Elmore Leonard - Cat Chaser

“She told me about polo. But she doesn’t sound like she ever saw it. She doesn’t know who was in the tournament.”

“Well, I guess what we like,” Mary said, “is the atmosphere more than anything else. Watching the people. Everybody all slicked up in their polo outfits.”

“You see anybody you know?”

It startled her. He had never asked a question like that before; he had never seemed interested enough.

“Philly got us invited to a party at the Santo Domingo Country Club. Mostly embassy people. A few I’d met before.”

“Did you see anybody from here?”

“Outside of our group? No. I told you, didn’t I, I was going with Marilyn, Philly, Liz?…”

“You didn’t see-what is his name, he used to belong to the club. The one from your city.” He seemed to stare now, as though daring her to say the name.

“Who, George Moran?” Once she said it she had to keep going. “What would he be doing in Santo Domingo?”

“You said you were at Casa de Campo.”

“I thought you meant at the embassy party.” Then, trying to sound only mildly interested: “How do you know he was there?”

Andres said, “How do I know things. People tell me. Or I want to know something I find it out. He was there the same time you were, but you say you didn’t see him.”

Mary took a breath, let it out slowly as she picked up her wine. She wanted to begin now, say something that would lead to a confrontation, without involving Moran. She said, “Andres…” but felt Moran’s presence already here and lost her nerve.

He said, “Yes?”

She hesitated. “Do you know why I stayed an extra day?”

“Tell me.”

“I toured Santo Domingo. Saw all the old places.”

“Yes, did you like it?”

“My driver told me about the war…”

“Oh? What war is that?”

“A few years after you left, the revolution.”

He seemed in no hurry now as he ate, his eyes heavy lidded in the candle-glow, watching her.

She said, “I remember vaguely reading about it, seeing pictures in Life magazine. You were here then, but you must have followed it closely.”

“I know all those people.”

“So you must’ve leaned toward one side or the other.”

“Did I lean?” Andres said. He held his fork upright, his arms on the table. “Do you know the difference between a loyalist and a radical insurrectionist?”

“Well, the driver explained some of that, but his English wasn’t too good.”

“Or your Spanish wasn’t good enough.”

“You’re right. I shouldn’t blame the driver.”

“You want to know about it, ask your friend George Moran,” Andres said, watching her in the candle-glow. “He was there with the United States Marines. Didn’t he tell you that?”

She managed to say, “I can’t recall he ever mentioned it. Are you sure?”

Andres seemed to smile. “Why would I say it if I’m not sure? The first time I met him, we were playing golf, he told me that. Very proud of himself. I bought a drink for him, because at that time he was on the side of the loyalists. Maybe he didn’t know it, but he was. Now I think loyalty doesn’t suit him. He believes only in himself.”

Mary waited, not moving. She watched Andres raise his glass, a gesture, a mock salute.

“Good luck to him. May he become loyal again.”

In darkness she pictured the drive from Cutler Road into Matheson Hammock Park, through the dim tunnel of mangrove to the booth where you paid the attendant a dollar and went on, suddenly entering the cleared expanse of crushed coral that reached to the ocean. She saw their cars standing alone at the edge of that open space, as far as they could go, cut off; one way in, one way out.

It was close to two in the morning when she called Moran, heard him answer sleepily and said to him, “He knows.”

There was a silence and when he spoke again he was fully awake though his tone was subdued. “What did he say?”

“He knows you were down there.”

There was another silence before he said, “The day Andres was here, I was packing to leave.”

She said, “We can’t meet at the park. It’s too out in the open.”

He said, “But I can’t wait to see you. I can’t sleep.”

She smiled at that. “Yeah, I could tell.” She was within the sound of his voice and for the moment felt secure, as though they could go on talking and say whatever came to mind. “I’ll think of a good place and call you tomorrow, before noon.”

“Why don’t you come here?”

“I’m afraid to. Not yet.” She lowered her voice to almost a whisper. “I’ve never done this before, George. I don’t know the ropes.”

“How’s it going otherwise?”

“I’ll tell you tomorrow. Go back to sleep.”

She hung up and lay back on her pillow in the dark, beginning finally to relax as she listened and heard only silence. She needed to see Moran, his face with the soft beard, and feel his arms around her. Just being held made everything else go away.

She called at eleven-thirty and said, “The Holiday Inn on Le Jeune Road. Do you know where it is? This side of Flagler.”

He said, amazed, “The Holiday Inn?”

She said, “I’ve already made a reservation under Delaney. Okay? I’ll see you about one.”

It made him think of Nolen’s salesman, scoring at the Holiday Inn in Findlay, Ohio.

But he told himself it wasn’t like that and when he got there and he was holding her, moving his hands over the familiar feel of her and saying how much he missed her, barely bringing their mouths apart, he was sure it wasn’t anything like Findlay, Ohio. They made love and drank iced wine in bed, in the stillness of the room. Touching each other. Looking at each other. Gradually getting to things they needed to talk about.

He said, “Come live with me. It doesn’t matter what he thinks.”

She said, “Why didn’t I tell him before this? If I bring it up now he’s gonna blame you, because you’re on his mind. He knows we were together.”

“All right. What do you want to do?”

“Wait a while.”

“How long?”

“I don’t know how long.”

He eased off. “I’m sorry. You have to do it your way. I understand that. I’m anxious, that’s all…”

She said, “God, I don’t want to lose you… But I have to wait for the right time. A month ago I felt sorry for him. Now I’m afraid of him-I don’t know how he’ll react. But I know if he wants to make it difficult… well, we have to be very careful.” Her tone was thoughtful as her mind sorted through images of her husband. “The right time will come. I don’t know when but I’ll feel it and I’ll ask him for a divorce. I’ll tell him I’m gonna get a divorce… or if he wants to file, that’s fine, if it’s a pride thing with him. He’ll understand if I do it right, if I can keep you out of it.” She gave him a weak smile. “I don’t want to beat this to death, but more than anything I want you to understand.”

He held her in silence.

“What’re you afraid of?”

“ Him . I don’t know what he’ll do.”

“Do you sleep with him?”

“I don’t know how to handle that either. Not since we got back,” Mary said. “But do I lock my door? We’ve never even had an argument; but how can we if we don’t talk? Do you see what I mean? I want to be fair.”

“Don’t be too fair.”

She pressed against him, trying to get closer. “I don’t know what’s gonna happen.”

He said, “Well, you walk out with a two-million-dollar settlement, you’ll still be one of the richest ladies in Coral Gables-including wives and girlfriends of dope dealers. You’re not gonna have to get a job as a waitress.”