Donald Westlake - Two Much!

All around us the sun shone down on the worthy Episcopalians. I said, “I think you right, Mr. uh...”

“Volpinex,” he repeated, rolling the word like a fetishist with a mouthful of leather.

“Well, Mr. Volpinex,” I said, in my straightforward way, “I can’t say I like your insinuations. I agree with your responsibility, but not your manner.”

“That’s right,” Betty said. She looped an arm through mine and glared our defiance at the nasty man.

“I certainly don’t intend,” he said, with an ironic bow toward me, “to insult any honest gentleman present.”

“My life is an open book,” I told him. “I’ve lived the last seven years in California, and came here this spring because my brother wanted help in expanding his business. We may not be rich, but we are honest and hard-working. I invite you to study my past history as deeply as you want, and you will find nothing, I guarantee it”

“I must say I hope you’re right,” he said, trying for sarcasm but failing to hide his discomfort. He had come after me as though I were Art, and instead had found himself face to face with Horatio Alger. I’d give him Victoriana, and what exactly would he do about it?

Withdraw. “Well, it’s been nice chatting with you,” he said.

“You’re going to feel terrible, Ernest,” Betty said, “when you find out how wrong you’ve been.”

Volpinex glanced sourly at our linked arms. “Yes,” he said. “I know what a loyal heart you have, Betty. But do remember that I am loyal, too.”

I said, “And I’m sure Betty appreciates you for that”

He gave me a quickly calculating look. He knew I was too good to be true, but was it possible I was true anyway? The question still in his eyes, he turned away. “Well, Liz,” he said, with an unsuccessful attempt to take her hand, “we really ought to be going.”

“I can hardly wait,” she told him, “to see you with the other brother.” Then she turned her mocking smile on me, saying, “You really are an Eagle Scout, aren’t you?”

Betty said, “Now, Liz, don’t you start.”

“I meant it in sincerest admiration,” Liz assured her and to Volpinex she said, “Come along, Ernie, you know it gives you a rash to be in the presence of goodness.”

Volpinex showed us all something that might have been a grin, and followed Liz away in the direction of the Kerner house.

Betty said, “Now do you see why I want our engagement to be a secret? The world is full of suspicious minds.”

“He’s only doing what he thinks is his duty.” Bart, I was surprised to see, was magnanimous in victory.

She hugged my arm, giving my knuckles a graze of warm crotch. “Won’t they be surprised,” she said, “when we turn up married?”

“Yes,” I said, “I believe they will.”

Sunday morning Betty said, “Bart, I think I’ll go into town with you.”

“That’s wonderful,” I said.

She gave me a conspiratorial smirk. “We’ll leave Liz alone here with Art.”

“Sneaky of us,” I said.

Liz had returned this morning, probably in anticipation of Art’s arrival. Could she actually have spent last night — not to mention Wednesday and Thursday and Friday nights — coupled with that creep Volpinex? Had the woman no standards at all? There was no telling from looking at her, of course. Briefly I considered probing more deeply while in my Art persona, but quickly abandoned that idea. Art, after all, had not seen Liz and the ferret together. Also, Liz was far too sharp for me to get cute with.

Anyway, I now had a much more serious problem to deal with. Betty was coming to town with me? How could Art spend the next three days with Liz if Bart was stuck in Manhattan with Betty? For the first time I found myself wishing I actually were twins.

All right. Every problem can be dealt with, if we but try. I managed to get away from Betty briefly, and phoned the Minck household. Let Ralph answer, I prayed, and let it not be Candy.

Well, it was neither. It was a snot-nosed brat. “Child,” I said. “I wish you to take down a phone number, and if you take it down wrong I shall come to your house tonight with a hatchet and chop off your feet.”

“I’ll get it right,” the child said defensively. “I always do.”

Slowly I read off the number from the phone in front of me, then demanded the child read it back. Only when it was read back to me with no numbers transposed or misinterpreted did I move on. “I wish you, child,” I said, “to go to your father at once, tell him it’s important, and tell him to call this number and ask for Bart. B. A. R. T. Got it?”

The child, upon reading it back, turned out to have it.

“Good, child,” I said. “Your father must call this number within half an hour. Not your mother — your father. Got that?”

The child said yes. We both hung up. I went off to the kitchen and prepared myself a drink containing alcohol. Then there was nothing to do but rejoin Betty on the front porch and wait.

Twenty minutes. I was becoming fidgety, I was having trouble concentrating on Betty’s heartwarming tales of college days at dear old Bennington. I was on the verge of losing my sweet disposition. What the hell was I doing all this for anyway? The card racket wasn’t major money, but it was keeping me housed and fed. Screw the world’s third largest supplier of wood and wood products and the several other firms and the television station in Indiana. Let the money go, let Volpinex have both sisters and whatever else he wanted; why should I strain myself when the whole scam was certain to fall apart sooner or later anyway?

Phone. Ting-aling-aling; what a cheerful sound.

Through which Betty kept talking, paying no attention. “Dear,” I said. “Wasn’t that the phone?”

“Hm?”

Ting-aling-aling. “The telephone,” I said. “I think it’s ringing.”

She’d been halfway through a story as fascinating as the road from Cairo to Aqaba and the interruption made her irritable. “Now, who could that be?”

“Someone who wants to talk to you,” I suggested, and for the third time the phone went ting-aling-aling.

“Oh, well.” At last she got off her ass and went inside and I heard her say, “Hello?” Yes, yes, yes. “Just a minute.” Ahhhh. “Ba-art?”

“Mmm?”

“It’s for you.”

“Really?” Already on my feet, I strolled into the house and crossed the living room toward the phone she was extending in my direction. “Who is it?”

“I’ll ask,’ she said, and dipped her head toward the receiver.”

Christ. “Never mind, it’s okay.” I took the phone away from her and said, “Hello?”

Ralph’s voice. “Art? Is that you?”

“Oh, Art!” I said. And I mouthed silently at Betty. It’s Art . She nodded hugely, understanding.

“The darn kids got it wrong again,” Ralph was saying. “They thought you said Bart.”

“Oh, that’s a shame,” I said.

“Well, at least they got the phone number right.”

“Well, sure,” I said.

“You think so? You’d be surprised how those kids can louse up a message.”

“If you say so,” I said.

“Art? Is there something wrong?”

“I’m really sorry to hear that,” I said. Betty was mouthing What is it? I gestured at her to wait.

Ralph was saying, “What? No, I didn’t mean there was anything wrong with me , I meant was there— Uh, is everything okay there?”

I said, “You sure I can’t help?”

“I’m fine, Art,” he said. “Listen, you’re all confused.”

“Well, okay,” I said, sounding doubtful.

“You wanted me to call you, right?”