Флетчер Флора - Park Avenue Tramp

“Was it better on Long Island or is it better now in Connecticut?”

“I don’t know. How can you say one time in one place is better than another time in another place when they’re both as good as they can be?”

“No, no. Surely one is a little better than the other. Nothing is exactly the same as something else.”

“On Long Island I think it’s better, and in Connecticut I think it’s better. Whichever place we are.”

“That’s good. You’ve said exactly the right thing, for it means that right now is best of all so far. Darling, it’s really becoming quite dark. Do you think we could be seen if anyone happened to come along unexpectedly?”

“I think we could.”

“Well, I don’t believe I can continue to lie here like this much longer.”

“We could go inside.”

“It would be a shame to have to. It’s much nicer outside.”

“Would you like to take a walk until it becomes darker?”

“Walk to where?”

“Just down to the fence. We could lean against it for a while and be part of the stigmata. A split-rail fence needs someone leaning against it.”

“What’s stigmata? I don’t like the sound of it.”

“It’s all right. Stigmata are the things you find around a certain place that are characteristic.”

“Really? I thought it meant something bad.”

“You’re thinking of stigmas. That’s different. Stigmas are marks of disgrace or something like that.”

“All right, then. We’ll be stigmata. First, however, I think we should have a Martini. We’ve sat here for quite a long while without having any at all.”

“I’ll mix some. The shaker’s empty.”

“If you get up to mix the Martinis, you’ll have to take your hand away from where it is. I’m not certain that I want you to do that.”

“Not even for a Martini?”

“Well, I suppose one can’t have everything all the time. After all, mixing Martinis isn’t anything permanent. It’s only a temporary interruption at worst.”

“True. I’ll mix them.”

He got up and walked a few steps to a table that was nothing more than a thick circle of clear glass on wrought iron legs. The shaker and bottles and glasses and a bucket of ice were on the table. He mixed the Martinis in the shaker and poured two into two glasses and carried the glasses over to the chaises longues.

“I’m not as good at this as Yancy,” he said, handing her one of the two.

“Yancy’s a superior bartender,” she said, “and he makes superior Martinis, but his judgment isn’t always reliable as to who’s good for whom.”

“That’s right. Yancy’s mortal and therefore he is fallible.”

He resumed his place on the longue, and she replaced his hand, and they drank the Martinis slowly, and it got a little darker.

“Are these all the Martinis?” she said.

“No. I thought it was as easy to mix four as two, and that’s what I did.”

“That’s the way I usually think about it. It seems a shame to waste the energy and the space in the shaker.”

“Shall I pour the other two?”

“Yes, pour them. After drinking them, we’ll walk down to the fence and be stigmata, and then it will surely be dark.”

“Martinis are stigmata too, when you come to think of it. They’re just as much stigmata as hitching posts and split-rail fences and people.”

“Everything and everyone are stigmata.”

“Correct. As stigmata, let’s drink these last two stigmata.”

He got up again and poured them, and they drank them, and afterward they walked down the bluestone drive to the split-rail fence. Leaning against the fence, they listened to some kind of bird making a sad sound in the gathering darkness, but neither of them knew what kind of bird it was.

“Tomorrow is Sunday,” he said.

“What about Sunday?” she said.

“We have to go back.”

“Oh. I suppose we do. I suppose it wouldn’t be wise to stay any longer. Anyhow, Samantha agreed to let me use the house only for the weekend. If I didn’t keep the agreement, she might become annoyed and say something to somebody.”

“Would she do that?”

“Samantha’s capable of it. I don’t trust her very much, to tell the truth. I only asked her for the house because I couldn’t think of anyone else who had one that was suitable. She’s sometimes malicious and does sneaky things.”

“In that case, we’d certainly better not annoy her.”

“Yes, we’d better go back tomorrow. However, there will be other places we can go at other times. You see how it is? Far from not wanting to see you again, I’m already planning how it can be arranged.”

“I’ll have to go back to work Monday night.”

“Playing the piano?”

“That’s my work.”

“That’s true. It is, isn’t it? Somehow one doesn’t think of playing the piano as being work exactly.”

“It’s work, all right. Sometimes it gets to be very hard work.”

“I suppose it does. The hours and the people and all. Do you like it? Do you wish you were doing something else?”

“I never wish I were doing something else besides playing the piano. I wish all the time that I were playing the piano differently in a different place.”

“Why don’t you, then?”

“Its not that easy. I’m as well off playing where I am as anywhere else they’d let me play.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I’m not good enough to do what I’d like to do, even if there were time to do it.”

“I think you’re extremely good. When I was there that night and heard you suddenly start playing, I thought you were wonderful.”

“Thank you, but I’m not.”

“Are you sure? Perhaps you are merely lacking confidence.”

“No. It’s just tricks, what Chester and I do. It’s clever sometimes, but it’s never really good.”

“I refuse to believe it. I don’t like to hear you talk about yourself that way.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll stop.”

“Monday night I’ll come listen to you play, and it will be very good. Will you play something especially for me if I come listen?”

“I’ll play everything especially for you.”

“Perhaps it better hadn’t be Monday, though, after all. For the sake of appearances, after being gone for the weekend, I think I’d better stay home Monday night. I’ll come Tuesday.”

“All right. Tuesday.”

“Will you let me go to your place with you afterward?”

“If you want to.”

“I’ll want to. I’m positive already of that. Are you positive that you’ll want to let me?”

“Yes. Quite positive.”

“That’s arranged, then. And now we must stop thinking about tomorrow or Tuesday or any time but now, and you must stop being despondent and critical of yourself. Do you agree?”

“I agree.”

It was now as dark as it was going to be. Stars were out, but no moon. The sad-sounding bird was vocal in the darkness.

“Well, please don’t just stand there,” she said.

“What do you want me to do?”

“I want you to hold me.”

“Like this?”

“No. Put your hand here. Right here.”

“Like this?”

“Yes. Oh, yes, yes. Darling, can’t we go now? Right now?”

“By the road? Someone might come.”

“I don’t care.”

“Afterward you would.”

“Oh, God, God, God! Don’t you want to? Are you going on and on finding reasons not to?”

“I want to. On the terrace. Let’s go back to the terrace.”

“All right. Right, darling. But hurry! Please hurry!”

So they went back to the terrace, hurrying as if they had only a few minutes instead of all night.

Bertram Sweeney was ten minutes early for his appointment at three. He sat in the outer office with Miss Carling and cursed himself for having arrived before the appointed time. He had cursed himself a dozen times before for the same reason, and every time he had sworn that he would never arrive as much as five seconds early again, and then, sooner or later, he did. He knew very well that Farnese was doing nothing beyond his closed door, and he had come to interpret the unnecessary waiting as a sign of Farnese’s contempt. He wondered what would happen if he were to come late just once, but he never quite had the nerve to try it and find out, and what he decided was that he would come late the very last time, the day he came to kill Farnese, if that day came. He liked to think of killing Farnese. Of all his fantasies, the only ones that gave him more pleasure were those concerning Farnese’s wife.