“No.”
“Then it’s a first.”
“You’re a first, too,” he said.
“Am I?” she answered. And then in the candid way that still surprised him, she said, “You’re not.”
He pulled into the gravel parking lot alongside the restaurant. A small sign outside read: CLOSED MONDAYS.
“We’re lucky,” he said, and he led her to the front door.
As they entered, his eyes hastily swept the room, first flicking to the left where the diners sat, and then to the cocktail lounge which was to the right of the entrance. He took her elbow, feeling strange taking anyone’s elbow but Eve’s, and walked with her to the lounge. There were four round tables across from the bar. He steered her to the table at the far end, helped her off with her coat, and then held out a chair for her.
She wore a black dress with a square neck, and he noticed for the first time that she was wearing dangling red earrings, and he wished she were not. The men sitting at the bar had turned to look at her. One man nudged another gently as she leaned over to sit. Larry felt suddenly embarrassed. He sat opposite her, looking at her dress and at the shaded dividing cleft between her breasts where the square low neck ended. Her beauty was a terrifying thing. He was amazed that he could be sitting with a woman so beautiful, but the open admiration of the other men in the bar annoyed him. He realized abruptly that this was not a girl you could take to a place where there was the slightest possibility of being observed by anyone you knew. Because this girl would definitely be observed. Again he thought, You see her. You see her instantly.
“What would you like to drink?” he asked.
“A martini,” she said quickly.
“Have you ever drunk one?”
“No,” she smiled.
“They’re slightly potent. Maybe you ought to have a whisky sour or something.”
“What are you going to have?”
“Whisky and soda,” he said.
“I’ll have that too.”
“If you prefer—”
“I prefer what you prefer,” she said.
He ordered the drinks. The waiter’s eyes lingered on Margaret as he placed them on the table. She lifted the glass without hesitation and put it to her lips.
“Wait,” Larry said.
“Am I doing something wrong?”
“Yes. You’re forgetting to toast.”
“Oh, good let’s toast.”
“Here’s...” He paused, holding the glass aloft. “Here’s to holding hands in the movies,” he said, and he hoped the sarcasm didn’t show too completely in his voice.
She laughed lightly. “I’ll drink to that,” she said, and she sipped at the whisky. Her eyes, he noticed, kept wandering to the bar and then dropping to the table top. It was as if she checked to see if she was being admired and then — having discovered that she was — was embarrassed either by the admiration or her necessity for checking it.
“How do you like it?” he asked.
“It tastes awful.”
“After the third one you’ll complain they left out the whisky.”
“I’m stopping after this one. I’m getting dizzy already.”
“You’ve only had a sip!”
“I didn’t eat dinner,” she said. “I was too excited about seeing you.”
“I’m flattered.”
She sipped at the drink. “It’s beginning to taste better,” she said, smiling. “You’re nice. I thought you were only going to be smart.”
“Thank you. You’re nice too.”
“I’m a bitch,” she said, surprising him.
She fell suddenly silent. Sipping at the drink, her eyes grew pensive. Her lashes fluttered. She did not look at him. Whenever she put the drink down, her fingers twisted the wedding band on her opposite hand, and all the while her eyes were seriously pensive and her lashes fluttered. And then, suddenly, she looked up and said, “All right. Whatever you say. Whatever you want to do. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”
“I want to please you.”
“I want whatever you want.”
Their eyes locked. “Finish your drink,” he said steadily.
“Finish yours.”
“I already have,” he said, reaching for the glass and draining it. “Let me pay the check.”
The motel was no more than a half mile down the road from the Big Bear. He was delighted by its proximity and by the “Vacancy” neon which flashed out front. He turned the car into the driveway and then navigated the steep hill and pulled up before a small gray building marked “OFFICE.”
“This shouldn’t take long,” he said.
She nodded but did not answer. She sat huddled on her side of the car, a frightened look on her face. He got out and walked to the office. A screen door had not yet been replaced by a storm door. Somewhere inside, a dog was barking furiously. He rang the bell. A voice called, “Just a minute.” He listened to the footsteps and then the same voice shouting, “Hans! Keep quiet! Stop that, Hans!” The barking stopped momentarily and then started again when the man opened the door. He was a fat man in an undershirt. He had a round beaming face. The dog behind him was a German shepherd, jowls pulled back over sharp teeth, a deep, malicious rumble in his throat.
“Stop it, Hans!” the man said. “Can I help you, sir?”
“I’d like a cabin.”
“There’s just one left.”
“How much?”
“Seven dollars. Want to come in and sign for it?”
Larry looked at the dog.
“He won’t bother you,” the fat man said.
Cautiously, Larry opened the screen door. He didn’t like the man or his growling German shepherd. He didn’t like the ugly slate gray of the office building.
“Do you want to see the cabin first?” the man asked.
“No, that’s all right.”
The dog sniffed at Larry’s trouser leg and then went to lie under the table. The fat man opened a register.
“The missus with you?”
“Yes.”
“Just sign it right there.”
Larry looked at the page. Without hesitation, he wrote “Mr. and Mrs. Calder.” In the space calling for an address, he wrote simply “New York, New York.” The next and final space asked for his license-plate number. He began writing his own number, changed his mind, and twisted the digits around. He put down the pen, opened his wallet, and handed the fat man a five and two singles.
“It’s the first cabin as you come in,” the man said. “Towels and sheets was just changed in there. You need anything, just call me.”
“Thank you,” Larry said.
“Thank you,” the fat man answered.
He was silent when he got back to the car. He swung around and headed for the first cabin, a concrete square with a bright red door.
“Any trouble?” Margaret asked.
“No.”
“Who are we?”
“Mr. and Mrs. Calder.”
“How do you do, Mr. Calder?”
“How do you do, Mrs. Calder?” he said, but he was not smiling.
They got out of the car. From the office, the owner yelled, “The door’s open. Key’s inside on the dresser. Leave it open when you go, will you?”
Then he had not fooled the owner at all. The man had only wanted his seven dollars. There had been no need to register falsely, probably no need to register at all. A practiced man would simply have winked, and there would have been immediate understanding. Feeling foolishly naïve, he opened the cabin door, flicked on the light, and allowed Margaret to enter the room.
Then he closed and locked the door.
The room was not at all unpleasant. The walls were a painted concrete. There was a large double bed with a bright yellow cover on it. There was a dresser, and a writing table, and a door that led to a small bathroom. There was a coat closet with wire hangers in it, and three windows with venetian blinds. A gray pay-radio rested on a small table.