13
“AN EMERGENCY MARRIAGE encounter?” Walt asked, pouring himself another glass of champagne. “I like that—sounds like emergency car repair or something. They probably use duct tape and baling wire and cans of that tire inflator.”
Ivy gave him a dark look, so he cut the joke off short. “A church counselor suggested it to Darla,” she said. “And whether it sounds silly or not, it’s the only thing anybody’s come up with that’s positive.”
“Except me,” Walt said. “What I said was that Darla needs a lawyer and Jack needs a subpoena. I’ve been positive about that for years. Why does she hang around?”
“Because she’s desperate. She loves him, I guess.”
“She’s crazy about him is what you mean. Like in out of her mind.”
“It’s easy to say that from a distance.”
“What makes it easy is knowing Jack, and she ought to know him better than I do. She’s had to live with him all these years.”
“That’s the purpose of the marriage encounter, isn’t it? So you can get to know each other better. People are married for years and they don’t have a clue about some of the things that matter most to their wives.”
“Or their husbands,” Walt said, but he knew it was the wrong thing to say as soon as it was out of his mouth. He put down his champagne glass.
Ivy was silent for a moment. He knew where the conversation was leading. And he knew that he was going to have to be careful. Saying the first damned thing that came into his mind wasn’t going to help unless he wanted a fight, which he didn’t. He looked at Ivy, who had put on her kimono, but hadn’t tied it. She pulled it shut now, as if closing a door, and he turned his eyes away, looking instead at the fire in the fireplace. It was mostly burned down now, but it was too near bedtime to throw another log on. He sipped the champagne and waited her out.
“Please don’t go on at me about the size of the car tonight, okay? We’ve got to get past all that.”
Right like that she dropped into the middle of it. There was no way out except to get through it. “All I meant by that was that children are expensive,” Walt said. “That’s all. I read somewhere that the average kid costs about five grand a year as a child. Then it goes up.”
“I don’t plan on having average kids.”
“I don’t either,” he said, ignoring her tone. “When it comes to raising kids, it’s a mistake to do things halfway. And that’s my point, that’s what I was saying about the car. A family needs room. Kids need stuff. This commission today is great, but it’s only one commission. Things are tight, what with the economy and all. In a couple of years …” He listened to himself, chattering like some kind of preprogrammed Walt robot, and suddenly he hated the sound of his own voice.
“Next year I’m forty,” Ivy said. “And besides, we both know that this has nothing to do with money. Money’s not the issue.”
“What is the issue, then?” Walt asked.
“You’re afraid of raising children,” Ivy said. “That’s the issue—self-doubt. And you’re self-centered. When a person’s afraid of the world like you are, it’s easier to be self-centered. It’s safer, only worrying about yourself.”
He shrugged. It didn’t seem worth denying. “Bringing a child into a world like this …”
“That’s not what I meant. The world’s better off than it has any right to be. I mean you’re the one that’s full of fear. Change scares the hell out of you.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“Yes, it does. You can’t imagine having kids, and do you know why?”
“Why?”
“Because you don’t have any. If you had a child, you could imagine it easily. It would all become clear to you. It would seem right. You’re afraid of it now because you can’t see it. It’s the unknown. And I don’t think you like the unknown.”
“That’s not fair. Having kids doesn’t scare me. I’m just practical about it, that’s all. I don’t get all hormonal about it.”
“Is that right?”
“Yeah. And you know what I mean. Don’t pretend to be insulted on behalf of women.”
“You were pretty hormonal a half hour ago.”
“That’s different. That was …”
“Sex. I know. Someday maybe it’ll be more than that.”
He gaped at her, not believing she’d say such a thing.
“And you know what I mean. Don’t go looking for an excuse to explode. You’ve got all these dreams and desires, and I’ve supported all of them, haven’t I?”
He nodded. Here it came.
“I’m happy about it, too, because you’re the man I married. I did it on purpose. It wasn’t a mistake.”
“I wonder …” he muttered, but thank God she went right on.
“And what I want you to think about is who you married, because there’s things that I want, too, and I’ve always wanted them, and …”
She stopped. He could see that she was on the verge of tears, and he suddenly felt like a jerk. “Maybe you’re right,” he said after a moment. “Maybe I’m afraid of not making it and of dragging my family down with me—finding myself a middle-aged failure.”
“I don’t think that’s going to happen,” she said. “Why can’t we make it together? You know, the Marvels’ signing the papers today wasn’t the only thing good that happened.”
“What else?” He acted surprised and happy, trying to cheer her up. Maybe they’d gotten through the storm.
“You wouldn’t guess who I ran into at Watson’s.”
He shook his head. “Jimmy Carter?”
“Bob Argyle.”
“What do you mean, ‘ran into’? Did you hit him with the car? I hope you killed him, because otherwise he’ll sue us.”
“He wanted to talk business.”
“What kind of business?”
“He’s got a couple of properties he wants to sell, commercial properties from what I could make out. There might be money in it. A lot.”
“We don’t want his money.” Walt caught himself. “Do we?”
“It’s not his money, really, is it? All kinds of people profit from a sale of property. Why shouldn’t I? Too many scruples? Scruples about what, exactly?”
“Well,” Walt said, “all I can say is that I don’t like it. I think he’s still a damned criminal. It’s a bad idea to get involved with him.”
“Who said anything about getting involved with him? We’re not going into some kind of partnership. All I’m going to do is sell a couple of pieces of property. And that’s why there’s escrow companies and legal documents—to keep everything aboveboard. What can be criminal about it? And how do you know he’s a criminal anyway?”
“I don’t know what kind of depths he’s sunk to, but it’s probably deeper than we can guess.”
“How would you know? You’ve avoided him for years.”
“Let’s just say I have my hunches. A leopard doesn’t change his spots.”
“Let’s just say that you’re not a disinterested party. You’ve got a conflict of interest the size of an elephant. I’ve gotten the man out of my life, and I’d suggest you try to do the same.”
“If you mean that my interests are different from his, then you win the prize. What I want to do is keep him out of my life. So why don’t you just tell him to go to Hell? No, wait a minute—he probably owns real estate there, too.”
Ivy stared at the ceiling, as if she were counting to ten. “I don’t know anything for sure yet,” she said, getting up out of bed. “I’m going to talk to him Thursday morning. So there’s no use fighting this one out right now. We might as well go to sleep and pick it up again tomorrow night. God knows we don’t want to get into the habit of going to bed happy.”
She disappeared into the bathroom, and Walt reached over to the nightstand to shut off his light. It was a good thing no one was keeping score; he knew vaguely that she’d mopped up the floor with him tonight, forced him into corners. Christ, he wished she wouldn’t cry in the middle of an argument. That always got him. He knew that he was in great shape when it came to throwing words around. He could go on all night, beating her up with words till she couldn’t take it any more. That was his strategy, wasn’t it? He just didn’t like to admit it. And so what if he was right? Was that enough to justify it?
Argyle! He’d been rid of the man for years, and now the dirty pig had polluted the whole day, popping up everywhere like some kind of damned jack-in-the-box.
Ivy came out of the bathroom wearing her nightshirt. She got into bed and turned out her light.
“Goodnight,” Walt said, bending over to kiss her on the cheek.
“Goodnight.”
“Sorry I’m so difficult sometimes.”
“So am I,” she said.
He didn’t take the bait. Hell, it wasn’t bait, it was a statement of fact. “Give me time to think about all of it,” he said.
“Fine,” she said. “Think.”
“I will.” He laid his head on the pillow and stared at the ceiling, knowing he wouldn’t fall asleep easily, thinking about Argyle and what he was up to, his “dead mans grease.” There was the sound of rain running in the gutters outside, and somewhere in the distance the sound of sirens—fire engines pulling out of the station house down on Center.
It was a hell of a night for putting out a fire, he thought, raining like this…. The idea amused him, and for a moment he considered waking Ivy up and telling her, but probably she wouldn’t think it was all that funny anyway.