The Devil's Cook (8 page)

Doing nothing, or next to nothing, for four hours is in itself a difficult job. One must, paradoxically, do something in order to accomplish it. Sleeping is as close to doing nothing as a man can get; and Jay, who had slept very little the previous night, went into the bedroom and took off his shoes and lay down on his back on the bed.

It was a precarious position, for it is peculiarly conducive to unpleasant reflections while awake, and to bad dreams when asleep. The trick, of course, was to think of something or someone besides Terry, but this was impossible because she was immediately everywhere at once in the room, even creeping beneath his eyelids when he closed them. He did not resist her presence, which would have been a mistake, and so he achieved a kind of passivity that in the end induced unconsciousness. He slept fitfully until he was awakened by the strident ringing of the telephone in the living room.

The apartment had grown dark while he slept, and he groped his way toward the ringing. As he expected, his greeting brought on the gravelly voice of Maurice Feldman.

“Jay? Feldman here. What's on your mind?”

“Well, it seems that Terry has wandered off; and I was wondering if she's shown up in L.A. Have you heard from her?”

“If she's here, she hasn't got in touch with me. How long has she been gone?”

“Since yesterday afternoon. When I got home from the university, she was gone.”

“Didn't she tell anyone where she was going?”

“Apparently not. No one seems to know.”

“What makes you think she came out here? Did she take any clothes with her?”

“Just what she was wearing, so far as I can tell. That's why I. thought she'd be in touch with you right away.”

“Well, if I hear from her, I'll let you know immediately.”

“I'd appreciate it.”

“I rather suspect, however, that you'll be hearing from her soon, if she doesn't return. God knows what makes Terry so erratic. Keep me informed, will you, Jay?”

“Right. Sorry to have bothered you.”

“No bother. I'm glad you called. It's probably too early to get excited, though, where Terry's concerned. I suppose you're accustomed to her habits by this time.”

“Thoroughly. How was your golf game today?”

“Golf? I didn't play golf. I was tied up at the office.”

“Oh? If I'd known that, I'd have called you there.”

“I'm involved in a rather important court action at the moment. Demands my personal attention. If there's nothing else on your mind, Jay, I've got to dress for dinner. We're having guests.”

“Right, Maury. Thanks for calling back.”

He hung up and returned to the bedroom. After turning on the ceiling light, he sat on the edge of the bed and put on his shoes. He still wasn't hungry, but it was a long time since his last meal, and he decided that he had better eat something. On the other hand, he didn't feel like going to the trouble of preparing anything; besides, he had an urgent need to get out of the apartment. Wearing a topcoat but no hat, he left the building and walked over to a small restaurant near the campus that catered largely to students.

Consuming a bowl of soup and a cold roast-beef sandwich, Jay Miles began at last to face the issue he had heretofore avoided. He considered Brian O'Hara and what, if anything, should be done about him. He would have preferred to do nothing at all, but appearances clearly dictated a gesture in O'Hara's direction. Terry's relationship with O'Hara, however much or little it amounted to, incited no anger in Jay, only a soiled sense of shame that he could feel none. This had the effect of augmenting his bitterness toward Terry for stirring in him an emotion that was, at most, no more than incidental to the one he should have felt. Be he did not blame O'Hara for Terry's initiative. Once he would have blamed O'Hara, but no longer. There had been too many O'Haras.

His attitude was hardly understandable by those who expected him to react “normally.” Ever since Ardis Bowers had made her point about Terry and O'Hara, Jay had realized that, if he wanted to keep the respect of those who were aware of the. circumstances, he would have to go through certain motions. To say nothing, perhaps, of allaying dangerous speculation. At any rate, he was faced with the disagreeable necessity, of seeing O'Hara, and of letting it be known afterward that he had done so.

This being so—acting on Macbeth's principle in the killing of Duncan—he decided that now was better than later; and he paid his check and left the restaurant.

It was a long walk to the residential hotel in which O'Hara kept a suite. But it was a good night for walking, which also had the effect of delaying the disagreeable encounter. Jay went all the way afoot. It was almost nine o'clock when he reached the hotel, an impressive stack, of stone and steel whose marquee advertised The Rinaldo.

He had to ask at the desk for O'Hara's suite number, and he was forced to wait while the clerk rang up to see if O'Hara was there in the first place, and if he would receive a caller in the second. Jay rather hoped that he wasn't, or wouldn't. But the hope was wasted both ways. O'Hara was and would. Suite 1502, top floor.

Jay went up in the elevator, which rose too fast.

He was admitted by O'Hara himself, alone in the living room of his suite. It was anyone's guess, of course; as to who might have been in other rooms.

O'Hara, who was sometimes a ruffian in behavior, was far from one in appearance. As tall as Jay, he was wider and thicker in the shoulders, and even narrower in the waist. He held himself erect, but with an effect of being at ease, and he moved with grace. His eyes were cold pale blue. His hair, which was blond, was cropped. His voice, amiably modulated, was a lie.

“Come in, Miles,” he said. “It's Doctor, isn't it?”

“I don't make a point of it. Mister's good enough.”

“Let me take your coat.”

“No, thanks.”

“You could use a drink, couldn't you?”

Jay could have, but he said he couldn't.

“I can't stay,” he said. “I'm looking for my wife.”

O'Hara permitted the slightest flicker of surprise to disturb his expression, but he had the good judgment not to put his reaction into words. Clearly he had no intention of either confirming or denying a relationship of which Jay apparently was aware. He had, in fact, a genuine aversion to the kind of angry attention, both public and private, that his activities naturally invited.

“Am I to understand that she's missing?”

“That's right.”

“What made you think you'd find her here?”

“Why not? If I'm not mistaken, she's been here before.”

“Sorry. This is not my night for confessional. She's your wife, for the present, and you can think what you like about her.”

“Thanks. That's liberal of you, but why the time qualification?”

“We needn't pretend with each other. Terry is a dissatisfied wife. You know as well as I that it's only a matter of time till she leaves you. If you say she's missing, maybe she already has.”

“Maybe. How do you know so much about it? Did she tell you?”

“All I'll tell you is that she isn't here. I haven't seen her for a week.”

“I'd hardly expect you to say otherwise.”

O'Hara's only physical reaction was a. narrowing of the lids over his eyes, but Jay was suddenly aware of cold menace.

“You're wrong. If she were here, you could expect me to say so, and to hell with you. Would you like to look through the place?”

“No,” said Jay Miles.

“I'll tell you this, too. We had a date for cocktails at one of my places yesterday afternoon. She didn't show up. I assumed that something had developed to prevent her coming. For her sake, I hoped so. I don't like being stood up.”

“Don't you? Somehow, the idea doesn't disturb me. You'll understand my indifference, I'm sure.”

“I don't give a damn how you feel about it.” O'Hara occupied himself for a few seconds with finding and lighting a cigarette. “I'll tell you what I do give a damn about, though, since you've brought it to my attention. I give a damn about what's become of Terry. How long has she been missing?”

“Since yesterday afternoon.”

“That long? And you have no idea where she can be?”

“I've had a couple of ideas. Both seem to have been wrong.”

“Maybe you know more about it than you're admitting.”

“What the devil do you mean by that?”

“You have plenty of reason to work up a hate for Terry. It would be smart of you to kick up a fuss as a cover-up.”

“Don't be a fool. It's been all over between Terry and me for some time now”

“Then what's the uproar about?”

“She's still my wife, O'Hara.”

O'Hara smiled. “Are you getting tough with me?”

“Let's not underestimate each other. A mistake either way could be costly.”

“Fair enough. And now, if you won't have that drink, I have an appointment at one of my clubs. I'm already late.”

He went to the door and held it open. “I'll make a point of looking into this,” he said. “Let's hope we hear from Terry soon.”

Jay said nothing more.

He descended to the lobby in the fast elevator, from the lobby into the street. A cold wind had come up. He felt that he had survived an ordeal with as much dignity as the circumstances permitted.

Turning up his collar and lowering his head, Jay walked home against the wind.

9

Otis Bowers awoke with a sensation of rising slowly through brackish water to the surface of a stagnant pool. His teeth felt smeary and his face, with its growth of meager beard, dirty. It took him a moment, dreading the day, to remember that it was Sunday, a fact which by no means diminished his dread. He did not plan the traditional pause for worship and rest, having no conviction in the one and little hope of the other. Ardis, stirred by current events to an old animus, was hardly a restful mate. He could feel her beside him, hear her breathing. He knew without looking that her back was turned against him, a position she seemed able to maintain even in the tossing and turning of sleep.

Carefully Otis eased his legs over the side of the bed. This slight effort exhausted him, and he sat slumped for a few minutes, braced by his arms. Then he struggled to his feet and padded into the bathroom. Now, with a kind of sustained rush, he brushed his teeth, washed his face, lathered, and shaved. Returning to the bedroom, he saw with despair that Ardis was sitting up against the headboard of the bed.

“Good morning,” Otis said.

“Is the coffee making?” Ardis said.

“Not yet. I just woke up.”

“What time is it?”

He looked at the alarm clock, which she could have seen for herself by simply turning her head.

“Twenty minutes past nine.”

“I want my coffee.”

“I was just going to make it.”

He went out to the kitchen and put cold water into a Pyrex pot and leaned against the table until the water boiled. He removed the pot from the burner, measured in the instant coffee, and watched it while it steeped. This done, he poured two cupfuls and carried the cups to the bedroom. Thus far, he had been reasonably successful in not thinking about things he didn't want to think about.

“Here you are,” he said.

She carried the cup immediately to her mouth, afterward closing her eyes and letting her head fall back against the headboard. Her face looked grayer and older than it was.

“I wonder if Terry's back,” she said.

“I don't know. I haven't seen Jay since yesterday.”

“Aren't you terribly concerned?”

“Don't start that again. Please don't.”

“Oh, excuse me.” Ardis raised her head and opened her eyes, disclosing the malice behind her lids. “I'd forgotten how sensitive you are on the subject of Terry. She made a fool of you with so little effort, didn't she?”

“I suppose she did. You are welcome to think so, if you like. Can't you forget it, Ardis? Can't you let me forget it?”

“That would be nice for you, wouldn't it? It's not as easy as all that for
me.”

“Can't I make you understand that there never really was anything between Terry and me? Nothing ever
happened
. She was only playing a game with me. Terry's got a cruel streak in her. She enjoys things like that. I'm not the type Terry would take seriously.”

“Why not? Aside from being a fool in your personal affairs, you're a brilliant physicist. You have a wonderful career ahead of you. All you have to do is use common sense.”

“Terry doesn't give a damn about physicists, brilliant or otherwise, and she didn't give a damn about me.”

“Are you saying that what's good enough for me isn't good enough for your precious Terry?”

Fool or not, Otis could see the folly of going any further in
that
direction. It was futile, in fact, to go anywhere in any direction. His offense had not been infidelity, but a fatuous gullibility that in her view reflected on his legal bedmate. He would have been in less trouble, actually, if he had done as well in adultery as in physics. He had not, however. He had been involved in a fiasco, not a conquest; and he admitted that he deserved Ardis's scorn, although he yearned for surcease.

“Nothing of the sort,” Otis said. “I'm just saying that Terry has a beastly set of values. Look at the way she treats Jay. She really has no regard for him, although he's a very competent economist. It's a mystery to me why she ever married him. She's much more taken with animals like Brian O'Hara.”

Ardis sipped her coffee, staring at him slyly over the run of the cup.

“‘O.' for O'Hara?” she said.

“Must you be so devious, Ardis?” He sat down on the side of the bed, clutching his cup and saucer in his left hand. “I simply don't know what you're talking about.”