Shock Treatment (4 page)

The sound of her voice as she said “Yes? Hello?” set my heart thumping.

“Will you have dinner with me in Los Angeles tomorrow night?” I said, speaking slowly and distinctly. “I’ll be outside the gate at eleven.”

There was a very slight pause, then she said, “I’m afraid you have the wrong number. No, it’s quite all right. It’s no trouble,” and she hung up.

I guessed Delaney was in the room and was listening to her. I replaced the receiver.

There was nothing more now I could do except wait for tomorrow night.

At a quarter to eleven, wearing my best suit, I drove over to Blue Jay cabin.

At one minute to eleven, she came down the path.

The sight of her sent my blood racing. I stood there, my hands resting on the top of the gate, watching her as she moved towards me with that liquid grace of hers.

When she reached me, she paused and looked at me. I opened the gate and she moved through to my side.

“Hello, Terry,” she said.

That wasn’t quite the greeting I had expected. There was nothing much I could say to that, but I did what I wanted to do: I grabbed at her.

I grabbed nothing. She slid away from me. It was like trying to catch hold of a shadow.

“No, Terry!”

The sharp note in her voice chilled me.

“What do you mean — no?” I said. “I’ve been living for this moment ever since I called you.”

“Yes, and so have I, but I told you: we are not going to make love together again. If you can’t see me without that, then we can’t meet. We can’t be anything to each other except friends.”

“Friends? After what you and I have been together?”

“All right, Terry. I’ll go back. I’m sorry, but that’s the way I feel. I shouldn’t have come down to meet you. If we can’t just be friends, then I can’t see you again.”

I drew in a long, deep breath.

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll accept the terms.”

“Is it so hard for you, Terry?”

“Never mind that. You heard what I said: I accept the terms. Let’s go. It’s getting late.”

She walked with me to the truck and got in beside me.

“There’s a restaurant I know,” I said as I started the engine. “It’s out of the way and safe. No one will know us there.”

“Thank you for thinking of that.”

It was an eighty-mile, run down to Los Angeles. It was a good road, but it took the best part of two hours to get there. We didn’t say much to each other during the run. She made the effort at first and prattled about this and that, but it was talk that meant nothing, and she seemed to realize it for she suddenly stopped, and the rest of the run was made in silence.

The Italian restaurant I had chosen was out at Hermosa Beach. The food was supposed to be good.

When we reached the restaurant I steered the truck into the parking lot, and we went together to the terrace overlooking the sea where there were tables with shaded lamps, and soft music that couldn’t offend anyone and waiters in white coats moving about quickly and efficiently as slick as a well-oiled machine.

We had dinner of scampi,
escalope alia Bolognese
and a bottle of good red wine.

I kept looking at her, hoping to see that thing in her eyes, but it wasn’t there. It was as if the lighted windows of the house that you knew always gave you a welcome were screened suddenly with black blinds.

“I’m loving this, Terry,” she said when they brought the escalopes. “This is the first time I have been taken out for nearly four years.”

“I’m glad I got the idea,” I said. “If you can fix it, maybe we’ll come again.”

Probably she caught the bitter note in my voice. She looked quickly at me.

“Terry . . . tell me something about yourself. This shop of yours: are you very ambitious about it? Tell me how you feel about it.”

I wasn’t interested, but if she wanted to keep up this grotesque pretense, I had to go along with her.

“Well, if I had some money,” I said, pushing the food around on my plate but not eating it, “I’d buy myself a shop. I know just the place. This running around servicing people’s sets and selling here and there won’t ever get me anywhere. What I need is a shop with a good window where I can display hand-built Hi-Fi sets and sell discs in a good demonstration room. That’s what I want, but getting it is not so easy. I could never dig up enough money.”

“How much would you need?” she asked, looking intently at me.

“That depends. Twenty-five thousand would take care of it. Twice that amount to do something on the grand scale.”

“If he died, Terry, you would have all the capital you need.”

“That’s right,” I said. “You told me that before. If he died . . .”

I saw her glance furtively at her watch.

I beat her to it.

“You’ll be wanting to get back. He might be wanting a pill or something.”

“Oh, Terry, please . . .”

I snapped my fingers at the waiter and got the check.

As we walked back to the truck, she said, “I’ve loved every second of this, Terry.”

“I’m glad.”

I wasn’t going to be such a hypocrite as to say I had loved it too.

I got the truck moving, and we drove out of Los Angeles and hit the mountain road.

We didn’t talk.

When we were within a couple of miles from Blue Jay cabin, I pulled up.

She turned quickly to look at me.

Why are you stopping?”

“There’s something I want to give you.”

I took the package containing the compact out of my pocket and dropped it into her lap.

“What is it, Terry?”

I turned on the dashboard light.

“Open it and see.”

She slipped off the elastic band, undid the wrapping and opened the box.

The compact looked terrific in its bed of cotton wool: it really looked something.

I heard her draw in her breath sharply.

“You don’t really mean this is for me?”

“Yes. It matches the colour of your eyes.”

“But, Terry . . .   I shouldn’t accept it. You shouldn’t have given it to me.”

“When I saw it I thought it looked made for you.”

She touched the compact, then turned it over in her fingers.

“You are tempting me, Terry, and I can’t resist it.”

“I don’t mean to tempt you,” I said. “There are no strings tied to it. I just wanted you to have it.”

I leaned forward, started the engine and drove fast to Blue Jay cabin.

She sat beside me fingering the compact and silent.

When we reached the gate and I had stopped, she got down from the truck and I joined her.

We stood looking at each other.

“You don’t know how much I’ve enjoyed this, Terry: thank you for being so understanding, and thank you again for this lovely compact. It’s my first present in years. I love it.”

She swayed towards me, her arms sliding around my neck and her mouth found mine.

There wasn’t any satisfaction in it for me. As I held her, I was thinking of the man lying in his bed, probably asleep, not a hundred yards from where we stood, and I knew so long as he was alive, there was only this furtive thing that was happening now between us.

III

Gilda called me early the next morning.

“When I got back to the cabin,” she said, “he was awake. The light was on in his room.”

My grip on the telephone receiver tightened.

“Did he know you had been out?”

“I don’t know. He is very quiet and sulky this morning. He hasn’t said more than a few words. Listen, Terry, I can’t do this any more. You must keep away from me. I’m sorry, but I’m not going to see you again. Forgive me . . .   I was thoughtless to have started this. Please don’t telephone, and please keep away from me. He must never find out, Terry, darling. I’m sorry . . .”

“Now, look, Gilda,” I said, “we can’t stop now . . .”

“He’s coming . . ."

The line went dead.

When a man is in love with a woman as I was with Gilda I reckon he is a little out of his head. I know this much: after four days and four long, hellish nights, I was in a pretty bad way. I couldn’t settle to anything. My work went haywire. I got short-tempered with my clients. I didn’t sell anything.

I kept thinking of her.

I telephoned Blue Jay cabin three times: once, Maria, the fat Mexican maid, answered and I hung up. Once Delaney answered and I hung up. Once Gilda answered and she hung up.

I went out there at night and prowled around their garden like a sneak thief. Just to see her silhouette against the blind of her bedroom window made me feel so bad it scared me.

On the fifth night, I got out the whisky bottle and gave myself a shot that practically stunned me. I’m not a drinking man, but I realized I had to have something to dull this raging ache for her, and the whisky did the trick. For the first time for four nights, I slept, but I dreamed about her.

But why go on?

Eight days after we had last seen each other something happened to bring this nightmare thing to a head.

It was nine in the evening. There was no moon and there was a hint of rain. I was sitting on the verandah, smoking and brooding into the darkness. I was a little high, and I was set to get stinking again. I heard the telephone bell ring.

I went into the sitting-room and took up the receiver.

“Is that you, Regan?”

I recognized Delaney’s voice. The sound turned me cold sober and set my heart hammering.

“Yes.”

“The set’s packed up. I think the tube’s gone.”

This was the first good news I had had during those long hellish days. Here, at last, was a legitimate excuse to see her again.

“I’ll come over right away.”

“Tomorrow will do.”

Tomorrow was Friday. There was a chance she would be down at Glyn Camp and I would miss, her.

“I can’t come tomorrow,” I said. “I’ll be right over.”

“Okay: please yourself.”

I hung up.

I got to Blue Jay cabin in under ten minutes.

There was a light on in the lounge. I got off the truck, collected my kit and walked up onto the verandah.

I was pretty worked up at the thought of seeing her again, but when I walked into the lounge I found Delaney reading and alone.

I hadn’t thought of that possibility. I hadn’t thought she would deliberately avoid me, and it gave me a hard, jolting jar of disappointment.

Delaney waved towards the TV set.

“I guess the tube’s burnt out,” he said.

As I began to check the valves, Delaney, who had been watching me, said abruptly, “I’ll give you a tip. If ever my wife offers you a ride in the car, don’t accept. She’s dangerous in a car. I was fool enough to let her drive me once: only once, mind you, but it was enough. I’ve been in this chair ever since.”

I didn’t say anything. After a moment or so, I found a burnt out valve.

I went out to the truck to get a replacement. I saw there was i a light in Gilda’s bedroom. The blind was down. She was in there, keeping out of sight.

I went back into the lounge and fitted the valve. Then I turned on the set. The picture came up. I adjusted the contrast, tested the sound, then turned the set off.

“It’s okay now,” I said.

“Well, that was simple enough,” Delaney said. “What do I owe you?”

“Three dollars.”

Raising his voice, he shouted: “Gilda! Come here!”

The way you call to a dog when your temper’s short.

It was then I noticed a half full bottle of whisky and a glass on the table near him and I realized he had been drinking heavily.

The door opened and Gilda came in. I was shocked to see how pale she was. She looked at me, her eyes screened, and she nodded politely.

“Give me three dollars,” Delaney said, snapping his fingers impatiently at her.

She crossed the room to where her bag was lying on the sideboard.

I had just fixed the back of the TV set in place. As I tightened the last screw, she walked over to Delaney and opened her bag. She took out three one-dollar bills, and as she did so, the bag slipped out of her hand. It fell on the floor and its contents spilled out by Delaney’s chair.

Right where he couldn’t fail to see it was the blue and silver powder compact I had given her.

Delaney stared at the compact.

For a split second Gilda seemed paralysed, then she darted forward and snatched up the compact.

Delaney grabbed her wrist, twisted it brutally, and wrenched the compact out of her hand. She tried to get it from him.

All this happened in seconds.

His face vicious, Delaney swung his left hand and struck her very hard across her nose and mouth. The sound of his hand hitting her made a tiny explosion in the room.

The force of the blow sent her reeling. She lost her balance and fell on her hands and knees.

I remained where I was, fighting down a murderous impulse to get my fingers around his throat and choke the life out of him.

Muttering under his breath, Delaney stared at the compact.

Gilda got unsteadily to her feet. Her nose was bleeding slightly. She looked bad, with blood running down her chin, and her face white and tense.

Delaney opened the compact and stared at her name engraved on the inside flap. Then he looked up, his face contorted with rage.

“So you’ve found a lover,” he said and the viciousness in his voice sickened me.

Gilda didn’t say anything. She leaned against the wall, her hands pressing her breasts, blood dripping from her nose on to her dress.

“So you’re not content to have made me a cripple, you have to act the whore as well.”

He threw the compact across the room. It hit the opposite wall. The lid broke off and the mirror smashed.

Gilda ran out of the room.

Delaney suddenly seemed to become aware of me.

“Get out!” he shouted. “If you spread this over your lousy little town, I’ll fix you! I’ll sue you to hell! Get out!”

I picked up my tool kit and went out of the room, down the steps to the truck.

I drove to the gate, pulled up and got out to open the gate.

Gilda came out of the darkness and into the light of my headlights.

She looked bad. Her nose was bruised, and there was dried blood on her chin and her eyes were glittering.