James Salter - All That Is

“I guess you’re old enough.”

“My parents think so. I’ll probably end up marrying some forty-year-old groom.”

“You might. I don’t think it would last long.”

“No, but he’d always be grateful,” she said.

Amussen made no comment.

“That’s a nice sweater,” he said.

The sweater was not snug, but still.

“Thank you,” she said.

“What is it, silk? It looks like the things they used to have in that little shop over in Middleburg. You know, the one Peggy Court ran, what’s the name?”

“Patio. You’ve probably bought a lot of things there.”

“Me? No. But your sweater looks like Patio.”

“It is. It was a gift.”

“Oh, yes?”

“But I prefer Garfinkle’s,” she said.

“Well, you don’t always get to choose where a gift comes from.”

“I generally do,” she said.

“Dare, now you behave.”

They sat drinking. Amussen looked down at his glass but could feel her eyes on him.

“You know, my daughter Vivian is older than you are,” he remarked.

“I know. And my father’s going to call here, probably, and want me to be getting home.”

“I guess you’ll have to do that.”

“I wish Peter’s father would call him.”

Amussen looked at her, the riding pants, her calm face.

“Where are you in school, now?” he said.

“I’ve quit school,” she said.

He nodded a little, as if agreeing.

“You knew that.”

“No, I didn’t,” he answered.

“Daddy’s after me to go back, but I don’t think so. It’s a waste of time, don’t you think?”

“I didn’t get that much out of school, I guess. Want a refill?” he asked.

“Are you trying to get me drunk?”

“I wouldn’t do that,” Amussen said.

“Why not?”

Her boyfriend, Peter, who had red lips and crinkled blond hair came into the room just as she spoke, and smiled as a kind of admission of interrupting. He was a student at Lafayette and headed for law. He could sense that Dare was somehow annoyed. He knew little enough about her except for the difficulties she presented.

“Uh, I’m Peter Connors, sir,” he said, introducing himself.

“Nice to meet you, Peter. I’m George Amussen.”

“Yes, sir, I know.”

He spoke to Dare,

“Hi,” he said, and confidently sat down beside her. “It looks like it’s snowing.”

It was snowing, harder now, blowing along the fence rows, and the light was beginning to fade.

In the master bedroom with its oversized bed, medicines and jewelry on the night table, and clothes draped over the backs of chairs, Liz was talking to her brother, Eddie. The radio was playing and all the lights including the bathroom lights were on. Written in pencil on the wallpaper above the night table were various names with telephone numbers, first names for the most part, but also doctors and Clark Gable. Eddie lived in Florida, it was the first time she’d seen him since her marriage to Travis. He was her older brother, three years older, and had the handsome face of someone who had never done much. He had bought and sold cars.

“You’re getting gray,” she said.

“Thanks for the news.”

“It looks good.”

He glanced at her and didn’t reply. She reached over and rumpled his hair affectionately. There was no reponse.

“Oh, you’re still beautiful. You’re as good-looking as when you got all dressed up in your tuxedo for the DeVores’ party, remember that? You were there on the steps smoking a cigarette and hiding it in case Daddy was looking. You were hot stuff. That big car.”

“George Stuver in his daddy’s LaSalle.”

“I was so jealous.”

“The Stuvers’ LaSalle. I was with Lee Donaldson in the backseat that night.”

“Whatever happened to her?”

“She had a hysterectomy.”

“Oh, Christ. I hate doctors.”

“You can’t tell the difference from the outside. You have anything to drink up here?”

“No, I try not to have it around. I don’t want it to become a problem.”

“Speaking of that, where’s the fly-boy? And how’d you get involved with him?”

“Sweetheart, don’t start on that.”

“He’s a prize. Where’d you meet him?”

Eddie had liked Ted Bohannon, who he felt was his kind of man.

“We met in Buenos Aires,” she said. “In the embassy. He was the attaché. It just happened that he came along. I was lonely, you know I don’t like living alone. I was down there for three months.”

“Buenos Aires.”

“I got so sick of South America,” she said. “Nothing is clean there, no matter where you go. They’re so lazy, those people. It just burns me up to see the money we’re throwing away down there. They have enough money of their own, my God, they have money. You should see the ranches, they have a thousand people working for them. You have to see it with your own eyes. They told us that Perón made off with over sixty million. And then they ask us for money.”

She was silent for a moment.

“The man I really wanted to marry was Aly Khan,” she said, “but I never got close. I’d have been perfect for him, but he married that Hollywood cunt. Anyway, promise me something. Promise me you’ll try and get to know Travis. Will you promise that?”

Outside the window the snow was pouring down in the early darkness. The room was comforting and secure. She was reminded of feelings of childhood, the excitement of snowstorms and the joy of Christmas and the holidays. She could see herself in the mirror in the bright room. She was like a movie star. She said so.

“Yeah, but a little older,” Eddie said.

“Promise me about Travis,” she ordered.

“Yeah, but there’s something you could do for me.”

He was a little short of money, it being Christmas and all. He needed something to tide him over.

“How much?”

“Tit for tat,” he said pleasantly.

At dinner where they sat rather far apart at the big table the talk was about the storm that was raging and roads being closed. There was plenty of room for all of them to stay over, though, Liz said. She took it as a given that they would.

“There’s plenty of bacon and plenty of eggs.”

Eddie was talking to Travis.

“I’ve looked forward to meeting you,” he said.

“Me, too.”

“Where are you from?”

“California, originally,” Travis said. “I grew up in California. But then the war, you know. The army. I was overseas for a long time, almost two years, flying the Hump.”

“You flew the Hump? What was that like?”

“Rugged, rugged.” He smiled like a poster. “Mountains five miles high and we were flying blind. I lost a lot of good friends.”

Willa was serving. Monroe had been sent upstairs to make beds.

“Do you still fly?” Eddie asked.

“Oh, sure. I fly out of Andrews at the moment.”

“I hear you have a nigger general in the air corps,” Eddie said.

“It’s the air force now,” Travis said.

“I always heard it called the air corps.”

“They changed it. It’s the air force now.”

“Does it really have a nigger general?”

“Darling, shut up,” Liz said. “Just shut up.”

Willa had gone back to the kitchen, closing the door behind her.

“It’s hard enough keeping good help,” Liz said.

“Willa? Willa knows me,” Eddie said. “She knows I’m not talking about her.”

“What branch were you in, Eddie?” Travis asked him.

“Me? I wasn’t in a branch. The army wouldn’t take me.”

“Why was that?”

“Couldn’t pass the physical.”

“Ah.”

“I rode in the Gold Cup, that’s what I did,” Eddie said.

Afterwards they went in to have coffee by the fire. Liz sat back on the couch with her bare arms along the top cushion and kicked off her shoes.