James Salter - Last Night

— All I know is that you’re a cheat.

— I’m not a cheat.

— Daddy’s going to kill you.

He couldn’t find the words. Whatever he thought of was torn apart by her single-mindedness. But it would never come to this.

On the other hand, Pamela had a life of her own; that was the only flaw. She went out at night, there were parties. Some Tunisians from the delegation were very nice.

— Is that right? he said.

She’d gone to a party at the Four Seasons, she told him, and walked to work the next morning with a thousand dollars in her shoe, although she didn’t say that. One of the Tunisians was particularly nice.

— They like to have fun, she said.

— You’re turning into a playgirl, Brian said, a little sourly. How do I know you’re not playing around with this guy?

— You’d know it.

— Maybe I would. Would you tell me? The truth? What’s his name?

— Tahar.

— I wish you wouldn’t.

— I’m not, she said.

In June, Sally and the children went to the country for the summer. For most of the week, Brian was in the city by himself.

— How was I lucky enough to meet you? he said.

They were having dinner amid the liveliness of the crowd, the intimacy within it, the voices all around. He had seen most of them. She was by far the prize of the room.

— We’re going to be friends for a long time, she promised.

Summer mornings with their first, soft light. Amorous mornings, the red numbers flicking silently on the clock, the first sunlight in the trees. Her stunning naked back. The most sacred hours, he realized, of his life.

Dressing one morning, she asked,

— Whose are these?

In a folded packet on the night table had been a pair of shining earrings.

— Are they your wife’s?

She was trying one on, fastening it to her ear. She turned her head one way and the other, looking at herself in the mirror.

— What are they, silver?

— They’re platinum. Better than silver.

— They’re your wife’s.

— They were being repaired. I had to pick them up.

It was hard not to admire her, her bare neck, her aplomb.

— Can I borrow them? she asked.

— I can’t. She knows I was supposed to pick them up.

— Just say they weren’t ready.

— Darling. .

— I’ll give them back. Is that what you’re afraid of? I’d just like to wear them once, something that’s hers but at the moment mine.

— That’s very Bette Davis.

— Who?

— Just be careful and don’t lose them, he managed to say.

That was a Tuesday. Two nights later a terrible event occurred. It was at a reception given by a group dedicated to the Impressionists; Pascale was a supporter but was away that evening and couldn’t attend. Sally had insisted that Brian go, and in the crowd coming up the stairway he had seen, with a stab of jealousy, more fierce because it was a complete surprise, Pamela. He began to push his way forward to see who she might be with.

— Hey, where are you going in such a hurry?

It was Del, his brother-in-law.

— Where have you been hiding?

— Hiding?

— We haven’t seen you for weeks.

Brian liked him, but not at this moment.

— Why don’t you come to dinner with us tonight, afterward?

— I can’t, Brian said unthinkingly.

— Come on, we’re going to Elio’s, Del insisted. Look at all these women. Where do they come from? They weren’t around when I was single.

Brian hardly heard him. Past his brother-in-law, near the windows not fifteen feet away, he could see Pamela talking to Michael Brule, not just exchanging a greeting but in some sort of conversation. She was wearing a pale blue dress, one he liked, cut low in back. Her dark hair was tied and he could see quite clearly, she was wearing the earrings. They were unmistakable. He moved a bit so as not to be observed, his heart beating furiously. Finally Brule was gone.

— Darling, you must be crazy, he said in a furious, low voice when he reached her.

— Hello, she said cheerfully.

There was always such life in that voice.

— What are you doing? he insisted.

— What do you mean?

— The earrings!

— I’m wearing them, she said.

— You can’t wear them. That was my father-in-law. He bought them! He gave them to Sally! Why did you wear them here?

His voice was still low but people close by could hear the anxiety.

— How was I to know? Pamela said.

— Jesus, I knew I shouldn’t have lent them to you.

— Oh, take the damned earrings, she said, suddenly annoyed.

— Don’t do that.

She was taking them off. It was the first time he had seen her angry and suddenly he was frightened, afraid to be in her disfavor.

— Don’t, please. I’m the one who should be angry, he said.

She pushed them into his hand.

— And yes, she said, he saw them. Then, with astounding confidence, Don’t worry, he won’t say anything.

— What do you mean? What makes you so sure? The answer suddenly struck him like an illness.

— Don’t worry, he won’t, she said.

Somebody was handing her a glass of wine.

— Thank you, she said calmly. This is Brian, a friend of mine. Brian, this is Tahar.

She did not answer the phone that night. The next day, his father-in-law called and asked to meet for lunch, it was important.

They met at a restaurant Brule favored, with formal service and a European-looking clientele. It was near his office. Brule was reading the menu when Brian arrived. He looked up. His glasses, which were rimless, caught the light in a way that made his eyes almost invisible.

— I’m glad you were able to come, he said, returning to the menu.

Brian made an effort to read the menu himself. He made some remark about not having had a chance to say hello the night before.

— I was extremely disturbed by what I learned last night, Brule said, as if not having heard.

The waiter stood reciting some dishes that were not on the menu. Brian was preparing his reply, but after they had ordered, it was Brule who continued.

— Your behavior isn’t worthy of the husband of my daughter, he said.

— I don’t know if you’re in a position to say that, Brian managed.

— Please don’t interrupt me. Let me finish. You’ll have your chance afterward. I discover that you’ve been having an affair with a young woman — I’m aware of the details, believe me — and if you place any value at all on your wife and family, I would say you have put that in grave jeopardy. If Sally were to learn of it, I’m certain she would leave you and, under the circumstances, probably retain custody, and I would support her in that. Fortunately, she doesn’t know, so there is still the possibility of this not being disastrous, providing you do the necessary thing.

There was a pause. It was as if Brian had been asked a bewildering question, the answer to which he should know. His thoughts were fluttering, however, ungraspable.

— What thing is that? he said, though knowing.

— You give up this girl and never see her again.

This wonderful girl, this smooth-shouldered girl.

— And what about you? Brian said as evenly as he could.

Brule ignored it.

— Otherwise, Brule continued, I’m loathe to think of it, Sally will have to know.

Brian’s jaw, despite his effort, was trembling. It was not only humiliation, there was a burning jealousy. His father-in-law seemed to hold every advantage. The manicured hands had touched her, the aging body had been imposed on hers. Some plates were served but Brian did not pick up his fork.

— She wouldn’t be the only one to know, would she? Pascale would know everything, too, he said.