Chapter 11

Nadine woke up at nine-thirty on Monday morning to discover that Paul had come home, slept in the guest room and gone to the office without wakening her. Except for finding his fishing gear on the service porch, she wouldn't have known he had returned from the Wisconsin hiatus. The Chrysler sat in the driveway.

In the kitchen, Nadine exchanged good-mornings with Mrs. Sefcik who was occupied with applying some mysterious cleaning ointment to the inside of the oven.

"Were you here this morning when Mr. Whitten left for work, Seffie?"

"I was here seven-thirty!" Mrs. Sefcik said defensively. "I meant ... well, I was wondering how he got down to the station."

"Mrs. across the street, she was outside, on the grass," Seffie said, her head poked inside the oven and her voice hollow from the cavernous interior. "She was pick weeds. So early in the morning, she work, work, work. That's a good lady. Like you."

"Mrs. Stroud drove my husband to the station?"

"Was nice, ah?" Nadine retired to the den to ponder the situation. Paul was considerate about letting her sleep late.

He had come home from the last fishing jaunt with Warren at 3 a.m., kissed her, related every detail of the trip and had made love to her, saying it had all been fun except sleeping alone. Why hadn't he done the same thing last night? In all the years of their married life, he had not once slept in a separate room. And this morning! Why hadn't he wakened her then?

And Leila up and about, conveniently ready to play chauffeur at seven-thirty! Of course she always got up early; used to make enormous breakfasts for Roy at six o'clock before he left for the plant. Any other morning Nadine would have dismissed the incident lightly. But this morning....

Someone had said something to Paul! Sherry? Warren? No, not Warren. Vince. Vince with a load on, talking too freely, as he'd talked the other night. And she hadn't been home when Paul had phoned. He had tried to reach her at Leila's. What if Leila mentioned the car being gone all night? Oh, and Vince had made a few revealing allusions to Monty last Friday night, too. In three days he might have given Paul ideas. And if Paul was still annoyed about the letter to Roy ... or if he had mentioned the letter to Leila....

The contradictions and possibilities of discovery piled up in Nadine's mind like an inverted pyramid. One kick at the shaky foundation! One word from any of a dozen-odd people, one comparative conversation ... the garage, the auction, Leila's reticence about writing letters, Warren's implacable conscience, Vince and his damned telephone compulsion! Sherry not speaking, knowing about Monty, angry about George and the red negligee! And always back to Paul. The rumpled pillow in the guest room. Silent arrival, silent departure. Why?

Her breath forced itself against her lungs like a wall of pressure. Get it over with. Impossible to map out the strategy without determining the situation on the battlefield. Nadine picked up the phone and called Paul at the agency.

He was friendly. He was polite. Yes, he'd had a great time. No fish, but fish were secondary when a man loved fishing. Nadine had been asleep when he got home. She was sleeping like a baby when the alarm rang. He hadn't wanted to disturb her ... and he couldn't talk now; he was busy. Paul was too polite! Intuitively, Nadine sensed a newness, a strangeness. And whenever she had phoned him at a bad time before, he had offered to call back. This time Paul had said, "Sorry, I'm busy," and let it go at that. She hadn't dared to ask why.

Sherry hadn't come out of her room at two o'clock. Which was the time Leila chose to cross the street with a sheet of sweater-knitting instructions that had arrived in the mail.

"Sherry wanted me to send for these," she told Nadine. "Is she around?"

"In her room," Nadine said. She didn't offer to call Sherry or suggest that Leila take the patterns to the bedroom.

They sat opposite each other stiffly, the airy living room becoming unbearably close from their thick exchange.

"Isn't Sherry feeling well?"

"She's just a little tired."

"Big weekend?"

"You know the way kids stay up all night at a p.j. party. Then she went to the movies last night."

"I know. I was talking to Gwen at the market a while ago. She lives next door to Sherry's friends."

"So she gave you a play-by-play report of what the girls did?"

Leila lighted a cigarette. "Only because it didn't tie in with what you'd told Mabel. Gwen and Mabel got together last night, you know."

"Yes, I was invited."

"You told Mabel you had to take Sher to a drive-in. And then when George came by, you told him Sherry was due home any minute, when you knew damned well she'd gone to a show with the girls and wouldn't be back for hours."

"Well. We-ll-U, isn't it getting to be a small town! From Mrs. Lindholm to Gwen to Mabel, back to Gwen and over to Leila for a quadruple play. How can you stand around and listen to such petty...."

"If it's petty, your hands shouldn't be shaking, Nadine."

"I'm not upset. Just...."

"Tired? You had a big weekend, too. Mabel says you went to an auction Saturday. Gwen says Mrs. Lindholm said Sherry said you didn't. Then George came home while Gwen and Mabel were still chewing that one over and what do you suppose he said? Oh, they must have had a real evening! Vince's wife and Warren's wife. Sounds cozy, doesn't it?"

"Leila, I'm not in the mood for...."

"They were having such a stimulating time that they were still up when Warren came home. After he dropped off your husband and Lover Number Two. From the way Gwen tells it, Warren was madder than hell about something. And when Georgie-porgie started raving about you, Warren and Mabel blew their corks. And Gwen discreetly went home to her Vince, who was out like a light. Dreaming, I suppose. Anyway, he mentioned your name twelve times in his sleep. And he must have been having the kind of dream old Siggy Freud would have adored. Gwen couldn't repeat everything he said, but what she did repeat was awfully hard on this poor, sex-starved grass widow."

"Shut up, Leila."

"I forgot. You're tired. You looked at calendar art over the weekend."

"Damn it, Leila...."

"Stop being ungrateful. I'm only giving you the facts, so you'll know how to wriggle your way out of the mess." Leila sent an indolent smoke-cloud into the air. "Oh ... and Paul tried to reach you at my number yesterday, so don't bother telling him you spent the morning with me."

"Are you finished?"

"I think so. No ... no, there was another quadruple play concerning the Chrysler. Did you tell Sherry you'd left it at Mike's garage to have the oil changed? Sherry told Mrs. Lindholm, and she mentioned it to Gwen. Because it struck her as quaint, I suppose."

"That was quaint?"

"It wouldn't have been, Nadine, except that Mike and Cora are celebrating their twentieth anniversary and they've gone to Starved Rock for a second honeymoon. Mike's garage has been closed since last Monday!" Lelia sighed. "I do these little favors for you so singularly cheap. And you have no gratitude, Mrs. Whitten. No appreciation at all."

"I could thank you for getting Paul to his train this morning."

"That was no trouble. He was about to get into your car when it occurred to me that he loathes driving downtown. So, I figured you might not be feeling well...."

"And you came over to inquire about the state of my health. I hope you had a nice chat at the C.B. and Q. station."

"Paul wasn't in a talking mood," Leila said, dropping the light sarcastic tone and sounding contrastingly somber. "We discussed the crab-grass problem, if you really want to know. And, somehow, I suspect his heart wasn't really in it."

The phone rang and Nadine excused herself.

"I won't wait," Leila said, going for the door. "Give Sher the sweater things...."

"It's probably one of Sherry's friends," Nadine said lamely.

"Sure," Leila said. She waved and was gone.

Nadine answered the phone in the bedroom. It was Warren. "What are you trying to do to me?" he asked.

"Darling, is that the way to say hello when I haven't seen you since...."

"Look, Nadine, it's getting too risky. You should have heard Vince this weekend. I had one hell of a time keeping him away from Paul ... drunk and talking about you. About us. Talking that way in front of my boys!"

"What did he say?"

"Just ... little personal digs. Then I get home and there's Mabel and Vince's wife and Mabel's cousin, all of them discussing you. Nadine, I don't like it. You don't know what you do to men, let alone a kid with milk on his chin. George is down here at the office. First day on the job. I took him to lunch with Mr. Schultz, our master brewer. This is an old man, Nadine. He worked for Mabel's grandfather. And he's nice enough to ask George if he plans to make a career of the brewery. And George says, no, he's going to be an industrial psychologist. Then he tells Mr. Schultz ... mind you, this is an old-school European ... way past retirement age ... a real, solid Lutheran. Well, George tells him that someday he's going to go through the brewery and fire every man who would rather sleep with his wife than work overtime. Damn punk smart-alec. I wanted to throttle him."

"Oh, Warren, what a shame!"

"It was bad enough to see the old man so embarrassed. But then George laughs and tells me he got the idea from you ... and he starts telling us you're ... my God...."

"I'm what?"

"The sexiest woman he ever spent an evening with! If Mabel wouldn't raise hell, I'd break the kid in two and throw away the pieces."

"Oh, really, dear...."

"I wish you'd slap him down. Slap Vince down, too. You're too ... warm. Nadine, I went through holy hell at the lake. I love you so damned...." Warren's voice dropped suddenly to a whisper. "George is coming up the line. I'll talk to you later." There was a long, painful sigh on the other end of the receiver. "Think of something, Nadine. My God, think of a way we can be together...."

All the broken bits and pieces could be cemented. Nadine was certain of it, confident in her own ability.

But what was there to be done with Sherry, who reluctantly joined her parents and said nothing during dinner except, "No, thank you," and "Yes, please."

And what offense could be employed when Paul started to go to the guest room at eleven o'clock, then looking hopelessly weary and removed from the present situation, nodded a resigned agreement when Nadine said, "Shall we go to bed?" and changed his course without further explanation?

In the bed beside her, yet not reaching for her, not touching her, an unspoken misery exuded from him and crowded the still, dark room.

"Paul?" Nadine held her breath, then released it. Get it on the table. Whatever was bothering him, get it in the open, face it and explain it away. "Paul? Don't you feel well? Darling, you've been away for a long time and I was sure you'd ... want...."

"I'm tired," Paul said. "Tired and confused."

"Confused about what?"

"About ... everything."

"Is it something I've done?" Nadine asked plaintively.

"No. Don't mind me." There was a brooding silence and then Paul said Jim Oliver had given him a hard time all afternoon about hiring a free-lance artist instead of working through a reliable art studio. Early in the day, Monty Carrell had announced his intention to leave for New York, possibly Paris, expressing a willingness to work by mail, damn the imperious bastard. Jim had made a real production number of it, saying Paul had stuck his neck out, not that Monty was the only artist who would produce airbrushed legs, but....

"Is that all that's bothering you?" Nadine persisted.

"That's all," Paul told her, not convincingly. He lied as amateurishly as Sherry.

Nadine risked the second question. "Did Monty ... did your artist say when he was leaving?"

"No. Just ... soon."

Paul turned over then, saying he hadn't slept much at the lake ... only a few hours last night.

Everyone annoyed with or suspicious of or angry with her! Or leaving her! Deserting Nadine, who loved them all and wanted only for all to be happy!

Monty going away! If only he could have her with him ... if they could go together! Paris!

Everyone around her had asked for it, Nadine decided. In rejecting her love, they had invited this inevitable conclusion! How they would berate themselves ... how they would miss her ... how they would speak with regret and belated admiration of Nadine, who had gone far away to France with her one true and undiminishing love!

She could hardly wait for morning to phone Monty Carrell.