1977 - My Laugh Comes Last (3 page)

'Oh, well!' She shrugged.

We arrived at the restaurant and settled at our table. After consulting the menu, we both settled for lobsters.

While waiting, she asked. 'What is crime like in Sharnville?'

'That's something I know nothing about. You talk to Sheriff Joe Thomson. He'll be glad to give you a rundown. I play golf with him from time to time. He's a smart cookie.'

While we were eating, I thought it time to get to know something about her personal life.

'You've quizzed me, Glenda. It's my turn. Are you married?' I asked this question with trepidation.

'Yes . . . it didn't work out.' She pulled a little face. 'I'm a working woman. He was an auto salesman. He just sat around and did nothing. I made a mistake.'

'We all make them.'

'I guess.' She looked at me and smiled. 'But I'll confess, I get tired sometimes of this job: it's all race and chase: living in hotels, motels. It pays off, but . . . ' She shrugged.

'Ever thought of trying marriage again?' I asked, looking directly at her.

She stiffened, and those green eyes lost their sparkle.

'There is nothing to stop anyone thinking, is there?' She pushed her plate aside. 'That was good.'

'Coffee?'

She nodded.

There was a long pause as we both regarded the ocean, shimmering in the moonlight. I longed to rush it, but knew it would be a mistake. I wanted to tell her I loved her. I wanted to tell her I had lots of money, could give her a home and wanted her to be with me for the rest of my life, but I told myself I had to wait to get some sign from her. I had to be patient. I had a month.

Back at my complex, we rode up in the elevator to the tenth floor, and we paused outside her door.

'Thank you, Larry. It has been a lovely evening.'

'Let's do it again tomorrow night.'

She regarded me thoughtfully, then shook her head.

'No. Come and have dinner with me. I'll cook for you.’

Then she smiled. 'It's odd how people meet.' She put her hand on my aim. 'Tomorrow at eight,' and leaning forward, she brushed my cheek with her lips, smiled and disappeared into her apartment, gently shutting the door. I stood for a long moment, staring at the door, knowing now our chemistry had fused, and scarcely believing it.

***

We sat side by side on the settee. The single lamp cast shadows. We had eaten the best meal I had ever had: crab soup, and the breasts of duck in rice with soya sauce. We had had three large gin martinis each, and had shared a bottle of Beaujolais. I had never felt more relaxed nor more contented.

Very softly, Bing Crosby sang The Blue of the Night from a cassette she had put on.

Having her by my side, the atmosphere, that golden voice singing, the food and drink was my moment of truth. I felt I couldn't ever be so happy, so relaxed. This was a memory to hold on to and to remember.

I didn't want to talk. I didn't want her to talk. I just wanted to sit there, slightly drunk, listening to that voice, looking at her as she lay back, her eyes closed, the shadows from die lamp, making her face even more beautiful than it was.

The song came to an end, and there was a sudden emptiness in this rather shabby, but comfortable room.

She opened her eyes and smiled at me.

'Everything finally comes to an end.’ She reached out and switched off the recorder.

'That was marvellous,' I said. The meal was marvellous.' I looked at her. 'You are marvellous.'

She reached for a cigarette, lit it, then lay back, but away from me.

'Last night, you asked me if I ever thought of trying marriage again. I want you to know about Alex, my husband.'

My mind came to attention.

'Your ex-husband?'

'I'm still married to him.'

My feeling of utter relaxation left me. I sat up and stared at her.

'You are still married to him? I thought you were divorced.'

'I wish I was.' She stared at the burning ember of her cigarette. 'God! How I wish I was!'

'But why not?' I was now leaning forward, my hands into fists. 'What's the problem?'

'You don't know Alex. With him, there is always a problem. He won't give me a divorce.'

'I don't understand, Glenda. Did he leave you or did you leave him?'

'I left him. I couldn't stand him any longer. He's not interested in women. He isn't interested in anything except money and himself.'

'When did you leave him?'

'About six months ago.'

‘There must be some way you can get rid of him.'

She shrugged.

'I can buy him off. For twenty thousand dollars, he will give me a divorce. It is as shabby and as sordid as that.'

'You mean for twenty thousand dollars you can be free of him?'

‘Why talk about it?' She moved impatiently and flicked ash into the ashtray. 'I wanted you to know Larry, because I am falling in love with you.' She put her hand on mine. 'I thought I could go through life alone, but now I have met you, my ideas have changed. It's odd, rather frightening, how a woman meets a man, then something happens. This must be our last meeting, Larry, and I mean that. I know you have money, and I know you love me, but I will not be bought!' She looked directly at me. 'You are not to say you will give Alex the money to free me. That would be un-acceptable to me! I am working and saving. In another two years, I hope to pay him off, but I won't have you waiting all that time.'

'I'll lend you the money, Glenda! I won't give it to you, I'll lend it, and when you can, you can pay me back.'

'No!' She stood up. 'It is getting late.'

I got to my feet and put my arms around her and pulled her against me.

‘Yes,' she said, her face against mine. 'Just this once, Larry. I long for you.' Her body pressed against mine.

Then the front door bell rang.

The sound of the bell was like an electric shock. We jerked apart and both looked towards the front door which opened directly into the living room.

'Don't answer it,' I whispered.

'I have to.' She gestured towards the uncurtained window.

'Whoever this is knows I'm here.'

'I'll get out of sight.' I was in a panic, and this needs explaining. I was now regarded in Sharnville as one of their leading citizens. I was on equal terms with all the big shots at the Country club. To be caught in the apartment of a married woman photographer would cause a buzz of gossip that would tarnish my present image.

'No!' she said curtly.

Stiff with apprehension, my heart thumping, I watched her cross to open the front door.

The last man I wanted to see stood in the doorway: Sheriff Joe Thomson.

As I had told Glenda, I had often played golf with Thomson. We got along well enough together, but talking to him as we walked the fairways, I came to realize this man was a dedicated cop. He was around forty-five years of age; tall, lean, tough, and had been in police business for some twenty years. He had the face of a hungry eagle: small cop eyes, a hooked nose and paper-thin lips. When playing golf, he seemed relaxed, but there was no humour in him. He took golf seriously, and I had the impression he could be utterly ruthless when the chips were down.

He looked into the dimly lit room. His small eyes rested on me, and his eyebrows shot up. Then he looked at the dining table with the unmistakable evidence that Glenda and I had been eating together.

He took off his Stetson hat.

'I apologize, Mrs. Marsh, for this late call. Seeing your light on, I thought I'd drop in and give you the data of our crime record as you wanted it so urgently.' Then raising his hand, he saluted me. 'Hi, citizen.'

'Hello there, Joe,' I said, my voice husky.

'How kind of you, sheriff,' Glenda said, completely at ease. ‘Do come in. Mr. Lucas is just leaving. He has been telling me interesting stories about Sharnville.'

'Is that right?' The cop eyes went to me, then back to her, 'Larry certainly knows this town. You could call him a founding member. I won't come in. My lady has dinner waiting for me.' He offered an envelope. 'You'll find all the dope here, Mrs. Marsh. If you want any further information, you know where to find me.' He waved to me. 'See you, citizen," then putting on his Stetson, he walked away to the elevator.

Facing each other, we stood motionless until we heard the elevator door shut, then we looked at each other. The spell had been broken.

Not three minutes ago, I had been aching to make love to her, and she had been aching for me, but not now. .

'I must go,' I said, my voice unsteady. 'He keeps a finger on the pulse of this town. We'll have to be much more careful from now on, Glenda.’

She lifted her hands in a gesture of despair and let them drop.

'For a moment I thought. . .’ She turned away. 'Nothing ever works out for me . . . nothing!'

'If Brannigan or Manson or the Mayor thought I was fooling around with a married woman, Glenda, I would be in trouble, and so would my business. I have a partner to consider. I just must be careful!'

She gave a little shiver, then turning, she looked at me.

'Fooling around? Is that what you call it?'

'Glenda! Of course I don't! But they would think so.'

She forced a smile.

"Don't look so worried. I told you this is the last time. I promise you I won't spoil your success story.' The bitterness in her voice was like the flick of a whip, but I had to go. I was sure Thomson would sit in his car to make certain I did leave.

'I'll contact you, Glenda. We just have to be more careful.'

I moved towards her, but she stepped back, shaking her head. 'Glenda! We must work this out! I love you, but you must understand I just can't take chances.'

'I do understand.' Again the forced smile. 'Goodbye, Larry,' and leaving me, she went into her bedroom and shut the door.

At this moment, all I could think of was Thomson, sitting in his car, waiting to see if the light in my apartment went up. I hurried across the corridor, unlocked my front door and entered. Without turning on the lights, I went to the window and looked cautiously down on to the street. His car was still there, I turned on the lights, then taking my time, so he could see me, I slowly drew the curtains.

He started his car and drove away.

Two days later, while I was coping with the morning's mail, Bill Dixon breezed into my office. I hadn't seen him for the past week. He had been working on a building project some fifty miles outside Sharnville.

'Hi, Bill,' I said, "When did you blow in?'

'Last night.' He dumped his heavy briefcase on the floor and sat down, facing me. 'I called you, but you were out.'

I had been down to the beach, alone, trying to figure out what to do about Glenda. I knew I was in a tricky situation.

After pacing the floor of my living room on the night we had parted and hearing her voice, saying I long for you, going over and over in my mind, I had thrown caution aside, and had crossed the corridor and rung her bell. The time then had been 01.30. She didn't open the door. I rang again, then I heard the elevator coming up, and scared, I retreated to my apartment The following morning before leaving for the office, I again rang her bell, and again she didn't answer. In the office, as soon as I had got rid of the mail, I telephoned her. There was no answer. By lunchtime, after trying to get her again, I was fit to be tied. I had to talk to her! But we had to talk where no prying eyes could see us. If she had been divorced, there would have been no problem, but I kept thinking that maybe her husband was having her watched, and if he cited me as the other man, this would badly dent my image in Sharnville and the business Bill and I had built up would take a financial knock. This sounds crazy in these modern days, but I knew Sharnville: leading citizens were expected to behave themselves and I was now a leading citizen.

I tried to contact her in the evening, and again the next day, without success. I went down to the garage and found her car gone. I wondered, with a sick, sinking feeling, she had left Sharnville, and I would never see her again.

That evening, I went down to the beach and considered what I should do. She was the one woman for me. I now, knew that. I was even prepared to wait two years if I had to, to marry her, but not if I could find some much quicker solution. After thinking, I decided I would have to find out more about her husband. It seemed to me that if I could meet and talk to him, offer him money, without Glenda knowing, he would be willing to free her. To me, she was worth far more than money. Although the bulk of my money was tied up in the business, I knew it would be no problem to get twenty thousand dollars from Manson on loan.

Finally, I decided I had to talk to her, and somehow, get her husband's address from her. But where was she? Where had she gone?

On this morning, as I parked my car outside the office block, I saw Sheriff Thomson striding along the sidewalk.

He paused and nodded to me.

'Hi, citizen.' This was his usual greeting to all his friends.

'Hello there.'

That's a smart young woman you sent to me . . . Mrs. Marsh.' He regarded me with his cop eyes. 'I reckon the articles she's going to write won't do Sharnville any harm.'

I forced a grin.

'That's why I suggested she should talk to you.'

'Yeah.'

There was a pause, then I said casually, 'She's doing a reportage on my business, Joe. This is important to me. I've got some more information for her, but I can't contact her.'

He pushed his Stetson hat to the back of his head.

'She's out of town right now, but she'll be back. She told me she's doing a piece on Grimmon's store, and she's got herself invited to old man Grimmon's place in L.A.' He stared thoughtfully at me. 'She'll be back. She wants to get photos of the jail.' He scowled at a motorist who was about to double park. Seeing him, the motorist drove on. 'How about a game of golf next Sunday?'

'I'd like to, Joe, but this Sunday I'm playing with Mr. Brannigan.'

He nodded.

'Mr. Brannigan, huh? I heard you play golf with him. You sure move in the top circles.'

I tried to laugh that off.