Chapter 11
I was certain that sleep would be hard to come by and I was prepared for another night of tossing and turning while I tried to find out at least part of the answer that always eluded me in the end.
The next morning was one of the longest I ever spent, and by noon, it seemed I had been up for days. But finally it was a quarter to one and I fortified myself with a quick drink and headed out for Jamie's.
The day was humid and overcast, with huge, dark clouds racing moodily across the sky and the rumblings of thunder and streaks of jagged lightning promising a flood at any moment. When I drove out to Jamie's, it was so dark some cars had their lights on.
I parked where I had my first night in Harrisville, which now seemed an eternity ago. I stared a moment at the Conway's house, then climbed out and walked slowly up the sidewalk.
The front door was closed, and I pushed the bell impatiently. When there was no immediate answer, I pumped the bell, and had the wild, irrational fear Jamie would not be there, or would have disappeared again.
There was a movement behind the door and it was slowly opened by a short, heavy gray-haired negro woman in a gray and white uniform.
"You must be Mister Carl," she said, as she smiled and stepped back.
"Yes, that's right," I said, and stepped inside an entrance foyer with a gleaming wooden floor, and handsome, dark-wood antique furniture. "Is Jamie here?"
"Miss Jamie, she had to step next door for a minute, and said to tell you to wait in the library." The room was large and wood-paneled, lined on two walls with floor-to-ceiling bookcases filled with expensive, leather-bound books. A gigantic brick fireplace took up most of the third wall, and the fourth was broken with two large lace-curtained French doors which led out to a terrace.
"Can I get you something to drink?" the woman asked.
"Some vodka and tonic would be good," I said.
"You make yourself at home while I go into the kitchen for some ice," she said. "Miss Jamie, she'll be right back."
I sank down into a long, leather-covered couch in front of the fireplace, and saw that the ceiling was beamed with handsome walnut strips, and in the recesses of the cross-beams were carved wood panels.
A faint breeze rustled the white curtains and I sat up on the edge of the couch, exhaled, and then stood up. I walked over to a bookcase, stared absently at the handsome leather-bound books, and pulled out several volumes. They all seemed brand new, as though they had never been opened.
I heard the sound of voices back in the house somewhere, as I walked over to a desk between the French doors. It was cluttered with papers and envelopes, and on one side was a picture of Jamie, her lovely face serene and beaming in a smile, and beside it a picture of a man, obviously her father, a man who looked perhaps forty, with a lean, tough, firm face, a firmly set almost begrudging smile, brush-cut dark hair and intensely black, burning eyes that made me uneasy, even in a picture.
I heard the woman bringing the ice back and turned. But it was Jamie who walked slowly into the room carrying a silver bowl.
We stared a full minute, and I saw she held the silver bowl so tight her slender fingers were white from the pressure. Her blue eyes seemed watery and there were faint but distinct lines beneath them, on that smooth skin I remembered so well.
She had her full lips clamped together, and I noticed that her honey-blonde hair was in disarray as though she simply did not care enough to brush it For the rest she looked the same: very pale skin and the same luscious figure, with huge breasts, flaring hips and perfect, tapered legs, a body carelessly enclosed in a wrinkled, sleeveless white blouse and jeans that didn't quite fit. But her in a town drenched daily with sun, the pale skin seemed sickly somehow.
"Well, welcome to Harrisville," she said, suddenly, and obviously had difficulty forcing a smile.
She hurried across the room and stood a foot from me, cocked her head and nibbled her lower lip, and now her eyes were watery and a bit red-tinged, as though she had been crying, or was fixing to burst into tears.
"How are you, baby?" I asked, tentatively, truly afraid I didn't want to hear the answer.
"Oh, a bit tired," she said, and sighed.
I moved to kiss her, and put my hands on her waist, and she flinched and stiffened, as though she expected me to hit her. She avoided my lips and I ended up brushing her cheek, which burned as though feverish.
Then she scurried away. "Let's see, you wanted a vodka and tonic. Well, it's so muggy today, that's a good choice. I wish it would go on and rain. We could use it and maybe it would cool things off."
Each word came out faster as she moved to a small, pine-paneled bar and began to mix my drink.
I saw she was mixing herself one, also, and the amount of vodka she poured into the two tall glasses made me flinch.
"And how have you been," she continued, even faster, as I crossed over to the bar. "What a stupid thing I did to drag you down here, at the hottest possible time of the year. And Carl, I'm dreadfully sorry I wasn't here when you got here and all, but something came up at the last minute.. . "
I stepped behind the bar and put my hand on her waist, and she broke the sentence and stiffened again and bit her lip. But she couldn't move away, because she was facing the wall and was hemmed in by the bar.
"Jamie, darling, talk to me," I said. "What's wrong?"
Her fingers shook slightly as she finished the drinks, and she stood there with my hand on her waist as though its touch repulsed her. When she turned to hand me the drink, her face was only inches from mine. She was a damn mess: eyes red and watery and now puffy, no color at all in the scalding cheeks, her hair in tangles, her body so she might have been a gigantic wooden puppet-except for the heavy, irregular breathing which made her breasts heave quickly against the white blouse.
"Let's sit down on the couch and let me catch my breath, Carl," she said. "Please, move and let me out." She sounded desperate, as though she might panic at any moment.
I stepped back and she hurried to the couch and sank. She took two shuddering swallows from the vodka and tonic, then sat on the edge of the couch holding the glass in both hands and staring down into the drink as though she might see something there among the ice and lime.
I took a swallow, paused a moment, then went over and sat beside her.
We drank in silence for a minute and she played with the lime, then shoved it down viciously with a finger.
"Are you hungry?" I asked. "Why don't we drink and get out of here?"
"No, frankly, I'm not too hungry," she said. "I'll have to run up and change. I can't go out of the house looking like this. But I got delayed at the. . .I got delayed next door. Oh, Carl, I do look a mess, don't I?"
She started to look up, but avoided my eyes and glanced past me, swallowed, then returned to her drink, which she drained with another frighteningly-long swallow.
"I'm so glad to see you I hadn't noticed," I said. "Perhaps you do look a little ragged around the edges. But you said you were tired." I was speaking slowly, carefully choosing my words and their tone. "Look, you don't have to change. I'm not too hungry myself. Had a late breakfast. Why don't we grab some shrimp and stuff and have a picnic."
She turned quickly and her lower lip trembled when she spit out, the words: "Yes, pick up some shrimp and stuff and drive out to some pine-surrounded stream for a picnic. That's just what I've been looking forward to."
To myself I said: Oh Jesus, you stupid bastard to mention the picnic bit. To Jamie I said: "Look, baby, let's just get out of the house. How about it?"
She nodded. "I'm sorry I snapped at you like that, Carl. Silly of me. We do need to be alone and have our talk and get it over with. Here, let me get you another drink."
She got up and I finished the drink and handed her the glass. I'd never in my life needed a drink more. And I watched her mix two drinks that made it seem vodka was water and tonic something so scarce it had to be carefully rationed.
"You have a lovely home here," I said, grabbing desperately at any neutral topic.
She shrugged and took a sip of the drink. 'Thank you," she said. "Daddy decided he wanted to live in this very house, a few weeks after he came to town, when he was living in a furnished room near the railroad tracks. He spent a lot of time fixing it up, and I helped some, but mostly it's all his doing."
"He seems to like books," I said.
"Oh, those?" she asked, and for the first time, she laughed, and seemed to relax some. "Lord, he never has time to read. He bought all these books down in New Orleans, at a store in the French Quarter, because he'd seen leather-bound books in some of the old homes here. I've read some of them.. .I used to like to read. But the lovely books have been rather neglected lately, I'm afraid."
We talked about the beamed ceiling and she showed me the living and the dining room-both decorated in expensive antiques-and then we returned to the library.
"You about ready to go?" I asked, as I set my glass on the bar.
"Actually, I was half waiting for Daddy," she said. "He wanted to meet you and said he'd try to get out here around one, if at all possible. He's terribly busy, with some important stuff. Though I guess he's always terribly busy, actually. That's why we were gone. He took me on a business trip with him."
"Sure, I look forward to meeting him," I said.
So we had still another drink and talked about innocuous things, and I realized she was quickly getting drunk. T hoped I could get her away before she got too drunk and something happened.
". . .used to roast wieners and marshmallows here when I was little," she was saying, as she nodded toward the fireplace. "You wouldn't think it would ever get cold enough down here for a roaring fire, but the winters can fool you."
There was a sound at the front door and she glanced quickly-almost furtively-around and took a quick sip of her drink, then set her glass on the bar. I put mine beside it, and we stared at each other for a moment and I saw a faint, terrible shudder pass over her body.
Then the door opened and her father came in, shuffled in, I should say, and stood a moment in the doorway without looking at either of us.
"Daddy, this is Carl," Jamie said, quickly, urgently. "Carl, I'd like you to meet my father."
I stepped over with hand extended and Mr. Meadows turned to me, turned slowly, and we shook hands-he grasped my hand and his grip was firm, yet his hand seemed strangely soft.
"Well, welcome to Harrisville," he said. "You must have traveled a long way to see my little girl. Sorry we couldn't be here when you arrived. But I guess Jamie explained all that. Tell you what, Jamie, I believe I could use a drink."
"We were having vodka and tonic, daddy," Jamie said.
"Now, young lady, you know I don't like that kind of drink," he said. "Pour me some Jack Daniels on the rocks, Jamie."
Jamie mixed drinks again and we stood without talking and I tried to keep from staring at the hulking, somehow drooping giant beside me.
Because Mr. Meadows was a giant of a man, perhaps six feet, four inches tall. But his shoulders seemed to hunch slightly and his blue suit sagged on his frame and it was obvious he had lost weight and had not gone to the trouble of having his clothes altered.
He seemed to be suffering from a wasting disease, and I remembered Ted's comment that he had always seemed a man who was younger-looking and stronger than his year, but had suddenly over-aged. His face was lined, not wrinkled, and his lips a little slack. His hair had grown longer and was touched with several streaks of gray. And the eyes that had bored at me and disturbed me from the picture: they seemed to have lost their intensity, as though they had been diluted.
The silence hung and from out in the garden I heard honey bees and somewhere an eternity away the sound of a car horn. Mr. Meadows did not speak again until Jamie handed him the bourbon and he poured down half the glass in one great swallow.
Then he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and turned to me again. "Well, Carl, Jamie tells me you can only spend a very short time with us," he said. 'Too bad. But I well understand if you have to get back to work. She said you were a driver. That must be fascinating work. Yessir, must be fascinating."
I glanced at Jamie, who avoided my eyes and sipped her vodka and tonic. I nodded. "Well, I'm not actually sure how long I can stay," I said, and took a small sip of my drink.
I heard the phone ringing out in the hall and in a minute the maid stuck her head in the door.
"It's for you, Mr. Ron," she said. "Man says it's important."
"No rest for the weary," he said and went out to the phone.
"Just a few more minutes, and we can leave, Carl," Jamie said. "But you probably won't have a chance to see Daddy again and I thought.. "
"What is all this bit about my leaving so quickly?" I snapped.
Then Mr. Meadows returned. "I'm afraid something has come up downtown and I'll have to run," he said. "Perhaps we can get together later in the day, or this evening. Jamie, you make some plans so we can all get together."
Jamie said she sure would, and Mr. Meadows and I shook hands, and he left. Jamie drained her drink, and she seemed a little unsteady on her feet. There was a loud jolt of thunder and she jerked and gasped.
"Shall we go?" I asked.
"Oh, yes, God yes, let's go," she mumbled. "Are you driving, or did you take a taxi out? If you like we can use my car."
"No, I rented a car at the airport in New Orleans," I said. "I'm getting to know my way around Harrisville," I added, with an attempt at lightness.
"I would think so," she said, as she walked from the room, weaving just a little.
I followed her from the room out the front door, just as the first raindrops fell-huge, round drops that stirred the dust and brought the fresh, clean rain smell sweeping across the lawn. As I moved down the walk behind Jamie, I glanced around and saw Peggy Sue looking at us from an upstairs window in her house. She smiled and waved and licked her lips, but I ignored her and ran after Jamie.