Mario Puzo - Fools die

She had never played tennis with Lieverman. He had casually mentioned once that he had beaten Arthur Ashe in high school, so she assumed he was out of her class and like most good tennis players would rather not play with hackers. But when he persuaded her to move into the new house, they gave an elaborate tennis party.

She loved the house. It was a luxurious Beverly Hills mansion with guest rooms, a den, a cabana for the pool, an outdoor heated whirlpool. She and Theodore went over plans to decorate and put in some special wood paneling. They went shopping together. But now in bed he was a complete bust, and Janelle didn’t even try him anymore. He promised her that when his divorce came through next month and they married, he would be OK. Janelle devoutly hoped so because feeling guilty, she had decided the least she could do, since she was going to marry him for his money, was to be a faithful wife. But going without sex was getting on her nerves. It was on the day of the tennis party that she knew it was all down the drain. She had felt there was something fishy about the whole deal. But Theodore Lieverman inspired so much confidence in her, her friends and even the cynical Doran that she thought it was her guilty conscience looking for a way out.

On the day of the tennis party, Theodore finally got on the court. He played well enough, but he was a hacker. There was no way he could beat Arthur Ashe even in his bassinet. Janelle was astonished. The one thing she was sure of was that her lover was not a liar. And she was no innocent. She had always assumed lovers were liars. But Theodore never bullshitted, never bragged, never mentioned his money or his high standing in investment circles. He never really talked to other people except Janelle. His low key approach was extremely rare in California, so much so that Janelle had been surprised that he had lived his whole life in that state. But seeing him on the tennis court, she knew he had lied in one respect. And lied well. A casual deprecatory remark that he had never repeated, never lingered on. She had never doubted him. As she had never doubted anything he said really. There was no question that he loved her. He had shown that in every way, which of course didn’t mean too much when he couldn’t get it up.

That night after the tennis party was over he told her that she should get her little boy from Tennessee and move him to the house. If it had not been for his lie about beating Arthur Ashe, she would have agreed. It was well she did not. The next day when Theodore was at work she received a visitor.

The visitor was Mrs. Theodore Lieverman, the heretofore invisible wife. She was a pretty little thing, but frightened and obviously impressed by Janelle’s beauty, as if she couldn’t believe her husband had come up with such a winner. As soon as she announced who she was, Janelle felt an overwhelming relief and greeted Mrs. Lieverman so warmly the woman was further confused.

But Mrs. Lieverman surprised Janelle too. She wasn’t angry. The first thing she said was startling. “My husband is nervous, very sensitive,” she said. “Please don’t tell him I came to see you.”

“Of course,” Janelle said. Her spirits were soaring. She was elated. The wife would demand her husband and she would get him back so fast her head would swim.

Mrs. Lieverman said cautiously, “I don’t know how Ted is getting all this money. He makes a good salary. But he hasn’t any savings.”

Janelle laughed. She already knew the answer. But she asked anyway. “What about the twenty million dollars?”

“Oh, God. Oh, God,” Mrs. Lieverman said. She put her head down in her hands and started to weep.

“And he never beat Arthur Ashe in tennis in high school,” Janelle said reassuringly.

“Oh, God, God,” Mrs. Lieverman wailed.

“And you’re not getting divorced next month,” Janelle said.

Mrs. Lieverman just whimpered.

Janelle went to the bar and mixed two stiff scotches. She made the other woman drink through the sniffles.

“How did you find out?” Janelle asked.

Mrs. Lieverman opened her purse as if looking for a handkerchief for her sniffles. Instead, she brought out a sheaf of letters and handed them to Janelle. They were bills. Janelle looked at them thoughtfully. And she got the whole picture. He had written a twenty-flve thousand dollar check as down payment on the beautiful house. With it was a letter requesting that he be allowed to move in until the final closing. The check had bounced. The builder was now threatening to put him in jail. The checks for hired help had bounced. The caterer’s check for the tennis party had bounced,

“Wow,” Janelle said.

“He’s too sensitive,” Mrs. Lieverman said.

“He’s sick,” Janelle said.

Mrs. Lieverman nodded.

Janelle said thoughtfully, “Is it because of his two sisters who died in the plane crash?”

There was a scream from Mrs. Lieverman, a shriek finally of outrage and exasperation. “He never had any sisters. Don’t you understand? He’s a pathological liar. He lies about everything. He has no sisters, he has no money, he’s not divorcing me, he used the firm’s money to take you to Puerto Rico and New York and to pay the expenses of this house.”

“Then why the hell do you want him back?” Janelle asked.

“Because I love him,” Mrs. Lieverman said.

Janelle thought that over for at least two minutes, studying Mrs. Lieverman. Her husband was a liar, a cheat, had a mistress, couldn’t get it up in bed, and that’s only what she knew about him, plus the fact, of course, that he was a lousy tennis player. Then what the hell was Mrs. Lieverman? Janelle patted the other woman on the shoulder, gave her another drink and said, “Wait here for five minutes.”

That’s all it took her to throw all her things into two Vuitton suitcases Theodore had bought her, probably with bum checks. She came down with the suitcases and said to the wife, “I’m leaving. You can wait here for your husband. Tell him I never want to see him again. And I’m truly sorry for the pain I’ve caused you. You have to believe me when I tell you that he said you had left him. That you didn’t care.”

Mrs. Lieverman nodded miserably.

Janelle left in the bright new baby blue Mustang Theodore had bought her. No doubt it would be repossessed. She could have it driven back to the house. Meanwhile, she had no place to go. She remembered the director and costume designer Alice De Santis, who bad been so friendly, and she decided to drive to her house and ask her advice. If Alice was not at home, she would go to Doran. She knew he would always take her in.

– -

Janelle loved the way Merlyn enjoyed the story. He didn’t laugh. His enjoyment was not malicious. He just smiled, closing his eyes, savoring it. And he said the right thing-wonderingly, almost admiringly.

“Poor Lieverman,” he said. “Poor, poor Lieverman.”

“What about me, you bastard?” Janelle said with mock rage. She flung herself naked on his naked body and put her hands around his neck. Merlyn opened his eyes and smiled.

“Tell me another story.”

She made love to him instead. She had another story to tell him, but he wasn’t ready for it yet. He had to fall in love with her first, as she was in love with him. He couldn’t take more stories yet. Especially about Alice.

I had come to the point now that lovers always come to. They are so happy they can’t believe they deserve it. And so they start thinking that maybe it’s all a fake. So with me jealousy and suspicion haunted the ecstasies of our lovemaking. Once she had to read for a part and couldn’t meet my plane. Another time I understood she would spend the night and she had to go home to sleep because she had to get up for an early-morning call at the studio. Even when she made love to me in the early afternoon so that I wouldn’t be disappointed and I would believe her, I thought she lied. And now, expecting she would lie, I said to her, “I had lunch with Doran this afternoon. He says you had a fourteen-year-old lover when you were just a Southern belle.”