“I see.”
“Oh, you’re bright, aren’t you? I can tell that. I don’t have to draw pictures, do I? You know something? You and I are a lot alike. I think we’re going to be very good friends.”
“I’d like to be your friend, Gretchen.”
“And when I die, that will give you a chance to be with Peter.” A bark of laughter. “He didn’t used to have a cock, either, you know. But I got one for him at the hardware store and screwed it onto him. Please don’t take it away from him, Linda. He needs it.”
She never knew how long the conversation might have continued, or what turn it would have taken next, because at that point Olive put an arm around Gretchen’s shoulders and steered her toward the door.
“You have to get home now, Gretchen,” Olive was saying. She went on talking as she led her first from the shop itself and down the hall to the mall entrance. The voice she used was the sort men use when gentling horses.
Linda was fumbling for a cigarette when Olive returned. “I hope I didn’t interrupt something you were enjoying,” the older woman said. “I thought it would be better to send her on her way while she was calm and friendly, and I didn’t suppose she’d stay that way too long.”
“Olive, look at me. I’m shaking.”
“Clem keeps a bottle in back. You’re going to have a little glass of whiskey.”
“I don’t need it.”
“Don’t argue. No one ever got anywhere arguing with an arrogant old woman and you won’t be the first.”
The drink did seem to steady her. She drained the glass, stubbed out her cigarette. “I’ve never seen her like that before,” she said.
“Well, I’ve seen that particular bit of bad news in some pretty strange situations, but I’ll have to go along with you. I think that’s about as far around the bend as she’s ever been.”
“Do you think she’s dangerous?”
“I think she’s been dangerous from the day she was born. The first time I set eyes on her I knew I was looking at an accident looking for a place to happen; and she’s been happening all over the place ever since. God knows she picked the right place for it. She can live here and nobody thinks anything of it. Anywhere else in the world they’d have the presence of mind to lock her up.”
“But do you think she could be violent?”
“Now that’s harder to say. I would think that anybody who’s that far out in left field might turn violent for lack of knowing what was going on. I certainly wouldn’t be inclined to sell her a gun. Are you thinking she might come after you?”
“I was afraid of that while she was in here. I didn’t know what she would do next. I kept my hand near the ashtray so I could hit her with it if I had to.”
“Well, I had my hand wrapped around one of those alabaster owls, ready to pitch it at her if push came to shove. Which I’m glad they didn’t, as I’d have likely brained you instead of her. I used to have a good throwing arm but you lose your touch over the years. I don’t suppose she’s too likely to do anything violent. Her little performance tonight sounded like a pretty clear example of paranoia, but she didn’t have one particular fantasy to stay with. She kept shifting around. Still, I’d give her a wide berth. Goes without saying, doesn’t it?”
“I just hope she’s not dangerous to Robin.”
“Dangerous or not, she’s plainly unfit to care for her. If they don’t lock Gretchen up they should at least take the child away from her. And God pity Peter Nicholas if she decides to take back the penis she thinks she gave him.”
“Oh, God!”
“You’d think a man would get involved with her and then turn queer afterward instead of the other way around. But he went and leaped out of the fire and into the frying pan. There’s no place on earth like New Hope for being a ragbag of cripples. Well, here’s a piece of advice for you. From now on draw the shades and lock the door before you hop into bed with Peter.”
“What do you—”
“Now don’t tell me that lunatic had a kernel of truth to work on. I thought Mr. Wealthy Writer was taking up the bulk of your time. You don’t mean to say you’ve got time left over to rob Gretchen Vann’s cradle, do you?”
She fought a blush. “No, of course not. Peter and I are friends. We became very close because he needs someone to talk to.”
“I suppose that’s as good a way as any for it to start.”
“Oh, stop, Olive. I could never feel that way about Peter. Or vice versa. And lately I’ve hardly even seen him at all.”
Olive rubbed the point of her chin. “Now if I were guessing—”
“There’s nothing to guess.”
“—I would have to guess that you’ve already been to bed with him. But you haven’t.”
“No.”
“And, since I know for a fact that you’re clearly incapable of falsehood, that’s the end of the matter. But there’s one thing I’ll tell you. The older I get, the more certain I become that there’s only one thing that’s sufficient cause to keep a person going. And that’s the pleasure of laughing your head off from time to time, and the only thing worth laughing at is the goddamned incredible things people find to do with their lives. The average human being is miles funnier than all the monkeys in the circus.”
“But sometimes you can’t laugh.”
“The older you get, the more you have to.”
After the show that night Peter stopped at the Raparound for a Coke. The girl who brought it seemed on the point of saying something but walked away without speaking. He looked after her, wondering. Probably stoned, he decided. Which struck him as not a bad idea at all. Head back home, blow a couple of jays, and slide inside of his skull to find out what was happening.
He hadn’t smoked in weeks, not since the day after That Night. The night with Linda. And smoking had turned out to be a bad idea then, taking him places he did not want to go.
Had the night with Linda been a bad idea, too? He didn’t know. There had been such magic that night. He could close his eyes now and bring every bit of it back, every inane word either of them had spoken, every bit of shading and nuance. It had been the best thing that had ever happened to him and he hoped the memory of it would stay as vivid for the rest of his life.
He made circles on the table top with his glass, a row of overlapping circles like penmanship exercises. A perfect night, and he treasured it, but since then his relationship with Linda had changed. As of course it had to change.
They were wary of each other now. They talked warmly when they met each other in the hallways or on the street. Now and then she watched Robin for him. On slow afternoons he might drop in on her at the Lemon Tree. But they held back, and if they did not consciously avoid each other, still their long conversations were less frequent, and not as long as they had been.
Neither had spoken of That Night. But it was there, it existed, it had happened, and now it constituted a barrier between them. He sensed she regretted their love-making, and the thought saddened him. It—
“Peter? Got a minute?”
It was Anne. “Oh, hi,” he said, and she dropped into the chair across from him. There was a film of perspiration on her forehead and her waitress uniform was visibly damp under the arms.
She said, “God, what a night.”
“Rough, huh?”
“Danny’s lucky I’ve got tomorrow off, because otherwise I’d quit. How are things with you, Peter?”
“Oh, no complaints.”
She picked up his glass, sipped some of his Coke. “I guess I’d better tell you, then. Gretchen had a couple of bad hours tonight. No, everything’s all right now; home, Robin’s all right, everything’s all right.”
“What happened?”
“I got all this second hand. Or maybe tenth hand.”