Peter Benchley - Jaws

“Can’t he call them? He must know somebody there. I mean, if he says you really need the money for college…”

“He wouldn’t do it. That’d be begging.” The boy finished his beer. “There’s only one thing I can do. Deal.”

“Oh, Michael, don’t do that. It’s too dangerous. You could go to jail.”

“That’s quite a choice, isn’t it?” the boy said acidly. “College or jail.”

“What would you tell your father?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I’ll tell him I’m selling belts.”

Brody awoke with a start, jolted by a signal that told him something was wrong. He threw his arm across the bed to touch Ellen. She wasn’t there. He sat and saw her sitting in the chair by the window. Rain splashed against the windowpanes, and he heard the wind whipping through the trees.

“Lousy day, huh?” he said. She didn’t answer, continuing to stare fixedly at the drops sliding down the glass. “How come you’re up so early?”

“I couldn’t sleep.”

Brody yawned. “I sure didn’t have any trouble.”

“I’m not surprised.”

“Oh boy. Are we starting in again?”

Ellen shook her head. “No. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything.” She seemed subdued, sad.

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.”

“Whatever you say.” Brody got out of bed and went into the bathroom.

When he had shaved and dressed, he went down to the kitchen. The boys were finishing their breakfast, and Ellen was frying an egg for him. “What are you guys gonna do on this crummy day?” he said.

“Clean lawnmowers,” said Billy, who worked during the summer for a local gardener. “Boy, do I hate rainy days.”

“And what about you two?” Brody said to Martin and Sean.

“Martin’s going to the Boys’ Club,” said Ellen, “and Sean’s spending the day at the Santos’s.”

“And you?”

“I’ve got a full day at the hospital. Which reminds me: I won’t be home for lunch. Can you get something downtown?”

“Sure. I didn’t know you worked a full day Wednesdays.”

“I don’t, usually. But one of the other girls is sick, and I said I’d fill in.”

“Oh.”

“I’ll be back by suppertime.”

“Fine.”

“Do you think you could drop Sean and Martin off on your way to work? I want to do a little shopping on my way to the hospital.”

“No problem.”

“I’ll pick them up on my way home.”

Brody and the two younger children left first. Then Billy, wrapped from head to foot in foul-weather gear, bicycled off to work.

Ellen looked at the clock on the kitchen wall. It was a few minutes to eight. Too early? Maybe. But better to catch him now, before he went off somewhere and the chance was lost. She held her right hand out in front of her and tried to steady the fingers, but they quivered uncontrollably. She smiled at her nervousness and whispered to herself, “Some swinger you’d make.” She went upstairs to the bedroom, sat on the bed, and picked up the green phone book. She found the number for the Abelard Arms Inn, put her hand on the phone, hesitated for a moment, then picked up the receiver and dialed the number.

“Abelard Arms.”

“Mr. Hooper’s room, please. Matt Hooper.”

“Just a minute, please. Hooper. Here it is. Four-oh-five. I’ll ring it for you.”

Ellen heard the phone ring once, then again. She could hear her heart beating, and she saw the pulse throb in her right wrist. Hang up, she told herself. Hang up. There’s time.

“Hello?” said Hooper’s voice.

“Oh.” She thought, Good God, suppose he’s got Daisy Wicker in the room with him.

“Hello?”

Ellen swallowed and said, “Hi. It’s me… I mean it’s Ellen.”

“Oh, hi.”

“I hope I didn’t wake you.”

“No. I was just getting ready to go downstairs and have some breakfast.”

“Good. It’s not a very nice day, is it?”

“No, but I don’t really mind. It’s a luxury for me to be able to sleep this late.”

“Can you… will you be able to work today?”

“I don’t know. I was just trying to figure that out. I sure can’t go out in the boat and hope to get anything done.”

“Oh.” She paused, fighting the dizziness that was creeping up on her. Go ahead, she told herself. Ask the question. “I was wondering…” No, be careful; ease into it. “I wanted to thank you for the beautiful charm.”

“You’re welcome. I’m glad you like it. But I should be thanking you. I had a good time last night.”

“I did… we did, too. I’m glad you came.”

“Yes.”

“It was like old times.”

“Yes.”

Now, she said to herself. Do it. The words spilled from her mouth. “I was wondering, if you can’t do any work today, I mean if you can’t go out in the boat or anything, I was wondering if… if there was any chance you’d like to… if you’re free for lunch.”

“Lunch?”

“Yes. You know, if you have nothing else to do, I thought we might have some lunch.”

“We? You mean you and the chief and me?”

“No, just you and I. Martin usually has lunch at his desk. I don’t want to interfere with your plans or anything. I mean, if you’ve got a lot of work to do…”

“No, no. That’s okay. Heck, why not? Sure. What did you have in mind?”

“There’s a wonderful place up in Sag Harbor. Banner’s. Do you know it?” She hoped he didn’t. She didn’t know it, either, which meant that no one there would know her. But she had heard that it was good and quiet and dark.

“No, I’ve never been there,” said Hooper. “But Sag Harbor. That’s quite a hike for lunch.”

“It’s not bad, really, only about fifteen or twenty minutes. I could meet you there whenever you like.”

“Any time’s all right with me.”

“Around twelve-thirty, then?”

“Twelve-thirty it is. See you then.”

Ellen hung up the phone. Her hands were still shaking, but she felt elated, excited. Her senses seemed alive and incredibly keen. Every time she drew a breath she savored the smells around her. Her ears jingled with a symphony of tiny house sounds — creaks and rustles and thumps. She felt more intensely feminine than she had in years — a warm, wet feeling both delicious and uncomfortable.

She went into the bathroom and took a shower. She shaved her legs and under her arms. She wished she had bought one of those feminine hygiene deodorants she had seen advertised, but, lacking that, she powdered herself and daubed cologne behind her ears, inside her elbows, behind her knees, on her nipples, and on her genitals.

There was a full-length mirror in the bedroom, and she stood before it, examining herself. Were the goods good enough? Would the offering be accepted? She had worked to keep in shape, to preserve the smoothness and sinuousness of youth. She could not bear the thought of rejection.

The goods were good. The lines in her neck were few and barely noticeable. Her face was unblemished and unscarred. There were no droops or sags or pouches. She stood straight and admired the contours of her breasts. Her waist was slim, her belly flat — the reward for endless hours of exercise after each child. The only problem, as she assessed her body critically, was her hips. By no stretch of anyone’s imagination were they girlish. They signaled motherhood. They were, as Brody once said, breeder’s hips. The recollection brought a quick flash of remorse, but excitement quickly nudged it aside. Her legs were long and — below the pad of fat on her rear — slender. Her ankles were delicate, and her feet — with the toenails nearly pruned — were perfect enough to suit any pediphile.

She dressed in her hospital clothes. From the back of her closet she took a plastic shopping bag into which she put a pair of bikini underpants, a bra, a neatly folded lavender summer dress, a pair of low-heeled pumps, a can of spray deodorant, a plastic bottle of bath powder, a toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste. She carried the bag to the garage, tossed it into the back seat of her Volkswagen beetle, backed out of the driveway, and drove to the Southampton Hospital.