The Trespassers (38 page)

In the dark she whispered, “What will we name it, darling?”

“Good God, I hadn’t thought about it,” he instantly said, in astonishment. “I—you know, I haven’t got that far yet, about actually visualizing a baby you call by a name.”

She smiled to herself. Men were the strangest creatures. She had visualized a baby you call by a name, she had a thousand times over since the twelfth of December seen and touched and lifted and cradled in her arms a baby. During all the hours at the store, the Christmas rush, the Palm Beach line, the letter from Vederle and her own to Washington—through every hour of the nineteen days, a part of her was seeing ahead to that one ultimate moment of the baby.

“Well, you’ll start visualizing pretty soon,” she said comfortably.”

“I’m still so bowled over, by the thing happening.”

He sat up in bed and turned on the light.

“It’s two-thirty,” he said. “I damn well can’t get sleepy tonight. What you know about that?”

Her eyes mocked him, indulgently. ‘Want to dress and take a walk?” she teased.

He astonished her by slapping his thigh in instant acceptance.

“By God, I do. Come on, Veery, I know you were just saying that, but come on.” He was already out of bed, his eyes still on hers.

“Well, of all the harebrained—” But she was pleased, flattered, happy. They dressed quickly and went out. The night was moonlit, the road they walked on sharp under their soles, the still air stinging on their faces. They scarcely talked. And Vee knew that they were nearer to everything that mattered than they had ever either of them dreamed of coming.

The night was thinning for dawn before they finally slept. When they woke, it was early afternoon, and their first words were bridges from their exalted mood of the night before. Jas rebuilt the fire, and they breakfasted enormously before it. As she ate, Vee saw him watching her carefully.

“You going to throw up?” he asked. “Morning sickness or whatever?”

“You sound positively hopeful,” she said. Her eyes were shining in her happiness and pride. “I’m not ever going to, I think, darling. I think I’m going to be strong and well and happy right through every minute.”

“Are you—frightened?”

Her eyes met his and she only smiled. Then she went to him and kissed the top of his thick, strong hair.

“And don’t you be, ever, darling,” she said, a little solemnly. “I just have a positive feeling—I’m going to be all right.”

They went out again, this time into the pale-yellow sunlight of winter. When they tired of walking, they stopped at a disreputable-looking saloon in the town, and sat at the bar with steins of glistening beer before them. They walked back to The Jonathan in the quick twilight and went up to their firelit room as if it were their first home together. He watched her take her coat off.

“Are you going to be pretty big soon, Veery?”

“Not
soon
,” she answered cheerfully. “Along about March, I’ll start ‘showing,’ as women always say. I wish it was right now.”

“Were.”

“You darling. Were.”

They napped together, they woke again, they had a lazy dinner. When they were once again in the car, Vee knew that she had climbed, in the past twenty-four hours, to the highest and loveliest destiny that life reserved for its creatures.

The doorbell rang sharply. The week end was over in fact, but every moment and mood of it clung like a benign tendril to Vee’s mind. She had left the store at the end of the morning, with the casual announcement that she wouldn’t be back. “I’ve got to attend to something in Connecticut.” To herself she added, “Something called a marriage license for me and Jas.”

Now she was just using up time, singing as she moved about the apartment. She heard Dora in the front hall, heard a masculine voice, and wondered whether it was anything or anybody for her. Jas wasn’t due for another half-hour.

Dora came in with a telegram. It was yellow, so it was not a cable from the Vederles. Vee nodded her thanks and waited until Dora left the room.

She opened it and read it, read it again, more slowly. Then she went over to the window. She looked down on the sleety, steel-colored city. Her voice said aloud, “Jas, Jas, you shouldn’t. Not even for two days.” Then she read the long message once more.

He had tried to phone her, but she had already left the store and had not yet reached the house. At the morning meeting, the big news was that the Coast contract they had all been ripening up for months was now ready to be plucked, if they jumped at once. The decision of the meeting was for him and Terson to go at once to close the deal before there was another change of mind out there. He had protested that he couldn’t; the consensus was that a day’s stalling might lose the deal for another whole year. They had barely caught a good plane, and if all went well, he’d catch the sleeper plane the next night and return Wednesday. Then Connecticut. Please understand and do not mind.

“I do mind, I do, I can’t help minding.” The words hummed along her nerves. A thing twisted tight and hot inside her, at the top of her stomach, where the ribs began to flare apart.

She knew how vitally important this deal was. He had told her of it often enough, exasperated at the changeable fellow who owned the six strong stations in California, Nevada, and Arizona. Signing those six with JCN would strengthen their Western coverage tremendously. But even so, even so—

“You shouldn’t have, Jas. Not even for two days. Not about this.”

In the airplane, Frank Terson was bored and irritated. He could not get Jasper to talk about anything whatever for more than five-minute stretches. He was used to all his variations of mood by now, but this was a beauty. Here they were on this endless flight, and all afternoon and most of the evening, Crown had sat staring out of the window or up at the ceiling of the plane. What the hell was eating him?

When a direct question was put to him, Crown would bring un- willing eyes around and reply in brief, hard phrases. Then he would duck back into the trench of his silence. It was damn near insulting. Frank Terson was glad when it was late enough to turn in for the night.

In his berth, Jasper Crown propped himself up against the pillows. His hands were clasped hard behind the back of his neck, his elbows spread-eagled, his chest high. The physical strain of the position eased something or other, he was not sure what or why.

He thought back, for the hundredth time. Saturday night, all day Sunday—they had been good, grand, unbelievable. Last night he had not slept well; this morning he had opened his eyes to this feeling of loading, clamping heaviness.

Reaction. That’s all it was, just reaction from the heady excitement of the long battle won. He would get over it and be happy again. Happy. He had come closer to knowing what the word really felt like than ever before in his adult days. Happy, relieved of the corrosive bite of a ten-year shame, exultant in his victory. Yes, he had been happy when Vee told him, and afterward that night, and all through. Why had it left him, this strange, rare happiness?

He didn’t know. He couldn’t tell. He tried to recapture it. He tried to repeat word for word the sentences Vee had spoken when she told him; he heard again her voice, breath-laden, proud.

His mind remembered, but his feelings stayed soggy. All day it had been this way, God damn it, all day. What was wrong with him? Why could he not be like other men? He should be a-swim in joy, in elation. But he was not, face it, he was not. Not any more. Not now.

He was not like other men. Face that, too. Other men could not do the things he did, could not create this network, launch it, run it, watch it make millions from the start. Other men could not even now see the thousand problems still to be solved, the endless schemes still to be developed. They would not know that a loose mind, a premature relaxing, might still undermine the whole structure, set it slipping, sliding, send it ultimately to the “flash-in-the pan” category. No, ordinary men would not, could not, carry through now. And he could.

But that meant a dedication of everything he was and would be for a year, two years.
Everything.
His mind, his deepest drives, his bottomless intention.

Oh, Christ. He had thought it was unbearable to wait, week after week, month after month, for this thing to happen. Now he half wished—

He flung away hard from the thought.

It was not true. He only realized that it would have been better, impossible though it seemed at times, to have
had
to wait. A year from now, eighteen months from now—ah, then, the network would be unshakable; then, he would not have to be its slave. Then all the other things, the softer, easier things, could be his without danger, without risk.

But it wasn’t a year from now. It was now.

He flung his arms wide. They were stiff and sore. He flexed them, then stretched them upright. His hands crashed into the low ceiling of the berth. He cursed in the flat, hard voice of an inclusive hatred.

It was Wednesday evening, and Vee was having dinner alone. She ate almost nothing.

“Just my coffee, please, Dora. Everything’s lovely, but I’m not hungry tonight. I’m sorry.”

They had struck a serious snag on the Coast, from a competitive offer, and they would have to stay one more day. Jas would be home tomorrow, Thursday. Unless something new happened and he wired again and said, “Home Friday.”

“Don’t, Jas.”

She finished her coffee, and tried to read. She went to the telephone to call Ann and suggest doing something. But she only stood and stared at the dial. No, Ann would guess that something was wrong. She went into her bedroom, and lay down, pulling a light cashmere blanket over her, because she felt chilled and shaken. The clock on the dressing table ticked loudly.

“Don’t, Jas.” Her mind kept addressing him as though he were there. “Don’t wire any more, don’t keep me wondering what’s happening inside your mind, whether you are still overjoyed about our beautiful secret, or already getting used to it as if it were ordinary. Don’t, Jas.”

The clock took it up. Don’t, Jas; don’t, Jas; don’t, Jas.

She forced herself to think of other things, to break the rhythm in her mind. After a few moments, she rose, went to the dressing table, and lifted the clock angrily. She crossed to her closet, opened the door, put it down on the floor inside, and carefully shut the door on it. That was better. She went back to her bed and lay down again. She was very tired.

The telephone rang. It was Bronya. Vee sank back into her pillows.

“. . . my day off, and I think—I thought if you are probably not engaged…”

“I’d like it, it’s a month since I’ve seen you, do come up, Bronya. We might go around the corner to the movies.”

She was glad. It was better not to be alone for the third night in a row when she felt this dull, strange hurt. It was good to see Bronya; she was so admirable, still unbeaten, still going on. She had made great strides with her English; it was easy to talk with her now.

When the movie was over, they went to a corner restaurant for coffee. They decided they were hungry, and sat talking for a long time over their food. When they parted, Vee walked home alone. She bought the morning papers, and read them minutely when she was at last in bed. She was more cheerful. There had been no yellow envelope waiting for her return. There were no new delays. Jas would be home in the morning and they would drive to Fairfield in the afternoon. And inside her body, infinitesimal and powerful…

Once again she left the store at lunchtime, with the announcement that she would not be back again that day. Jasper was having a brief and early luncheon at the office and would be at her house at two. She was too excited to bother with luncheon. She stopped and had a cup of thick, steaming chocolate and part of a toasted
croissant.

When Jas came, she showed no sign of the strained days she had just had. She went toward him eagerly, her eyes happy. He bent to kiss her.

“Something’s wrong, darling.” She said it instantly. A kiss could be an informer. “On the phone you said you’d signed him up finally.”

“Yes. That’s all right.” He looked at her for a moment, and then reached for a cigarette. He offered her one and she took it, her eyes ignoring what her fingers did. He lighted them both, inhaled slowly, carefully. “We’ve got to have a talk, Vee.”

“A talk? What about?”

The thing twisted tight and hot inside her, the Monday thing.

“About everything. About this afternoon—and everything.”

“Yes. I—how do you mean, ‘a talk’?”

He did not answer. He sat down in the big chair by the fireplace, his head bent forward so that his chin dented his crisp necktie. Vee stood without motion. Looking down at him, she saw his face oddly foreshortened; the strong arcs of forehead above his eyes were more prominent than ever. He held his cigarette rigidly and watched it minutely, as though he mistrusted it.

“What is it, Jas?” she said at last.

His eyes flickered, but remained absorbed in the cigarette.

“I’ve had four days and nights alone to think what this really means,” he said. “I told you—I hadn’t got as far—as visualizing a baby you called by a name.”

“Yes.”

“Now I know—I hadn’t got as far—as visualizing—any part of this whole thing.” His voice was deep, careful. Each phrase came at her between the commas of his long pauses. She waited for every one. Her breast crowded with a thud-thud-thud that made it hard to breathe.

“I do now, though, all of it.” His words thudded, too. “The business of setting up a home, changing habits and routines, the business of being a husband and an expectant father all at once—‘You’ve got to stay in tonight, your wife’s pregnant, she needs companionship and attention, you’re a cruel bastard if you leave her alone so much.’ ” He looked up at her, found her eyes for the first time since he had come into the room. “A year from now I could contract to become the husband and father, the dependable, the constant companion—but now, my God,
now—
”

She stood. Her nostrils were wide as her breathing fought against the pushing, crowding inside her.

“But now?”