Still I'm relieved. Now that I'm certain it's him, I don't feel menaced anymore. Rather a sense of clarification, that this is how things stand. A feeling of vindication, too, coupled with a feeling that now the power's swung to me, it's all in my hands now.
Later, at the club, I thrashed Greta 6-1 6-0. And she thinks she's my rival for the Woman's Cup! Feeling her hatred out on the court only encouraged me to battle harder!
Doris called from Florida. I told her about the letters. She wasn't too interested until I told her who sent them. The she got interested. ‘What're you going to do about this?’ ‘Call him on it, call the man to account.’ ‘Better be careful, Barb,’ she said. ‘W's powerful. He could do you damage.’ ‘You don't get it, Mom. It's my turn now, it's me who can do the damage.’ ‘Listen to me, Barb – don't get high and mighty just because you have the Fulraine name. Since you and Andy split up, it doesn't count for much. You're back to being Barbie Lyman to W's crowd. Don't chew off more than you can swallow.’
She made me so mad I hung up on her.
Great stuff! It's nine o'clock and I still can't put the diary down. In two weeks and a day, Barbara and Tom Jessup will be killed, and there're things in her diary that point toward a suspect I hadn't considered.
What could Waldo have been thinking? If he really was the sender, and it certainly sounds like it was, he had to know Barbara was onto him. Waldo may have been malicious, but he wasn't stupid. There was no other way to interpret the things Barbara was saying to him.
So, how threatened did he feel? And if he felt badly threatened, to what lengths was he willing to go?
Certainly if it came out that he'd sent Barbara horrible anonymous letters, his position in Calista's upper crust would be severely undermined. At the very least, he'd lose his column, the mainstay of his existence, the excuse for his lifestyle and the only rationale for his superficiality.
But would he really kill to protect himself – get hold of a shotgun, pull a fedora down to his eyes, then march into Barbara's love nest and blast her and Tom four times?
That seems improbable considering how devious he was and the cowardice of an attack by anonymous letter. Still, who can know what a man like that might have done if he believed his reputation, the very currency of his life, was in jeopardy?
It's all very strange and the end game stranger still. For Barbara had more than one game going those final days: her game with Waldo, her game with Dad, and her high-risk game with Tom:
Wednesday
3:00 p.m. at the F. T was waiting when I arrived. He looked upset.
‘What's the matter, darling?’
‘I can't go on with this. I just can't!’
He told me that last night that awful couple looked at him with scorn. Also how when he paid them, he felt their contempt even more.
‘This isn't me, B,’ he said. ‘I've done my best, but I just can't go on with it.’
‘Well, it's a little late to tell me that, T, don't you think? A little late in the game to back out.’
‘I never wanted to do this. I only agreed because you asked me.’
‘If you didn't want to play, you shouldn't have agreed. If you back out now everything's lost, not to mention the money I've invested.’
‘I'll pay you back.’
I laughed. ‘You! You can't even afford a decent pair of shoes!’
He was so hurt I was afraid he was going to cry. ‘I'm sorry,’ I told him. ‘I'm being mean. You did enough, delving into that pit of sleaze. I love you all the more because it was so hard for you. Let me show you just how much I love you.’
How could he resist, poor boy?
Afterwards I watched him sleep, then went downstairs where there's a cigarette machine, bought a pack, returned to the room, sat down in the crummy easy chair, and watched him some more while I smoked.
I don't know what got into me. I haven't smoked tobacco in five years, not since Belle was taken. But it felt good to draw the smoke in, feel it in my lungs. I think because I felt so filthy in my soul I wanted to physically dirty myself inside.
Then T woke up, he sniffed the air. ‘You've been smoking.’
‘Yes, my sweet.’
‘I never saw you smoke anything but pot.’
‘It's a rare occurrence.’
‘Please smoke another so I can watch.’
I lit up again, sat back, inhaled deeply, blew out gusts, a few smoke rings, too.
‘I wish this were pot,’ I told him.
‘I'll bring some next time.’
‘I'm shocked, shocked that you, a teacher, a sterling example to children, partake of drugs!’
He laughed. ‘There's a girl in my house who smokes all the time.’
‘Then bring some.’
‘We’ll share, get high together.’
‘Yes, that'll be fun.’
He paused at the door. ‘Because I promised you, B, I'll try to see it through.’
‘A man of his word. I appreciate that. Just a couple more weeks and I'll release you from your vows.’
Soon as he left, I called W from the room. It was 5 p.m.. I knew just where to reach him, at the Townsend bar.
‘I know it's you,’ I told him.
‘What are you talking about, love.’
‘I bet your left eyelid's twitching as we speak.’
‘Are you crazy, Barb, or what?’
‘I've got proof. My detectives tracked the letters back to you.’
‘That's absurd!’
‘I knew you were a snake, W. But I didn't know how poisonous. I truly didn't.’
Silence. Then: ‘When you say things like that to me, you're as good as declaring war.’
‘Let there be war then. So be it.’
‘You forget one thing, love. You may be a hell of a fighter on the tennis court, but the field of battle we're talking about is mine. I was born to it, you only sucked your way up, and I can push you back into the gutter any time I please!’
‘I'm afraid you're the real guttersnipe, W, as your cozy Happy Few will soon find out! And I'd watch that left eyeball if I were you. When it starts to twitch, everyone in town knows you're lying.’
‘Meow! Bye, darling!’
‘Yeah, darling – meow to you, too.’
Correlating this delicious entry to other dateable ones, I understand it refers to events that took place on Wednesday, August 13 – the same day Dad cancelled his afternoon appointment and staked out the Flamingo to determine whether Barbara's affair with Tom Jessup was fact or fantasy.
The thought of him spying on her there raises the hairs on my neck. From what vantage point, I wonder, did he observe the arrivals of their cars, their separate entries to the balcony and room 201, Barbara's post-lovemaking descent to purchase cigarettes, and finally their separate exits?
From his car parked in the Flamingo lot? Too dangerous, I think. From Moe's Burgers across the street? The windows at Moe's were too large, creating danger if Barbara should suddenly turn and stare. Another possibility is the Shanghai Sapphire, the greasy-spoon Chinese restaurant on the other side of the lot. But the windows there were small and draped, which would have made it hard for him to see. Also, since Barbara reports she phoned Waldo as late as five, it's hard to imagine him sitting there a full three hours.
Then it occurs to me: What if Dad also checked into the Flamingo that afternoon; got himself a room on the second level overlooking the courtyard and pool; pulled a chair up to his window; drew the blinds just the right amount; and thus created a viewing post from which to observe the comings and goings of the respective parties?
This notion's so intriguing I put down the diary and call Kate Evans. When Johnny puts me through, I ask if she still has the registry ledgers from that year.
"Sorry," Kate says, "when we switched to computers I threw the old handwritten ones out."
"Kate, about that drawing-"
"Yes?" I feel her growing tense.