“Just make sure it’s not the kitchen floor, please-we only covered the living room and the bedroom.”
“Check. Oh, I’m so glad you got me involved in this, you two. I haven’t had this much fun in years. I never thought I’d get to do something so exciting-too bad it’s a one-shot deal.”
On Friday night, I hung around the Society doing mindless paperwork, until it was time to meet Marty. At eight thirty, the two of us were seated at a table at our restaurant, the one in proven range of our transmitter. We ate some forgettable food-which might explain why the place was half empty-and I went to the bathroom three times, because I didn’t want to have to go in the middle of the action and miss something important. Marty’s sizable tip had ensured that we could hold the table as long as we wanted. Now all we could do was wait.
At ten fifteen, the little light on our receiver flickered, indicating it was picking up something. Marty and I exchanged startled glances across the table. We each donned our earbuds, like two warriors arming for battle. It was show time.
Footsteps. Giggles. Murmurs. More footsteps. Marty and I were still as stone figures, staring into oblivion, trying to visualize what was happening. Someone took off a coat; there was a clank of hangers in the hall closet (Charles was a fanatic about hanging up clothes).
“A liqueur?” Charles’s voice. He came across well, his tones smooth and mellow-maybe he could consider a job in radio broadcasting. From his jail cell.
“Fabulous, darling.” Libby’s alto purr. “I’ll have some of your lovely Cognac.”
The clink of glasses, more footsteps. Rustle-thump: they were on the settee. I followed them in my mind. A discreet gurgle-Charles pouring into the crystal snifters. My, these bugs were sensitive.
“There you go. What shall we drink to?”
“To many more lovely evenings like this one, my sweet. Thank you for that fabulous dinner-I never know what to choose, because it all sounds so wonderful. You picked just the right dishes. You know me so well, Charles.” Libby was troweling it on.
That’s right, Libby, throw yourself into your role.
Rustle, pant. “Oh, Charles, what you do to me… I can’t get enough of you.” Oops. Marty’s and my eyes met, then slid apart quickly. Things were going according to plan, but what we had talked about in the bright light of Libby’s library didn’t seem quite the same as sitting like a pair of perverts and listening to the reality of it. I hoped fervently that Libby could extract what we needed from Charles and we could sign off before things got too hot and heavy.
“ Elizabeth, darling, you know you have the same effect on me, as you can see.” Oh, ick. “ Elizabeth…” His voice was husky, and the following silence was filled with more heavy breathing. Come on, Libby-get on with it. Then Charles spoke again. “I think we should consider becoming more than just lovers.” Aha! The first salvo. And Libby hadn’t even had to make it herself. Marty and I held our breath.
A new waiter appeared at our table. Marty and I didn’t even look at him, but we both waved him away frantically. He retreated, bewildered. Okay, we were crazy ladies, but we tipped well.
Libby spoke in her lazy drawl. “Why, Charles, what do you mean?” Come on, Libby, don’t overplay it.
“Darling, I’ve never met a woman like you. You are amazing-smart, funny, and sexy. Damn sexy.” There followed another interlude of inarticulate sounds. Then Charles’s voice again, heavy, rough.
“Marry me, Elizabeth. We could have a wonderful life together.”
“Oh, Charles. There’s nothing I’d like more. But…”
Slither-the sound of silk. And was that a zipper?
“But what? You’re free, I’m free. We love each other. What more is there?”
“Oh, Charles, I do love you. But… I’m afraid. Of what other people might think. That you’re marrying me for my money. You know-you’re so handsome and successful, but I’m… a little older than you are, and I know what my mirror tells me. People will talk. I know I shouldn’t care what they think, but I do.” I looked at Marty again, and I think we both would have burst out laughing if we weren’t afraid of missing something. Libby certainly had a flair for this.
“Let them talk. You know what you feel, and what I feel. It’s no one’s business but our own. Who are they to matter?”
“Oh, but, Charles, they do. You haven’t been here very long-you don’t know what a provincial town Philadelphia can be. And it’s my home-they’re my friends.”
A brief silence. Was Charles weighing his chances? Would he play the next card? I didn’t dare breathe.
“ Elizabeth, I know it’s in poor taste to talk about such things, but I want to assure you that I’m not without resources. You wouldn’t have any reason to be ashamed.” Come on, Charles, come on. We want details!
“Well, darling,” Libby began, with just the right note of skepticism, “I know you have a nice home and nice things, but… that’s not the same as money. After all, you work.” The contempt in Libby’s voice when she said “work” was perfectly calibrated.
A silence that seemed somehow colder. Maybe Charles wasn’t used to meeting any resistance to his wooing. Finally he chuckled-an odd sound from him. “You’re perfectly right, my dear. I must be honest with you. I don’t flaunt it, but I assure you that my net worth is in the seven-figure range. Do you need to see documentation?”
Ah. Well, there we were. He had the money.
“Oh, darling. I’m sorry-I didn’t mean to imply that you were taking advantage of me. And I’m so relieved. But a girl can’t be too careful. I had to ask.”
“And I respect you for it. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“Thank you, Charles.” Another interlude as Libby soothed Charles’s wounded pride. Marty studied her nails. I refolded my napkin several times and wondered if I still remembered how to make an origami swan. After a few minutes, I broke the silence.
“Well, we’re halfway there,” I whispered. “Charles is claiming to have a lot more money than James seems to think. Do you think Libby is going to get any more, or will she get swept away by passion?”
“Don’t worry about Libby-she’s very focused. She’s just paving the way.”
Right. From what I was hearing, that part was going very well. No words emerged for a while, although I wouldn’t say things were silent. Finally Charles spoke.
“Wouldn’t we be more comfortable upstairs?”
“Brilliant idea.”
The settee creaked as it was relieved of the weight of two bodies. Footsteps padded away, presumably toward the stairs. Then the sounds faded… and resumed again, from the bedroom transmitter. I hoped Libby planned to do a little talking before launching into any other activities.
There was a squeak as they sat on the bed. “Oh, Charles, marriage… it’s such a big step. I’ve been there before, as you know, and so have you. So many details-children to tell, houses to sell. My place in the city, this place, my country house. That house might be much more comfortable for the two of us. Unless, of course, the commute would be too much for you? But then, you wouldn’t need to keep working at all, would you? At that tatty little place?”
Another silence. From what I could hear, Charles was removing his clothes, one piece at a time, and hanging up each piece. Shoes neatly aligned in the closet, pants on their hanger, shirt and socks in the hamper. Libby, on the other hand, was not moving.
Charles spoke again. “Darling, you have on far too many clothes. Here, let me help you.” Which he proceeded to do, stopping to hang up Libby’s dress along the way. “There, much better.”