Chapter 39

Early Saturday afternoon, while Carolyn showered and dressed, he roamed the house and yard on a final inspection tour. Soon his office staff and their wives and children would arrive. And Will—later of course, after the sales staff.

All was in readiness. Flowers everywhere. The bar stocked, the refrigerator stuffed with prepared food, the meat ready for the barbecue. Ample towels in both bathrooms, a dozen extra laid out in the backyard for swimmers. Nice. Everything perfect. Carolyn always did this kind of thing so well.

He whistled his admiration as she came out of the bedroom in her new dark green pants and emerald shirt. He took her silken shoulders caressingly in his hands. “Princess, you look absolutely gorgeous.”

She smiled, pecked his cheek. “For what this outfit cost I should.” She moved past him, toward the kitchen. “Time to put ice on the bar.”

At two-thirty the five salesmen and their families began to arrive, all of them assembling within a five-minute period; soon afterward all seven children were shrieking in the pool, the wives taking up position in lawn chairs along the decking. At three, Will and Annie Trask arrived. Annie, fiftyish, earth-motherly, and bossy, immediately tucked a kitchen towel in the band of her broad white pants and took charge of the barbecue, cooking hotdogs for the kids. Paul assisted, teasing and flirting with her; Annie liked him and he knew it. He was watchful of the scene in his yard, and of Will, who finally left his seat among the women to join the salesmen on the patio.

The wives changed from sports clothes into bathing suits and brief terry robes, and posed self-consciously on towels, drinking mai tais, applying Coppertone and chattering among themselves with birdlike animation, admonishing their children whenever the decibel level in the pool rose. The men, wearing college T-shirts over their shorts or cotton pants, sat around the picnic table playing poker. Percussive music pulsed from stereo speakers on either side of the patio.

Refilling wine glasses, emptying ashtrays, offering snacks, Carolyn circulated continuously, stopping occasionally and briefly to chat. Paul sipped a martini and glanced at her often and proudly.

Carrying a weak scotch and water, Will finally strolled over to him. Will’s paunch, usually minimized by good tailoring and dark colors, bulged under gray sweatpants and a USC T-shirt. Paul knew that Will’s clothes today were as much for effect as when he was in the office. He was here to set the company’s seal of approval on the men who had exceeded the company’s objectives, and on Paul, who had gotten it done with his leadership. Will must mix with his subordinates, look casual, be relaxed, comfortable, democratic.

“Fine party, my boy,” Will said, shaking his hand.

Paul basked in the approval. He knew he already stood in high favor with Will; this party could only enhance him.

“You know how to do things right. You and Carolyn,” Will said, his eyes darting over the yard and coming to rest on her as she brought a carafe of wine to the wives beside the pool. He winked at Paul and clapped him on the shoulder. “Whatever you do, my boy, don’t get old.” He strolled off toward the poker game as Paul laughed loudly.

Someone had turned the stereo up, and the general noise level gradually rose as the afternoon wore into early evening. Paul congratulated himself that he had thought to warn the Robinsons. Jerry was not pleased with him these days; Dorothy still would not forgive him for evicting the Hunter woman. The older couple who had rented the guest house had turned out to be indefatigable complainers. He would smooth all this over tomorrow; he was taking Jerry to the Raider game as final payment in the deal to evict Val Hunter.

He began cooking steak and chicken on skewers, the smell of barbecue smoke and teriyaki permeating the evening air. By seven-thirty dinner was over. Under patio lights the poker game resumed, more boisterous than ever. Several wives, apparently grown bold from the consumption of mai tais and wine, heedless of hairdos and makeup, splashed in the pool, its night lights turning the water milky aquamarine. He helped Carolyn carry stacks of paper plates and plastic glasses into the kitchen.

“Everything’s terrific, Princess.” Heady with vodka and his jubilation, he kissed the top of her head. “Will’s impressed.”

She rinsed a casserole, poking baked beans down the disposal with a serving spoon. “I’m truly thrilled that Will’s impressed.”

His euphoria vanished as a clear warning sounded. He glanced at his watch. It would be ten-thirty, eleven before the party broke up. “Tell you what,” he said lightly, “stick it out a few more hours and I promise never to win a sales contest again.”

“Paul,” she said, “why do you love me?”

He stared at her. Her tone had seemed normal, even conversational. She was working efficiently, picking silverware out of paper plates, discarding the plates into a plastic trash bag. “You need to know that right now?”

“Right now. It’s important.”

He heard a woman shriek, “Jimmy don’t do that!” Had one of those brats done something to the yard? He said as patiently as he could, “You’re my Princess. You’re sweet…”

He suddenly realized that she had not looked at him since he came into the kitchen. “And you’re so beautiful…” She hadn’t been drinking, of that he was certain. Could it be her period? They hadn’t had sex for so long he’d lost track.

“Princess,” he said, “what’s this all about?” He dumped the contents of half-consumed drinks into the sink and tossed the plastic cups into the trash bag. “A party’s no place for this, to discuss—”

“What else?” she asked. “Besides sweet and beautiful.”

Anger flared. He was tired, goddamn sick and tired of putting up with all this crap. Weeks, months of it from her. Nothing but crap from her. “We used to have good sex. We even used to be able to talk about things, to—”

“What things?”

An idiot, she was acting like a neurotic idiot. “Carolyn, for chrissake—everything,” he said in exasperation. “About our jobs, about—”

“You talk about where you went for lunch, office gossip. Not about your work.” She scraped potato salad down the disposal.

“I don’t even know exactly what contest you won to have us deserve this wonderful party.” She flipped the disposal switch.

The alcohol he had consumed seemed to burn along his veins, up through his head. A cupboard door was slightly ajar and he slammed it, wanting to beat on it with his fists. She switched off the disposal.

“If we ever have to do this again, my dear and loyal wife,” he grated, “you can spend the day at a fucking hotel.”

She looked at him then, and her eyes were opaque, as if his words had deflected off her, had not registered. That remoteness, he had seen it before…He pushed the thought away before it was completed.

She said, “You like sports, you like cards and games. I don’t. I like movies and dancing, other people, going out. You don’t. You like—”

Another shriek rose from the backyard. “Stop it,” he said. “Jesus Christ, my wits are floating in booze, we have a houseful of people, and you pick this time for a dissection of our marriage. Three more hours, they’ll all be gone. Three hours, then we’ll talk. We’ve got to get back out there, Carolyn. These people work for me, Carolyn…”

She leaned against the sink, her body slack, her shoulders slumped.

“You’re just tired,” he said in sudden understanding. “It’s not that long since you were sick, it’s been a long day. Princess, don’t worry, we’ll—”

Will Trask walked into the kitchen. “You and Carolyn get out there, enjoy yourselves, relax. You’ve worked hard enough.” He clapped Paul on the shoulder. “Get some of those wives out there to clean this up.”

“I don’t want any help from the wives,” Carolyn said, and turned on the disposal—unnecessarily, Paul knew. He managed a grin and a shrug, as if saying to Will, Who can understand women?

“Paul my boy,” Will said when it was finally quiet, “why don’t you get the wives more wine and leave your lovely wife to me?”

It was the last thing he wanted to do. He looked apprehensively at Carolyn who was swabbing the counter with paper towels. What could he say to Will—that his wife was having a momentary break down? He winced as Will unexpectedly clapped him on the shoulder again. If the day ever came when this old fart worked for him, the next time he laid a hand on him would be his last.

“Right, Will,” he said with forced heartiness. “See if you can talk her into leaving this mess till later.”

With a final glance at Carolyn he went to the bar to get the wine, his chest constricted. Somehow, in a way he did not understand, everything had again gone out of control.

Date: 2015-02-03; view: 489