James Chase - Eve

“Don’t let’s be final about this, Eve,” I said, trying to keep the feverish desperation out of my voice. “May I see you tomorrow? I’d like to talk this over with you.”

“No, Clive, I don’t want to talk to you any more. I don’t want you to call me. And if you do, I’ll hang up. You’ve got to stop all this nonsense. You take me too much for granted. You take up too much of my time and I don’t want it that way.”

“But look, Eve, I’m sorry I walked out on you. I can explain everything if only you’ll let me. I didn’t mean anything by it. It was just that I couldn’t sleep and I was restless and I didn’t want to disturb you. We’ve got to meet again. We can’t break, this up . . . it’s too important. Please, Eve, don’t treat me like this . . .”

“I’m tired and I’m not going to keep on talking. I don’t ever want to see you again. It’s good-bye.” There was a pause, then she repeated, “Good-bye, Clive,” and she hung up.

“Eve . . .” I began and then I sat very still staring at the telephone. I felt sick with frustration. It could not end like this. Good God, I thought, what kind of a rat must I be for a prostitute to return me my money and refuse to see me? I had never felt so completely and utterly humiliated. I replaced the receiver with a trembling hand. I had to see her again. She couldn’t do this to me. My confidence in myself had gone and I was in black despair.

“Who was it, Clive?” Carol called from the bedroom.

“Just a fellow I know,” I called back, my voice husky and unsteady.

“What did you say?” She came to the door and ran across the lounge in her flimsy nightdress. “Who was it?”

I walked over to the sideboard and mixed myself a drink. I did not dare let her see my face. “Just a fellow I know. He was a little tight, I guess.”

“Oh.” There was a long pause. I did not look round but drank the whisky quickly.

“Drink?” I asked, looking for a cigarette.

“No, thank you.”

I lit the cigarette and turned. We looked at each other. Carol’s eyes were full of questions.

“Come on,” I said, forcing a smile. “Let’s go to bed. I’m tired.”

“What did he want?” she asked suddenly.

I glanced over at her, frowning. “What did who want?”

“Your friend . . . the one who phoned.”

“He was tight. God knows what he wanted. I told him to get to hell off the line.”

“Sorry.”

I looked at her sharply and then stubbed out the cigarette and went over to her. “I’m sorry if I sounded like a crab. It annoyed me that a drunk should interrupt us like that.”

Again she looked searchingly at me, but I looked away and took off my dressing gown. I got into bed beside her and snapped off the light.

She came close, her head on my shoulder. I put my arm round her and we lay for a long time in the dark, not saying anything. In my mind, I kept saying to myself, you fool, you fool. You are throwing your happiness away. You are crazy. You have not been married five days and you’re cheating already. This woman in your arms loves you. She will do anything for you. What do you think Eve will do for you? Nothing. You know she never will do anything for you.

“Is something wrong, Clive?” Carol asked.

“Of course not.”

“Sure?”

“Sure.”

“You’re not worrying about anything? Tell me, Clive, if there’s anything wrong. I want to share things with you.”

“Nothing, darling, really. I’m tired and that guy annoyed me . . . go to sleep. I’ll be fine tomorrow.”

“All right.” She sounded doubtful and troubled. “But you will tell me if anything ever goes wrong, won’t you?”

“I will.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

She sighed and clung to me for a moment. “I do love you, Clive. You won’t let anything spoil this, will you?”

“Of course not,” I said, thinking what a swine I was. I was lying deliberately because I wanted to have them both. It wouldn’t work out that way . . . it couldn’t work out that way. “Now stop talking rot and go to sleep. I love you; everything’s perfect and there’s nothing to worry about.”

She kissed me and then there was silence. Eventually I could tell by her breathing that she was asleep.

The next two days passed slowly. We continued to go to the lake. We swam, we talked, we listened to the gramophone and we read books. We both knew now that something was missing, something was not quite right, but neither of us said anything. I knew, of course, what it was. I don’t think Carol guessed. I’m sure she did not, but she was troubled and I caught her looking at me from time to time with puzzled, hurt eyes.

Now that I had let the barriers down, Eve came into the house. As I sat reading, her face would suddenly appear on the page of my book. If I were listening to the gramophone, instead of the music, I would hear her voice saying, “I don’t want your rotten money,” over and over again. I would wake up at night thinking that I had her in my arms and then realizing, with a violently beating heart, that it was Carol and not Eve whom I was holding so tightly.

I began to long for her as a drug addict longs for a “shot’ in the arm. I began to count the hours when Carol would get in her car and drive away to the Studio and yet, I still loved Carol. It was as if two people were living in my body, one clamouring for the cold indifference of Eve and the other content with the love that Carol gave me. Over these two people I had no control.

It was Saturday afternoon and we were sitting in the boat. Carol had on a red swim-suit and it looked nice with her golden skin and dark hair.

“It would be wonderful if we could always be happy like this, Clive, wouldn’t it?” she said.

I rowed a few strokes before I said, “We’ll always be happy, darling.”

“I don’t know. Sometimes I’m afraid something will happen and spoil all this.”

“Nonsense,” I held the oars against my chest and stared across the big expanse of blue water. “What could happen?”

She was silent for a moment, then she said, “Don’t let’s get like other couples we know and cheat and lie to each other.”

“Don’t worry,” I told her, wondering if she had guessed what was going on in my mind. “We won’t get like that.”

She was quiet for a minute or two, her fingers playing in the water. “If you get tired of me, Clive, and you want someone else, will you tell me? I could stand it better if you told me than if I found you were cheating.”

“What’s got into you?” I demanded, leaning towards her and staring at her. “Why are you talking about such things?”

She looked up and smiled. “I just want you to know. I think if you ever cheated on me, Clive, I’d walk out and never see you again.”

I tried to make a joke of it. “Swell,” I said. “Now I know how to get rid of you.”

She nodded. “Yes, now you know how to get rid of me.”

When we returned to Three Point, there was a big, black Packard parked in the drive. I pulled up and stared at the car.

“Who can this be?” I asked.

Carol peered across me. “Let’s go up and see. What a bore having people call on our last day but one.”

I drove on up to the cabin. A short, dark fat man was sitting on the verandah with a highball on the table near him. He waved to Carol and got up.

“Who the hell’s this?” I asked Carol in an undertone.

She clutched at my arm. “Bernstien,” she whispered back. “Sam Bernstien of International Pictures. I wonder what he can possibly want.”

We went up together and Bernstien patted Carol’s arm affectionately before turning to me.

/

“So you’re Thurston?” he said, offering a limp, fat hand. “Well, I am glad and happy to know you, Mr. Thurston.