A vision of Hooper’s smiling face flashed across her mind. Forget it, she told herself. That’s stupid. Worse. It’s self-defeating.
She walked across the street and climbed into her car. As she pulled out into the traffic, she saw Larry Vaughan standing on the corner. God, she thought, he looks as sad as I feel.
SEVEN
The weekend was as quiet as the weekends in the late fall. With the beaches closed, and with the police patrolling them during the daylight hours, Amity was practically deserted. Hooper cruised up and down the shore in Ben Gardner’s boat, but the only signs of life he saw in the water were a few schools of baitfish and one small school of bluefish. By Sunday night, after spending the day off East Hampton the beaches there were crowded, and he thought there might be a chance the shark would appear where people were swimming — he told Brody he was ready to conclude that the fish had gone back to the deep.
“What makes you think so?” Brody had asked.
“There’s not a sign of him,” said Hooper. “And there are other fish around. If there was a big white in the neighborhood, everything else would vanish. That’s one of the things divers say about whites. When they’re around, there’s an awful stillness in the water.”
“I’m not convinced,” said Brody. “At least not enough to open the beaches. Not yet.” He knew that after an uneventful weekend there would be pressure — from Vaughan, from other realestate agents, from merchants — to open the beaches. He almost wished Hooper had seen the fish. That would have been a certainty. Now there was nothing but negative evidence, and to his policeman’s mind that was not enough.
On Monday afternoon, Brody was sitting in his office when Bixby announced a phone call from Ellen.
“I’m sorry to bother you,” she said, “but I wanted to check something with you. What would you think about giving a dinner party?”
“What for?”
“Just to have a dinner party. We haven’t had one in years. I can’t even remember when our last one was.”
“No,” said Brody. “Neither can I.” But it was a lie, He remembered all too well their last dinner party: three years ago, when Ellen was in the midst of her crusade to reestablish her ties with the summer community. She had asked three summer couples. They were nice enough people, Brody recalled, but the conversations had been stiff, forced, and uncomfortable. Brody and his guests had searched each other for any common interest or experience, and they had failed. So after a while, the guests had fallen back on talking among themselves, self-consciously polite about including Ellen whenever she said something like, “Oh, I remember him!” She had been nervous and flighty, and after the guests had left, after she had done the dishes and said twice to Brody, “Wasn’t that a nice evening!” she had shut herself in the bathroom and wept.
“Well, what do you think?” said Ellen.
“I don’t know. I guess it’s all right, if you want to do it. Who are you going to invite?”
“First of all, I think we should have Matt Hooper.”
“What for? He eats over at the Abelard, doesn’t he? It’s all included in the price of the room.”
“That’s not the point, Martin. You know that. He’s alone in town, and besides, he’s very nice.”
“How do you know? I didn’t think you knew him.”
“Didn’t I tell you? I ran into him in Albert Morris’s on Friday. I’m sure I mentioned it to you.”
“No, but never mind. It doesn’t make any difference.”
“It turns out he’s the brother of the Hooper I used to know. He remembered a lot more about me than I did about him. But he is a lot younger.”
“Uh-huh. When are you planning this shindig for?”
“I was thinking about tomorrow night. And it’s not going to be a shindig. I simply thought we could have a nice, small party with a few couples. Maybe six or eight people altogether.”
“Do you think you can get people to come on that short notice?”
“Oh yes. Nobody does anything during the week. There are a few bridge parties, but that’s about all.”
“Oh,” said Brody. “You mean summer people.”
“That’s what I had in mind. Matt would certainly feel at ease with them. What about the Baxters? Would they be fun?”
“I don’t think I know them.”
“Yes, you do, silly. Clem and Cici Baxter. She was Cici Davenport. They live out on Scotch. He’s taking some vacation now. I know because I saw him on the street this morning.”
“Okay. Try them if you want.”
“Who else?”
“Somebody I can talk to. How about the Meadows?”
“But he already knows Harry.”
“He doesn’t know Dorothy. She’s chatty enough.”
“All right,” said Ellen. “I guess a little local color won’t hurt. And Harry does know everything that goes on around here.”
“I wasn’t thinking about local color,” Brody said sharply. “They’re our friends.”
“I know. I didn’t mean anything.”
“If you want local color, all you have to do is look in the other side of your bed.”
“I know. I said I was sorry.”
“What about a girl?” said Brody. “I think you should try to find some nice young thing for Hooper.”
There was a pause before Ellen said, “If you think so.”
“I don’t really care. I just thought be might enjoy himself more if he had someone his own age to talk to.”
“He’s not that young, Martin. And we’re not that old. But all right: I’ll see if I can think of somebody who’d be fun for him.”
“I’ll see you later,” Brody said, and he hung up the phone. He was depressed, for he saw something ominous in this dinner party. He couldn’t be sure, but he believed — and the more he thought about it, the stronger the belief became — that Ellen was launching another campaign to reenter the world he had taken her from, and this time she had a lever with which to jimmy her way in: Hooper.
The next evening, Brody arrived home a little after five. Ellen was setting the dinner table in the dining room. Brody kissed her on the cheek and said, “Boy, it’s been a long time since I’ve seen that silver.” It was Ellen’s wedding silver, a gift from her parents.
“I know. It took me hours to polish it.”
“And will you look at this?” Brody picked up a tulip wine glass. “Where did you get these?”
“I bought them at the Lure.”
“How much?” Brody set the glass down on the table.
“Not much,” she said, folding a napkin and placing it neatly beneath a dinner fork and salad fork.
“How much?”
“Twenty dollars. But that was for a whole dozen.”
“You don’t kid around when you throw a party.”
“We didn’t have any decent wine glasses,” she said defensively. “The last of our old ones broke months ago, when Sean tipped over the sideboard.”
Brody counted the places set around the table. “Only six?” he said. “What happened?”
“The Baxters couldn’t make it. Cici called. Clem had to go into town on some business, and she thought she’d go with him. They’re spending the night.” There was a fragile lilt to her voice, a false insouciance.
“Oh,” said Brody. “Too bad.” He dared not show that he was pleased. “Who’d you get for Hooper, some nice young chick?”
“Daisy Wicker. She works for Gibby at the Bibelot. She’s a nice girl.”
“What time are people coming?”
“The Meadows and Daisy at seven-thirty. I asked Matthew for seven.”