John D MacDonald Read online

  I couldn’t go back to sleep.

  When I heard the _Try Again_ coming in, I looked at my watch and found it was only a little after three. I pulled on my clothes and went down to the dock.

  SEVEN

  THE FISHERMEN were full of high spirits, pleased with each other and the boat and the day. They had brought two sail and a marlin to gaff and released them. Puss had hung the marlin and both Tommy and Mike said she had performed like an expert. She had reel blisters and aching shoulders.

  They brought back a renewed spirit of holiday that affected the rest of the group. Calypso records were piled on the changer. Everybody congregated at the pool.

  As soon as I had changed I intercepted Mike when he was away from the others and said, "I’ll sign up, Mike."

  "Good! Good!" he said heartily, but I could have sworn that for a moment there was a slight look or expression of disappointment.

  "When do I sign?"

  "No hurry about the details. Just one fast question, Sam. Will I get the proxies?

  "You will now."

  He nodded. He wasn’t using any charm on me. There was no handshake of welcome to the club, glad you’re aboard. I was one of Mike Dean’s boys now, and by God, I was going to be used. I hoped I’d be used so extensively I wouldn’t have very much time to think about all the things that might have been. I would ride the crest until I had it made, and then I would bow out and buy into a little business of my own. A nice clean little business. And be productive and constructive as hell.

  And right now I could start celebrating. Tomorrow everybody would be signing papers. And maybe tomorrow we would be leaving. I wondered just how the hell I would go about explaining it all to Cary and Gene and Al and Walt. They would think I’d been had. They’d think I’d sold out. I knew I hadn’t been had. I knew I hadn’t sold out. I was playing it just the way any one of them would have played it had they been given the same opportunity.

  What was going to happen wasn’t my fault. It was Tom McGann’s. They could blame the dead.

  Time to celebrate.

  So, for the second time in my life, I got royally and ponderously drunk. I am big and so it takes a lot. I took a lot. I don’t remember dinner. I was celebrating. Mike Dean’s new boy. Hooray. One third of a millionaire. And my old man never made more than fifty-five bucks a week in his life.

  The afternoon swirled around me and plunged into the night. After a session of complete blackouts and partial blackouts, memory is sadly fragmented, I think I did a lot of dancing, and I can remember trying to play pingpong, and I can remember adding an uncertain basso profundo to some barbershop singing. And I can remember a time of dubious clarity when I sat out on the dock with Bonny Carson and we had a bottle which we handed back and forth at stately intervals. I was explaining to her about the cycle of life and death and your one turn around the track and how just about any human activity you can think of is pretty damn meaningless. She was telling me in between times how meaningless her life was. Every time either of us would say anything beautiful, we’d get tears in our eyes and we’d kiss each other tenderly and moistly and then pass the bottle again.

  I woke up at six-thirty. I was on top of the bed. I wasn’t undressed. Half my brain was broken glass and the other half was rusty rivets. They clattered together when I moved. I plodded into the bathroom. I was thoroughly pasted with lipstick and there was an inexplicable scratch on my chin. I had the queasy trembles and the black remorses.

  A half hour later, feeling but slightly better, I was sitting at the pool over a second cup of black coffee and wondering whether I could risk any kind of food when Bridget Hallowell appeared, disgustingly bright and cheerful She wore a little blue and white checked sun suit, very brief. Her legs were long and golden and very lovely.

  I covered my eyes with my hands and looked out at her through a little space between two fingers.

  "The life of the party," she said.

  "Don’t."

  "Oh, the things you said. And the things you _did!"_

  "My God, Bridget."

  She laughed. "All right, ole Sam’l. I’ve got a kind heart I’ll take you off the hook. You neither said nor did anything disgraceful You were just a big happy smiling drunk, harmless and childlike in your beautiful simplicity, You kissed all the women and you kept shaking hands with everybody."

  "How did I get to bed?"

  "Bonny came in crying. She said you were dead. She said you were full of beautiful thoughts, but you were dead She wanted somebody to get a shovel because she was going to bury you personally right where you had fallen. We inspected the body. Fletcher and Cam lugged it back to the room and came back dusting their hands and looking superior. Look around and see if you notice anything missing."

  It took longer than it should have before I saw that the _Portess_ was gone.

  "They left at daybreak," she said. "your amiable little debauch will be completely overlooked in view of what happened later. That was really juicy. Are you in so much pain you cant hear me?"

  "I can hear you."

  "Jack Buck had been sweet-talking Puss McGann. I guess he thought it was time. So he maneuvered her into the night. She fought him until I guess she realized that he was very, very determined. So she had sense enough to scream. And, very fortunately, she was heard. I had a good ringside seat to your little go-round with Warren, and I had just as good a seat at this one, but this one was no contest. That cute little Tommy gave away four inches and thirty pounds. But he moved so fast you could hardly see him. I don’t think Jack Buck landed punch one. It didn’t take a minute and a half for Tommy to cut him to ribbons and knock him colder than a press agent’s heart. Mike got indignant and told Port Crown he ought to fire Buck. Port got up on his horse and told Mike it was none of his damn business. Mike told Port that he was willing to admit Texas has the biggest of everything, They’ve got people with more money and less sense than any other state in the union. Port told Mike that he’d yank the rug out from under him in their Crown-Dean Corporation, Mike said to go ahead and be damned and kindly get himself and his funny looking boat and his round-heeled daughter and his hunky wife off the island just as damn well soon as he could, and if he wanted to leave Jack Buck behind, they’d cut strip bait off him and troll with it tomorrow and see if they could find any catfish with strong stomachs. Port told Mike to come to Texas and he’d shoot him dead. And stumped off to bed. So, darling Sam, nobody is going to remember that you were a little squiffed. You’ve been upstaged."

  "I am grateful.*

  "I see that you are patched up with Louise."

  "Thanks to you."

  "She was pretty tough to talk to. She had a hard time understanding my motives. Are you certain you can get all your messages across?"

  "I don’t know."

  "It’s worth a try. She’s a very handsome dish. I’d trade all my talent for a chance to look like that."

  "You look just fine."

  "Oh, thank you, sir, thank you, sir."

  "What are your plans for the day?"

  "That’s up to dear Elda. She has the vivid and entertaining article I wrote." She went into a startlingly effective imitation of Elda Garry. "it’s so perfectly charming, darling, so terribly valid and significant, but don’t you think it may be just a fraction too frivolous? We, at _Blend_, are doing a sincere job of putting out a valid book for young Americans. And, after all, aren’t we dealing with very real and serious matters here?"

  "Like that?"

  "And then I’ll rewrite three or four times for dear old Elda, and then she’ll stick some real wet Eldaisms into my copy before it’s printed up, and then all those young Americans will get a real and valid and significant puff job about Mike Dean, American. That’s how it’s done, sweetie. That’s how the wheels go round."

  She looked toward the house and said, "And now, being terribly sensitive and tactful and so on, I shall flee. Because here comes the Lady of Shalott." She left the table. Louise joined me. She was back in th
e pink swim suit with the black trim. She managed to look radiant and tremulous and faintly disapproving, all at the same time.

  "Good morning, my darling," she said. "Wasn’t that girl sitting with you? And how is your poor head?"

  "The head thumps. And Bridget was sitting with me. She briefed me on what happened after I folded."

  "It was horrible, really. Mike was awfully angry. I’m glad they’re gone, They were unwholesome people. But I really don’t see why there has to be so much fighting all the time. Honey, why did you drink so much?"

  "Well, I guess I was sort of celebrating."

  She patted my hand "I was so afraid you’d go around saying why you were celebrating. I mean it would have been embarrassing for me, don’t you see? I’ve got to tell Warren in my own time in my own way, and I don’t want one of these hasty things. They’re in such bad taste, don’t you think? I think there should be some time between a divorce and another marriage. And I certainly won’t be seen in public with you until the divorce is final. You do understand, don’t you?"

  "Yes, I understand." If, out of ten thousand shares you can clear a third of a million, add on her fifty thousand shares and you can sit back on cloud eighty with two million bucks. Maybe less than that, though, because it might be smart to start dumping it ahead of Mike’s target quotation of fifty-four.

  "I talked to Mike and Cam last night. Amparo is going to have the papers ready for Tommy and me to sign this morning. Then tomorrow, Sunday, we’ll go over to Grand Bahama in the morning and Mike’s plane will be waiting. Guy and Elda and that girl will go with us."

  "Her name is Bridget."

  "I know, darling. You don’t have to be so fierce and protective about her. I told you that I’m willing to forget it ever happened. Anyway, we’ll be flying from West Palm Beach to New York to leave them off, and we’ll be home by five or six o’clock tomorrow night."

  "There’s just one little loose end, Louise. This business of the proxies. You decided to go ahead."

  She gave me a round-eyed look. "But darling! Don’t you remember? Oh, good morning Booty. Toast and hot tea, please."

  "And some more coffee, please," I said.

  "Darling, last night you took Tommy and me out on the veranda and you told us that you’d changed your mind, and you felt it would be a wonderful opportunity for the Harrison Corporation for Mike Dean to take control You said you’d been mistaken about him."

  Another blackout. In a sense it made it easier. It was something I had wondered about. I had wondered if, when the chips were down, I could force myself to look Louise and Tommy in the eye and tell them to go ahead. And I wondered if subconsciously I had willed myself to get drunk in order to get over that particular hurdle.

  And I suddenly heard myself talking glibly, talking myself out of another hole, out of another awkward situation. "I was mistaken about him, Louise. I want you to do me a favor. When I get back I’ve got to keep on working with Dolson and the boys. And I’m afraid they might misinterpret my change of heart. So it will be easier on me if we let them believe that you signed your vote over to Mike in spite of my objections."

  She looked puzzled, but said, "If you say so, darling."

  That made it nice and easy. I could be buddy-buddy with the boys right up until June second when the papers I would sign would take effect. And then it wouldn’t matter. I would be officially one of Mike Dean’s boys and I wouldn’t have to explain a damn thing to them. Why should I owe them an explanation anyway? Any one of them. would have jumped at the chance, Boy, I was turning into a real sharp operator.

  I’d be a credit to the organization. An ace up every sleeve. And, of course, the reason I felt like vomiting was because of the hangover.

  After breakfast, after Louise swam and then stretched her flawless and lovely body out in the morning sun, I wandered away and went to Mike’s room. I could hear voices inside. I knocked and somebody said to come in.

  Mike and Bowman and Cam and Amparo were there. Amparo was taking stenographic notes, They smiled at me, but I sensed a faint annoyance at the interruption.

  "Sorry to butt in. Louise and Tommy will sign the proxies this morning."

  "It’s all set," Mike said, "and everything is ready and I’m glad you were able to work it out with them."

  "One other thing. I’d appreciate it if my . . . other arrangements with you weren’t mentioned to them." I saw Cam give Amparo a glance of wry amusement and I felt my face get hot.

  "We had no intention of mentioning it, Sam," Mike said. "As far as anybody outside this room knows or will know, we arrived at our agreements on the second day of June, the day after the Board of Directors met for the purpose of electing directors and appointing the officers of the Harrison Corporation. And so long as you’re here, there’s no reason why you shouldn’t sign right now."

  It didn’t take long. There was a little business of witnesses, and a little business with Amparo’s notary seal.

  I said, "According to the way this one is notarized, I signed it in New York City."

  "On June second you will be in New York City," Bowman said.

  "Oh. Well . . . excuse the interruption."

  They started talking again before I had the door completely shut. I heard Cam say, "Wire Charlie to cease all drilling oper . . ."

  I had the feeling that with Harrison in the bag, they were off at a gallop after other game. I had the feeling I was looming a hell of a lot smaller on the Dean horizon. I went out onto the veranda. Little Bundy was there. He cornered me. I couldn’t miss if I’d put a little money into "_Say It Again_," starring Bonny Carson. It was going to be big. It was going to be the biggest ever. Bonny was singing better than ever. She’d knock them in the aisles. And good old Mike had practically promised to put a heavy piece of money in the show. The choreography would knock them dead, Take like, for example, the second act curtain, where. . .

  "Hold it a minute," I said.

  "You decided to come in?" he asked, his face all lighted up.

  "I didn’t decide that. I decided Bonny is a lush. I decided she’s lost her voice and her tuning. I decided that maybe Mike has got you two’ down here for comedy relief. I decided I wouldn’t walk across the street to see your big show that’ll never happen if they paid the customers ten dollars to sit through it."

  And I left him standing there. Two minutes later I was so damned ashamed of myself I wished I could drop dead on the spot. I tried to tell myself that I’d never been the type to pull the wings off flies. It wasn’t like me to be vicious and brutal without cause.

  And a few moments later I knew why I had done it. I was ashamed of myself because Mike Dean had maneuvered me through my own greed. I was ashamed of the way I was going to be kicking some pretty nice people in the face. So I had to pull ridiculous little Bundy down to my level. I had to spit on his dreams.

  I went back but he was gone. I don’t know what I could have said, or whether it would have done any good. Tommy was down on the dock, sitting cross-legged and working on a spear gun. I went down there because it was somebody to talk to and because I felt uncomfortable being alone.

  "The winnah in one minute and twenty seconds of the first round . . ."

  He looked up and grinned at me. "Damn good thing that boy was muscle-bound." He stopped grinning. "Puss is so damn naive sometimes. She thinks everybody in the world is just dandy. And she’s so friendly that punks like that Jack Buck can get the wrong idea. He certainly scared hell out of her. He had her stripped to the waist, and it was a lucky thing Bowman heard her yell."

  "This Dubloon Cay seems to bring out the best in everybody," I said.

  He put the spear gun aside and lighted a cigarette. "It’s been reminding me of something and I couldn’t think of what it was, and last night I remembered. It’s a hell of a lot like the wartime deal. I mean it has that same flavor. Like in London. People drinking too much and brawling and concentrating on sex as though it was the last chance they’d ever have. Maybe it’s a funny ki
nd of a tension. Or just being on an island. It’s as if we tossed the rules overboard."

  It was the first time I had ever heard any kind of serious talk from Tommy McCann.

  "Maybe the tension comes from people trying to make decisions."

  "I understand my sainted sister has arrived at a decision. About Warren. And she’s elected you."

  "Do you object?"

  "No , I don’t object, Hell, you know Warren. I can get along with him when nobody else can. And I don’t want to sound disloyal to Louise, but . . . Oh, the hell with it." He picked up the spear gun.

  "Wait a minute. I want to know what you think."

  He sighed and put the gun aside again. "First I have to explain about me. I spent a lot of years learning not to give a damn. Our father was a technically honest and emotionally dishonest man. He was that funny kind of hypocrite who can’t admit for one split second that he ever did a wrong thing, ever made any kind of a mistake. And that made him an overbearing, emotionally crippling son of a bitch, was like trying to live with a righteous avalanche. There just wasn’t room in the house for anybody else’s emotions or ideas. I reacted by not giving a damn. I guess by the time I was fifteen, the habit was set. Maybe it made me a good fighter pilot. Anyway, if I didn’t give a damn, there wasn’t any way he could hurt me, Without the money, I’d probably be a bum. But I inherited money and I married money. So I can play and I like to play, and so does Puss and it’s a nice pleasant grasshopper life and I don’t feel the least bit guilty about it. Now take Louise. She went the other way. She decided to suffer. You can feed on your own suffering, you know. And it becomes just as necessary after a while as the air you breathe. She’s lived with a tragic picture of herself for a long time. And when she got married, which surprised me that she would, she married another peck of trouble. Warren makes her miserable. But that’s just exactly what she has to have. If Warren tried in every way to make her happy, it still wouldn’t work, because then she’d have to invent reasons for suffering. In a funny kind of way, it’s a good marriage. I’m not trying to make her out as some kind of a monster. Our father was the monster. But it’s something you should understand about her. And, if you understand it, maybe you can help her get over it. Maybe you could do it. I wish you all kinds of luck, and I know I’ve talked too damn much."