“But why a suite? What does that have to do with it?”
“In a suite, you can have anyone up that you choose, male, female or neuter. They assume that with a sitting room it wouldn’t occur to you to do things you might be tempted to do, if all you had was a bedroom.”
“Are you sure that’s the rule?”
“Well? Call them, why don’t you? And ask.”
“… That’s O.K. I trust your superior knowledge of motels.”
*
He went in his car to pack his things, and after I threw a bag together, I drove on down to the motel, a big one in three sections. At the registration desk I asked the price of a suite, “bedroom, living room, and bath.” The clerk didn’t seem at all surprised by a woman registering alone, and said: “We have them from thirty-seven fifty up.”
“Is thirty-seven fifty outside?”
“All our suites are outside. The thirty-seven fifty tier looks out on the airport. For forty-five seventy-five, you can look out on the river.”
“Airport’s fine.”
He gave me a key and told me how to go. I took my bag to the elevator, went up, followed his directions down a hall, unlocked a door, and suddenly was in my suite, feeling guilty and excited and a little dry in the throat. I went through the rooms-they were done in pale green, with darker green furniture to blend, and everything so recently cleaned you could smell it. I tried not to look at the beds, of which there were two, “though of course,” the clerk had explained, “for two persons the charge is forty-two fifty.”
After I put my things in the bureau drawer, such few things as I had, I went back to the sitting room. Out the window, I could see planes landing and taking off, but they were far enough away that I couldn’t hear them. On one table was a telephone, and I used it to dial the Garden.
“Bianca please, Sue. Thank you.” When Bianca picked up, I said: “I’m going to be out again tonight-and maybe tomorrow, I don’t know.”
There was silence on the line.
“I can’t help it, Bianca. It’s something personal and important.”
“You sick in bed? On death’s door?”
”…No. Not like that.”
“Then you’re not leaving me short-handed two nights in a row, never mind three. You get down here right now, Joan.”
“I can’t.”
After some more silence: “You want to explain to me why I shouldn’t fire you this time? Tom’s not around to talk me out of it again.”
“No he’s not,” I said. “He’s here with me.”
“… Oh!”
“He and I have something that can’t wait. One way or another, it’ll be done tomorrow, and then I’ll be in again like always. But tonight-”
“I heard you, you can’t. I hope you know what you’re doing, Joan.”
“This time, I do.”
Still sounding upset: “… I’ll go tell Liz.”
As soon as I put down the receiver, the phone was ringing, and then Tom’s voice was in my ear: “Just checked in. Feel like going over it again, maybe?”
“No maybe about it.”
“On my way up.”
Once he arrived, I called Room Service and had them read me the dinner menu, repeating each item to him. Maybe because of the day we had ahead of us, we were both hungry-we took salad with French dressing, chicken fricassee, baked potato, peas, ice cream, and coffee. Presently, a man rolled our order in on a metal table, served us and left, telling us: “When you’re done, put the table out in the hall-I’ll come for it later.” When we finished the meal I poured the coffee, taking mine black, while Tom took two lumps and cream. “This feels awfully domestic,” he said. “Like playing man and wife.” He was right, it did-friendly, warm and comfortable. But his putting it that way suddenly got me nervous.
“… Let’s get on to tomorrow,” I told him.
We went through it all one more time. I’d help him put on his face in the morning, and the wig, then we’d drive to the airport separately. We discussed where he’d sit and where I would, what he’d do if he saw them together and what he’d do if he saw one of them alone. We ran through it all twice.
“What if the Airport Police ask you what you’re doing there?” he asked.
“Why would they?”
“If they do.”
“I’m waiting for a friend who’s bringing our tickets.”
“O.K. Fine.”
“And what if they ask you?”
“Same, I guess. Or maybe I can whisper to them I’m there to help grab a rat who jumped his bail.”
“Maybe-but don’t.”
“No.”
“… Tom? You realize, don’t you, that this will be the end of any chance you might have with Lacey for that help you wanted, with his cousin. All that work you put into him, getting close to him, doing errands for him-like covering for his son that day.”
“Well, I’m glad I did that one, for other reasons entirely.”
We both smiled. But I said, “I’m serious.”
“Yes I do realize it.”
“And you don’t mind?”
“Yes I mind. But he can’t get away with what he’s trying here. If my house hadn’t been in hock to a bank, it would be me he was doing this to, and I’d be on the street. The only reason it’s you is because you know me and wanted to do me a kindness. So-if I lose him, I lose him. There are always other ways to a goal, and I’ll find one.”
“If you lose him? Tom, how could you not?”
“I am going to be wearing that wig you got me, and the glasses. Who knows, maybe he won’t tip to who it was turned him in.”
I saw then why he’d been so insistent on the wig. But I thought back to how quick Mr. Schwartz had seen through it, and didn’t have the heart to be too encouraging on the point.
“Well-I thank you,” I said.
After a moment in which neither of us seemed to know what to say, Tom set down his coffee cup and stood. “… So, I guess that covers that,” he said. “Time we were getting to bed.”
My stomach clutched-but he simply blew me a kiss and left.
Next morning I took great care with his face, putting three fine lines, like crow’s feet, at the corner of each eye, and one heavier slanting line on each cheek beside his mouth, doing it careful so they followed actual grooves in the skin and didn’t look like makeup even seen from close up. I did the same with the lines on his forehead. I kept telling myself, “Don’t overdo it,” and didn’t. I realized when I pulled the wig on that he was sixty years old at a distance of more than six feet, and the plan was for him to stay that far away from anyone. He slipped on the jacket and glasses we’d bought and blinked at me, then put on his old-man gait as he headed for the door to my suite. It was strange seeing him go, as I did have a flash, just for an instant, of what it would be like if I married Mr. White, seeing him off in the morning and welcoming him home each night. I shivered.
Once he was gone I dressed myself in a quiet and practical outfit like you might wear for a plane trip, and went down to breakfast, first buying a magazine, the Ladies Home Journal, at the newsstand. Tom was across the room, finishing his own breakfast, and let his eyes cross mine, but we didn’t speak to each other. He left before my food came. I ate quickly, paid my check, and went at once to my car, which I had parked in sight of the door. When I got to the airport I parked on their lot, added a pair of dark glasses to my ensemble, and walked to the main building.
The waiting room was huge but I marched myself slowly down it, from the foot of the stairs to the restaurant, past the ticket offices of the various airlines, to the far end. I didn’t see Mr. Lacey, but did see Mr. Christopher, and then, on the bench facing him, Mr. Schwartz. I saw them each nod slightly when they spotted me, and Mr. Schwartz inclined his head in the direction of the corner of the room. I took a seat there, facing United Airlines, but also commanding a view of the entrance. I opened the magazine, holding it down by my lap in such way as to let me look over the top. The clock said 10:30, which meant it was getting up tight, as with the plane leaving at twelve o’clock, passengers were expected to show by eleven, and while Lacey might take a chance, and wait till the last minute, he ran the risk of being paged under the Barnaby name, and in that way calling attention to himself. But there was nothing to do but wait, and I did, getting more nervous by the minute.