the left. I thought you were trying to snub me.'
'Just thinking about what to fix for dinner.' He nodded toward the pizza box. 'I see you've solved the problem.'
'Stanley's not coming home for dinner,' she said. 'Another hip replacement or something. I don't pay much attention to his excuses anymore.'
'You're welcome to join us,' Becker said, regretting it imm ediately. He did not know what had possessed him to make such an offer.
'Oh, I can just picture that. Me and your wife at the table together.
Wouldn't that be cozy.'
'What do you mean?'
'You know what I mean.'
'I haven't a clue.'
'Your wife hates me.'
'What are you talking about? That's not true.'
She smiled smugly.
'Tovah, really, you're dead wrong.'
'If she doesn't yet, she will soon.'
'Why?'
'Ask her,' she said.
'I'm asking you,' he said, struggling to remain patient. 'Please tell me what you're talking about.' I 'You haven't noticed? I thought you were supposed to be such a hotshot observer. You must have seen signs.'
'Signs of what?'
She tilted her head to one side as if she could better determine his honesty from that angle.
'You really don't know?'
'I may know, I may know everything. I just don't know what in hell you're referring to.'
Becker waited. She continued to study him, her head aslant. She wore dark leather pants that would have looked ridiculous on almost anyone else, but she had the legs, the height, the supreme air of indifference that made it possible. The shiny material rode atop her limbs like a second skin, a visual inducement to grab and touch and remove. But Becker was not interested in her appearance. He decided that she was playing another of her baroque games with him, and that he was as irritated as he was going to allow himself to become.
Becker shrugged. 'Okay,' he said. 'Forget it. I'll see you around.'
He turned to go as she shifted the pizza from one hand to the other, holding it on her fingers like a waitress with a tray.
You really don't know, do you?'
'No, and I've ceased caring.'
'Your wife…' She let the sentence trail off, then added as if to remove any possible doubt, Karen, is after my man.'
His first impulse was to laugh and his second was to hit her, but he controlled them both and just stared at her, trying to keep the emotion from his own face while studying hers to see what she was trying to do.
Her taunting look was gone, and her condescension, and all he saw now was her pain and a desperate hope that Becker would contradict her. 'You mean… Stanley?' he asked stupidly, the sense of what she had said still not clear to him, only the accompanying aura of dread.
'That's the boy,' she said, her defenses quickly in place again. 'My guy's at it again.'
'You're nuts,' he said, but not strongly enough. He wanted to slap her, he wanted to knock the look of savage victory from her face. Like a child confronted with an unfaceable truth, he wanted to twist her arm until he had forced her to admit she was lying, until she cried out in pain and took back the hurtful words as if they had never been said.
'Wasn't she supposed to be working in New York today?'
Becker nodded mutely.
Tovah-smiled painfully. 'They spent the afternoon together. '
'Where?' he said, knowing it was the wrong response. He had already played into Tovah's hand and she knew that she had him. The sadism was open in her face now, and his only comfort was that he could see it hurt her as much as it did him.
'At your house. I just saw them. Hurry and you might catch him.'
'You're a liar.'
'Look around when you get home,' she said. 'Don't mention anything to her. If she doesn't tell you about it, then she's hiding it.'
He reeled away from her and hurried home through the hedge, telling himself that Karen's car would not be there, she would still be in New York, Tovah's whole vicious slander would be revealed for the nonsense that it had to be.
As he cleared the hedge, pushing the last of the tangled, whiplike branches from his line of sight, a car pulled away down his road. He willed himself not to run, not to give credence to the lie, but his pace quickened as he tried to get past the neighbor's house to see whose car it was. By the time he reached the road, the car had turned the corner and gone, but sitting in his driveway was Karen's green Camry.
17
Kom had asked to meet with her to talk about Becker, and Karen had responded out of curiosity as much as courtesy. He had his usual mixed manner of forwardness and diffidence, but this time Karen noticed something else, a quality she was unable to define precisely beyond ascribing it to a new intensity.
He hugged her when they met, kissing her on the cheek, then holding on to her a moment longer and releasing her with a decisiveness that somehow conveyed reluctance. He looks as if he draws sustenance from a hug, Karen thought.
'We're great huggers,' Kom said, as if reading her thoughts. It was not clear to whom the 'we' referred.
'I know,' said Karen. 'I notice.' I I 'I guess I'm just very tactile in general. I like to touch, like to be touched… It's not the most masculine of traits, guess. Women don't mind but men are put off by it.'
'Men are pretty homophobic generally,' said Karen. 'They're not very good at expressing their emotions toward each other.'
'Which brings me to the reason I wanted to see you other than the fact that it's always a treat to see you. I was thinking about doing something special for John. Something to honor him. A toast or a roast or whatever they call it, some kind of occasion where his friends could get together and let him know that we appreciate him.'
Karen's surprise was obvious on her face. 'What an interesting idea.'
'I mean, look, for one thing, he's been so nice to me. I can't tell you how much it has meant to me that he has consulted with me on this Johnny Appleseed case. He doesn't need me, you've got your own experts, I know that, but still he did it, he invited me into New York, he introduced me to everyone, he had lunch with me-men just don't treat each other like that, Karen, unless there's business involved. I mean, to go out of their way to do the nice thing. I've been very touched by that, and I'm sure that I'm not the only one. There must be many men- people, not just men; women, too-who have been touched by John's decency and generosity of spirit. You can tell me who they are, I'll invite them. And then there's his work. This community is enormously proud of him, you have no idea. We don't know the details, there are stories we hear, you know, probably half true, I know that, but still, he has done such a great service to all of society, not just Clamden certainly, to all of America, and I don't think he's ever been adequately thanked for any of that. Maybe the Bureau gave him medals or something, I don't know, but I know the people themselves haven't ever said anything to him directly.'
'It's not something John is very comfortable talking about,' she said.
'He ought to be proud.'
'He ought to be, but he's very ambivalent about that sort of thing-'
