The Quirk (20 page)

“Nothing’s easy at the moment. For a while there everything was too good to be true. How about you, monkey? Everything OK? I haven’t been bad to you have I?”

“No. Never,” he asserted with calm conviction.

“I’m glad. I couldn’t see any reason not to break some of the rules. The rules cut too much out of life. Do you realize how beautiful you are these days? You’ve changed somehow.”

“It’s the light of purity shining from my soul.”

“Really? No temptations? No beauties looming on the horizon?”

“Oh, the beauties are always there,” he said with a shrug and a merry gleam in his eyes. “It’s so restful not feeling that I must chase them.”

Rod moved to him and draped his arms around Patrice’s shoulders and leaned down so that their foreheads touched. “I miss not being in bed with you, monkey. You understand about all that, don’t you?

“Of course.” Patrice had accepted, had even tried to believe that he welcomed the end of their nightly physical intimacy. He didn’t need sex to sustain his love. This was unequivocal evidence that the good he had found in life was real, that nothing in his past could undermine the strength and purity he had found in his devotion to Rod. He wanted to fix his conviction in words. He drew his head back and looked up. “You’ve given me more than if you were queer and in love with me. You don’t divide everything into categories. The way you hold me now is better than making love with anybody else. You allow me to be in love with you because you know how much I need it and are not embarrassed by it. That is truly extraordinary.”

Rod ran his hands over the familiar body and drew him closer and moved his mouth to his. They exchanged a long kiss. He drew back and looked down at him. “What a mouth. I’m glad I got as far as learning to kiss you. You’re very sweet, monkey darling. Run along and have a good time.”

“You don’t want me to stay with you?”

“I do, but you better not. I’m all bottled up inside. I don’t trust myself. I’ve got to talk to Nicole and get started on a whole new phase. I don’t know what I’d do without you. We’d better leave it at that.”

When Rod was alone he quickly drank a whole bottle of wine to keep his mind blurred and harmless. Too much trouble to go out and try to call Nicole again. He was asleep on the sofa long before Patrice returned. When he called Nicole in the morning, she was in.

“Oh, my darling. I’ve been waiting for you to call.” There was a little flurry of urgency in her voice.

“Here I am. What happened to you yesterday?”

“Yesterday? I was in and out. You called?”

“Of course. Morning and evening. I had things to tell you.”

“Yes, I understand. I too–I was–When are we going to see each other? Her voice was beginning to sound less normal, the urgency thinning out into an undercurrent of apprehension.

“Is anything the matter?”

“Of course not, my dearest. Just that I miss you. I’ve been spoiled by seeing you so often. The telephone is no good. When will you come?

“This evening?”

“Of course. There’s nothing in particular. We’ll talk this evening. You never take time off for lunch.”

“I have for you.” She was definitely peculiar. He had rejected his premonition. Another possibility leaped to his mind. Had she seen a doctor who had given her a fright? “Listen. I’ll come out right now. You sound very strange.”

“I’m sorry. There’s nothing, just that I’m looking forward to seeing you.”

“Fine. You’ll see me in about half an hour.”

“No. Please, darling. I don’t want you to–”

“Don’t be silly. I want to see you too.
A tout à l’heure.
” He hung up, suddenly in a rush to get to her. She had to be all right. There was nothing that could make an abortion dangerous for a healthy woman as long as it was performed right. They had gone into all that. She had a reputable doctor who was willing to risk an illegal operation.

Twenty minutes in the Métro gave him ample opportunity to meditate on death and the corruption of the flesh. He was tense with anxiety when he reached her door. The minute he saw her, he knew that she had done it. He gathered her into his arms, and they clung to each other in motionless silence. He had seen her pale face. He held a damaged body. Relief passed. Something vital and precious seemed to shrivel within him. A cry of protest choked his throat.

“Why?” he asked.

“I couldn’t bear what it was doing to you. You’ve had too many worries, my dearest. This one I could spare you.”

He drew back and rubbed his eyes with the back of his hands. “Have I been as bad as that?”

“Not bad, dearest. Too good and loving and kind. It’s been agony for you.”

He dropped his hands and looked at her dully. They were no longer the glorious pair enthroned at the center of the universe but only a man and a woman who liked to fuck and who had created a tiresome problem for themselves in the process. A saner view, perhaps, but sadly commonplace. “You knew I’ve been waiting for money. It might have made all the difference.”

“But it hasn’t? You’ve heard?

“Yes. Nothing.” He supposed he ought to tell her that he would probably be gone before the summer was started but saying it might make it true.

“Then we had no choice. That worry is over.”

“But don’t you understand, darling? It was something I wanted us to do together–to decide together. It would have helped to make it less awful somehow.”

“There is nothing awful, dearest friend. Just tiresome and a little painful. I told you I must share the responsibilities.” She turned from him and started slowly, painfully toward the living room.

He followed her. She was wearing a severe housecoat that aged her. The way she moved was a reproach. He didn’t feel the unique all-encompassing claim on him that she had somehow established while she was pregnant. He was in love with her, of course, but even that had momentarily dimmed. Only momentarily. It was too tremendous to pass quickly. Tears started up behind his eyes.

“You’re all right, aren’t you?” he asked as they slowly crossed the room and seated themselves.

“Of course. These things are never quite as simple as they say. I was at the clinic almost all day yesterday. I got home quite late. They don’t like such cases to stay overnight. If you die, they prefer for you to do it at home.”

“Jesus, darling. Thanks for telling me now. How could you have done it all alone?”

“It would have been the same if you’d known. It’s very hush-hush. You do understand? You’re not angry?”

“Angry? No, just horribly disappointed.” He slumped down in his chair with his long legs stretched out and dropped his head onto the backrest and looked at the ceiling. “I don’t blame you. I know I’ve been difficult lately. You must think I’m such a sensitive soul that I can’t face facts. I’m going to pay for it you know. How have you handled that part of it?”

“Don’t worry about it, dearest. The doctor is an old family friend. He doesn’t care when he’s paid.”

“Fine. Now my girl’s a charity case. I really am a prize catch.” Gloom enveloped him. He couldn’t afford a baby. He couldn’t afford a girl. Quite simply, he couldn’t afford to live. What idiocy made him think that he could plan a normal married life without money? No plans–the choice he had made but had been bewitched by impending parenthood into forgetting.

He gathered himself together and sprang up and took a turn around the small stylish room. Still acting out his life in luxurious surroundings. They should be in a slum. Exposure to raw poverty might make him tough enough to take an abortion in stride. He had no business being here. He stopped beside her and touched her shoulder. “I guess everything will work out. I know we couldn’t wait any longer to do it. I feel like hell about what you’ve been through, but it’s easy for a man to say that. You’ve been very good about it. Thanks.” The effort it required to say the conciliatory words made him realize how much had been lost, how diminished was the current that ran between them. The magic people created together was probably bound to be ephemeral. Still, they had had it. He had the impression that most people never did.

She put her hand on his and pressed it. “I was sure it was right. Don’t feel you have to sit around here, darling. It’s been a strain for both of us, much worse for you than for me. It’s been wearing you out for weeks. Was your latest news very bad?”

“No. Aside from money it was pretty good. They seem to be getting organized for a show in the fall. If I live that long.”

“Why don’t you go on back to your work? It was sweet of you to come so promptly. I felt I had to see you, but that’s all right now. I must be quiet for a few days, and then I’ll be as good as new. You should have a complete change, a little holiday. Forget your worries and your useless girl. Isn’t Lola’s party tonight? You should go and devour all her expensive food and wine and look beautiful in your dinner jacket and let all the girls fall in love with you.”

“With you here barely able to walk? What a swell idea. At least I can take care of you.”

“No, my dearest. This is nothing we want to share. Natalie is coming in this afternoon. Suzanne will cook something for me tonight. She has had it done too. We will talk woman’s talk. Tomorrow the pain will be gone. Let’s wait until we can be lovers again, and then we’ll forget all about it.”

“Well then, I’ll fix you some lunch. I can do that much.”

“If you want to eat too, that will be pleasant.”

He doubted if it would be. Duties seldom were. She was probably right–this was a good time to have a holiday from each other.

Thinking of not seeing her for a few days made him begin to miss her, so lunch turned out more pleasant than he had expected. At moments he could feel the strands of their disrupted love being mended and reknit, and he resisted the process. They would start afresh when they could make love again. A holiday. Time to assess what was there without the magic.

He got back to work feeling less bruised and defeated. A small ember of defiance was rekindled in him. With Patrice’s help he’d show the gallery guys that he didn’t need them. He was looking forward to a couple of evenings with his boy again. Simple, undemanding friendship. It might release the flood of love in him that seemed to have been dammed up by his battle against impossible odds. Marriage and children were out. Make the most of the possible. Start all over again.

When he had cleaned his brushes for the day, he poured himself a drink and wandered about the room and waited. He couldn’t assume that his friend would show up. On the contrary, he would more likely stay out; as far as Patrice knew they might be busy arranging for the abortion. All the same … his guardian angel … what was he a student of the occult for?

He wandered over to the skylight and looked up into the murky Paris night. He was in no mood to stay alone here all evening. If he went out, he’d spend money–even a little would be too much. What else? Go to Lola’s after all? His Left Bank pals envied his connections and thought he was crazy not to use them. The rich existed to be conned. Only Patrice understood that his work was too important to play games with. If Lola and her lot liked it, he would begin to wonder what was wrong with it. Even going to eat her incredible food would be an admission that she had something he wanted. And why not? Take what you want and spit in their eyes. He hadn’t answered her invitation. He didn’t have to send flowers. He could be as ill-bred as he liked. Actually, he was rather fond of the old lady; it was the others who drove him wild.

He pulled off his clothes and took a leisurely bath. There was no hurry. Patrice might still come in. If he did, he’d forget Lola. He had another drink to postpone dressing. Once he was in his dinner jacket, there was nothing more to wait for. He mustn’t let himself be too dependent on anybody.

As he cut across the windswept circle of the Etoile toward avenue Foch, he noticed that there were a great many policemen about, standing in groups like flocks of some strange fowl, their capes flapping like wings in the bitter night. The wooden barricades that were always produced for parades or demonstrations were piled up in stacks here and there. An odd time for a parade. Somebody was threatening to march on Paris and put de Gaulle to the sword. As least they hadn’t been trying to blow him up recently. Count your blessings.

Once enclosed by the artfully simulated rural landscape of the avenue Foch, it was impossible to imagine danger of any sort. Rebellion had no more chance than originality in this artificial world.

When he had passed through the handsome ironwork portal of Lola’s building, he found that even the elevator was working for once. He rode up in it, and Lola’s door was opened by the butler in full dress who greeted him by name and took his coat and directed him unnecessarily to the grandest of the grand salons. The room looked as if it had been moved from Versailles-gilded, mirrored, glittering with crystal chandeliers, the furniture pushed back against the walls.

As he entered it he saw that he was early. Should he have waited longer for Patrice? The hell with that. He was on holiday. Where were the girls who were going to fall in love with him? People were seated in stiff groups. Waiters moved about with trays of drinks. Rod took a whiskey. The hum of conversation was so discreet that a woman’s laughter was a sudden discordant note. Lola advanced to greet him. She was wearing a purple dress of complicated design that seemed to catch her around the knees and threaten to throw her to the floor. She lifted a hand to be kissed, and he pulled it down and briefly clasped it. Enough of fancy foreign ways.