Bill Pronzini - With an Extreme Burning

“You're really not?”

“I'm really not.”

“But you would if the right man came along? The right man, the right circumstances, spice up your life a little?”

“I don't know. Would you?”

“I've thought about it. He'd have to have a big dick.”

“That doesn't matter, and you know it.”

“It does when you're married to Theodore J. Harrell. Ted's not exactly hung like a horse. Or a Shetland pony, for that matter.”

“Count your blessings. If he was, you'd be walking funny.”

“Katy, let's suppose you are having an affair —”

“I'm not. How many times do I have to say it?”

“But suppose you were. Because you were bored and looking for some excitement … whatever reason. Who would you be having it with?”

“What kind of question is that?”

“A man you've known for a long time—a friend? Like Tom Birnam or Jerry Whittington or George Flores—”

“Sweetie, you're being ridiculous. Don't start jumping to wild conclusions.”

“I'm not, I'm only asking.”

“Well, the answer is no.”

“Too close to home?”

“Yes. Too close to home.”

“But it wouldn't be somebody you just picked up, in a bar or someplace. I mean, the AIDS thing —”

“No. Can we just drop this?”

“I don't want to drop it. I find it fascinating.”

“Well, I don't.”

“It couldn't be a stranger, could it? It couldn't for me. I'd have to have some feelings for the guy before I could go to bed with him. Be able to talk to him about things that mattered, before and after. Feel comfortable with him.”

“… Okay, yes, for me, too.”

“So it wouldn't be just sex, the big O. There'd have to be some real emotion, too.”

“If you're talking about love …”

“I don't mean love. I mean feelings.”

“Feelings.”

“You'd have to like him. Not love but like.”

“I suppose so. Is there any more wine in that bottle?”

“Help yourself. What if it grew into more, though—got really intense?”

“Intense? What're you talking about now?”

“Same subject. Your affair.”

“Eileen, if you don't stop …”

“All right, your hypothetical affair. What if it turned into something more than sex, deeper than just liking?”

“That wouldn't happen.”

“Are you sure it couldn't?”

“I wouldn't let it.”

“Suppose it was heading that way. What would you do?”

“Break it off.”

“Just like that? Sorry, it's been nice, good-bye?”

“Not quite that coldly, but … yes.”

“So you'd never leave Dix? No matter what?”

“I don't think I could, no.”

“That doesn't sound very definite.”

“Bad phrasing. No, I wouldn't leave Dix. Never, no matter what.”

“You love him that much?”

“That much. Always have, always will.”

“Suppose he finds out about the affair?”

“There's nothing for him to find out, Eileen.”

“If there was. Would he leave you?”

“No. Never.”

“He might. Men are unpredictable sometimes.”

“Not Dix.”

“He'd just forgive you and go on as if nothing happened?”

“Sooner or later. But it would never come to that.”

“No? Why not?”

“Because he'd never find out. I wouldn't let him find out.”

“Famous last words. Skeletons have a way of falling out of closets, honey, you know that.”

“I'd do anything to keep that from happening. Anything. And if you start spreading this nonsense around town, start a lot of nasty rumors, our friendship is kaput. I mean that. I'll never speak to you again.”

“Oh, lighten up, will you? We're just playing a game here.”

“Some game.”

“How long would you let it go on?”

“… What?”

“The affair. A few weeks, a few months, a year or more?”

“Oh, God. No, not that long.”

“Six months?”

“No.”

“How long, then? Maximum?”

“Three months, okay? Are you satisfied now?”

“Three months. I guess you could get a lot of screwing in in three months. How many times a week would you do it with him, anyway? Two, three, four?”

“Shit, Eileen—! ”

“How often do you and Dix do it? Three or four times a month? That seems to be the general marital frequency for people our age. Sometimes I think that's the real reason we have affairs, men and women both—not so much because we want to try out another body, but because we want more nookie than we're getting from our spouses. What do you think?”

“I think you're a motor-mouth when you drink too much. I think you're driving me to distraction with all this talk. I think I'm going home.”

And she'd done just that. Stood up and put on her coat and walked out without even saying good-bye.

Eileen related the gist of this to Cecca, who said, “I still don't see anything to make you so certain she was lying.”

“You weren't there, honey. You would if you'd been there.”

“And she wouldn't talk about it after that?”

“Froze me out completely. Closed issue, she said.”

“That's it, then,” Cecca said. “If you think of anything else, anything at all, call me. Okay?”

“Maybe I'd better just come home.”

“Oh, Eileen, no. You've been there only one day.”

“There might be something I can do.…”

“There isn't. What could you do that Dix and I can't? You stay right where you are.”

“How can I relax with this going on?”

“You'll find a way. I'll let you know if there's anything to report. Just do me one favor—don't tell anyone else about this.”

“Not even Ted?”

“Ted, yes, if you swear him to secrecy. But not Laura, Beth, any of our friends.”

“Honey, one of them might know something …”

“Then Dix and I will find it out. Please, Eileen? The worst thing right now is for too many people to know, rumors to start flying.”

Motor-mouth Eileen. Can't keep a secret for ten minutes. Well, it was true, wasn't it? Biggest gossip-monger in Los Alegres … no wonder Katy hadn't confided in her. She sighed. “Ted and nobody else. I swear. But you have to promise me you'll call the minute you find out anything or anything else happens.”

“I promise.”

As soon as she put the receiver down, her eye fell on the jars and the loaf of bread on the table. I don't want any more of that, she thought, and immediately made herself another sandwich, thicker than the last one, so that some of the jam squeezed out when she bit into it and plopped on the floor. She left it there, the hell with it. She was too upset for housekeeping chores.

There was something Cecca hadn't told her, she was sure of it. Some even more startling piece of information. Didn't trust her with it, which meant that it must be really explosive stuff. She couldn't imagine what it was. Her fault for being the way she was—though she had every intention of keeping her promise not to blab to anyone but Ted. But still she felt left out. Of all times to be away on vacation! Maybe she should go home, Ted and the boys could fend for themselves … no, that was silly and selfish. Cecca was right, there wasn't anything she could do. Except fret, and she could do that right here at Blue Lake.