Chapter 13
At dawn the next morning, Robin's telegram arrived asking him to meet her at two that afternoon. The door bell had awakened Cee-Zee and she watched him fron the bed. She did not question him. All of her had taker on a cat like attitude. The usual laughter in her eyes was two burning points. She waited silently, biding her time Eric knew that he could not trust her to stay here. If he left her alone, she would take off for Lilio.
He folded the message and stuck it beneath the appointment pad. There must be some way of preventing Cee-Zee from running headlong into destruction.
But if he stayed with her, any further progress with Robin was out of the question. He had no way of getting in touch with Robin. And even if he could postpone their meeting, he could not guard Cee-Zee forever.
In the semi-light, he felt her enjoying his dilemma.
Impulsively he decided to try convincing her one last time. Yet everything he had to say was already said. He sat down beside her and spread his hands on his knees, staring at his blunt fingernails as though they might give up the secret of potent words.
"Don't even try," she said, anticipating him.
He had to smile in spite of himself. Her determination to overrule him seemed more important than anything in the world. She would give up a fortune, she would go to; hell and back if only it would take him down far enough for her to step on him. He had seen this kind of shortsightedness before. A peculiarly feminine trait that left him helpless.
"There's nothing to try," he began slowly. "But I want to tell you the facts, all the facts. Then maybe you'll understand why I had to be rough with you."
Her life was more important to him than keeping Robin's secret. Gradually he told her what was happening. He explained why he couldn't have gone away with her yesterday. Detail by detail, he shared with her the responsibility he felt toward Robin and how she was threatened by her brother.
Cee-Zee listened without replying. He couldn't tell whether or not she agreed with him. Yet, because he believed in the truth of what he was saying, he spoke honestly, holding nothing back.
When he had finished, he didn't ask Cee-Zee for her promise not to run out. He could only leave it up to her to make the final decision.
They ate a silent breakfast together as the day began to clear into a gray dull morning. A haze of rain weighted the sky, drifting in vaporous clouds.
As the morning progressed, shocks of lightning sparked in bluish white rivulets. He turned on the radio in an effort to cheer Cee-Zee up. She refused to speak to him. He opened a can of beer and drank it, feeling isolated and invisible.
"If I had any alternative, I wouldn't go," he blurted after the third can. His voice echoed back to him in his head. He glared at her at she sat in the chair, stroking on nail polish deftly. She didn't even look up at him.
He had no choice but to dress and go after Robin.
At last he stood ready to leave. "One last time," he said. "Try to be good to yourself."
Echoing thunder rolled above him as he climbed into the Jag. There was no canvas top in the trunk compartment. He glanced at the sky, hoping to make it to the airport before the downpour. As he drove, he went over and over the things he'd told Cee-Zee, searching for a shred of reason to believe that he'd penetrated her obstinacy. A cold drop of rain hit his cheek. He glanced up at the blackening swirl of clouds, then pressed harder on the gas pedal. Another drop, half a dozen, splattered the windshield. He turned on the wipers and saw them smear water across the glass. His hair got wetter and his shirt sleeves began to stick to his arms. Faith in Cee-Zee. That's all he had was faith. She couldn't let him down. She couldn't let herself down. His mind leaped ahead to what he would do if he came home and found her gone.
The tires sung along the glistening asphalt. Gulls swooped up beside the highway in protest against the rain. The salt wind whipped across his face and he bent his head low, driving fast through the slanting rain. He hated all women and their stupid, narrow minds. He cursed himself for getting mixed up with them.
A lone Ford rattled away on the right hand lane, ladders sticking out from the open trunk. He passed it easily and kept pouring on horse power, feeling the tires gripping the road, still with enough traction. He licked splashes of water off his lips and saw the leather dashboard become splotches of dark red. The speedometer needle hovered at seventy five. He wondered about the flight ceiling and if visibility had delayed Robin's plane. All he wanted to do was put her somewhere safe and get back to Cee-Zee as soon as possible.
Inside the waiting room, he asked about the flight arrival. A sleek girl told him the plane would be delayed an hour. He paced and chain smoked, betting that if he called Cee-Zee she wouldn't answer, if only to annoy him further. Yet his hand closed around some change in his pocket and he slid into a booth, needing to take the chance.
He let it ring seventeen times before hanging up. She must be home. She had to be. To go out in this weather, even for the few minutes it took to catch a cab, would bedraggle her appearance. She wouldn't want to meet Lilio looking like a half drowned kitten. The thought didn't console him. Nothing stopped Cee-Zee when she made up her mind.
He went into the bar and poured a couple of double jj shots into his gullet, feeling it mix with the beer. There was no danger that he might get drunk. Anger kept him sober and alert. The Scotch made his anger flare higher, fanning it into spreading flames that ripped through the dry brush of his body. He swung off the stool and tried the phone again. Let Cee-Zee know he was on her tail. Then he pushed through the commotion of people departing and arriving to wait near the entrance so he could grab Robin and hustle her off.
He couldn't make plans about where to take her. She had a stubborn mind of her own. There was nothing to do but wait and discover her mood, hoping that the week in Cuba had made her acquiescent.
He heard her flight announced and a few minutes later scanned the arriving faces.
Her hair sparkled with drops of water. She came toward him and he wiped one off her eyelash.
"Hello, Eric."
The same greeting, the same Robin, from out of nowhere.
"Hello, little girl," he said and took the round travelling case from her.
He had forgotten the beating, but now he became conscious of his face as he saw her examining him, her eyebrows drawn together in concern.
"Bumped into a wall," he said, laughing it off. "Forgot to turn on the light."
She sighed nervously, but did not try to object to his explanation.
"How about a sandwich and something warm to drink?" he said, steering her out of the way of people greeting each other with hard embraces. Fragments of Spanish mixed with the English greetings.
"You could use some coffee yourself," she said, sniffing his breath. Her nose and cheeks were a suffused pink. She looked rested and healthy and ripened by the sun. Whomever she had stayed with had treated her well, he thought gratefully.
He took her into the dining room and they found an empty table in the corner. She slid onto the cream leather bench and rested back against it.
"Bumpy trip?" he said, covering his impatience to get back to Cee-Zee with a casual demeanor meant to put Robin at her ease.
"I didn't mind. I'm glad to be home."
Home, he thought, wondering whether she meant America or himself or the prospect of Donald.
They ordered sandwiches and coffee. He really wanted another drink. His foot touched her valise beside him and he pushed it out of the way.
"You see," she said, "we do always sit someplace."
"But this time we're not arguing," he finished.
"Not yet."
Her hair had grown in just a fraction and it fell onto her forehead in bright titian strands. The sun had bleached its top a shade lighter and her eyebrows almost strawberry blonde.
She belongs on a yacht in the Mediterranean, he thought, imagining her slim body in a scant white bathing suit.
"By the way," he said, "I still have your car." He shifted the hard chair back from the table. He needed to stretch his legs. The calves felt tight. The whiskey hadn't done a thing to relax him. The joints of his fingers felt too large. He had to stop himself from clenching his fists. He wanted to grab her and get the hell back to the apartment. The passing seconds clicked loudly in his ears.
"Yes, I know," she said.
"Hm?"
"I know you still have my car. Why are you so nervous, Eric?"
"Just a natural reaction." He wanted to gloss over it. "How do you know about the car?"
"From looking at you."
"You mean the license plate is written on my forehead?"
She smiled kindly and played with her sandwich. Neither of them seemed very hungry.
"That's a poor joke," she said. "But something is written on your forehead, yes. I'm not so sure I should have gone to Cuba after all." She pulled the toothpick out of the bread and dropped it onto the china dish. Then she looked at him, waiting for him to say something.
"What are you thinking?" he urged.
"I'm waiting for you to tell me."
"For chrissake, what are you waiting for me to tell you?" He glanced around now for the waiter, deciding on another drink after all.
"About your face."
He studied her, searching for the idea behind her placid eyes. What she expected to hear from him, he didn't know, couldn't guess. He shrugged. "So I got mixed up in a brawl," he said. "What's so unusual?"
"Did you, Eric?"
"Did I what?"
"You're being difficult."
He couldn't tell her that he was preoccupied and that she was wasting his time. He felt tied to the chair, gagged and growing madder by the second. "Yes, I got mixed up in a brawl. Why do I have to repeat everything?" His voice rang a little too loudly.
She tasted her coffee and put out a hand to him for a cigarette. The palm was smooth, with just enough lines to indicate she had a destiny. "You know," she said, taking the match book out of his fingers, "this is the first time I don't believe you."
He heard the conviction in her voice. "All right. What do you believe?"
"You tell me. I want to hear it from you." She spoke firmly.
He knew he couldn't avoid her. "Are we going to argue again?" He could just as easily have told her the truth, but a niggling curiosity held him back. Apparently she wanted him to confirm her own thoughts.
"If I knew what you want to hear," he said, "I could make it up for your satisfaction."
She sighed with impatience. "All right, I'll tell you." She put her chin on the back of one hand, pausing to frame the words properly. "The way I see it is that you were going somewhere or coming from somewhere, it doesn't matter. You were alone and someone beat you up when you weren't looking."
"Just one," he smiled. "You don't give me much credit"
"Then two men, six men, what difference does it make? But you were jumped, weren't you, Eric? Tell me the truth."
Her face implied that he didn't have to confirm it Perhaps his own expression confirmed the words as she spoke them.
"You took a crystal ball with you to Cuba," he said lightly. "That's not fair. What else did you see in it?"
"It's very kind of you to try to keep this from me.
But it has happened before, Eric. All of this has happened before. I've told you that already."
"But perhaps you're seeing it differently this time."
Robin bent her head down. She ran a fingernail over the white cloth, then rubbed out the line. "I never cared for my brother's methods."
"You ignored them," he said firmly.
"I believed in him."
"Blindly."
"Yes, blindly." She looked up now. A gloss of tears made her eyes the color of pine. She swallowed hard to regain her steadiness.
"And now?"
"I suppose I have no choice. He can't go on scraping people off the face of the earth. Why doesn't he trust me, Eric? I promised him. He should know I wouldn't go back on my word."
"Of course you wouldn't." The waiter whom he had beckoned before came over now but Eric waved him : impatiently away. He suddenly didn't feel like drinking anymore. He felt too close to success with Robin. "But perhaps there is more than trust involved." He hesitated to continue. To spell out for Robin what he thought about per brother might strain her creduhty too far.
"You might as well say it." She gripped her water glass. "Whatever's on your mind, say it to me out loud."
"I think you ought to stay away from Donald," he said bluntly.
"Yes, I will," she replied, mistaking his meaning. "Until I have my thoughts in order. It shocked me to bee your face. I can imagine what it looked like right after. I will stay away from him, since he doesn't think he can trust me." A tone of bitterness made her voice heavy. "You can help me find a place now, Eric. Away from the city. I don't think I could stand being even that close to him."
Eric finished his coffee. Both of their sandwiches remained untouched, but he ignored that. He felt one step up the ladder of accomplishment.
Before he paid the check, he tried phoning Cee-Zee again. Stuck with Robin now, he might be gone for quite a few hours. Less than a week ago, that was what he had wanted. Now the timing was all wrong. He felt like a dog chasing its own tail. He put the receiver back, unable to listen to the hollow ringing in his ear. From wherever she was, he could feel Cee-Zee laughing at him. The best he could do was hope that she was laughing at him from a safe place.
The rain had become a thin, steady drizzle. They couldn't ride in the Jaguar comfortably.
"We can use a taxi," Robin said, standing beside him and looking out into the weather.
"All over Long Island?" he said.
"You forget I'm a Millardson," she smiled. "It has certain advantages."
They got into a cab and he directed the driver to Hempstead, thinking it might be easier to get something in a college town, if only temporarily.
Robin was not fussy. Too filled with her own misery about Donald, she hardly noticed the rooms Eric rented for her.
The furnished apartment had a certain cozy feeling that he wished she could appreciate. The dripping trees bent their branches over one window and the country odor of rain-soaked earth came in through the half screen. She dropped her purse on a chintz covered chair and he sat her valise beside the maple lamp. Newly scrubbed linoleum carried the sound of his footsteps when he brought up the rest of her luggage. A band of the mirror was rubbed off from long years of service, but the solid dresser gleamed beneath the lace doily and gave off the faint smell of oil.
"Now what?" she said, standing in the middle of the room.
He had planned this to be a time of really getting better acquainted. But he couldn't think of that now. He couldn't think of anything except Cee-Zee.
"Why don't you rest for awhile?" he said lamely. "The rain will have stopped by then. Take a shower, maybe a nap." He added as an extra inducement, "I'll bring back your car."
"I know I was taking up your time," she said, opening up the travelling case and removing a small tortoise shell comb. "I'm sorry I couldn't give you a day's notice."
"So am I," he said honestly.
She didn't try to detain him except to jot down the phone number and slip the piece of paper into his pants pocket.