Эд Макбейн - Privileged Conversation

“Oh?” Chris says.

“I love listening to these old songs,” David says. “It’s a great band. Sounds much bigger than it is,” he says, quoting New York magazine. “And the steaks are terrific.”

“So they are, so they are,” Chris says, a trifle in his cups, giving his cock a little shake with each repetitive observation.

But Kate is waiting at the coat check.

No one needs coats in this sweltering August, but she is waiting there nonetheless, looking eminently gorgeous in her little black Fuck Me dress and strapped high-heeled Fuck Me shoes and sheer black Fuck Me jacket. And as fate would have it, as fate always fucking does , mousy Melanie Fielding is also waiting at the coat check as Chris Fielding — Question: What do you call the guy who ranked last in his class in medical school? Answer: Doctor — Dr . Chris Fielding, then, staggers his way toward his wife with David close behind him, trying to catch Kate’s eye, but she seems thoroughly absorbed in reading the framed reviews of the place hanging on the entrance wall, her back to him, “David, hello , what are you doing here?”

This from Melanie Fielding, who spots him now and quickly looks past him to see where Helen might be. For this is a place where couples come to dance , no? What then...?

Kate has turned.

Please, he thinks. Be smart.

You’re smart.

Be smart.

“Hi, Melanie,” he says, and takes her hand, and leans into her, and kisses the air beside her cheek, and says, “I love this big-band stuff, Helen’s on the Vineyard...”

“She’s on the Vineyard,” Chris says blearily.

“...and the steaks are terrific.”

“Oh, what a shame,” Melanie says.

Kate is walking out the door.

“Give her my love, won’t you?” Melanie says.

“I’ll be talking to her in...”

David looks at his watch.

“...a half hour.”

“Give her my love.”

“I will.”

“Mine, too,” Chris says.

There is only one message on her answering machine when they get back to her apartment at eleven that Wednesday night. It is from Rickie Diaz.

“Hi, Kate,” he says, “who’s that answering your machine?”

“None of your business,” she says.

“I was hoping I could see you this Friday night. I have tickets for the Mets game, and I thought you might like to go with me.”

“Nope,” Kate says.

“I don’t know if you like baseball or not...”

“I hate baseball.”

“...but let me know either way, okay? You have the number, give me a call. Thanks.”

“Friday night, I’ll be down in New Hope,” Kate says, and tosses the gossamer jacket over the back of a chair.

“I have to call Helen,” David says.

“Sure,” she answers. “I’ll go hide in the bathroom.”

She blows a kiss at him, and goes into the bathroom, closing the door behind her. As he dials the number in Menemsha, he hears the water running. He is on the phone with Helen for perhaps five minutes, telling her he went to this place in the Village, highly recommended by New York magazine, where he had a steak and, oh, guess what, he ran into Chris and Melanie Fielding, they both send their love. Annie gets on the phone, wanting to know when he’ll be coming home — both girls already think of the Menemsha cottage as home — and he tells them he’ll be up on Saturday morning, and she tells him she caught a frog and she has him in a jar and his name is Kermit. In the background, David hears Jenny say, “How original.” He speaks to her for a few minutes, and then Helen gets back on the line and they talk for a few minutes more before they say goodnight.

A narrow line of light is showing under the bathroom door.

The water is still running.

“Kate?” he calls softly.

The air conditioner is clattering noisily.

“Kate?”

He walks to the bathroom door and knocks gently.

“Yes?”

“Are you all right?”

“Of course. Come in.”

The bathroom is full of steam. She is lying in the tub under a mountain of bubbles. Her hair is wrapped in a white towel, a single red tendril curling on her forehead like a tiny wet serpent. Her arm comes out of the water. She turns off the faucet, and then pats the rim of the tub. “Come sit,” she says.

Soapsuds cling to her fingers.

There is an odd little smile on her face.

He sits on the edge of the tub.

She slides deeper under the suds, closes her eyes, rests the back of her head on the white porcelain rim. “Do you remember the movie 1984? ” she asks.

“Yes?”

“Where the thing he fears most, the hero, I forget his name...”

“Smith.”

“Yes, he fears rats more than anything in the world. And what they do to him, what Richard Burton does to him, is put this cage over his face where there’s a rat in one end of it, but the rat can’t get at his face because there’s a sort of partition that keeps him away. What Burton is trying to do is get John Hurt... that’s who played the hero... to betray his girlfriend, her name is Julia. So he starts opening this little partition that separates Hurt’s face from the rat, this little sort of gate that pulls up, or to the side, I forget which, and as it’s starting to open Hurt yells, ‘Do it to Julia!’ I was thinking of that before you knocked on the door,” she says.

“Why?”

“I don’t know. Richard Burton opening the gate. I just happened to think of it.”

“Who’s Julia?” he asks.

“The girl in the movie.”

“Yes, but you mentioned her once before.”

“I don’t know anyone named Julia.”

“But don’t you remember saying...?”

“Even when I read the book , I found that scene frightening.”

“When was that?”

“The summer I worked at the Playhouse.”

“The summer you were thirteen?”

“Yes. But, listen, David, if you’re going to play shrink, I’ve been over this a hundred times already, really. I don’t enjoy...”

“Over what?”

“What happened. I was in analysis for six years , you know. Jacqueline and I...”

“What do you mean, what happened?”

“What happened. ”

“At the theater? With Charlie?”

“No. I don’t want to talk about this.”

“What happened, Kate?”

“I’ve talked about it enough. I’m sick of talking about it. I’m sick of my goddamn sister and her goddamn prob—”

“Did it have something to do with your sister?”

“No.”

“You told me she set the house on fire...”

“That was three years later. I also told you I don’t want to talk about it!”

“Who’s Julia?”

“Nobody.”

“Don’t you remember saying something about my doing it to Julia ...”

“No.”

“...on the Vineyard...”

“No.”

“...when I should have been doing it to you? ”

“I never said anything like that.”

“Yesterday morning. In the car.”

“I know your wife’s name is Helen. Anyway, let’s not talk about her, either. And you’d better not be doing it to her.”

“Why’d she try to kill your father?”

“Who, Helen?”

“Kate, you know who I’m...”

“Who, Julia?”

“Your sister . Who’s in a maximum security hospital for the criminally...”

“Go ask her , you’re so interested.”

The room goes silent. She nods in curt dismissal. The mirror over the sink is dripping with mist. Everything looks slippery and wet.

“Put your hand in the water,” she says.

The same little smile reappears on her face.