Bistro, one ofits founding fathers, but whatever favoritism Doris Snyder, the Bistro’s owner, used to show him is not available tonight.She works feverishly behind the bar, mixing margaritas with one hand and filling bowls ofpretzels with the other, and when Daniel makes a little implor-ing gesture in her direction her eyes are as expressive as thumbtacks.
He finds a small, empty table in a distant corner and sits down, resigned to a long wait before he is served.He scans the room, looking for Deirdre, Johnnie Day, Calliope, or any ofthe other college-aged girls who have not yet managed their way out ofLeyden, and who supple-ment their lives ofpottery, yoga classes, organic garden design, and whole foods catering with employment at the Bistro.However, the first person with whom he makes eye contact is Susan Richmond, who is holding a beer mug and swaying to the music, like a shy person all alone who wants to appear to be enjoying herself.
An hour ago, she was back at Eight Chimneys, lying in her own bed, unable to sleep, and her mind in that vulnerable state had been seized with a desire to see her husband—it was as ifwakefulness had compro-mised her mind’s autoimmune system, made it easy prey to resentment and longing.The jealousy was like rabies, it commanded her, the infection ofit made her want to sink her teeth into something.She felt helpless against its power.She paced through the vast gloom ofher sighing, creak-ing house, turning on lamps, going into rooms she hadn’t visited in months, surprising the visiting Bulgarian folk dancers who were drinking gin and poring over old maps in the library, and then coming in on the busy chipmunks in the ballroom, the circling bats in the kitchen, and even braving a peek into Marie’s little cell.
Susan has agreed to let Marie stay on at Eight Chimneys.It seems less humiliating that way.The girl can stay but whatever happens between Ferguson and his blind whore must remain private, not only from Susan herselfbut from the outside world—particularly that, particularly the outside world.Yet despite the agreement, Susan knows that sometimes Ferguson and Marie slip offthe property, and the Bistro is one ofthe places they go.Susan has come here to find them, and has not, though she has remained here for over an hour, partly to prolong the charade that she is simply out for a bit ofnight air and a couple ofdrinks, and partly because those drinks have made her drunk.
Her face lights up at the sight ofDaniel.She has never held any particular fondness for him—in fact, his association with Ferguson and Marie, and then his so catastrophically injuring Hampton on her land, with
“Hello, there,”she says, seating herselfheavily at his table.The scent ofalcohol wafts offher skin.“What a crazy place!”
“Hello, Susan,”Daniel says, giving her name particular emphasis.He likes to use her name frequently when they happen to meet, largely be-cause he is sure she is having trouble remembering his.“I must admit, Su-san, I’m a little surprised to see you here.”
“Why do you keep saying my name? My God, it’s annoying.”
“I’m sorry.Annoying Susan Richmond is surely the last thing I want to do.”
“Is it because you think I don’t remember you? I know exactly who you are.You’re Daniel Emerson and you ditched your perfectly lovely, smart-as-a-whip wife.You’re one ofthe boys.”She fixes her large, bleary eyes on him, and then raises her mug in mock salute.
Daniel wonders how to respond to this—should he just take it in stride, pretend it’s nothing more than a little rough kidding—or should he strike back at her?A waitress comes to their table.Susan orders an-other beer, though her mug is far from empty, and Daniel asks for a co-gnac, and decides on the path ofleast resistance:he’ll pretend she means no harm.
But before he can say anything, Susan breathes up a bitter snort of laughter and wags her finger in his face.“When do people around here start living up to their responsibilities?You’d think that almost killing a man would have brought you up short, but from what I hear you and Iris are still going at it hot and heavy.”
“Hot and heavy?”Daniel is reduced to this, pointing out little excesses in diction.
“Yes.It’s curious, isn’t it? On the face ofit, you and Ferguson couldn’t be less alike.He comes from all this historical tradition, and you come from nowhere.He’s all about contemplation and you’re all about work.But beneath it all, you’re both men, or aging boys, that’s more like it, and you’re carrying on in exactly the same revolting way.What my un-cle Peter used to call‘Letting the little head think for the big head.’May I ask you a question?”
“Look, Susan, this isn’t—”
“What gives you the right, that’s what I can’t understand.What gives you the right to cause so much damage, and to hurt people?To really, re-ally hurt people.And it’s the worst kind ofpain, worse than slapping someone in the face, or stabbing them.Because what are you doing, when you get right down to it?You’re making a fool ofsomeone.”
“Are you calling Kate a fool?That would be making a big mistake.”
“What would you think ifright now your wife was home and feeling so brokenhearted that she decided to drink poison? How would that make you feel?”
“Are you thinking ofpoisoning yourself, Susan?”
“Me? I should say not.”
“Then what makes you think Kate is?”
“Some people do just that.”
“Most don’t.”
“I just think that what you’re doing is very dishonorable, that’s all I’m saying.The whole thing is shabby.”
The waitress returns with their drinks and places them on the table.
“Doris sends these over with her compliments,”she says.
Daniel realizes that Doris is making up for the empty stare she dealt him when he first walked in, and then, quite without meaning to, he wonders ifshe would be making these liquid reparations ifhe were sit-ting with Iris instead ofthis bulky, somewhat ridiculous woman, with her blotchy white skin and fierce, entitled eyes.Iris has already given him the tour ofLeyden and pointed out the various shops in which she is rou-tinely treated like a thief, either physically trailed by an employee or con-stantly scrutinized by whoever is working the cash register.All the once benign spots ofhis youth.
The tour came last Saturday, when he dared to accompany her on an errand to theWindsor Pharmacy, where, in fact, the clerk treated her with friendliness and respect—since Hampton’s convalescence, she was a regular there and they’d come to know her.After she bought surgical gloves and a sheepskin mattress cover, they chanced a stroll down Broadway, with Daniel carrying her packages as ifthey were her books and he were walking her home from school.She would in all probability never have mentioned her run-ins with Leyden’s commercial class ifDaniel hadn’t sighed and gestured to all the little shops and said,“Such a sweet little place, isn’tit?”
