Mark Mills - Amagansett

‘That’s where we found her,’ he said, pointing down the beach. ‘About a hundred yards along.’

Gayle stared at the spot, aware that he was watching her intently.

‘I’m not sure I wanted to know that,’ she said.

‘Why not?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Did you see her?’ he asked. ‘At the morgue?’

His tone had changed. In fact, his whole appearance had changed. He suddenly seemed very big. And very threatening.

‘I wanted to, but when it came to it, I couldn’t.’

He glanced back down the beach. ‘Maybe with time you’ll be glad you knew,’ he said, more gently.

She doubted it, but said nothing.

The rope was in the barn, coiled and hanging from a wooden peg.

‘You use all this…stuff?’ she asked, awed by the amount of equipment on display.

‘Pretty much.’

‘What’s this for?’

‘It’s a scallop dredge.’

‘And that?’

‘Eel trap.’

As he led her to the truck, he asked, ‘You eat fish?’

‘Yes.’

‘If you want, I’ll drop some by. Maybe a bluefish or two.’

‘That’s very kind, but you really don’t have to.’

‘I’d like to.’

He hauled open the passenger door, removed a sleeping cat from the seat and helped her climb up.

He only untied the tow rope once he’d seen her safely back to Montauk Highway.

‘Thanks for the Champagne,’ he said, then added with a smile, ‘I’ll try to remember Rollo gets his bottle.’

She found herself not wanting to leave, and watched as he swung the truck round on the highway, negotiating his way past her and back down the track.

A thought suddenly occurred to her and she punched the horn several times. He pulled to a halt, leaning out of the window.

‘How much do you know about game fishing?’ she called.

‘Game fishing?’

‘For tuna.’

Eighteen

‘You’re kidding me,’ said Abel.

‘No.’

‘Mary Calder’s invited you to a party!?’

‘Don’t sound so surprised,’ said Lucy, coming to Hollis’ defense.

‘Yeah,’ said Hollis.

‘Come on, Tom, you’ve got looks, brains, a sense of humor, but not a whole lot of any of them.’

‘Abel Cole!’ snapped Lucy, kicking him under the table.

‘Jesus, Lou.’

‘He’s just jealous,’ said Lucy, turning to Hollis. ‘She’s one of the few women in town who never succumbed to his dubious charms. And, believe me, he tried.’

‘Is that what she told you?’

‘I remember you trying.’

‘I meant the bit about not succumbing.’

Hollis laughed. Abel was indomitable in these situations.

‘Don’t,’ said Lucy, ‘you’ll only encourage him.’

At that moment the waiter appeared at their table with the bottle of wine. He cast a surly eye over their unopened menus and left.

‘It’s okay, we’ll pour,’ said Abel, just loud enough for the departing youth to hear.

Hollis filled their glasses and insisted that they order whatever they wanted from the menu—it was his treat. There was nothing magnanimous in this gesture. He was painfully aware that he’d been living off their hospitality since Lydia had left him. A meal out was the least he could offer them.

His stated intention of getting them round to his house had somehow amounted to nothing, maybe because he had lost the desire to prove to himself that life went on. It didn’t. He knew that now. It stalled, shuddering towards inertia.

He was shocked by the speed with which the house had descended into a state of dereliction. Dust heaped up in corners he could swear he’d just swept. Clutter multiplied, begetting yet more clutter with no apparent involvement on his part. Without Lydia to spur him into action, hinges creaked, window sills leaked, taps dripped and bulbs went unchanged.

At first Hollis had battled bravely against this creeping decay, but at a certain point he had conceded defeat, contenting himself with an uneasy coexistence, singling out a room and concentrating all his efforts there, allowing the dust and detritus free run of the other areas of the house. The kitchen had been his first place of refuge, then the living room, but he’d recently retreated to the bedroom. He had plans to break out soon and reclaim the kitchen. But right now, number 4 Indian Hill Road was not a fit place to entertain one’s friends—in fact, it was hardly a fit place for anything—hence the dinner at the 1770 House.

Hollis and Abel opted for the steak; Lucy ordered the bluefish before announcing that she was going to ‘powder her nose’. Abel suggested she take a leak while she was at it.

‘You want to tell me what’s up?’ asked Hollis as soon as she had left.

Abel lit another cigarette and eyed him suspiciously, almost aggressively. ‘Who said anything was up?’

‘You seem a little edgy is all.’

‘Yeah?’

Hollis didn’t mind being shut out. He knew Abel well enough to accept that he’d tell him in his own time. This turned out to be about twenty seconds (and three large gulps of red wine) later.

‘She mentioned the M-word.’

‘Ah,’ said Hollis.

‘A couple of nights back. Just dropped it in there. Caught me on the hop. Guess I’m still hopping.’

‘Marriage, huh?’

Abel winced at the word. ‘Don’t do that.’

‘You brought it up.’

‘ She brought it up. I’m just…relaying it to you. Forget I ever mentioned it, okay?’

‘Okay,’ said Hollis. He waited, relishing his friend’s discomfort, trying not to smile. Abel snuck a look at the rest-room door.

‘So what do you think?’ he mumbled.

‘About what?’ asked Hollis innocently.

‘You know…the M-thing?’

‘What do I think? I think she’s crazy.’

‘Come on, Tom, seriously.’

‘Abel,’ he said despairingly, ‘she’s smart, talented, funny and very, very beautiful.’

‘I know, I know.’

‘She’s too good to be true. And she’s chosen you.’

‘That’s the point.’

‘What?’

‘Don’t you see?’

‘No.’

‘I wanted…’ He hesitated. ‘I don’t know…to amount to something first. Then think about it. Maybe. Or not. I don’t know.’

‘Abel, you’re a great photographer.’

‘Bullshit. And I’m not fishing for compliments.’

‘Let me lay some on you anyway.’

Abel wagged a hand, cutting him dead. Hollis didn’t persist. It wasn’t as if they hadn’t had the conversation before. Abel judged himself far too harshly. How many other photographers would have been mortified at getting their work on the front cover of Life magazine? How many would actually have given thanks for the fact that the photo wasn’t credited directly to them but to the US Army Signal Corps? Most would have had that front cover framed and hanging on the wall of their shop for all to see, not moldering amongst a pile of other magazines on a shelf back at their house.

It was Lucy who first drew Hollis’ attention to the magazine cover. Lydia was also present at the time. Abel wasn’t. He was in the kitchen, preparing dinner—their first dinner together, two couples tentatively getting to know each other. Taken in a small town in Germany, the photo showed a GI leaning against a halftrack, muffled up against the cold, and smiling. Abel’s reaction when he wandered through and found the three of them bent over the copy of Life almost soured the evening. He dismissed their compliments, cutting Lydia quite dead, something for which she never really forgave him.

Abel explained that the officer in the photo had bugged him to fire off a couple of shots, and he’d only done so to shut the guy up. The reel of film was then tossed into the photographic pool, and that was the last he’d expected to hear of it. Next thing he knew, there was the smiling GI on the front of Life, some idiot at the War Department having decided that his grin struck just the right note of cheeky triumphalism for the folks back home. Abel rated the photo as one of the blandest he had taken during the long push eastwards from the beaches of Normandy—devoid of any technical or artistic merit—but what annoyed him most was its dishonesty.