Margaret Millar - Wives and Lovers

Gordon smiled helplessly.

“Both are tempting, I must admit,” Bowridge said. “But on the whole I think we’d better keep it to ourselves rather than dissipate its energy, as it were. Of course if we had two bottles there’d be no question involved. We could keep one and put the other one in the punch, eh? But the one we would put in the punch is the one we haven’t got, so, come along, come along.”

Gordon came along, trailing Bowridge like a spaniel. The ballroom, ex-dining room, was swathed in red and yellow bunting, and a few couples were dancing to the Latin American music of Miguel Escalante. Escalante himself was handling the maracas, tossing them in the air, rolling his eyes, swaying his hips.

“I like bouncy music,” Bowridge said, approaching the nearest punch bowl. “Here we are. Now, let me see. What proportions would you suggest, Gordon?”

“I don’t know.”

“We wouldn’t want to become intoxicated. On the other hand we wouldn’t want to be niggardly with ourselves. Mean to say you have no experience in these matters, Gordon?”

“None.”

“Nor I. It will have to be guesswork, I fear.” He poured some alcohol into Gordon’s glass of punch.

“Whoa,” Gordon said.

“Pleasant flavor.”

“Very nice.” Now that the drink was in his hands Gordon realized how badly he’d needed it. If he could have three, just three drinks, as a sort of buffer between him and Elaine—

“You’re a quiet fellow,” Bowridge said. “Something on your mind?”

“No.”

“No guilty conscience?”

Gordon shrugged his shoulders.

“By the way,” Bowridge said, “how did she get you to put on that costume?”

“I put it on voluntarily.”

“Ha, to avoid argument.”

“It’s getting hot in here. I wonder whether Elaine—”

“Have another drink and relax, Gordon. That’s what I’m going to do, relax. Relax like a damn little kitten.”

Gordon was beginning to understand that Bowridge’s relaxation had started several hours ago.

“All right, I’ll have another,” Gordon said.

“Fine, fine.” Bowridge ladled out two more glasses of punch. When he added the alcohol he had to narrow his eyes to the merest slits to make them focus.

“There’s your wife,” Bowridge said.

Gordon saw Elaine standing in the doorway haughtily glancing over the couples on the dance floor. She’s self-conscious, Gordon thought, she always looks like that when she’s self-conscious. He turned his back on her and deliberately finished his drink.

“Well. There you are, Gordon,” Elaine said pleasantly. “I’ve been looking all over for you. I thought you were going to wait for me in the hall.”

“I was.”

“It isn’t as if I kept you waiting very long.”

“I persuaded him to run away,” Bowridge said.

Elaine laughed. “You’re a bad influence on my husband, Judge Bowridge!”

“I hope not.”

“And just for that, I’m going to persuade him to run away from you! Come and dance, Gordon. You’ll excuse us, won’t you, Judge? We haven’t danced together for ages.”

Gordon steered her out into the middle of the floor. She felt very light and soft in his arms. She was nearly as tall as he was and their cheeks brushed as they danced. Her skin was scented, some sweet, innocent, nostalgic scent that penetrated to Gordon’s heart: If only we could start over, if we could forget the million sour words and acid looks — Elaine had closed her eyes, the lids had closed softly over the sharp ironies in her eyes, the unspoken reproaches. I wish she would never open her eyes again. I wish—

“Why on earth are you staring at me, Gordon?”

“Was I staring? Sorry.”

“Your face looks funny. What have you and that old goat been drinking? And that’s the second time you’ve stumbled.”

“Sorry,” Gordon said again. “I was thinking about you. I was thinking it would be nice if you kept your eyes closed all the time.”

“My eyes closed? What a silly thing. Now you listen to me, Gordon. How many drinks did you have with that old goat?”

“Two.”

“Two drinks,” Elaine said contemptuously. “You should know by this time you can’t hold your liquor. Two drinks, and already your face looks funny and you’re starting to talk silly.”

“I don’t think it was silly. I was pretending, it was a game, you see. As long as you keep your eyes closed I can pretend that you love me and we have some sort of chance of going on together.”

“I do love you,” Elaine said. “I’ve always loved you. As for going on together, we haven’t much choice, have we? We’re not the kind of people who do foolish things on the spur of the moment. We have a sense of responsibility.” She turned her face away from his in a gesture of impatience and withdrawal. “Oh, let’s sit down. What’s the use of dancing, what’s the use of coming to a party at all if we’ve got to talk about things like this.”

The dining room was half-filled by this time. Elaine paused to greet two of her bridge-club friends, reminding Gordon by pressing his hand that he wasn’t to forget to ask them to dance. Gordon returned to the punch bowl, while Elaine explained to her friends that Gordon was keeping an eye on Judge Bowridge for the evening, he and Gordon were such pals, and you know how Bowridge gets sometimes, stiff, my dear, positively stiff. I know he lost his wife, but still!

Bowridge had sat down on a bench behind the punch bowl. He had taken his spectacles out of his pocket and was cleaning them with a handkerchief.

“Ha,” he said, breathing air on the lenses. “Ha, ha. Didn’t think you’d be back, Gordon.”

“Here I am.”

“Sit down. Do you feel anything?”

“No.”

“Nor I. A little in the eyes, perhaps. My eyes are my weakest part. Those damn lights in the courtroom, not enough of them. Have to peer and peer to distinguish the defendant from the prosecution.” He pinched his spectacles on the bridge of his nose and glanced around the room. “In my opinion this straight alcohol is vastly overrated, unless we’re diluting it too much. Do you think that could be it?”

“Possibly.”

“Then let us mend our ways.” The judge rose. He walked steadily and ponderously, without a tremor. Gordon saw Elaine dancing with Dr. Lavery. She was talking very gaily, shaking her head and laughing, but he knew very well that she was watching him out of the corner of her eye. She was watching Bowridge too, as he ladled the punch and spiked it with alcohol from the bottle. Gordon felt like a little boy who is aware that he is doing wrong but keeps on doing it because he knows he won’t be openly reprimanded or punished in front of strangers. There’d be only the sweet steely smile, the secret pinch on the arm, the whispered wait-till-I-get-you-home, Junior!

And, like the small boy who knew he was doing wrong, Gordon pretended he was not afraid. His face smiled, while the fear pressed on his chest, stifling his breathing. Wait-till-I-get-you-home, Gordon! He knew now that he had always been afraid of her. This was no new fear that had sprung up because of Ruby, because he had finally given Elaine a weapon. It was an old growth, its multiple roots buried twenty feet under the ground, crossing and re-crossing each other, a maze of roots and at the core, Gordon’s personal minotaur.

“Wake up, Gordon,” Bowridge said.

“I wasn’t asleep.”

“Pardon?”

“I — wasn’t — asleep.”

“I didn’t say you were. You were dreaming. Sometimes I dream too, and I can look very alert when I’m dreaming but this takes practice.” The judge sat down on the bench and handed Gordon his glass. “In court, sometimes I dream, and sometimes I worry, about fifty-fifty. I worry about people, I try to clarify issues. I boil them down in a crucible, I boil and boil, and when I’ve finished there isn’t a thing left in the crucible, not an ash, not a drop of liquid. I also worry about my cough. Have you ever heard my cough?”