Heat of Night (4 page)

“Two?” the cook’s husband looked up from his ice cream. “I thought it was a banquet anyhow.”

Perhaps it is, Mal thought with that chill of bitterness. Maybe it’ll be the banquet where the big bad wolf eats Little Red Riding Hood before she turns out to be Stella’s sister under the skin and devours him first.

“It may be,” Hollister said. “But there are only two of us to be there.”

“Fine,” Mrs. Harker said. “I’m glad you’re getting interested in some fine girl — ”

“Interested is a mild word for what’s afflicting me,” Hollister said. He was in love with a girl half his age, a girl whose parents would rather see her dead than married to him, a girl that was begging him to take her and with whom he’d been the soul of honor. Me. Stella’s cast-off. Who was he kidding?

“Wonderful. I always said you could be happy with some nice girl — if only she gave you half a chance.”

“That’s enough, Reeva,” her husband’s voice was sharp. Mrs. Harker had always hated Stella. Harker didn’t mind as long as she kept her views in the kitchen.

Hollister spoke to the butler. “I want dinner served on the closed terrace. A table for two — ”

“With candles,” Mrs. Harker said.

“I want the view,” Hollister admitted the view of this bay was new neither to him nor Dolores but there was always the chance that seeing it together would make it new for both of them. A man had to hope for something. He’d been planning to sell this place until he saw Dolores Venzino working in the Dead Bay branch office. Well, he’d had enough sentimental thoughts. He was thirty-six, this girl was nineteen, she was throwing herself at him and only one thing could come of it — and that might as well be tonight.

He shivered, wondering why he hated himself.

He went over each detail of the menu with Mrs. Harker, including wines, their temperature and the precise moment when Harker should serve them. He left nothing to chance. He never had in the last fifteen years.

When he was sure the dinner would be what both of them would enjoy, and would make Dolores smile with pleasure, he walked into the oversized living room that opened upon a closed terrace with view of forest, bay and Gulf. Candles and moonlight would make it irresistibly lovely. The ideal setting for the moment when a girl learned the hard facts of life, he told himself coldly, trying to forget how terribly, how tenderly, he loved her. He felt his hands sweating.

Going into the music library he chose records for three hours of uninterrupted background. Everything had to be right, something had to give. This girl was making an idiot of him: he could hear Stella’s distant laughter, taunting, full of contempt. Stella had made a sucker of him, this girl would too, give her time. She already had — wasn’t he a fool trying to control all his natural impulses? Well, he was tired playing the clown, tired believing in that goodness that always meant so much to him. He couldn’t go on, a walking zombie like this, trying to out-think the politicians and unable to think about anything except Dolores. This had to be the night.

R
OSA WAS CRYING
as she washed out some clothes over a tub in the back yard. She couldn’t make her nose stop running.

She swallowed, vision blurred. Her hand slipped on the scrub board and she uttered a blasphemy, quickly crossing herself. She needed an electric washer, that was what she needed, even the manual wringer type would be nice. There were reasons she never mentioned such a machine. No sense worrying Juan. If he knew she wanted an electric washer, it would worry him until he found some way to get it for her. And she knew what way he would find. He would go deeper into debt.

And it might start him talking about going out in the Gulf in one of his rotting boats to find that treasure — this treasure would solve all their woes. Aiee. She’d been hearing about this treasure so long. Sometimes she even believed perhaps — truly if talking about a thing made it so …

She sniffled and wiped her red raw knuckles across her nose leaving a trail of suds. She blew at it, sticking out her underlip.

“Rosa.”

She hadn’t heard Juan approach behind her. She caught her apron in her fist, wiped at her face, trying to wipe away the traces of her crying.

“You need a washer,” Juan said. “We got a TV. You got no washer.”

“Is all right. I love that TV.”

“Al and Bea,” he said. “Where did they go?”

“In to the A and ? store to buy something to eat. They said there was nothing in the house.”

He spread his hands. “Funny, I had no idea we have nothing to eat in the house.”

Rosa said, “Shu. For that one of Al’s we have nothing. You should know we have nothing for Miss Lace Drawers.”

“She’s a good girl.”

Rosa shrugged.

“The Cunninghams. They have done a lot for our son. He makes plenty of money, I bet.”

She shrugged again.

“One of these days,” Juan said. “I get an aqua-lung. A cheap one, even. I no longer need pumps and all that stuff. This is for the weak. When I get that treasure, you see. I buy us a fine new boat, and a washing machine.”

But his face was drawn, he could work up no enthusiasm.

Rosa’s protest was only half-hearted. “You must not do this, Juan. Suppose something happen to you? What would I do if something happened to you? I am to find another man like you — and I have not seen one in thirty years?”

“Maybe you better — without a man like me.” His voice was flat. He sighed. “You think Al can talk to this man — this Hollister?”

“Alberto is a fine man, Papa. He is smart. He’s selling insurance all the time. He knows the thing to say. You let him handle, Papa.” Her voice was troubled now, all her worries pressing to the surface.

“I worry. What can Alberto do?”

“Is not Alberto I worry about. Alberto will talk with him. It is you — what you might do, Papa.”

Juan looked down at his fists. They were clenched and he had not even known he’d balled them up. The terrible thoughts he had troubled him more all the time.

“You let Alberto handle, Papa?” There was pleading in Rosa’s voice.

“Something got to be done.” He was not speaking to her but to his fists.

She touched his clenched hands, caressing them, willing them to relax.

“Maybe — like Bea said, Papa, this Hollister not be as bad as we think…. maybe he be good for her, eh, Papa?”

His voice grew hard. “You know better. A man like that — a man with money like that. And you know what else he is. You know better.”

She nodded. She knew better.

They saw Dolores cross the yard from the shell road, going toward the house. She waved to them but did not stop. Her smile brightened the yard for Juan. He moved to follow her into the house.

Rosa caught his arm. “Papa. Let me talk to her a minute. You do this for me?”

Dolores was undressing when Rosa came into her bedroom. It was a small room, overcrowded with a chest of drawers and a twin bed. Big Juan had added this room for Dolores when she was fourteen and old enough for privacy. Old pictures of movie stars were pasted on the walls, and figures of Christ on Calvary and the Blessed Virgin. The mirror over the chest was old and smoky.

Dolores gave her mother a smile.

Rosa sat on the bed, watching Dolores. “I have something for you,
mi corazon.
”

“What is it, Mama?” Dolores was hurried. Her slip was too tight across her breasts and hips and she was searching in the top drawer for a newer one. What she suspected was true: there was none.

“This, darling. I want you should have it.”

She held up her beads. They were expensive, an heirloom from her grandmother.

Dolores stopped rummaging in her dresser. She turned and leaned against it, frowning. “Why, Mama, you don’t want to give me those beads.”

“I do. I want you should have them. I was much younger than you when they were given to me. When I die, you will get them. Why not now?”

“Because you are young, because you are not going to die. Why, Mama, you are younger than I am.”

“When you go to church,” Rosa persisted. “It is nice to have such rich beads.”

Dolores bit her lip. “When I go to church. Mama, stop worrying about me. Please.”

“Worrying? What is this worrying? I want you should have these.”

Dolores sighed. “Oh, Mama, I know. You want to remind me of religion. Of the church. Why don’t you just come out and say it?”

Rosa sat straighter on the bed, a look of righteous indignation pulling at her face. “All right. I say it then, to you. You must say it to yourself many times. But I say it, if you want so bad to hear it. He is divorce. He is divorced man. He is divorce.”

Dolores spread her hands, eyes hurt. “And I love him.”

“A sin. You love a sin. A man that would live in sin.”

“Mama. He doesn’t look at it the way we do.”

“No. Oh, no.” She gave a laugh that called herself a woman of the world. “I know how he looks at it, all right. It is plain enough how this one looks at it. A little bit of fun, eh?”

“Oh, Mama. Please, let’s not fight.”

“Is not fight. Is trying to make you see what already you got to see inside. This man is not like you.”

“Bea Cunningham was not like Alberto, either. But you didn’t fight Alberto.”

“Shu. Bea is a lovely Catholic girl. And she is not in divorce, either. It is not the same. What will the people we know think of you — a man that is divorce.”

“Mama.” Dolores’ voice was weary. It was as if she’d gone through all this with herself so often she was already fatigued. “Mama, didn’t you ever do anything that might seem a sin to other people — but that for you — you knew it was right for you?”

“Divorce.” Rosa’s face twisted. “A divorced man. This man is not free. And in your heart you know he is not free…. This is a mortal sin that you take so light.”

“Mama, you’re not answering me. I asked you. I asked you a question. Didn’t you ever do anything wrong —
that you knew was wrong?
”

Rosa’s eyes brimmed with tears. She was more miserable than ever. “This is a sin against God.” But she was remembering the young parish priest so long ago and the way she’d felt about him. She had not loved him as a father, as all the parishioners should, but with the young, urgent, itching kind of desire that waked her up in the night with his name on her lips and nothing to make her sleep again but the touch of his hands and she did not have his hands, and she could not have them, and she did not sleep. In her heart dwelt this sin, bigger even than her heart.

“It is a sin,” Rosa said again. But her voice was weak. But understanding Dolores’ sin didn’t change it, didn’t make it less a mortal sin. “It is a sin.” This time her voice was stronger.

Dolores paced the room slowly. At last she spoke. “All right. It is a sin. But I live if I love Mal. I die if I don’t. I am young, Mama. I want to live. I want to love him.”

Rosa caught her arm, her mouth pulled down. “You want you papa to do something terrible?” She hissed the words. “This is what will happen. Nights, you papa does not sleep. In the day, his face is turned away so I will not see the thoughts in his face. Shu … but I know. The way he hates … the things he might do … and we must lose you papa because you must have this sin — this divorce man!”

• • •

Al walked back and forth before the divan where Dolores sat with Rosa. Bea was in a chair facing them. He could see Dolores’ mind was closed against anything he could say. He recognized the look, he’d seen it in the faces of obdurate insurance prospects.

“Look, kid. If there was anything going to come of this, I’d be the first one to yell and cheer for you. All your life, have I been on your side or not?”

Dolores chewed at her lip but did not answer.

Al said, “Look, kid. This guy. He wants a good time, that’s all. Looking at it from his angle, maybe you can’t blame him. It’s just that he picked on you — and we can’t have that.”

“I love him. He loves me.”

“Kid, no. He’s a business man, a widower — ”

“A divorced man,” Rosa said.

Al hurried on, “A man looking for a good time. You think he loves you. But he’s not interested in getting married, eh?”

“That’s not what he says,” Dolores answered. She smiled wanly, remembering what Mal had said, the way he had held her.

Al threw up his hands. “What he says. What he says. Right there you prove what a kid you are. Quit believing what a man says. Believe what he does.”

“Amen,” Bea said. “You just got the word from the master.”

“Stay out of this, Bea,” Al said. It was a mechanical response by now. He leaned over Dolores again. “Kid, this guy ain’t being honest with you. Men like that who play around with young girls are doing just that — playing around, for God’s sake. Maybe at first they don’t even mean any harm — ”

“Is that the way you start, Al, not meaning any harm?” Bea inquired.

Al straightened, turning, gentle eyes blazing. “All right, Bea. Maybe it is. Jesus knows I live at home with a woman who wants a swimming pool in the backyard and a membership in the country club and she wants twin beds — ”

“That’s between us, Al.”

“Then stay out of this. You know nothing. Sex to you is a dirty word. It’s for husbands and whores.”

“The master speaks.”

Al sighed. He turned his back on Bea again. “I’m trying to help you, Dolores. What Hollister says to you don’t matter. I’m telling you if you could see clearly right now, the things he says wouldn’t even make sense. You’d die laughing.”

“I’m not laughing,” Dolores said. “I’m not laughing at you, either, Al. I don’t think you ought to talk about him. Not until you know.”

“What’s to know, for God’s sake?” He prowled the rug. “His wife divorced him. He’s found out he can play around with anybody he wants to. So he found you. You’re too good for this kind of thing, Dolores. Too nice. Be a smart kid and tell him where to go.”

“I love him.”

“Love. What do you know about love?”

“Listen to Dorothy Dix,” Bea said. “Ask Abby. Get the word from Ann Landers. Old know-it-all.”

“I know Mal Hollister,” Al said.

“Sure you do. How do you know him? You play golf with him? You visit with him?”

“I don’t have to know him personally, for God’s sake. I know the type.”

“Al, why don’t you butt out of this?” Bea said. She looked at her wrist watch. “I want to go home.”

Al yelled at her. “You want to let it drag on until Papa does something we’ll all be sorry for?”

“I want to go home,” Bea said again. She could not believe that Juan would resort to violence. People just didn’t do such things.

“Then go home, goddamn it,” Al yelled. “You don’t need me. Your twin bed will be just as cold after you get in it as it is now — ”

Bea said, “Stop talking like this, Al. Stop taking out all your old hatreds on Malcolm Hollister.”

“I’m not taking out my hates on anybody.” Al’s voice sank to a hoarse whisper. “You and me. We’re married. All that matters now is what the neighbors think. Okay. I married you. It’s for the rest of my life. But I’m not going home while some guy is trying to mess up my kid sister. Something’s got to be done. I want to be sure it’s the right thing. I’m staying until it’s done.”

“Al, you promised — ”

Al ignored her. “Won’t you listen to me, Dolores?”

She shook her head. “You’re wrong, Al. You’re all wrong about him.” She stood up. “You’re all going to get to meet him tonight when he comes. You’ll see how wrong you are.”

“We’re older than you are, kid,” Al said. “Why should we all be wrong and you right?”

Dolores smiled and stroked his cheek. “I don’t know why,” she said, teasing, “but there it is.”

She looked at them, their faces set against her. She forced herself to smile. “You’ll see,” she said. “All of you will see. When he gets here.”

The screen door slammed and little Luis came in, cut leg dirtily bandaged. “Sis,” he shouted at Dolores. “You got company.”

“Mal.” She whispered it involuntarily, in panic. It couldn’t be so late. She looked around, frantic.

“Naw,” Luis said from the door. “It ain’t the one in the big new car. It’s Ric. He says he’ll wait for you out on the front steps.”

Dolores stood in the middle of the room, wanting to laugh and cry at the same instant. All their faces had relaxed now, and they were smiling with satisfaction. Ric Suarez was out there, waiting. Right now she could even believe they had sent for him. Damn. She had thought things couldn’t get worse. This just proved how much she knew about it.