Case of Lucy Bending (29 page)

She also bought a single crimson hibiscus bloom to wear in her hair.

She returned home, placed the flowers precisely where she wanted them. She visited the kitchen to check on the progress of the chef. Then she went upstairs to bathe and dress.

She donned a flowing gown of Siamese silk with a wild poppy print on a jungle-green background. She let her hair swing free, and pinned the hibiscus blossom above her left ear. She put a snake bracelet about the bicep of her right arm.

When she inspected herself in a pier glass, she saw a tall, healthy, suntanned woman, glowing with sultry vitality. There was, she decided, something primitive in the way she looked, and it pleased her. She
felt
primitive as if, finally, after all these years, she had found the molten, mysterious heart of life.

Head high, she swept from her bedroom and slowly, proudly, descended the wide staircase to greet her guests.

Mrs. Jane Holloway wore a tube of black jersey, snug at bosom and hips, suspended from her smooth shoulders by straps no wider than shoelaces. A choker of diamonds about her unlined throat.

Mrs. Grace Bending wore a flowered blouse, high-necked and long-sleeved, with a woven straw belt, and an evening skirt of white pleated silk. She was the only woman present wearing hose.

Mrs. Gertrude Empt wore what appeared to be a muumuu in a hellish Hawaiian print that included pineapples and Polynesian war canoes. She also sported a double-looped necklace of auger and olive shells, her own handiwork.

Professor Lloyd Craner wore his rusty black tuxedo with an old-fashioned wing collar and a somewhat lopsided black bow tie. He had a small white mum on his lapel, and his mustache and goatee had been waxed to needle points.

William Jasper Holloway, Ronald Bending, and Luther Empt wore white dinner jackets. Holloway's trousers were black, Bending's were a Black Watch tartan, and Empt's were fire-engine red. All three men wore ruffled shirts and oversized butterfly ties. Ruffles and ties were edged with scarlet.

Grace Bending asked for diet cola, but all the others accepted drinks from the enormous crystal pitcher of vodka martinis that Luther Empt had prepared the night before and left in the refrigerator to chill and meld properly without the addition of ice.

Olives, pearl onions, and slices of lemon peel were available for the martinis. And also—very big in Florida that year: a new taste sensation—thin slices of unpeeled cucumber.

Teresa allowed one round of drinks. Then, on a signal from John Stewart Wellington, she shooed everyone into the dining room, telling them to bring their glasses. She seated them at the table with a drill sergeant's precision, making certain wives and husbands were separated.

"Teresa," Grace said, "everything was delicious. A wonderful meal."

"Yeah," Luther Empt said. "Tony's Take-out does all right. Next time we're going to try Sambo's. Come on, everyone, drink up. The party's not over yet."

They finished all the bottles of wine, Ronald Bending and Luther Empt doing more than their share. They had lemon ice or key lime pie. Then the hostess suggested they adjourn to the beach terrace for coffee and postprandial drinks.

A dark, balmy night, no moon, but a painted sky: streaky purple with a glaze of starlight. Moving air touched. They heard the sea's whisper. There was a tanged perfume on the breeze, something foreign and frightening.

"This is what we came to Florida for," Teresa Empt declared, and watched critically as John Stewart Wellington served coffee.

The ladies, except for Grace Bending, accepted Brandy Alexanders. The men had Brandy Stingers. These sweet drinks

brought the evening to a ceremonial conclusion: all rites and customs observed.

"Now we can get down to serious drinking,
^,
' the host said. He brought out bottles of vodka, gin, bourbon, scotch. Mixers. A bucket of ice cubes. Glasses of double-walled plastic so drinks would not melt too quickly or drip.

Gertrude Empt and Professor Craner murmured a moment, then rose simultaneously.

"We're going to take a walk on the beach," Gertrude announced, kicking off her shoes. "Ta-ta, everyone."

"Don't do anything I wouldn't do," Turk Bending called after them. "And there's nothing I wouldn't do."

"Oh Ronnie," his wife said, "you're impossible."

He grinned in the darkness, remembering that not too long ago Jane Holloway had told him the same thing.

"Just improbable," he said.

They sat silently in the soft marrow of the night. Only Grace Bending fidgeted, not trusting this dreamy drunkenness. But she would not leave.

"I do believe," Jane Holloway said lazily, "that if I could find my purse, I'd also find a funny cigarette."

"I'll get your purse," Bending said.

"Ronnie, you stay here," his wife said sharply.

"I'll fetch it," Luther Empt said. "Great idea, Jane. Support home industry. Florida's largest cash crop."

The joint was found, brought, lighted. Grace wouldn't touch it, but the others puffed and passed it along.

"Mellow," Bending said. "Definitely mellow. Where do you get the stuff, Jane?"

"From my gynecologist," she said. "He claims it's the only way he can survive."

"That business is looking up," Bill Holloway said.

"Oh-ho," she said. "My husband made a joke. Sort of."

Luther Empt filled their glasses again. "What the hell," he said, "tomorrow's Saturday; we can all sleep late."

"If we finish these," Turk Bending said, "we may never wake up. What a way to go!"

They drank and smoked somnolently, lulled by the beauty of the night. It was a palpable presence. They could feel the velvet.

"Well," Grace Bending said tightly, "I think it's about time we go home and see how the kids are doing. Ronnie . . . ?"

Not me," he said roughly. "Run along if you want to. I'm staying."

Grace sank back into her chair. The others said nothing.

"Party-pooper," Bending said. "Won't drink. Won't smoke. Do you the world of good, dearie."

"You drink and smoke enough for both of us," his wife snapped at him.

"Hey-hey!" Luther Empt said happily. "A family fight! What every party should have."

"Luther, shut up," his wife said.

"Don't tell me to shut up," he snarled at her. "It's my fucking home."

Insults spread like yawns, one to another.

"I wish I had a fucking home," Jane Holloway said, "but it isn't. Maybe Bill will get it up for Christmas."

"Since when have I been your only source?" he asked her.

"Maybe Bill gives at the office," Bending said.

"And maybe shrimp can fly," Luther said. "Bill, you better try some dark meat and change your luck."

"I changed my luck," he said, "when I married Jane."

"I made a man out of you," she told him, "and you've never forgiven me for it."

"Jane," Luther said, "you better try Teresa's beauty parlor. Her fag hairdresser gives a great bikini wax."

"I have something better than that," his wife said smugly.

"A king-size vibrator?" Bending asked. "I'm thinking of buying an inflated, life-size party doll."

"Just your style," his wife said coldly. "A plastic creamer in a bikini."

"I dream about them," he said, "but Luther gets them."

"If they're big enough," Empt said, "they're old enough. For God's sake, drink up, everyone; the night is young."

Jane Holloway finished the tiny, glowing roach. She drained her straight vodka. She stood up, pulled a strap off one shoulder. She posed provocatively, hip-sprung.

"I'm going skinny-dipping," she announced. "Who's game?"

"Count me in," Bending said immediately.

"Ronnie!" his wife said.

"Bill?"

"No."

"Luther?"

"Sure. Why not? How about it, Teresa?"

"All right," she said slowly.

"This is disgusting," Grace Bending said.

She and William Jasper Holloway sat stolidly in their canvas sling chairs and watched the others undress, giggling.

"All the way down," Jane Holloway commanded. "No bras, panties, or jockstraps allowed."

The four undressed with frantic fingers, scattering garments on chairs, table, the railing of the terrace. ^ "Jesus, it's cold," Luther Empt said.

"The water will be warm," Jane Holloway promised. "My God, Teresa, if I had your boobs, I'd own the world."

Then they were naked, laughing, pushing, grabbing at each other. They scrambled down the steps to the beach. Grace Bending and Holloway saw pale wraiths race away into the darkness, darting toward the sea.

Holloway leaned forward to pour more vodka over ice.

"I'm timid," he offered.

"What?" Grace Bending said.

"I've always been timid," he said. "All my life. People know that, or sense it, and push me around."

"Really?" she said, not interested.

"Surely
you
must feel the same way?"

Now she was interested.

"What way?" she asked.

"People manipulating you. Don't they?"

"I'd like to move someplace else," she said fervently. "A better class of people ..."

He strangled on his drink. "No such thing," he said with a bleak smile. "This is what we've got."

"I don't believe that. " She bowed forward, peered toward the ocean. They could hear muted cries, hoots. "What are they doing?" she asked nervously.

"Go on down," he said cruelly, "and watch."

"They're drunk," she said. "They don't know what they're doing."

"Sure," he said, smiling secretly.

"It's all so ugly," she said in a tone of wonder.

Then they sat in silence, listening to the soft yelping coming up from the beach.

"I hope they get arrested," she said vindictively.

"Let's take our clothes off," he said, laughing softly. "You and me. When they come back, we'll be sitting here bare-ass naked, quietly having a drink and discussing the International Monetary Fund. What do you say?"

"You're crazy!" she shouted, not realizing he never would. "What are you getting at?"

"I'm not getting at anything."

"What have you heard about me?" she demanded.

He was bewildered. "Grace, I haven't heard anything about you."

"It's not true," she burst out. "Not, not, not!"

"Go home," he advised her. "Check on your kids."

"I hate you," she said. "All of you."

"Yes, well . . ."he said, "that's understandable. I'm not exactly enamored of us either."

She stood up.

"Fuck you," she said, and he was more saddened than shocked.

He watched her stalk away, down the steps, along the sand to her own home. He thought her an inconsequential woman and was glad she was gone. The sick, he reflected, are not interested in the illnesses of others.

Alone, he wriggled down to the end of his spine, propped bare feet on the glass-topped table. He cuddled his drink on his chest, stared open-mouthed at the streaming night sky.

It seemed to him he had behaved well. All evening he had made a determined effort to appear jolly. He had contributed to the conversation, remembered to thank the hostess. He had drunk steadily, true, but not too much. No one could possibly guess . . .

"Why," he asked aloud, "did you instinctively and immediately refuse to strip naked and show yourself to the others?"

"Partly physical modesty," he answered aloud. "And it may have been a symbolic act. A disinclination, or an inability, to reveal yourself totally. Who you are."

Longing clawed at him, but for what, he could not say. There was a looseness in his life; he craved a texture. He felt not so much guilt as a sense of cruel waste.

"It is a need," he said aloud. "Something to be provided ..."

"There is no spine," he added. "This place . . . Even the palm trees have shallow roots."

The careless debauchery of the others did not wither him. Only his own growing anomie. There was, tickling, an answer just beyond his grasp. It was something at once painful and just.

A chorus of rude laughter came up from the beach. He thought he could see kicked spume and the squirm of white shadows. There was a vision of dripping marble, wrenched torsos caught and held in a posture of frenzied lust, throats straining.

"Impotence," he said aloud. "Physical lassitude. Anxiety without cause. Spiritual sterility. A profound boredom."