Emerald Aisle (9 page)
THE PAINTING HAD BEEN THE last straw. Dolores knew enough to guess the value of that painting. Just a little bauble from his mistress? But it was the painting's significance that seemed clear; Bianca Primero was making her claim on Dudley.
Dolores went rapidly down the hall, but before she could leave several people who had enjoyed her presentation stopped her to say so. All that already seemed months in the past. In the few minutes since, she felt that her whole life had become unglued. Everything Dudley had led her to believe about Bianca was false. Everything Bianca had told her seemed true.
So what was Dolores to do about all the detailed plans that had been made? Mrs. Torre was to fly into Chicago's O'Hare airport, and Dolores and Dudley would meet her there and rent a car for the trip to South Bend. These arrangements had been made weeks before. Mrs. Torre was understandably excited at the prospect of her daughter's marriage and intended to exercise her prerogative of making all the arrangements. That meant going to South Bend, talking with Father Rocca, making arrangements at The Morris Inn for the reception.
Dolores drove home and when she got there remembered absolutely nothing about the drive, her mind had been so full of the confusion brought on by Dudley's implied admission and the silly expression he'd worn when the painting arrived to mock everything he had been trying to say. There was a message from Larry on her
answering machine, and she was about to dial the number he'd left when the phone rang. It was Dudley.
answering machine, and she was about to dial the number he'd left when the phone rang. It was Dudley.
“That painting was a farewell gift, Dolores. Sayonara. It's over. That's what it meant.”
“But why
that
painting?”
that
painting?”
“God only knows.”
“Not only God, Dudley. Bianca told me.”
“Dolores ⦔
But she was in no mood to discuss it with him and finally he let her go. Then she called the number Larry had left.
“Just wanted to let you know I'm still in town. I've been asked to stay over another week.”
“Will I see you?”
“I don't suppose you're free tonight.”
“What did you have in mind?”
He had in mind a pub in Mendota with bar foodâfatty, full of cholesterol, lethal.
“Sounds good.”
Mendota was a historic little town on the banks of the Mississippi, now all but canopied by interstates and colonized by Saint Paul. Calling the bar a pub was a misnomer, but the food was as described. The place had been through many transformations. A wooden bar ran the length of the left wall, booths ringing what had once been a dance floor but over which tables were now scattered. And crowded. The popularity of such places is one of the minor mysteries of life. They took a booth. In a far corner, a piano, a trombone, and a saxophone evoked the songs of yesterdayâseveral days before yesterday.
“So they asked you to stay in town for a few days? Can't wait to have you in the firm?”
“Dolores, I want to make one last claim on that reservation.”
She looked at him and began to cry. Quietly. Biting on her lower lip. Ashamed of herself, but unable to stop. Larry put his hand on hers and had the good sense not to say anything. He fetched a handkerchief from his pocket with the other hand and gave it to her.
“I'm sorry.”
“Tell me about it.”
And, incredibly, she did. All of it. It helped some that Larry was not surprised.
“So it's all over.”
“I don't know.”
He hunched toward her but then the waitress skidded up and they ordered. Again he leaned toward her and again his hand closed over hers. “You must have noticed what I think of the guy, Dolores. The older woman? I saw her with him.”
“You did?”
“I wouldn't have told you if you hadn't said what you've said. They were in a bar on Michigan.”
“He said he saw you there.”
Larry was surprised. “He was clearly shaken when he saw me. Dolores, none of this surprises me. That sounds smug and maybe it is, but I think you deserve someone a lot better than Dudley Fyte.”
“The way he acted with you, Larry? That was not characteristic. You have to realize that he was jealous. I hadn't told him about us. He had no idea how impossible it would have been just to call the Basilica and make a reservation for a June wedding. I didn't have to explain that.”
“What's to explain?”
She didn't try to explain that it established a kind of moral equivalence between Dudley and her. She had been engaged to
marry; he had been involved with Bianca. Had her reaction to the arrival of the painting in Dudley's office been irrational? It could seem ridiculous in light of his plausible explanation of it as a farewell gift from Bianca Primero. And what was
she
doing telling Larry all about it as they sat in a bar in Mendota?
marry; he had been involved with Bianca. Had her reaction to the arrival of the painting in Dudley's office been irrational? It could seem ridiculous in light of his plausible explanation of it as a farewell gift from Bianca Primero. And what was
she
doing telling Larry all about it as they sat in a bar in Mendota?
His hand was still on hers, and she left it there. Mostly, they said nothing, but the silence seemed more and more significant. Dolores remembered how it had been with Larry all those years ago when they were undergraduates at Notre Dame. It had been such a chaste relationship. Deciding to marry had been an aspect of that, a great promissory note that what they denied themselves now would be theirs in the future. Not saying too much was their only option now. He had been wonderfully sympathetic, but he had not pressed her to say things about Dudley she might regret. Dolores half envied him what she took to be the innocent simplicity of his own wedding plans. Perhaps she imagined it as just a repetition of what she and Larry had had. God knows her relationship with Dudley was not at all like that.
Larry took her home, took her to her door, kissed her on the cheek, and gave her a big hug. And that was it. Had she expected anything else?
Baring her heart to Larry had somehow reconciled her to Dudley. She accepted his explanation of the painting. Much of the sheen was gone from their relationship, but maybe it was the more solid for that. She did not cancel the trip to South Bend, telling herself that all doubts about Dudley and Mrs. Primero seemed resolved. On the way from O'Hare to South Bend, her mother chattered in the backseat of the rental car all ninety miles to campus, intent on
enjoying every moment of Dolores's wedding preparations. They left her with the manager of The Morris Inn and went to keep their appointment with the rector of Sacred Heart Basilica.
enjoying every moment of Dolores's wedding preparations. They left her with the manager of The Morris Inn and went to keep their appointment with the rector of Sacred Heart Basilica.
“Of course you'll have to take a marriage preparation course,” the priest said.
“Here!” Dolores remembered that such courses were offered several times during the year by Campus Ministry.
“Oh no. That wouldn't be practical, would it? Make arrangements in Minneapolis. They'll give you a certificate. I'll need that.”
“How long does it take?” Dudley asked.
“Oh, it varies. Sometimes it is only a weekend. At other times ⦔ His hand with fluttering fingers moved before his face. “The reason behind it is sound.”
It was important that the couple knew the nature of the sacrament of matrimony, the indissolubility of marriage, the rights and wrongs of marital life.
“Above all, you must be of one mind about what you are doing.”
At the Morris Inn, Dolores joined her mother in her room. Dudley looked into the bar where a man of enormous proportions was speaking to a young woman. There was a huge bottle of mineral water on the table before him. Dudley sat at the bar, was served, and still the fat man was on the same sentence. It exfoliated, ramified, returned upon itself, became ever more complicated, and then, at last, rose in finality, ending with a trochaic fall. Dudley applauded. The huge man laughed and the girl with him beamed with pleasure.
“Join us, join us.”
Dudley was still with Prof. Roger Knight when Dolores came
down from her mother's room. She smiled at him and said, “You weren't here when I was a student, but I know who you are.”
down from her mother's room. She smiled at him and said, “You weren't here when I was a student, but I know who you are.”
“You're a graduate of the university?”
“Don't ask the year.”
When she told him her name it was clear, much to Dolores's surprise, that it was familiar to him and to the young woman. Soon it was clear why. The young woman was Nancy Beatty, Larry's intended, and she was a favorite of the professor. Nancy was obviously smart as a whip, but she seemed so young to Dolores, young and innocent. Mrs. Torre looked in, joined them, and immediately began an account of the labors of her day.
“We are stealing your reservation,” Dolores said to Nancy.
“It's not really ours.”
“Nor ours, really. Where will you get married?”
“We're thinking of Alumni Hall chapel.”
“Is it large enough?”
“I don't think our wedding is going to be as grand as yours. My father is a professor.”
“I take it you're not a graduate of this university,” Roger Knight said to Dudley.
“Is that a requirement to drink here?”
Roger laughed. “I suppose the question sounded smug. I am not an alumnus either.”
Nancy seemed shy and a little intimidated by Dolores, and this made her intent on winning the girl's confidence. She began to think of the girl as herself years ago when she and Larry were students. Dudley had told Roger Knight he was a graduate of the University of Chicago, and this had gotten the professor going on the golden years of that institution.
“Hutchins, Adler, the whole effort to recover liberal education.
An amazing, and I daresay unintended, consequence was the entrance into the Catholic Church of many students who came under their influence.”
An amazing, and I daresay unintended, consequence was the entrance into the Catholic Church of many students who came under their influence.”
“Not much of that when I was there.”
“You mean Bellow and Bloom, those fellows. But it has started up again, a group called
Lumen Christi.
Tom Levergood has visited me several times.”
Lumen Christi.
Tom Levergood has visited me several times.”
Bewildered, Dudley nodded.
“Of course there was Mark Van Doren at Columbia and his student Thomas Merton.”
“I don't know those names.”
“Merton became a Trappist.”
Dolores rescued him. Dudley's Catholicism was a thin veneer over his secular soul. She wondered if he even realized that what he had been up to with Bianca was sinful.
LARRY MORTON DID NOT KID himself that seeing Dolores as often as he did was not a welcome bonus of his extended stay in Minneapolis. What he increasingly found hard to believe was that Dolores found Dudley Fyte attractive. Maybe he would have been reconciled to her claiming the June 17 reservation at Sacred Heart if he hadn't met Dudley and found out what a jerk he was. Ten minutes with the condescending lawyer and Larry had been ready to take a swing at him. And then Dolores had shown up at his hotel, and it seemed obvious to Larry that she was far less committed to Fyte than claiming the reservation they both had made years ago suggested.
“Larry, he really isn't like that.”
“He gives a pretty good imitation then.”
When Fyte himself appeared in the entrance of the bar off the lobby of the Radisson, Larry had been sure that the fight that hadn't happened was now on, but the guy disappeared. Maybe he should have told Dolores then and there. What kind of a fiancé would come spying on his girl and then not have the guts to come in and ask what was going on? Larry felt he had won Round One.
But what prize was he fighting for? Dolores? If so, how was he any better than Fyte? He tried to think of Nancy and feel guilty, but suddenly he found it hard to form a clear image of the girl he was going to marry. Being with Dolores had given the past priority over the present. It was as if they had a first and unbroken claim on one another, he and Dolores. But his moral unease diminished when he
told himself he was protecting Dolores. He couldn't just sit by and watch her marry a jerk like Dudley Fyte.
told himself he was protecting Dolores. He couldn't just sit by and watch her marry a jerk like Dudley Fyte.
And then, in Mendota, Dolores told him about Dudley and the older woman.
“You've got to be kidding.”
“He says it's all over with.”
“And you believe him?”
“Of course I believe him.”
“But what kind of guy carries on with a woman twice his age?”
“She's not
that
old, Larry.”
that
old, Larry.”
For something that was supposedly over and done with, Bianca Primero played a large role in Dudley's life. When Larry began tailing Fyte, he justified it by saying he was looking out for Dolores. Maybe there were more Biancas in Dudley's life. It turned out that there was just the same one. He couldn't follow Fyte through the security check of the building he led Larry to, but Larry parked and went up to the structure that flanked one side of the entry.
“Hi, Norma.”
“Who are you?”
He looked at his chest. “I forgot my name tag.”
She looked down at hers. “So you passed the eye test.”
“It's not upside down from this angle.”
She grinned grudgingly. “Funny. What do you want?”
“That car that just drove in?”
“What about it?”
“You know the guy in it?”
“Who are you to ask?”
“You don't have to answer if you don't want to. Anyway, I know who he is. The question is, where is he going?”
It took awhile, but Norma liked him; he could feel itâeither that
or he was better than just sitting there bored. In the end, he primed the pump.
or he was better than just sitting there bored. In the end, he primed the pump.
“Does the name Bianca Primero mean anything to you?”
She made a face and shook her head. “You know who that guy is and you know who he comes here to see, so why the questions?”
“To show you what a good detective I am.”
“Are you a detective?”
“If I were, would I admit it?”
“Get outta here.”
“You've been a great help.”
Leave 'em laughing. Larry himself felt like laughing triumphantly. So goofing off with Bianca was a thing of the past, was it?
Anything but. Tailing Dudley Fyte became an avocation. Larry became convinced that if Dudley married Dolores, he would go on seeing Bianca afterward. He said as much, delicately, to Dolores, not that he told her he had been following Dudley around.
“That's more of less what she said when we had lunch.”
Dolores's account of her lunch with the allegedly former mistress of the man she had agreed to marry should have been the end of the whole thing.
“She won't let him go,” Larry said.
“He has a say about that.”
“Let her have him.”
Larry felt helpless. What could he tell Dolores about Dudley that she didn't essentially know already?
“Dolores, you can't marry him.”
“You're a fine one to talk.”
She took his remark to come from disappointed love. And her response suggested the same. They stared at one another, and suddenly
she was in his arms and they were gripped by a madness, as if by multiplying kisses they could erase the lost years.
she was in his arms and they were gripped by a madness, as if by multiplying kisses they could erase the lost years.
“What about Nancy?” Dolores asked, when calm returned.
“I don't know.”
“Don't you? I've met her, you know. In The Morris Inn when we went down ⦔ She stopped and tears filled her eyes. “Oh, Larry. What are we doing to them? What are we doing to ourselves?”
“We should never have broken up.”
“I'm beginning to wonder if we ever did.”
He was left confused by this turn of events, and so was she. When they were apart, Dolores would repent the renewal of their love. It wasn't right. They were both engaged to other people. Again and again, he had to win her back. But he feared that by some quirk she might drift away from him, out of reach entirely. So he kept on following Dudley Fyte. He followed him the night he broke into the house on Lake of the Isles.
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