The Stand

He smiled. “Anyhow, Dick’s forty-eight and he’s got a minor heart condition. Right now he feels that he can’t spread himself too thin… he’s practically studying to be a doctor, for the Lord’s sake.” He looked soberly at Fran. “I can understand why that Laurie fell for him. He’s the closest thing to a hero we’ve got around here. He’s just a country, vet and he’s scared shitless he’s going to kill someone. And he knows there are more people coming in every day, and some of them have been banged around.”

“So we need one more for the committee.”

“Yeah. Ralph Brentner’s gung-ho for this Larry Underwood guy, and from what you say, he struck you as being pretty handy.”

“Yes. He did. I think he’d be fine. And I met his lady today downtown. Lucy Swann, her name is. She’s awfully sweet, and she thinks the world of Larry.”

“I guess every good woman feels that way. But, Frannie, I got to be honest with you—I don’t like the way he spilled his life’s story to someone he just met.”

“I think it was just because I was with Harold from the start. I don’t think he understood why I was with you instead of him.”

“I wonder what he made of Harold?”

“Ask him and see.”

“I guess I will.”

“Are you going to invite him onto the committee?”

“More likely than not.” He stood up. “I’d like to have that old fellow they call the Judge. But he’s seventy, and that’s too damn old.”

“Have you talked to him about Larry?”

“No, but Nick did. Nick Andros is one sharp guy, Fran. He changed a few things around on Glen and I. Glen was a little bent out of shape about it, but even he had to admit Nick’s ideas were good ones. Anyway, the Judge told Nick that Larry’s just the kind of person we’re looking for. He said Larry was just getting around to finding out he was good for something, and that he was going to get a lot better.”

“I’d call that a pretty strong recommendation.”

“Yes,” Stu said. “But I’m going to find out what he thought of Harold before I invite him along for the ride.”

“What is it about Harold?” she asked restlessly.

“Might as well ask what it is about you, Fran. You still feel responsible for him.”

“Do I? I don’t know. But when I think about him, I still feel a little guilty—I can tell you that.”

“Why? Because I cut in on him? Fran, did you ever want him?”

“No. God, no.” She almost shuddered.

“I lied to him once,” Stu said. “Well… it wasn’t actually a lie. It was the day the three of us met. July Fourth. I think he might have sensed what was coming even then. I said I didn’t want you. How was I to know right then if I wanted you or not? There may be such a thing as love at first sight in books, but in real life…”

He stopped, and a slow grin spread across his face.

“What are you grinning about, Stuart Redman?”

“I was just thinkin,” he said, “that in real life it took me at least…” He rubbed his chin consideringly. “Oh, I’m gonna say four hours.”

She kissed his cheek. “That’s very sweet.”

“It’s the truth. Anyway, I think he still holds what I said against me.”

“He never says a mean word against you, Stu… or anybody.”

“No,” Stu agreed. “He smiles. That’s what I don’t like.”

“You don’t think he’s… plotting revenge, or anything?”

Stu smiled and stood up. “No, not Harold. Glen thinks the Opposition Party may just end up coming together around Harold. That’s okay. I just hope he doesn’t try to fuck up what we’re doing now.”

“Just remember that he’s scared and lonely.”

“And jealous.”

“Jealous?” She considered it, then shook her head. “I don’t think so—I really don’t. I’ve talked to him, and I think I’d know. He may be feeling rejected, though. I think he expected to be on the ad hoc committee—”

“That was one of Nick’s unilateral—is that the word?—decisions that we all went along with. What it came down to was that none of us quite trusted him.”

“In Ogunquit,” she said, “he was the most insufferable kid you could imagine. A lot of it was compensation for his family situation, I guess… to them it must have seemed like he had hatched from a cowbird egg or something… but after the flu, he seemed to change. At least to me, he did. He seemed to be trying to be, well… a man. Then he changed again. Like all at once. He started to smile all the time. You couldn’t really talk to him anymore. He was… in himself. The way people get when they convert to religion or read—” She stopped suddenly, and her eyes took on a momentary startled look that seemed very like fear.

“Read what?” Stu asked.

“Something that changes their lives,” she said. “Das Kapital. Mein Kampf. Or maybe just intercepted love letters.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Hmm?” She looked around at him, as if startled out of a deep daydream. Then she smiled. “Nothing. Weren’t you going to go see Larry Underwood?”

“Sure… if you’re okay.”

“I’m better than okay—I’m ultimately fine. Go on. Shoo. Meeting’s at seven. If you hurry, you’ve got just enough time to get back here for some supper before.”

“All right.”

He was at the gate which separated the front yard from the back when she called after him: “Don’t forget to ask him what he thought of Harold.”

“Don’t worry,” Stu said, “I won’t.”

“And watch his eyes when he answers, Stuart.”

When Stu asked casually about his impression of Harold (at this point Stu had not mentioned the vacancy on the ad hoc committee at all), Larry Underwood’s eyes grew both wary and puzzled.

“Fran told you about my fixation on Harold, huh?”

“Yep.”

Larry and Stu were in the living room of a small Table Mesa tract house. Out in the kitchen Lucy was rattling dinner together, heating canned stuff on a brazier grill Larry had rigged for her. It ran off bottled gas. She was singing snatches of “Honky Tonk Women” as she worked, and she sounded very happy.

Stu lit a cigarette. He was down to no more than five or six a day; he didn’t fancy having Dick Ellis operating on him for lung cancer.

“Well, all the time I was following Harold I kept telling myself he probably wouldn’t be like I pictured him. And he wasn’t, but I’m still trying to figure out what it is about him. He was pleasant as hell. A good host. He cracked the bottle of wine I brought him and we toasted each other’s good health. I had a good time. But…”

“But?”

“We came up behind him. Leo and me. He was putting a brick wall around this flower garden and he whirled around… didn’t hear us coming until I spoke up, I guess… and for a minute there I’m saying to myself, ‘Holy God, this dude is gonna kill me.’”

Lucy came into the doorway. “Stu, can you stay for dinner? There’s plenty.”

“Thanks, but Frannie expects me back. I can only stay fifteen minutes or so.”

“Sure?”

“Next time, Lucy, thanks.”

“Okay.” She went back into the kitchen.

“Did you come just to ask about Harold?” Larry asked.

“No,” Stu said, coming to a decision. “I came to ask if you’d serve on our little ad hoc committee. One of the other guys, Dick Ellis, had to say no.”

“Like that, is it?” Larry went to the window and looked out on the silent street. “I thought I could go back to