Chapter 16
At eight-fourteen on the morning of the Fourth of July, one of Riverdale's more patriotic citizens saluted America's independence by firing off four illegal cherry bombs and a string of two-inch firecrackers. The artillery effect brought a hysterical response from every dog in Cook County, and answering yelps from the counties DuPage, Lake and Desplaines. It was a helluva way to wake up, Nadine thought.
Had it not been for the racket, Nadine and Paul would have slept until ten. Since their reconciliation, Paul had vacillated between brooding silences and passionately enthusiastic love-making. Like someone driven, there were the hours in which he could not drain enough love from her to restore his battered confidence, smothering her with attention, retiring to thoughtful silences and bursting forth once more with violent declarations of his love and demands that Nadine demonstrate hers. Last night had been such a night; on this holiday morning they would have, except for the ungodly noise, slept late.
But, being up and about before eight-thirty, and seeing Leila out on her lawn struggling to run a flag up the tipsy pole Roy had imbedded in concrete five years ago this morning ... remembering that they had all gone to Crystal Lake for a picnic that day and returned to find Roy's tribute to the founding fathers had slipped to a rakish angle and hardened ... then the funny argument, Leila insisting that Roy had run that heavy flag up before the cement had dried under the pole and Roy saying ... whatever it was he had said ... anyway, remembering that day when Leila had not been alone, was probably what prompted Paul and Nadine to call her over to join them at breakfast.
And while they dawdled over coffee, Leila had thrown a firecracker that made the neighbor's cherry bombs sound like duds by comparison.
"I had a nice letter from Roy yesterday, did I tell you? He's getting married."
Nadine set her cup down shakily. On the rebound, of course. Not in love with the girl. Desperate attempt to forget the one significant love that was beyond his reach.
Paul looked chagrined, apparently not knowing which response would be worse-an expression of gladness for Roy or condolences for Leila.
"It's about time," Leila continued. "It wasn't normal for him to try burying himself in electronics." She sipped at her coffee and then threw the blockbuster. "I wrote him a long letter last night ... wishing him luck, naturally. And I enclosed a note to the girl. I s'pose that's strictly from hunger, but I don't want her going into marriage thinking there's a resentful woman in Roy's past. I don't think I got too mushy. I just-you know ... wished her the best."
"You wrote to Roy?" Paul said flatly. "And to the woman he's going to marry?" Only Nadine could recognize the shaking significance of his question.
Leila was blithely unaware. "You think that's too corny? I haven't mailed the letters yet ... maybe I'll read them over before I do. One of my compulsions. Too much time on my hands. Plus four brothers and two sisters, every darned one of them living out-of-state, would you believe it? Gad, writing letters is second nature to me, like opening my eyes in the morning." Leila started to lift her cup again, then hesitated. "Paul? Do you feel well?"
"Certainly, I...."
"You look a little groggy." She turned to Nadine. "Come to think of it, you both look a little groggy."
"Not enough sleep," Nadine explained weakly. "Maybe I should wait until later to ask you, then...."
"Ask me what?" Nadine grasped hopefully at a change of subject.
"I've been thinking ... it's rather silly for me to rattle around in a three bedroom house alone. The place was too big for Roy and me in the first place. I thought of calling Bud Cooke and having him appraise the place ... maybe throwing it on the market."
"Where would you go?" Nadine asked.
"That's no problem. Point is, before I let anyone look at the house, I'd like to have the basement finished."
There was a painful lull; everybody probably remembering Roy's excited do-it-yourself kick; starting the basement recreation room, leaving it with half the flooring piled in the garage, plywood panels ordered, delivered two days after his departure.
"I thought," Leila said, recovering first, "Paul might have some idea of what a carpenter would charge for the job. If I don't have any idea, one of these characters that figures I'm a loaded widow is going to give me a padded estimate and I'll bite."
"I'm not much for figuring that sort of...."
"Well, you'll remember what the Allegrettis spent on their place. I won't hold you to any figure. Just let me show you what's supposed to be done and give me a rough idea."
"Let's go," Paul said, pushing his chair from the table.
"No hurry. Anytime today. I haven't even called anyone about the job."
"Now's as good a time as any," Paul said blankly.
"More coffee?" Nadine offered.
"He hasn't let me finish the first cup," Leila laughed. "Come along, Nadine? Big thrill ... inspect the naked plumbing for a wet-bar."
"I think I'll pass."
Paul was on his way out of the house, his expression sickly cold.
Paul was gone too long. In an hour and a half he could have built Leila's damned fun room, starting from scratch!
Nadine remembered the morning Roy had proudly invited her to see his progress with the room. Leila at the market ... the two of them alone in the basement ... no two people on earth caring less about acoustical ceiling squares or a proposed shuffleboard made of asphalt tiles. And now Roy was getting married. Married!
Nadine all but slammed the breakfast crockery into the dishwasher. She was hurt by Paul's delay, concerned about the letter business, wondering if Paul and Leila were discussing it now. And appalled by the thought of Roy throwing himself away blindly on some fool female in California. The girl was probably one of those theatrical Hollywood fluffs, impressed with Roy's successful business, not really capable of understanding his deeper, crying needs. Los Angeles virtually crawled with women like that; she'd read a magazine article about them once.
And Monty leaving on the fifth ... leaving tomorrow, with only a tenuous arrangement, so that she could not recall whether, during their phone conversation yesterday, she had asked him to make a plane reservation for her ... or had told him she'd join him later. One thing she did know; since the truce with Paul, with her confidence buoyed, she had held the upper hand. Monty had ended up by pleading with her, trying to break down her aloof resistance, practically begging her to come to New York with him! He, too, wanted most what seemed unavailable.
Which was all that was necessary; to know that she was wanted. Nadine had forgotten all about the idea once she was sure of that. But now, with Paul angry again, the street sounds of New York and Paris rose above the rumble of the dishwasher. She was in an explosive mood when Paul dragged himself back from Leila's. Explosive and frustrated, having taken the time to dial Monty's number and getting no answer. Tomorrow he'd be gone! She might never see him again! Though he would always remember her, of course ... go through life comparing other women with her as Roy would compare his rattle-brained second choice ... miserable afterward....
"Did you give Leila her estimate?" Nadine asked Paul as he came into the house. "Or did you nail up all the plywood panels?"
"Don't cover up with brittle remarks. You know why I wanted to get out of here."
"Because now that she's lost him completely, Leila can force herself to write to Roy. But while she...."
"Oh, shut up!"
"Paul...."
"That's it. Just shut up. Whatever you say, it's going to be a brilliant lie ... and if it's not, I'll think so, anyway."
"Did you ask Leila why she can write to Roy now when she couldn't...."
"No, I didn't ask her. I'd be ashamed to. Besides, I'm not too sure she's selling the house because Roy's gone out of her life for keeps."
"Oh?"
"Maybe it's because she's seen us all ... lovey-dovey again."
"And she's given up waiting around for you? Is that it, Paul?"
"Hell, I don't know ... she wouldn't want to see us break up. I know that much about Leila. And if you've got any wild ideas in your head about what goes on when I'm alone with her, forget them. She's not a bitch. I'm not a guy who goes for bitches. I should have learned my lesson ... marrying one!"
Paul was pacing the dining area as he spoke, his voice gaining in volume. So that neither of them were conscious of Sherry's presence until she addressed them:
"And a happy firecracker to you, too, everybody."
Nadine put on a sprightly smile. (One had to go along on the slim assumption that Sherry hadn't been listening.) "Morning, honey. You managed to sleep through all the noise."
"I heard it," Sherry said dully. Then, on her way to the kitchen: "Around here you get used to it."
Because of Sherry, they agreed, wordlessly, to a cease-fire. By the time she left the house, her destination unannounced, there seemed to be nothing left for either of them to say.
Nadine tried. Once, early in the evening, she tried. Coming into the den where Paul lay face down on the settee...."Paul, it was so wonderful these past few days. Couldn't we...."
"Leave me alone," he muttered. "Get out and close the door behind you."
"I'll get out," Nadine threatened. "I'll get out and I won't come back!"
He only moved his head, as though nodding in agreement. Dismissing her callously ... as though she weren't worthy of a final comment!
Enraged, Nadine tore into her closet. She'd had enough ... had all she could take. Damned if she'd stay here and be ignored and insulted!
Packing, she hoped Monty had made her plane reservation. Leave the Chrysler at the airport ... cash a check in the morning before they left ... write Paul a farewell letter from New York. It would be a bitter blow, but he'd asked for it just now ... ignoring her completely....
Nadine had left her suitcases and hat box in the car. She would tell Monty about them later, surprise him. They'd have a drink, then, to celebrate.
She lifted the Oriental knocker, not letting it fall, but tapping out an exuberant rhythmic staccato: Pum-ta-da-dump-dum ... Pum, pum!
She waited.
He might be in the shower. Out running a last minute errand. Saying goodbye to Cass. (She could laugh about Cass now.) They were going away together. Monty and Nadine ... they could laugh off anybody!"
Waiting, letting the pulse-stirring realization saturate her; from this moment on, she would live with Monty ... share his pain and his ecstasy, live with him ... awaken mornings to find him warm beside her ... live with....
Nadine knocked again, less amusingly, more emphatically. When you were going to live with your lover for the rest of your days, it was a little ludicrous to stand on ceremony; from now on, if Monty's door was open, Nadine could walk in unannounced.
It was open and she did. Several pieces of luggage rested where the easel and oxygen cylinder had stood in the center of the parquet-floored room. He couldn't be far away. From the bedroom, a zhoosh-zhoosh-zhoosh sound came through the twin speakers; Monty had let a record run out. He was probably in the shower; he wouldn't have gone out and left the stereo....
"Certainly" meowed. The alien noise in the supposedly empty room startled Nadine. She gasped, then laughed at the ridiculousness of being rattled by the big, gluttonous Siamese. And then looked for a suspended, breathless period in the direction of the meowing sound, looking frozenly and long to where "Certainly" perched on Monty's back-Monty lying face down on his bright red couch. Napping.
It screamed inside her. He was tired from packing, lying down to rest, oblivious to her entrance or the heavy cat on his shoulder blades or the repeated zhoosh-zhoosh-zhoosh from the bedroom ... and it didn't matter that his arm formed a bizarre Z-shape with his fingers rigid in a curled, open starfish pattern with his wrist pressed hard against the floor ... while he napped.
Cautiously, feeling the cat's eyes watching her movement, Nadine crept closer to the couch. Thinking in terms of feeling Monty's pulse now, made aware of pulse and heartbeat by the audible, erratic drum-beat of her own.
And whimpering when she drew close enough to see that the red couch was a deeper red in that flat, wide cushion under Monty's chest ... a red that would come away on your fingers if you dared to reach out and touch it. Releasing a thin, brief, crying sound at the sight of Monty's face. With no homicidal experience needed, with only a terrorizing intuition to tell her there was no need to take his pulse, no need to call out for help, no need to phone for a doctor.
Under her breath, Nadine whispered, "Oh, no. Oh, no." Her words echoed like thunder through the stripped studio.
She caught her breath once more at the sudden thudding sound; Monty's cat leaping from her grotesque perch to the bare floor and slinking anxiously toward the kitchenette.
I am not heartbroken, Nadine's mind raced. Astounding: my heart is not broken. I have no urge to throw my arms around that strangely still form with its left arm turned askew and beg it to speak to me ... to open its eyes ... to cease being dead. It. The corpse. The horrible, unpersonal, dehumanized it. I want nothing but to run from this room!
No desire to do anything but get away ... before someone comes. Before I'm involved in what must be, what obviously ... what can only be the thing people read about in books and newspapers but rarely, rarely encounter in life. Murder! Verbalizing the thought flooded Nadine with a second airless panic, blocking her lungs. Murder! Being discovered at the scene of a murder! Not a self-devised play-acting scene, but one directed by some unknown stranger ... garishly red and revolting and real ... murder ... run ... run ... get out of the room....
The record-end sound repeated itself monotonously, following Nadine down the grey-carpeted, fuschia-cord-bannistered stairway she would never climb again.
In the street, hurrying toward the car in which her luggage was locked, Nadine came close to colliding with a small, dirty-faced boy.
He should have been in bed hours ago, but this was the Fourth and here he was, blocking the dusty sidewalk, pointing up at the sky.
"Hey, lookit ... lookit ... green an' red stars ... lookit ... lookit ... blue ones, too ... Jeesus ... you see that?"
There was no one else in sight, though he may have been addressing someone in the dingy basement flat just below the sidewalk level.
"You see that?" the boy repeated. He was talking to her!
Nadine had not looked up to see the pyrotechnic miracle. She had been too absorbed with inner fireworks of her own.
Later, he might be a witness who would recall seeing a woman of Mrs. Whitten's description on Rush Street at such-and-such-an-hour.
But now ... after all, the boy was no more than seven ... and so joyously eager to share his enthusiasm ... it would take so little to make him happy ...!
"It was beautiful, wasn't it?" Nadine said. "Wasn't that a beauty?"