The Court (21 page)

“Do you think he's capable of that?”

“He'd be pissed that she was screwing one of the younger members of his staff, that's what would make him angry. If she was humping the university president or the chairman of the trustees he'd probably cater in a towel service. No, even if he did find out, he's not the type given to violence. He would just use it against her, as a lever for something he wanted. That's how I figure him.”

“You don't paint a very appetizing picture.”

“Truth can be ugly, and often is. But what the hell, there are a lot worse than him. I know, I see them.”

“You don't like ambitious people, do you?”

“Sure. Some of my best friends are ambitious.” Whittle laughed. “But ambition without integrity is nothing. Do you know who said that?”

“No.”

“Your father.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

The day had proved frustrating. Although he had learned a bit more about Pentecost, it wasn't enough. But that was not on his mind. Now he felt nothing but a growing sense of apprehension.

Jerry Green drove along the winding streets, following the directions and watching for his brother's address. Although it was already dark most of the expensive homes had carriage lamps outside and their glow made the street scene look like the background for a slick magazine advertisement picturing the ultimate American success: the big house, well kept, surrounded by expanses of clipped lawns.

His brother's house was a two-story colonial with an attached garage. Both a front carriage light and a spotlight over the garage blazed in the night. It seemed as if every room in the house was lit.

He had never been here before. The house was something new. It had been so long ago, that exploding unpleasantness. He could still remember the shouting, the sudden eruption that had severed the bond between them. It was a bitter memory. He presumed it would be equally bitter, if not more so, for Hank, his wife, and perhaps even his children. He hoped the evening wouldn't be too unpleasant.

Green parked on the concrete apron in front of the garage.

He stepped out of the car and breathed deeply, inhaling the crisp night air. There was a feeling of snow. None was predicted, and even though he had been away from Michigan for years, he still retained his native ability to sense weather changes.

The side door opened and Hank held out his hand. His other hand contained a very large glass. Green remembered Whittle's remarks about his brother's drinking.

“Hey, Adele, it's Jerry!” Hank Green gripped his hand and pulled him inside, leading him down a long hallway and into a large living room.

She stood there. Adele was a different woman, much heavier, her dark hair streaked with gray, and she wore glasses. He remembered Adele as she had been, with a spectacular figure and a wild, almost wanton look about her. Now she looked like someone's frumpy grandmother.

She took his hand and lightly kissed his cheek, but there was no attempt at an embrace. She had not forgotten.

“You look wonderful, Adele,” he said, drawing back. “Eternally young.”

She smiled but her eyes held no sparkle. “You look well, Jerry. You've changed. I really don't think I Would have recognized you on the street.” She paused, studying him. “You look more like … well … you look like Hank. There seems to be more of a resemblance now.”

“She's trying to say that you've become better looking,” Hank said. “How about a drink? What'cha want?”

“What'cha got?” Green answered, mimicking him as he used to do when they were young.

Hank laughed, reminded of that more pleasant time in their past. “I got more kinds of booze than the best bar in New York, Just name it.”

“Scotch.”

“Soda?”

“Jesus, we're standing around here like we were at a convention,” Hank said. “Give me your coat and sit down.”

Green surrendered his overcoat and sat in one of the living room chairs. Two sofas and two matching chairs had been arranged to form a square around the brick wall fireplace. A family picture had been placed at one end of the mantel. A large framed photograph of their father was at the other end. There was nothing else on the long mantel.

Adele perched her ample form on the arm of a sofa.

“Beautiful place, Adele,” he said. “When did you move?”

She thought for a moment. “Oh, five or six years ago. This place was just the right size for our family then. But now that the children are moving away it's really too big. I'd like to move into one of those condominiums.”

“I live in a condominium in Arlington. I like it.”

“Hank says you were divorced. Do you stay in contact with Alice?”

Green felt uncomfortable under her gaze. Women were dangerous. They plowed right ahead without any regard to tact or sensitivity. They all seemed to be controlled by a primal sense of curiosity.

“I haven't seen her in years. I see David once a year for a short visit. When you last saw him he was just a small boy. He's sixteen now and grown. Alice is married to a dentist in Oregon. We correspond when necessary about David. You know, just the usual things, school business, health, trips, that sort of thing.”

“Was it bitter?”

“You mean the divorce?”

“Yes.”

He shrugged. “No more or no less than the usual, I suppose. We just came to the point where we couldn't stand the sight of each other. Although it wasn't exactly an amicable parting, we did manage to refrain from physical violence. It seems that being three thousand miles apart is just about right. At that distance we can tolerate each other.”

“And you're married again, Hank tells me.” Her tone hinted at an underlying disapproval, as if somehow he was being unfaithful to his former wife.

“Yes. My wife is an accountant. Second marriage for both.” He paused, sensing her next question. “No children.”

“She had no children by her first marriage?” Adele's raised eyebrow showed her definite disapproval.

Hank reentered the room carrying a small tray with brimming glasses. “Hey, Adele, let him alone.” He grinned as he handed a glass to his brother. “If she was a prosecutor we wouldn't have a crime problem. A real third-degree artist, my wife.”

“It's normal,” she replied evenly, almost sternly. “When you haven't seen a member of your family for a number of years, it's normal to want to know about his personal life. I'm not being nosy.”

Hank handed her a drink, then set the tray on a table, and slouched down in one of the sofas. “Okay, so you're normal.”

Green sipped the scotch. His brother had made the drink very strong. Usually, he would have resented it, but there was an unusual tension in him, almost a fear, and he felt that he could use the assistance of a little bottled courage.

“Do you ever see many of the old crowd?” Green hoped to draw the conversation away from himself.

“Yeah. Hell, I see everybody,” Hank replied. “Outside of you, I can't think of anyone who ever left here. If you stick around for a while you're bound to run into them. They all work around here. Remember Elmer Jobst?”

“The stork?”

“Yeah. Big and lanky, remember? Looks just like he used to, only now he's bald. He has three boys, all of them as tall as Elmer and all of them just as awkward.” Hank Green laughed at a memory. “He lives just down the street. Sells insurance.”

“He owns an agency,” Adele corrected him.

“Same thing,” he growled at his wife. “It's weird, I suppose, to spend your entire life surrounded by the people who went to high school with you. It's like being inbred. Christ, you know everybody and everybody knows you. This might as well be Pitcairn Island.…”

“Washington is a city of strangers,” Jerry Green said. “You know only the people you work with, maybe a neighbor or two, but that's it. Carol and I lived next to a cabinet member for two years and never even met the man.”

“That stranger business can have its advantages,” Hank said, smiling. “Hell, if Adele and I get into a shouting fight the next day the whole place knows about it. This isn't a small town anymore, but it doesn't matter. The inner community, the league of the old boys and girls, they know. Same thing if a man or a woman wants to screw around. How the hell you going to keep it quiet if the motel owner is an old school chum?”

“That never seemed to have bothered you.” Adele said it lightly, but there was a sting in her words. She sipped her drink, her eyes emotionless.

“Ah!” Hank gestured with his hand is if pushing the whole subject away. He took a long pull at his drink.

“How are the children, Adele?”

It was a happy choice. She seemed to relax as she began a long litany listing the situation and accomplishments of each of her five children. She spoke of her oldest daughter but did not mention any problems with abortions or drugs. He saw his brother wink at him as Adele went on painting a picture of the perfect American family. Green sipped his drink and listened. It was interesting. Adele was correct, it was normal to want to know the intimate details of one's own family. Hank refilled both their glasses while Adele continued on with her family history.

The children were gathered up to meet their uncle. They appeared to be less than enthusiastic. Aaron, tall and pimply, carried a worn Bible in his hand. His long stringy hair had been tied at the back of his head. He mumbled something about Jesus and left. Rachel, “Cha Cha” to her friends, eyed him provocatively. She had developed too fast. They would have trouble with her. She was petulant when she was informed that she was housebound and would serve as babysitter for her four-year-old sister. Jerry Green knew that but for his presence an all-out family war would have exploded. But it was contained, concealed within snapped words and hard looks. The little girl, Emily, was a charmer, but they all were at that age.

The children had eaten their dinner earlier. Aaron had departed and Cha Cha reluctantly lead her charge to the family room and a quiet evening of television.

“Hey, Adele, tell him about our surprise.”

Adele had seated herself in one of the chairs. “Your surprise, you mean. I'm not sure it was such a hot idea, Hank.”

“Nothing's a great idea to you, Adele.” He turned to his brother. “You were asking about the old crowd, right?”

“Yes.”

“I figured you'd be interested so I arranged for some folks to drop by for some after-dinner drinks.”

“Who?”

“Guess.” His brother's face seemed to lose its age in his animation. His features somehow seemed more near the face of the brother Jerry Green remembered.

“Oh, just tell him,” Adele said, getting up. She turned to Jerry Green. “He always likes to play games. I have to finish some things in the kitchen.” She flounced out. The extra weight was especially evident as she walked. Her once lovely legs were thick, almost masculine.

“Remember Jimmy Whales?”

“Sure.”

“He was your best friend, right? All the way through school.”

Jerry Green nodded.

“Well, he and his wife … I don't think you've ever met her … are coming.”

Green felt a flush of excitement as memories were unlocked. He conjured up the picture of the red hair and freckled skin.

“Not only did I line up your old best friend, I snagged your old girlfriend, too, how about that?”

Suddenly Green felt close to panic. “Regina?” It was almost a whisper.

“Sweet Regina. None other. Like I told you the other day, she's a widow. She's a nurse and she teaches at the college. Still looks damn good too. She was very excited about seeing you.”

Jerry Green finished off the second drink. Like the first it had been strong. He felt his head swimming. “Anybody else?”

“Oh, I contacted a couple of other people. You're still popular. They wanted to come but they just couldn't make it. Hey, how about another one? Adele will kill me, she thinks booze kills the flavor of her food. But between you and me, sometimes that's a good thing.”

Green was going to refuse but the shock that he would see Regina again sharpened his anxiety. He didn't want to get drunk, but he felt he just might need one more drink. He held out his empty glass to his grinning brother. Hank left to get the drinks.

As Green sat alone in the living room he reflected on the fact that none of them had even come close to mentioning the last time they were together. The memory of that incident lay like an invisible wall between them. He wondered if they would ever talk about it. He knew he would never bring it up. Some things were better left alone.

*   *   *

Physically Jimmy Whales hadn't changed. His hair was still red, although a bit muted. His skin was just as fair and freckled. He looked youthful with the same bright blue eyes and that half smile, so well remembered, still perpetually fixed on his pleasant face. But the old energy, the remembered lust for life had flown. Despite his appearance, Jimmy Whales had become an old man. During the evening Green had tried to recall memories of their youthful adventures, but every time escalating feelings or wonderful recollections were killed by Jimmy Whale's preoccupation with the woes of his business. No matter what the subject, somehow Jimmy always managed to return to the somber, almost desperate world of his car dealership. He had taken over his father's business and it had become the only thing in his life. His wife, a tired-looking woman who had heard all of Jimmy's woes before, tended to drink a bit too much. She said nothing important or revealing, just nodded and tried to be pleasant.

Regina Kelso was different. She was thinner than he remembered, and her attractive legs seemed even longer. Unlike Jimmy Whales, she had aged, but it seemed to have magically improved her appearance. She was a bit thinner in the face and even that accentuated the delicate structure beneath her still-unwrinkled skin. She was lovely. Her long blonde hair was gone, replaced by a short businesslike cut. But the hair itself was just as fine and blonde as in years past. Her large green eyes hadn't changed, except that now they were gently accentuated with sparse but artfully applied makeup. Her eyes were just as intelligent and as full of laughter as he had remembered. During the evening he kept stealing glances at her, vividly recalling the warm relationship they had shared, that soft beauty of youthful love. She was still just as appealing. He found it difficult to concentrate on Jimmy Whale's stories of the do-or-die struggle connected with moving unwanted makes of automobiles, trucks, and sports utility vehicles.