Chapter 11
SEBASTIAN WOLFF WALKED down Symphony Road, a bottle of beer in one hand, his other hand in his pocket. He wasn't exactly staggering, but he was walking strangely, as if his legs were heavy. He had been drunk for a long time, and it had been a long time too since he had slept.
His hair, usually neat, was bushy and hanging over his forehead. His face was dark with beard growth, and his eyes were red. Wolff was still wearing the clothes in which he had left New York and they were torn, soiled and wrinkled.
He had achieved that hollow-stomached feeling which only several sleepless, drunken days can give, and his mind was unconcerned with all but the simplest thoughts.
It was four a. m. on a cold night, with snow falling silently and few other people on the streets. He was wearing only a light sport coat, but the cold did not bother him, as such. He shivered, but this was more from some internal cause than from the temperature. He stepped into a doorway, shielded from the wind, and lit a cigarette. Then he tipped the bottle and drained it of the last swallow of beer.
He thought, I know that I'm going to be very thirsty in a short time, and there is no place to get beer at this hour, in this uncivilized blue-law state.
He felt very tragic, a strange and new feeling for Wolff. He rather wished that someone he knew could see him and realize that Sebastian Wolff was a tragic hero. He shook his head, and shivered. Enough was enough, it was time to end the tragedy.
There was a telephone a few doors down, in front of a small store with a red front. Wolff walked to it, entered, and shut the door against the wind. The light inside did not work, and he looked in the phone-book by the glare of his cigarette, drawing on it to brighten the light and running his eye down the page as the glow lessened; repeating the process. The booth filled with smoke and made it harder to see through his already blurry eyes. But finally he found the number he wanted, put his dime in, and dialed. While the phone rang, he lit his wristwatch by the glare from his cigarette, and saw that it was after four. The hell, he said aloud, let them wake up. I'm awake, who cares what time it is?
The telephone rang seventeen times. Sebastian was prepared to let it ring all night, and was just in the process of lighting another cigarette when a sleepy voice answered.
"I want Christine," Wolff said.
"Who?" asked William Alexandre.
"Christine. Put Chris on."
"Who is this?"
"Sebastian Wolff. I want to speak to Christine. It is very important that I speak to her his minute."
There was a long pause. Then Alexandre asked, "Do you have any idea of the time, young man?"
"I know exactly what time it is. Now, if you will put Christine on, I will appreciate it."
"She's not here. She returned to New York with her fianc‚. Who are you, what do you want?"
"Fianc‚? No, I am her fianc‚," Wolff said, not quite understanding what he had heard.
"I believe you are drunk. I'm hanging up now. If this is really a serious call you can call again at a decent hour, and please try to be sober."
"Wait," said Sebastian, and his voice was enough to hold Alexandre on the other end of the wire. "Who is her fianc‚?"
"Mr. Dreggs, from New York City."
Wolff pursed his lips into the phone. He put it back on the hook and lit the cigarette which was still dangling, unfired, from his mouth. Then he laughed and said, "I'll be damned."
Sebastian left the booth and continued his heavy-legged walk down the street. By the time he reached the corner, he had decided what he was going to do. He hailed the first cab he saw.
"I'm damned to hell," he told the driver.
Wolff got off the bus in New York feeling much more sober. He had fallen into a semi-sleep during the ride, and it had cleared his thoughts. He had acted on impulse in Boston, but he realized now what had caused him to react that way. With mixed feelings he realized that he would have gone to Christine even if there had been the most beautiful woman in the world waiting for him elsewhere. To return to a woman, with a new one waiting, would have been beyond his conception a week ago. Now he was rushing to Christine and hoping that he would be able to convince her that he loved her. And the strangest part was that he did love her.
Wolff still had his confidence, he was sure that Christine would return to him. The difference was in the effect it would have on him if she were to refuse. He wanted her very badly. He had never really wanted a woman before, not like this.
He got a cab, and went first to Cynthia's office. There were several people in the waiting room, and they looked closely at him, wondering who this could be. He ignored them and crossed to the inner office, went in without knocking.
Cynthia was alone, reading over some papers. She looked up-with a frown, recognized him, started to smile; saw his filthy and unshaven appearance and frowned again.
"You look like hell," she told him.
"That's not important," Sebastian said. "What about those poems, have you had any luck?"
"Of course. I told you that I would. But what has happened to you? You'd better use the washroom and clean up before you do anything else." She nodded at a small, clouded-glass door.
"Cynthia, I haven't time. I have to do something, right away. The most important thing I've ever done. I'll come hack as soon as it's done and see you, but right now I haven't time for anything."
She looked closely at him. "Yes, you look like it's the most important thing of your life. I've never seen you like this. You really will come back to me?"
"Yes."
"I don't believe you. But what's the difference?" Cynthia said, with a weary smile. "Here is a check for two of the poems and a letter from the editor saying how good they are, and when they will be printed. This should satisfy your ... friend?"
"Thank you, Cindy," said Sebastian. He kissed her, turned and left. Cynthia watched him, certain that she had seen Sebastian Wolff for the last time, although she couldn't have said why.
Wolff's cab was waiting. He got in and gave Christine's address. He sat back, anxious, thinking that the ride was taking much too long. When they finally got there he paid the driver and rushed into the building. Then at the foot of the stairs he stopped. There was, suddenly, no hurry. He felt that he should plan, be prepared, know just what he was going to say to her.
But Sebastian had never planned a conversation in his life. It was too late to start now. He climbed the stairs feeling a knot in his stomach and knocked on her door as soon as he reached it, without thinking about it. He heard her coming, then the door was opened.
"Hello, Sebastian. Have you come for your things?"
He entered. Christine looked at him, with no anger, no love ... no apparent feeling at all. Wolff handed her the check and the letter.
She read it quickly, glancing at the check. Then, looking at Wolff, she said, "How silly poetry seems now."
He nodded. "Do vou still love me?" he asked.
"Yes, I still love you," Christine answered. "But that doesn't matter now. I'll never be yours again, Sebastian, whether I love you or not. I'm going to marry Earl."
Wolff turned away, saw himself in the mirror and realized how wasted he was. He ran one hand through his tangled hair, gathering his thoughts, then he turned back to Christine and put a hand on each of her shoulders. He could feel her tremble under his touch, and his confidence returned in one surging rush. He smiled with his teeth.
"I want you to listen to me now, and don't interrupt," he said. "I love you. I loved you before, but I was a fool. I won't let the fact that I am a fool ruin both our lives. If you marry Earl you'll be miserable, I'll be miserable ... even Earl will be, he will know sooner or later that it's me whom you really love.
"When that thing happened in Boston. I was a fool to go with Maryanne, and a worse fool to walk out on you later, when you needed me. If I hadn't loved you so much, I wouldn't have, I would have laughed it off. The very fact that I was hurt enough to leave proves that I loved you even then. But I didn't realize how much, at the time, I was numb with feeling, numb from seeing you there.
"I'll never make that mistake again. We're getting married, right now, we're leaving for the nearest state where we can be married without waiting. I'm such a fool, I won't take a chance on screwing things up again between us. I love you so much.
He stopped, still holding her shoulders, and looked in her eyes. She was frightened of him, or of herself, or perhaps it was of the great emotion that filled her. She said, "I won't go with you."
Sebastian hit her across the face, snapping her head savagely to the side. When she turned back to him, tears had started in her eyes. She looked at him a second, and then buried her face against his chest and burst into convulsive sobbing. He stood very still, letting her cry for a long while. Then he pushed her head back and looked at her with his eyebrows raised in question.
"I'll go wherever you want," she said.
Sebastian lifted her from the floor, holding her easily in his arms, and carried her into the bedroom. She clung to his neck, still sobbing. He put her on the bed and very carefully undressed her, taking her clothes off piece by piece, and placing them neatly beside the bed. She watched him throughout, her tears stopping slowly.
When she was naked, Sebastian undressed himself, ripping at his clothing. He said, "I'm very dirty, I'm sorry. It's been a long time since my last bath."
Christine said, "I want you, in any condition, clean or dirty. I'm so sorry that I ever had another man, sorry that anyone else has ever touched me. I want to belong to you completely."
Wolff lay down beside her. He ran his fingers along her body, electrifying her with his touch. She clung to him, blindly, wanting to become part of him, to give him her soul.
Sebastian kissed her, once, and sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He said, "Chris ... wait. I want this to be so right, to be perfect. Wait a moment."
He went into the bathroom and Christine listened to the sound of the shower starting. She thought, has Sebastian Wolff ever bothered to bathe for a woman before? I don't want to wait, I want him now. But I'm glad that he would do this for me.
She got up and followed him into the bath. He was under the shower, his muscular body glistening with the water, and Chrisdne watched him in silence for a moment. Then she stepped in the shower behind him, and put her arms around his waist.
Sebastian turned to face her. Their bodies were slippery together, and warm. She said, "I can't wait, my darling."
He moved his hands on her, sliding on her wet, smooth skin. Building her desire to a fever pitch. And with it, his own.
Christine held him, fondled him. She said, "Take me here, right here," and pressed herself upwards against his body. Sebastian's knees bent, he lowered himself to her, then rose again, lifting her with his arms and his loins.
And she moved her body, undulating on him, seeking a deeper and deeper passion, faster and faster.
Christine threw herself forward, in a frenzy, and Sebastian met her with an equal need of his own.
Again and again.
The water continued to fall, running in rivulets down their tensed flesh, stinging them, driving them.
And then, Sebastian was the waterfall.
For one brief, blinding moment of surging power.
They became one.
Sebastian and Christine lay naked on the bed. Their bodies were still wet, and they clung together. Christine's flesh white, smooth. Sebastian's dark, matted with black hair.
Christine said, "Earl will be here soon. I would rather that I told him alone, Sebastian."
"Whatever you want," he said, "I'll wait in the coffee shop on the corner until he leaves."
"I hate to have you leave," she said, "Even for a second. But I owe Earl at least that much."
Wolff nodded. "Yes, I guess we do. I'll get dressed now." He got up and dressed, putting on clean clothes from his suitcase. Then he shaved and brushed his hair.
He felt better now that he was cleaned up. He felt much better, now that he knew Christine was his. He felt better, in fact, than he had. ever felt before.
Sebastian kissed her and left, whistling. He went down the stairs, and up to the corner; sat in a booth, where he could see the street outside, without being very easily seen from there. He waited for ten minutes, saw Dreggs go by.
Sebastian watched him out of sight, then turned back to his coffee. He thought, I hope that poor bastard doesn't love her as much as I do, he'll kill himself when he finds out. What a shame that to make one man happy, another man must be sad. I never thought of this before. But when I thought I might lose Chris ... he stopped his thoughts on the subject, smiling at himself, and wondering if he were the same man he had always been. Funny what love will do, he said.
Then he drank his coffee and waited.
It was perhaps fifteen minutes later when Sebastian looked out and saw Deggs pass by again, going in the opposite direction away from Christine's partment. Earl was walking rapidly, head down and lips drawn back from his teeth. It would have been impossible to guess what the man's feelings were, if one had no idea of what had just occurred; but it was obvious that he was experiencing a strong emotion.
Wolff sat, frowning and stroking his chin, for another few minutes. Then he got up, leaving a coin on the table beside his empty cup and went back to Christine.
The door was open, Chris was pouring coffee for herself, filled another cup for Sebastian. They sat at the table, and he waited, but she apparently wasn't going to mention what had happened when Dreggs had been there.
Normally Wolff would not have cared enough to ask. He was not a curious man even when things concerned him, and this was between Chris and Dreggs; he didn't consider himself affected by it. But for some reason-perhaps his real love for Chris, perhaps a genuine feeling for Dreggs, perhaps only his inability to decipher the expression on Earl's face as the latter had walked by the coffee shop-Sebastian wanted to know what had happened.
"What did Earl say?" lie asked.
"It was strange," Christine answered, as though she had been prepared to tell the story as soon as Wolff asked, and was just waiting for his question. "He didn't seem surprised or hurt. He didn't seem to feel anything, in fact. It affected me more than if he had raved or cursed or even if he had cried."
Wolff nodded. "That's natural," he said, "If he had shown some emotion which you could have thought of as weak, or otherwise have despised, it would have given you reason not to feel pity for him. This way you had no emotion of your own to use as a crutch. It must have been a hard thing to do, Earl's a nice guy."
"Yes. He just looked, blinked a couple of times, then said, "That's all right. Don't worry about it. I felt pretty bad, waiting for him to do something. Then all he did was to ask if he could leave his clothes here until he gets through work."
She explained, "He was just coming home for dinner. He had to go back and work until the store "loses this evening. He said that he will get his things then."
"Do I have to go out again?" Wolff asked, grimacing.
"No, the hard part is over, I'd rather have you here."
"Good. I'd like to say goodbye to Earl, at least for a while. Let's leave tonight, as soon as he goes, and we can be married tomorrow. I'm such a damn fool. I don't want to delay any longer than necessary. I don't want to chance losing you again."
She smiled, and took his hand across the table. Christine was very happy. She was much too happy to worry about Earl Dreggs, sorry as she felt about him.
And Sebastian Wolff was happy too. He was deciding that to have one woman whom he loved would be enough; that the reason he had always had so many was that he had never really loved one before. He felt absolutely sure that he would never feel the need to be faithful to Christine again.
He was rather glad that Dreggs would be back later. Wolff wanted to tell him that he had stolen his last woman, from Dreggs or from any other man. It would be a hard thing to phrase, especially to the man from whom he had so often taken women with never a thought about it. It would have to be almost an apology, and to apologize was something which Sebastian had never done. Still he hated to explain what he felt to Earl Dreggs in some way.
He thought that, for some reason, it would make Dreggs happy.
Dreggs left Christine feeling much the same as lie had when Sebastian had taken Ginny from him. It was getting to be a very familiar feeling. But although the physical characteristics were the same, the effect on Earl as a person was different.
He thought of all the times he dwelt in the shadow of Sebastian's dominance. And had suffered from Wolff's attraction to women, and for women.
Pictures flashed in his mind. He saw Ginny, dark-skinned, soft, voluptuously curved ... a body which about it.
He took the gun from beneath the counter and placed it under his shirt, tucking it into his pants.
It was a small gun, a thirty-two with a snub nose. To be used in case of a robbery attempt, the owner had told him jokingly. There had never been the faintest idea in the owner's mind that the gun would be used, and he had laughed at himself for buying it. Nevertheless he had, and so it stayed under the counted until Earl Dreggs put it carefully under his shirt, blousing the material around it so that it didn't show.
He finished the evening, automatically taking money, making change, directing customers to the books they sought. At eleven-thirty the owner said, "Well, let's close up for the night."
He didn't notice that the gun was missing. He probably world not notice for days. They locked the door, and in the street the owner said, "You're doing a good job, Dreggs. Glad to have you working here. Hope you'll be around for a while."
"I imagine I shall," Earl said.
The owner nodded and headed off in his own direction. Dreggs watched him go down the crowded street, then walked the other way. He felt a very great need for a drink and stopped at the first bar he came to, just around the corner from Christine's.
He drank two bourbons very fast, and then he drank two more, slowly. He could feel the warmth in his stomach, and felt the tenseness loosening in his nerves. His hands had been very cold and shivering, but the alcohol steadied them so that they no longer hung, large and chilly, like weights from the ends of his arms.
Earl ordered one more, his fifth, and worked it very carefully down,' wondering why the drinks had had no effect on his brain. He felt very, very rational. With his new rationalization he approached the problem.
Whom should he kill?
Sebastian Wolff?
Or Christine Alexandre?
Or himself?
He considered the alternatives for a moment, then decided that he didn't care. He finished the shot and had it filled again. It took a long time to drink this last one. The bourbon didn't taste so good, now that he was calm and warm. When he finally emptied the glass, Dreggs got up and walked out, very steady and straight. The bartender waved goodbye at his back, but Earl didn't know this.
He went around the corner and entered Christine's apartment building, checking the number over the door to make sure that it was the right one. Then he climbed the stairs, pausing at the first landing to rub his temples, which seemed to be throbbing strongly.
On Christine's door Earl went down to her apartment and stopped at the door. There was no sound from within, but he could see a sheet of light from under the door. The hall, other than this light, was very dark.
Standing there, in the blackness, he could feel his hands grow cold again. And large. They seemed to be heavy chunks of ice attached to his arms. He wished that he had something to use them for, something to do with them.
Then he remembered the gun.
Earl took it from under his shirt. He could not see it in the dark, but it felt good. Cold and hard. It felt very good, standing in this cold black hall, to have a gun in one's hand.
He thought, I hope Sebastian is not here.
Then he knocked on the door.
And waited.