John MacDonald - Slam the Big Door

“Sort of a cocktail party. I’m staying with the Tennysons. She’s my aunt. So I got drug to the Devans’ party. You know the Devans or the Tennysons?”

“I’m new here.”

“So am I, Mike. Let’s not go back there. It’s a herd of antiques. They keep talking about people I don’t know.”

“Suits me.”

“Let’s just walk on the beach.” She stopped and emptied her glass. His was empty. She took his from him and put the two glasses on a bench, and they walked down the slant of the beach, angling away from the cabañas, toward the water.

“Hold it a minute,” she said, and put one hand on his shoulder to brace herself, and took off her shoes. She slapped the sand off them and said, “Got a big pocket? Good. Here. Thanks.”

“You known Debbie Ann long?”

“Ten days, I guess. Since I got down. I’m a project of hers. Sometimes it’s fine. Other times, frankly, she gets on my nerves.”

They were walking slowly at the edge of the gentle surf. “A project?”

“I guess we do have a hell of a lot in common, Mike. We both had a horrible marriage. We trade grim anecdotes. I’m two years older than she is, and mine lasted five years. She didn’t have any kids. I’ve got a little boy three. Living with my mother in Richmond. The big difference is she got her divorce. I’m just beginning the route. So I’m a project.”

“A new member of the club?”

“Something like that, I guess. I think you’d have to be a woman to understand.”

“Is it a... kind of loneliness?”

She stopped so abruptly he walked two paces beyond her, turned back and looked at her, starlight meager on her face. “What’s the matter?”

“I was warned about you.”

“I’m harmless, Shirley.”

“Are you? Debbie Ann said you’re too damn easy to talk to.”

“People have to talk.”

“How many ever listen to you though? Got any cigarettes?”

“Cigars.”

“Then smoke one, and give me a drag. I’ve been smoking too damn much since I got down here.” She walked a little way from the water and sat down, digging her bare heels into the moist sand. He lit a cigar, sat heavily beside her, offered it to her.

She dragged deeply, coughed, inhaled again and handed it back. “Debbie Ann understands part of it. Loneliness isn’t exact, Mike. It’s something else. I tried to make it work. I honestly tried, long after my friends had started advising me to give up. Can you believe that?”

“Sure.”

“So finally you make up your mind and leave the bastard, and set the wheels in motion. You’re supposed, I guess, to feel free as birds. I came down here. I didn’t know how rough it would be. It’s very rough, Mike. You try to be yourself all your life. All of a sudden you’re typecast. You know? Young woman getting unhitched. Ready for adventure, or something. Nobody really sees you. As a person. They see a kind of symbol. And it gets you to wondering who you really are. It makes you feel lost and reckless. It’s scary, because you have the feeling you might do some really stupid thing.”

“A case of no controls,” Mike said.

“What do you mean?”

“When you lived with your parents there were rules. When you were in school there were rules. After school, before you got married, there were things you could and couldn’t do. Pressure of society. Acceptable behavior of the junior miss. Now all of a sudden, no rules. There’s even the reverse. A sort of pressure to make you let go of personal standards.”

“That’s exactly it! It’s like... nothing to lean on. Nothing to really feel guilty about. Men make the automatic pass. I was part of a duet for five years and now I’m playing a single. And I just — don’t know what to do with myself. Debbie Ann felt the same thing in a different way, so it helps to have somebody about your own age who understands the picture. But I can’t be as go-to-hell as she is. I guess she’s part of the pressure. You’re pretty smart. I’m boring you.”

“I’ll let you know when you start to.”

“A deal. I think I can look at myself pretty objectively. I’m not terribly bright, but I think I’m a warm person. And, let’s face it, I’ve got a sort of sexpot look. Men are always getting the wrong impression. Women not so often. I can’t walk without a wiggle, and I look like I’m pouting, which is supposed to be provocative, they tell me, and I’ve got this whisky-tenor voice and coloring the cosmetic people call exotic. But it’s a big fake. Inside I’m a pretty prim gal, Mike. That’s not to say my responses aren’t wholehearted. They’re — thorough. But there has to be love. Anything without love would make me feel squeamish. But there’s this... pressure. No rules. And maybe I’m the sort of person who needs rules and depends on them. It’s a six-month deal now, a Florida divorce, and six months seems a very long time, and I don’t want to turn into somebody I don’t want to be, just because I feel forlorn and alone.”

“If you’re aware of the problem, you probably won’t.”

“I have the feeling I should stay clear of Debbie Ann.”

“So?”

“Well, it might be a pretty good trick. She roped me into a beach picnic last night. I was too gutless to say no. And too bored. So I went and got too drunk, and so my day has been full of little remorses, and thank God no big remorses because my escort got even drunker. But you see?”

“I do indeed.”

After long and curiously comfortable minutes of silence she said, “Debbie Ann briefed me. About you.”

“Did she?”

“Yes. I was just thinking about it. Now I feel ashamed of spilling my problems. You must think they’re pretty trivial.”

“I don’t, Shirley.”

“There’s something else you ought to know. You better keep your door locked, Mike. I wouldn’t say that if I thought you would — welcome the attention.”

“Oh, come now!” he said irritably. “For God’s sake, Shirley. I’ve gone through a hell of a lot of years without having to drive off women with a club. I’m bald, fat and forty and—”

“And you were all sewed up so completely you wouldn’t have even been aware of a pass. But now you’re... available, Mike. And I think it’s very sweet that you don’t have any idea how attractive you are to women. Most men your age are totally convinced they’re irresistible.”

“The movies are after me every minute.”

“A woman is always aware of strength and gentleness and honesty, Mike. I guess it’s a kind of... emotional reliability. That’s why people talk to you. We’re desperate young women, Mike.”

They walked back up to the Club. They found Mary Jamison and she bought them a drink, signed the chit. Troy had reserved a table for six, for the four of them and a pleasant couple named Murner. They looked for Troy and could not find him. Mary decided they should eat. It was a fine meal. Throughout the dinner Mary looked strained, and Troy’s chair was conspicuously empty. Debbie Ann filled the silences with empty chatter. She carried on a mock flirtation with Mike. Rob Raines joined the table after dinner. Mike noticed that Raines and Debbie Ann seemed to have arrived at a peaceable understanding. After dinner they went to the bar. Debbie Ann disappeared. The Murners said good night. Mary became involved in a conversation with the Laybournes. Rob Raines talked idly with Mike for a while and then said, “Let’s take these out on the porch. I’d like to ask you something, Mike.”

“Sure.”

They went out onto the big unscreened porch and sat on the railing. The pool was closed, the pool lights out.

“Mike, I wanted to talk to you about something that may be none of my business. But I know you’re a good friend of Troy’s. And I think you’re fond of Mary.”