Don't Rely on Gemini (7 page)

“Don't you think you ought to call a service station before you come out?” Dru asked.

“Let me take a look.” He held the screen door for her, waiting for her to follow him off the porch.

“But it isn't a simple wreck. We won't be able to drive away from it.”

He didn't answer.

She sensed that he didn't want to let her inside the house. “I'm sorry we're so much trouble.”

He didn't answer. She walked alongside him in the bright moonlight. Archie was right; he did resemble Joe DiMaggio. But not the smiling baseball hero. He looked more like the DiMaggio whose pictures in the newspapers had worn such a melancholy expression after Marilyn Monroe's death.

“I know you weren't expecting us, but your wife—”

“You must have mistaken the date. She's not here.”

“I didn't mistake the date.”

“Well, she's not here.”

Dru was tired of all the pretense. She said, “Your wife
must
have told you about us.” “What about you?”

“My husband isn't any more enthusiastic about astrology than you are. Neither am I. But Archie's not using a serious approach to the show. He's writing it sort of tongue-in-cheek.”

He said, “I don't know anything about a show, Mrs. Gamble.”

“Druscilla,” she told him. No one she liked ever called her that, but she was feeling testy now, which always made her approach to things a little stilted. She was sure he knew all about the show and the reason she and Archie were there.

“I don't know anything about a show,
Druscilla,”
he repeated.

“Well, my husband's writing a television special about astrology,” she began, and then she went into all of it very quickly, winding up with her telephone call from the gas station to Margaret Dana. He walked along beside her with that same sad expression on his face, and when she was finished he didn't even comment.

So she said, “Not that it's any of my business, but in a way it is—because we drove all the way from New York to see you. It's a little odd that your wife would leave when she was expecting us.”

“I see,” was his answer.

“Oh, look, Mr. Dana—”

“Neal,” he said.

“Neal … My husband said he wouldn't blame you if you gave Mrs. Dana a good clout in the mouth for pulling this on you. We understand.”

He said nothing for a few seconds; then: “Is that your car up ahead?”

What else? It was on his hill, and Archie had set up the emergency flash signal lamp at the side.

Dru said, “No, I think that's a flying saucer. Didn't your wife tell you about that, either?”

“It wouldn't surprise me,” he said, but there was no levity in his tone.

Poor Archie, a jack in one hand, a grease mark streaked across his nose, came stumbling forward with a big grin, the other hand outstretched, foolishly exclaiming, “We meet again.”

Neal Dana established a world record for a brief handshake and said, “What happened?”

“My brakes
didn't
happen,” said Archie.

Neal Dana was actually wiping the hand which had shaken Archie's on his trousers. “You won't be able to drive this car back to New York tonight,” he said. “You can take our Volkswagen.”

He produced a key ring from his pocket, unfastened it, and handed Archie one of the keys.

Archie said, “Look, how much would a taxi cost?”

“You'd have to wait a while for a taxi,” said Neal Dana.

Money was not the object, from his point of view; getting rid of them as fast as possible was.

• • •

“Well, what did you expect him to do,” Archie said as they turned off the West Side Highway at 19th Street, “ask us to stay over for a pajama party?”

“He could have given us a drink,” Dru said. “I didn't like his attitude at all.”

“When people are having a fight, they don't want company.”

“He could have invited you in to wash up.”

“Sure. Excuse me, Mrs. Dana; I'm sorry you're hysterical, but my hands are dirty and I've got to take a leak.”

“I don't ever want to
see
him again!” said Dru. “You can go back and pick up the car by yourself.”

“Thanks.”

“Well, he was rude and you let him be.”

“I let him be, folks. Did you hear that?”

“You did, Arch. When I told him we'd have to get our car off the hill before we could get the one he was loaning us down it, he said: ‘That's
hardly
necessary. I
said
it was a Volkswagen.' You heard his tone of voice.”

“Honey,” Archie said, “the poor guy comes home from the office, see, an ordinary Wednesday night; he's had a hard day; he's not expecting company, much less his ‘astro—' “

She interrupted him. “Don't make excuses for him … ‘That's
hardly
necessary,' says he, ‘I
said
it was a Volkswagen.' “

“Dru, he
knew
you were stalling around. You wanted to get inside that house, and he knew it!”

“Sure, I would have liked a drink, liked to sit down and calm my nerves.”

“Liked to snoop,” said Archie. “Sure.”

“I have a right to be curious. I was invited out there!”

“We
were invited out there, and we didn't have a right to snoop. You're a busybody; you always were. Remember how you used to go through my mail when we first met? That almost turned me off about you. It really did.”

She said, “Do we have until tomorrow morning so I can go into the things that almost turned me off about you?”

“If tonight was anyone's fault,” he said, “it was her fault.”

“I was waiting for that.”

“It
was,
Dru!”

“You'd defend Hitler, just because he was male.” “You haven't heard me defend him yet.” “The whole damn Nazi thing would turn out to be Eva Braun's fault.” “There
were
a few pretties like Ilsa Koch.” “See?” Druscilla Gamble said.

• • •

Archie dropped her in front of the apartment building and went to find a parking spot.

The doorman handed Dru a letter; Mrs. Muckermann had delivered it personally. It was addressed to Mr. and Mrs. A. Gamble, written in her almost microscopic script. Graphology was another of Mrs. Muckermann's enthusiasms. She had once loaned Dru a book on the subject and inside, heavily underlined, was a sentence which insisted that small handwriting was the sign of the deep thinker. Mrs. Muckermann had apparently put her name and address on the fly leaf before reading the book. Her handwriting there was large and florid, with circle i dots and exaggerated lower loops.

Dru made herself a Jack Daniels on the rocks, and changed into shorts and a shirt before reading Mrs. Muckermann's letter.

When Archie walked into the apartment, he was carrying a small blue and white Pan Am bag.

“Where did you get that?” Dru asked. She handed him the cold bourbon highball she had fixed for him as insulation against the Muckermann letter.

“What's this about?” he said. “I thought you were mad at me?”

“I'll tell you what it's about in a minute. Where did you get that?”

He slung the bag into the Boston rocker. “It was in the back of the car. I had to park ‘way over on First Avenue. I locked up, but I was still afraid someone would slit the roof.”

He took a sip of the drink. “I suppose I'm poisoned now.”

“Right,” she said. “What's in the bag?”

“I didn't look.”

“Maybe he'll need whatever it is.”

“I think it's her car, not his,” Archie said. “I think the Falcon's his.”

“The Falcon's hers,” said Dru. “Brace yourself, Arch, there's a letter from Mrs. Muckermann on the coffee table.” “Oh? Why should I brace myself?”

“You'll see.”

“And why is the Falcon hers?” he said, going across the room to get the letter.

“Because there's a penny on the door. I noticed it while you were talking to him, when we first got there. That's more like a woman, to stick a penny on the door.” She walked over and picked up the canvas bag, unzipping it.

Archie said, “I gather you've read this, hmmm?” He sat down on the Queen Anne sofa with the letter in his hand.

“Yes, I did.”

“Nice,”
he said sourly. “ ‘With what a dreadful curiosity, Does she launch out into the sea of vast eternity.' Christ, Dru, when are you going to knock it off!”

“The letter's addressed to both of us, Arch.”

“I'm sorry.”

“It doesn't matter.” She felt a flip of surprise and vague excitement as she looked at what was beneath the female clothing in the flight bag. Letters bound with a rubber band, and a small black book with a gold inscription: DIARY.

Archie had come across and put his arms around her. “That was unfair of me. I'm sorry.”

“Oh, go drink your poison,” she smiled. “I'll put this in the hall closet.”

“Anything in it?”

“Just clothes. It's hers, I guess.”

“You're right, though,” Archie said appeasingly, “it isn't like a man to put a penny on his car door.”

She carried the bag as carefully as if she were sneaking off with found money.

In the bathroom she removed the letters and the diary and dropped them into the hamper. She was due for a long, hot bubble bath.

She heard Archie groan, “Oh my God! The moon and Mars are in a square; he can expect arguments and disappointment! Oh,
crap!”

He was a slow reader.

She could not resist one quick peek at the diary, and she fished it out from the towels and Archie's shirts, opening it to a random page.

“… but can I go on humiliating myself this way, without any semblance of character or integrity? Why can't I face what I've become? This isn't love! It's a cheap affair!”

It seemed like Christmas, like getting three lemons in a row on a one-armed bandit, like shouting “Bingo!” or saying “I have a full house.”

She threw the diary back into the hamper; it would keep.

But her face was as flushed as Archie's, whose cool was now on simmer as he turned to the last page of Mrs. Muckermann's letter.

They planned that on Saturday Dru would follow Archie in a rented car while he drove the Volkswagen back to Grandview-on-Hudson. Their own car would not be ready for three more weeks.

When Archie phoned to tell Neal Dana that the Pan Am bag was safe in their apartment, Dana knew nothing about the bag; he thanked Archie anyway, saying it was undoubtedly his wife's. He added that she was visiting out of town and wouldn't be there for their arrival.

Thursday and Friday, like a fat woman sneaking secret snacks from the refrigerator, Dru Gamble fed on the diary and letters every time Archie was away from the apartment. He was still depressed about Mrs. Muckermann's letter and convinced he would not be able to come up with a usable pair of “astro-twins.” He had given up on Neal Dana. He moped around the house more than usual, reading all the books Mrs. Muckermann had loaned him and listening to
Don Giovanni, Un Ballo in Maschera, La Boheme
and
Faust
on his tape recorder.

But when he would walk across to Pete's Restaurant for a beer, or go out for cigarettes and magazines, Dru would run into the bathroom and retrieve the booty from the hamper, examining and re-examining it. Archie's rigidity on the subject of her “curiosity” and the individual's right to privacy stifled all her impulses to share the information with him.

The lover of Margaret Dana was unidentified except by a nickname. Most of his letters were written in pencil; his writing had a heavy pressure with very long t-bars and finals with hook ends. It was a large script which leaned to the right.

Her handwriting in the diary was small and vertical, but the t-bars flew high off the stems and the i's went undotted; it was an impulsive, emotional hand with long lower loops which touched the lines below.

“What's with you and these long baths?” Archie said on Thursday night.

“I've taken exactly three long baths. One last night, one this afternoon, and one just now.”

“I know,” he said. “What's it all about, Lady Macbeth?”

“ ‘What, will these hands ne'er be clean?' “ Dru said.

He put his arm around her and pulled her over to his side of the bed. “Look, honey, there's no point in two of us sweating over this thing. I placed fifteen more ads today, at my own expense; maybe we'll get a bite yet.”

“Did you phone Mrs. Muckermann, Arch?”

“I wrote her. Don't worry. It was a very docile note.”

“Of apology?”

He thought it over. “Yeah. There wasn't anything kiss-ass about it, though.” “Did you tell her you believe in Jupiter?”

“Yeah. Right.” He laughed. “And Saturn and Mars and Mercury and Pluto. Oh, and Uranus.” “Don't be vulgar.” “I think it'll work out, honey.”

She took his hand. “If there was only some way,” she said, “of
making
Neal Dana cooperate.”

Friday morning Archie called CBS to find out about the possibility of getting an extension.

He hung up the phone and gave Dru a dark look. “No dice,” he said.

“Why can't they shift their damn specials around?”

“Because,” he said, “they're afraid this astrology craze is going to blow over.”

“Oh, Arch, that's the most asinine thing I've ever heard! The newspapers have been carrying astrology columns for years and years!”

“And for years and years the newspapers have been dying out one by one,” he said.

“Not because of the astrology columns! Are you on CBS's side or your own side?”

“I'm just telling you what they'd answer if I told them that,” he said.

“People don't even have time to answer the ads you placed.”

“I know,” he groaned. “Some network vice-president sent around a memo pointing out how quickly the Maharishi Yoga fad went out the window, and they're all uptight now.
Jesus!”

“Archie? Why don't you go for a walk, get some fresh air? You've been cooped up in this apartment too long!”

Friday night Liddy phoned, and Dru called in to Archie to pick it up in his study. Then she listened outside the door.

Archie said, “Oh, hi! I heard you were back in town.”

Archie said, “Well, I'm pretty busy right now, Liddy. Can't it wait?”

Archie said, “I'm afraid it's going to have to.” Archie said, “I'm sorry but—”

Archie said, “I'm not hostile! I'm not in the least bit hostile!” Archie said, “Goddamn it, Liddy, I have important work to do!”

“All
right,”
Archie said, “I'll call you tomorrow.” He banged down the receiver.

Then he came into the living room and complained to Dru about it.

“You're not that busy, Arch.”

“Well, what the hell's the big emergency?”

“How do I know, but why not go over there and find out?”

“And why can't she tell me over the phone!”

“Aw, it's just not the same,” Dru said snidely.

“See what I mean? Damned if I do, damned if I don't.”

“I don't damn you if you do. I have slain the green-eyed monster, darling.”

“He was around the other night at ‘76 House.”

She said, “I wouldn't care if you went over to see Liddy right now. I mean that, darling.”

She did, too; by the next morning the diary and letters had to be inside the Pan Am bag.

Even when Archie didn't notice how long she spent in the bathroom, she felt too tense to read them comfortably when he was in the apartment.

“You know?” he said. “It might be a good idea to just get it over with. She claims it's wildly important.”