Jaws

I ate it.” Then even Ellen laughed. It was going to be all right.

By the time dessert was served — coffee ice cream in a pool of creme de cacao — Brody was feeling well. He had two helpings of ice cream, and he chatted amiably with Dorothy. He smiled when Daisy told him a story about lacing the stuffing at last Thanksgiving’s turkey with marijuana.

“My only worry,” said Daisy, “was that my maiden aunt called Thanksgiving morning and asked if she could come for dinner. The turkey was already made and stuffed.”

“So what happened?” said Brody.

“I tried to sneak her some turkey without stuffing, but she made a point of asking for it, so I said what the heck and gave her a big spoonful.”

“And?”

“By the end of the meal she was giggling like a little girl. She even wanted to dance. To Hair yet.”

“It’s a good thing I wasn’t there,” said Brody. “I would have arrested you for corrupting the morals of a maiden.”

They had coffee in the living room, and Brody offered drinks, but only Meadows accepted. “A tiny brandy, if you have it,” he said.

Brody looked at Ellen, as if to ask, do we have any? “In the cupboard, I think,” she said.

Brody poured Meadows’ drink and thought briefly of pouring one for himself. But he resisted, telling himself, Don’t press your luck.

At a little after ten, Meadows yawned and said, “Dorothy, I think we had best take our leave. I find it hard to fulfill the public trust if I stay up too late.”

“I should go, too,” said Daisy. “I have to be at work at eight. Not that we’re selling very much these days.”

“You’re not alone, my dear,” said Meadows.

“I know. But when you work on commission, you really feel it.”

“Well, let’s hope the worst is over. From what I gather from our expert here, there’s a good chance the leviathan has left.” Meadows stood up.

“A chance,” said Hooper. “I hope so.” He rose to go. “I should be on my way, too.”

“Oh, don’t go!” Ellen said to Hooper. The words came out much stronger than she had intended. Instead of a pleasant request, they sounded a shrill plea. She was embarrassed, and she added quickly, “I mean, the night is young. It’s only ten.”

“I know,” said Hooper. “But if the weather’s any good tomorrow, I want to get up early and get into the water.

Besides, I have a car and I can drop Daisy off on my way home.”

Daisy said, “That would be fun.” Her voice, as usual, was without tone or color, suggesting nothing.

“The Meadows can drop her,” Ellen said.

“True,” said Hooper, “but I really should go so I can get up early. But thanks for the thought.”

They said their good-bys at the front door — perfunctory compliments, redundant thanks. Hooper was the last to leave, and when he extended his hand to Ellen, she took it in both of hers and said, “Thank you so much for my shark tooth.”

“You’re welcome. I’m glad you like it.”

“And thank you for being so nice to the children. They were fascinated to meet you.”

“So was I. It was a little weird, though. I must have been about Sean’s age when I knew you before. You haven’t changed much at all.”

“Well, you’ve certainly changed.”

“I hope so. I’d hate to be nine all of my life.”

“We’ll see you again before you go?”

“Count on it.”

“Wonderful.” She released his hand. He said a quick good night to Brody and walked to his car.

Ellen waited at the door until the last of the cars had pulled out of the driveway, then she turned off the outside light. Without a word, she began to pick up the glasses, coffee cups, and ashtrays from the living room.

Brody carried a stack of dessert dishes into the kitchen, set them on the sink, and said, “Well, that was all right.” He meant nothing by the remark, and sought nothing more than rote agreement.

“No thanks to you,” said Ellen.

“What?”

“You were awful.”

“I was?” He was genuinely surprised at the ferocity of her attack. “I know I got a little queasy there for a minute, but I didn’t think—”

“All evening, from start to finish, you were awful.”

“That’s a lot of crap!”

“You’ll wake the children.”

“I don’t give a damn. I’m not going to let you stand there and work out your own hang-ups by telling me I’m a shit.”

Ellen smiled bitterly. “You see? There you go again.”

“Where do I go again? What are you talking about?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Just like that. You don’t want to talk about it. Look… okay, I was wrong about the goddam meat. I shouldn’t have blown my stack. I’m sorry. Now…”

“I said I don’t want to talk about it!”

Brody was ready for a fight, but he backed off, sober enough to realize that his only weapons were cruelty and innuendo, and that Ellen was close to tears. And tears, whether shed in orgasm or in anger, disconcerted him. So he said only, “Well, I’m sorry about that.” He walked out of the kitchen and climbed the stairs.

In the bedroom, as he was undressing, the thought occurred to him that the cause of all the unpleasantness, the source of the whole mess, was a fish: a mindless beast that he had never seen. The ludicrousness of the thought made him smile.

He crawled into bed and, almost simultaneous with the touch of his head to the pillow, fell into a dreamless sleep.

A boy and his date sat drinking beer at one end of the long mahogany bar in the Randy Bear. The boy was eighteen, the son of the pharmacist at the Amity Pharmacy.

“You’ll have to tell him sometime,” said the girl.

“I know. And when I do, he’s gonna go bullshit.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“You know what he’ll say? It must have been my fault. I must have done something, or else they would have kept me and canned somebody else.”

“But they fired a lot of kids.”

“They kept a lot, too.”

“How did they decide who to keep?”

“They didn’t say. They just said they weren’t getting enough guests to justify a big staff, so they were letting some of us go. Boy, my old man is gonna go right through the roof.”

“Can’t he call them? He must know somebody there. I mean, if he says you really need the money for college…”

“He wouldn’t do it. That’d be begging.” The boy finished his beer. “There’s only one thing I can do. Deal.”

“Oh, Michael, don’t do that. It’s too dangerous. You could go to jail.”

“That’s quite a choice, isn’t it?” the boy said acidly. “College or jail.”

“What would you tell your father?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I’ll tell him I’m selling belts.”