The Royal Family (23 page)

John continued to regard her, saying nothing. He saw that her overnight bag was actually a very large suitcase. He saw that her face had been overlain by an oppressively determined expression. It was the first time that she had ever come to him uninvited. Furious, he sat down at the diamond-shaped table by the window where the computer had finished chirring; with half a dozen keystrokes he quit the defragmentation utility and powered down.

Would you mind if I sat next to you? said Celia a little uncertainly.

Fine, said John. Mom’s having chest pains again.

You and your mother are very close, aren’t you? said Celia. Is she helping you, I mean now?

Let’s leave her out of this.

Celia lit a cigarette. —Whatever you say. You brought her up, not me. Would you mind if I sat down?

Her suitcase was in the middle of the long narrow hallway between the living room and the bedroom. Impatiently he carried it into the bedroom and set it down beside the rumpled bed, which embarrassed him. He could not remember when he’d changed the sheets. Irene used to do that. He closed the bedroom door on bed and suitcase, shot a glance at Celia, who’d remained standing, put a pot of decaf on to warm, and seated himself upon the sofa. She came next to him and almost touched his hand.

Ashtray’s over there, he said.

I feel so . . . I don’t know . . .

You’re up to two packs a day now, aren’t you?

Do you think she—did she know about us? she said.

Who? My wife? replied John in a loud, aggrieved tone.

Yes.

I’ll never get rid of her now, he said. After what she did, she has a hold on me like some kind of parasite. Well, you were here, so you know. When you see the face of somebody who died by violence and she was somebody that you—knew . . .

I understand. Remember when you had to—

Yeah. I don’t know how Hank does it.

I never met him. Well, just that one time when we were . . .

Maybe he gets his kicks from going to the morgue. What do you think, Ceel? There must be perverts like that. Of course he’s not a real detective, just a private eye. Maybe he doesn’t see that many dead people. But her
face
—I—

For a while he was silent. Then the phone rang. He picked it up. —No, he said. I’m not interested. I said I’m not interested. No, I’m satisfied with my long distance company. No, thank you. No, don’t call back at another time. No. Thank you anyway. Sonofabitch.

He slammed the phone down, red in the face.

Can I get you anything? Celia said.

Whatever’s worth getting I’m out of, John said shortly.

You want me to go to the store? I can get you some groceries . . .

Thank you, Celia. No, that won’t be necessary. Thank you anyway.

Well, she said, looking at the floor, how’s everything at work?

Oh, they tried to overturn the fraud conviction, but we got it reinstated on appeal. And Rapp . . .

Again he was silent for a while. —No, I don’t think she knew, he said. And if she knows now, I think she understands.

You think she sees us right now? said Celia almost inaudibly. I feel so—

Well, I certainly see her face. If she wants me to do something, I won’t refuse. Should I call to her? he asked, observing Celia with a cruel smile.

No—please don’t—

Irene! he cried out.
Irene!

Don’t—

Irene, did you know about Celia? Is that why you did it? Irene, did I make you that unhappy?

He turned to Celia. —Nobody can say I didn’t mean well, he said.

No, John. Nobody can say that.

Irene won’t answer, he laughed. She’s taking the Fifth Amendment.

Stop it, stop it!

I’m going to drive her stuff down to her parents on Saturday, he said. It’s time to clean this apartment out.

If you want I could—

Maybe Hank told her. Hey, Irene! Wake up! Did Hank tell you about Celia? He
saw
us that time. Friggin’ Hank . . . They said they want all her clothes and crap. I don’t know what they’ll do with it. Maybe they can donate it through their church . . .

How are they doing?

Oh, fine. Did I tell you that her charge card bills keep coming in? She’s going to send me to the poorhouse yet.

Oh, said Celia, lighting another cigarette.

That’s quite a suitcase you brought over here.

You know what? Celia said. I feel as if you don’t care whether I stay or not.

No, no,
no!
laughed John, holding up his hands. You’re always welcome. Can I pour you a glass of wine? And there’s coffee on . . . You gave me that coffee grinder. I use it all the time. I even recommended it to Hank! I told Irene to recommend it to him but she . . .

Celia’s mouth had tightened, and she said: Do you want me to stay or not?

I said come over, didn’t I?

I thought maybe you changed your mind. John, I—

Let me get you that wine, John said. Did you say white or red?

What are you having?

Oh, don’t play that game. That’s manipulative. It’s just the kind of thing Irene used to—

White, thanks. John, you know I care for you so much. I just wanted to—

Don’t think I don’t appreciate your being here, he said to her, leaning forward to squeeze her hand. His rage had vanished as suddenly as it had come; he didn’t know why. Gingerly he explored the place within him where it had been, and found only hollowness. He said: I guess I feel pretty lonely at times. And I know you care for me. We can talk about all that tomorrow.

John—

Do you want coffee in your wine? Guess you don’t, so I’ll turn the coffee off.

I’ll get it.

No, you’re the guest. Can’t you see I’m . . . Oh, balls.

I love you, John. Your sadness breaks my heart.

Well, if you love me, just sit there and . . . I’m not so sad actually. What time is it? Let me check my messages at the office. You go ahead and get ready for bed, okay?

So you want me to stay?

I hope you brought your own toothpaste, John said. I remember you don’t like the toothpaste that I use.

The next morning, John’s friend, his desk phone’s amber button, winked at him most mirthfully. —What is it now, Joy? he said.

Mr. Singer would like to see you as soon as possible, said Joy’s voice.

OK. Tell him I’ll be there in five minutes.

What about your two o’clock with Mr. Brady?

How long does Singer need me for?

He didn’t say. Probably some quickie kind of thing.

Fine, Joy. Where am I meeting Brady?

At Spoletto’s, reservation in your name.

And that’s at two o’clock?

Let me see. Oh, John, can you hold one second? There’s a call on the other —

OK. Thank you, Joy, he said, hanging up. He made a note on his memo pad:
Call

Mom tonight.—

He added:
Flowers for Celia.—

. . . and crossed it out.

Celia had returned home. (Post Street was closed off, the San Francisco coroner’s white van parked among the police cars.) She dreamed that John was searching to buy Chinese figurines for a girl he knew. She woke up knowing that this meant
Irene.
She went to Grace Cathedral during her lunch hour and lit a candle for Irene, praying that the dead woman and John would be together in Heaven. She wept when she did it. That night when she lay down in her bed, she dreamed of the smell of fresh-baked bread.

The Vietnamese woman led Tyler into a room with a mattress, a chair, and a bathtub. She said: Thirty-five dollars is only for shower and back rub, okay? You want tea or coffee?

Tea.

Okay. Get undressed. I come back.

Tyler took off his shoes and lay down on the mattress. When she came in with the tea, she stopped dead, covered her gaping mouth with one hand, and cried: Why you not undress? What you want?

I just want to talk.

Your friend wait for you in lobby! she cried scornfully. Why you no talk with him?

I want to talk with you.

She squatted down beside the mattress, staring at him. Then she laughed bitterly and went out. He heard her yelling in Vietnamese with the other ladies.

After a while another woman came in. —What you want? she said.

To talk to you.

Why?

I’m lonely. I want to be next to a woman, just talking.

Thirty-five dollah not enough for
talk,
she sneered.

Okay. How much more do you need?

Twenty dollah.

And then you’ll sit next to me?

Okay.

He gave her twenty dollars more and she sat down on the edge of the bed with her legs open so he slid his hand in and felt the paper menstrual shield through her panties. He caressed the insides of her thighs for the half-hour she gave him, while she tapped her foot boredly. This reach of his had been the right card to play. As soon as he’d touched her, the suspicion on her face drained away, leaving a hard residue of contempt and weariness. He was safe now.

What do you want to know? she said.

I don’t want to know anything. Just talk to me.

What’s your job?

I travel.

You rich?

Sometimes. No.

At that, she lost interest. Better and better.

Have you seen much war? he said.

Much much.

What do you think about it?

She shrugged. —I think war is very good. Because many fight, many suffer, but then one side get what they want.

Do you have brothers and sisters?

I don’t want to think about them. I don’t even want to think about myself.

Are you married? he said.

Two times. Not now.

You lonely?

Sometimes. Everybody wants love. —She regarded him piercingly. We were all born naked. Why not get naked when we want?

He understood her pefectly, but figured that would have cost him another twenty or thirty at least. Brady had given him one last wad for expenses. In his business, of course, one could not always present receipts. Some of the quittances which Brady had seen him counting he’d filled out and signed himself. That was normal. And if he kept this money now instead of giving it to people such as the Vietnamese woman, Brady would never know. Or, more likely, Brady would understand, even approve; probably Brady had factored in a little graft as part of Tyler’s wages, or let’s say a bonus to which he had every
right as long as he did the job. He felt sorry for this girl. Just as a freshly shaved pudendum, to which the stubble has just begun to return, resembles in texture a squid’s most delicately suction-studded tentacles, so his own thoughts, yearnings and veriest gratitudes, shaved by expediencey though they were, had begun to grow out upon his soul in a boneless sea-creaturely fashion bereft of the laws which two-legged dignity must worship. Sure, he was sorry. But he felt sorry for everybody. He never let that get in the way of his work. (A Sicilian lawyer he’d met had three briefcases, one for twelve-hour jobs, one for twenty-four-hour jobs, and one for thirty-six-hour jobs. This man’s best pleasure was reading
Il Sicilio,
then wiping his glasses and crying: The Italian government is very unfair! —After that he smiled, ate a doughnut, and forgot about the unfairness. Tyler was like that with his sadness.)

I already got naked with the Queen, he said, watching her.

I don’t know any queen. Are you a cop?

I did her in the parking garage around the corner. She took it up the ass.

Why what for you think I care about parking garage? she shouted. You think I have money to drive? You think I park my big big car in parking garage of the Queen? You stupid little cop! I’m gonna tell madame on you.

What’s the Queen’s first name? I want to buy her a birthday present.

That Africa who cares for her first name all just bad African people those goddamned Negroes always try to hurt me in the street . . .

Tyler gave up. He rose and said goodbye, tipping her five, then strolled around the corner to a phony Chinese restuarant he knew which had just translated itself into a barbeque place. He wasn’t hungry, and the sauce didn’t smell very good. The place was empty. The manager of the former Chinese place recognized Tyler right away and came running up to him and said to the new manager: Hey, you gotta meet Henry Tyler! He’s a character!

I don’t have time to meet characters, said the new manager.

The old manager hung his head.

What’ll you have, friend? said the new manager.