Read When the Sun Goes Down Online
Authors: Gwynne Forster
When the Sun Goes Down (20 page)
I’m not going to discourage him in order to please Gunther,
she thought to herself as they walked into the living room.
she thought to herself as they walked into the living room.
Mirna brought hot hors d’oeuvres, Gunther served drinks, and very soon they chatted among each other like old friends. “Dinner’s ready, Mr. G.”
They followed Mirna to the dining room, took their assigned seats, and enjoyed a feast of corn chowder, roast turkey, corn bread dressing, cranberry relish, wild rice pilaf, grilled crimini mushrooms, asparagus, mesclun salad, assorted cheeses, bread, and lemon chiffon pie.
“I don’t think I ever tasted such delicious turkey,” Ogden said. He raised his glass to Mirna. “This was a meal for the gods.”
Later, as they sat in the living room having coffee and aperitifs, Marsha sipped her espresso, rested her head on the back of the sofa, and said, “A poem about this entire occasion is tugging at my mind. When it comes to me fully, I’m going to write it down and send it to Mirna.”
“That would be wonderful,” Gunther said. “She’ll probably fly right out of the window. Say, I have a taste for some Duke Ellington. What about it?”
“Right on,” someone said.
As the strains of “Sophisticated Lady,” one of Ellington’s most famous compositions, filled the room, he sat beside Caroline and eased his arm around her shoulder. Gunther realized that he was proud to be with her in the presence of his sister and of men like himself. She was his type of woman, and he’d see where it went from there. Contented, even a little happy, he squeezed Caroline’s shoulder, closed his eyes, and let the music wash over him.
“Mr. G, could you please come here?”
He wondered at the note of what sounded like alarm in Mirna’s voice. Someone or something had surely frightened her. He excused himself and rushed toward the sound of her voice just as Edgar brushed past her and stopped within inches of him.
“What a pretty scene we have here,” Edgar sneered. “The rich have filled their bellies, and they don’t give a filthy damn about anybody else.”
“Watch your manners, Edgar. You’re in my home.”
“You don’t say,” was Edgar’s response. Then his gaze caught Carson, who sat with an arm around Shirley. “What the hell are you doing with your arm around my sister? That’s why you can’t find that will. Or maybe you found it, and you think that if you’re banging her, you don’t have to get me my—”
Carson reached Edgar in two long strides. “You take that back. I don’t care if you disrespect yourself or me, but you will apologize this second for your insult to Shirley. I’m counting to ten, and if you haven’t apologized when I get there, I’m taking you out in that hall and giving you the thrashing of your life.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” Edgar said, seemingly unaware that the others gaped at him in silence.
But Carson knew that all eyes were on him and that Shirley might side with her brother if he gave Edgar the punishment he should have had years earlier.
“You wouldn’t touch me in my brother’s house,” Edgar said, though his voice carried a ring of fear.
Carson took his hands out of his pockets. “I assume you can count to ten. One. Two. Three. Fo—”
“All right, man. I was out of line. I’m sorry, Shirley. I didn’t mean it.”
“You meant it, all right,” Gunther said to Edgar. It pained him to see how Shirley had metamorphosed from a regal queen to a woman who looked as if she’d been shoved out into a wintry blast. His estimation of Carson heightened further when the man went back to Shirley, put both arms around her, and whispered something that evidently invited her to cling to him.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Carson said aloud.
Shirley patted his knee. “I don’t know him these days. Maybe he was always this way, but I don’t think so.”
Gunther ushered Edgar out of the living room and spoke to him with impatience. “What do you want? I hope you’re satisfied that you ruined my dinner party.”
As if the latter were of no import, Edgar focused on his own interests. “The house is boarded up. I got to find a place to stay.”
“And you think that after what you just did, embarrassing me in the presence of my guests and insulting our sister, that I should let you stay here? Don’t even dream it. Get hold of Riggs. He’ll work something out. I’ll see you to the door.”
Edgar stared at Gunther with narrowed eyes. “What can Riggs do for me if Carson hasn’t found the will?”
Gunther lifted his shoulder in a dismissive shrug. “A violent storm damaged the house, and the insurance company is paying for repairs. Riggs arranged that and got the company to pay for your housing until the house is ready for occupancy.”
“Yeah? What about food, man? I’m down to my last fifty-five bucks.”
Gunther went to the kitchen. “Mirna, would you please give Edgar a takeout Thanksgiving dinner?”
“Gimmie five minutes,” she said without looking at either of them.
She prepared a plate of the dinner and added a container of chowder, a big slice of pie, a can of coffee, bananas, biscuits, butter, jam, sugar, and a package of hot dogs.
She handed Edgar the bag in Gunther’s presence, looked him in the eye, and said, “If you’d learn to be nice, you wouldn’t have days like this.”
“And if you had had the courtesy to at least stop to investigate the damage you did when you spun Frieda Davis’s car around on the highway, I’d have more respect for you,” Gunther told him.
“Yeah,” he said, taking the bag and heading for the door. “Life’s a bitch sometimes.”
So much for gratitude. Gunther went back into the living room and replaced the Duke Ellington CD with Mozart chamber music. “After that hurricane, I think some peaceful breeze is in order. I apologize for my brother’s bad manners.”
Caroline seemed troubled, and he didn’t like that. She leaned toward him and spoke very softly. “Is he always like that? I mean, is he in a perpetual fight with life?”
At least she didn’t move from the circle of his arm. “Edgar is a brilliant but self-centered and self-defeating man who takes what he sees as the shortest way to any and every goal, and en route, he invariably creates a problem for himself.” After a few seconds, he drew a labored breath and added, “And for the rest of us.”
“Do you love him?”
“He’s my brother and, yes, I love him. I just can’t tolerate him.” He explained to Caroline how Carson became a part of their lives. “Edgar is obsessed with money, and as soon as he gets it, he squanders it.”
“That’s too bad. I didn’t see anything of you in him.”
“He’s older than I, spoiled and convinced that the world owes him whatever he wants. It’s really too bad.”
Caroline grasped Gunther’s arm in what he regarded as a gesture of support. “I’m sorry for him, Gunther, because he will always be unhappy. I’ve learned that any time a thing is worth having, it’s best to get it fairly and honestly.”
“I’m definitely with you there,” he said, and to lighten the atmosphere, he added, “I’m being a lousy host.” Then he put another log on the fire, stirred it, and went to the bar. “I’m having Rémy Martin VSOP cognac. Who’s joining me?”
“After such a meal, a fine cognac would be just the ticket,” Ogden said.
Hmm. The man knows his drinks,
Gunther thought in admiration. He looked at Marsha Harris. “What would you like?”
Gunther thought in admiration. He looked at Marsha Harris. “What would you like?”
“Thank you,” Marsha said. “If you have a coffee liqueur, I’d like that.”
He appreciated a woman who had taste. “My pleasure,” Gunther said. He wasn’t showing off for Caroline’s benefit, but it wouldn’t hurt her to know that he knew a few things about entertaining.
He handed Marsha the drink, and her eyes sparkled with obvious delight. As he was about to serve the others, the telephone rang, and he held his breath, praying that Riggs had found accommodations for Edgar.
“Carson, would you mind serving the ladies while I answer the phone?” he said, figuring that Shirley would appreciate the gesture to Carson. He took the call in the dining room.
“Gunther Farrell speaking.”
“Gunther, this is Donald Riggs. I’ve put Edgar in Wright’s Housekeeping Hotel. I thought that would be perfect for him, since he can do his own cooking and save himself some money seeing that he’s perpetually broke. But he threatened first to kill me and then to indict me if I don’t put him in a five-star hotel suite. If he calls me about it one more time, I’m going to make it a one-night stand, and he can sleep in the street.”
He stifled an honest yawn. “Tell him that, Donald, and you may add that I said he will not stay in my apartment. You won’t have any more problems with him. The way to bring Edgar to heel is to call his bluff and hand him an ultimatum.”
As had happened many times, his brother had all but ruined the day for him. Edgar’s callous, uncaring habit of trampling on what was precious to his brother was something for which he’d resented Edgar all of his life, resented it and suffered. But he had always responded simply by stiffening his back and bearing it. Edgar had better not count on his reacting that way in the future.
He put another log on the fire, stirred the coals again, got his guitar, and plucked a few bars.
Ogden shook his head in disbelief. “Man, you need to tune that baby. How long have you been playing?”
“I play the saxophone well, but my neighbors don’t like it. I just started playing the guitar.” He passed the instrument to Ogden. “You want a shot at it?”
Ogden ran his fingers over the strings. “This is a nice guitar.” He tuned it, fingered a few notes, and moved into a dazzling rendition of “Early One Morning.” Soon, their voices filled the room with song. It amused Gunther that the group began with popular songs and soon switched to drinking songs. He thought they’d never stop singing “Waltzing Matilda.”
Maybe I’m more sober than the rest,
he thought, thinking that no one seemed concerned about an inability to carry a tune. Ogden, Caroline, and Carson sang reasonably well, but after several rounds of drinks, only the joy of singing with friends seemed to matter.
Maybe I’m more sober than the rest,
he thought, thinking that no one seemed concerned about an inability to carry a tune. Ogden, Caroline, and Carson sang reasonably well, but after several rounds of drinks, only the joy of singing with friends seemed to matter.
“It’s after seven,” Ogden said. “I think we’d better get a move on. I’m working tomorrow morning, and I have to drive Marsha home.”
“Y’all want some coffee, Mr. G?” Mirna cleared the coffee table and returned with bowls of ice cream and slices of lemon cake. “Y’all must be hungry by now.”
Gunther stared at Mirna. “I thought you’d been home for hours.”
“No, sir, Mr. G. I don’t see no point in rushing home to be by myself. I’ll bring some coffee in a minute.”
He relieved her of the tray that contained a stainless-steel coffee carafe, a coffee service, and utensils. “You’ve done a wonderful job, Mirna. It’s been a perfect Thanksgiving.”
She shook her head. Sadly, he thought. “Almost, Mr. G. The devil always has to get in the act.”
“Yeah,” he said, “but he’s no more successful than we let him be.”
The next morning at breakfast, Shirley barely tasted the food. “Are you worried about Edgar?” Gunther asked her.
“I hate to see him this way, but if I try to help him, I’ll go down with him. He—”
“Hold it,” Gunther said. “I’ll get the door.” He went to the front door, slipped on the chain, looked out, and saw a stranger.
“Does Edgar Farrell live here?”
“No, he definitely does not. What do you want with him?”
“But you know where he is,” the man said. “That bozo owes me twenty-five grand, and he promised to pay it by the fifteenth, which was last week. If I don’t get it by the first of December, he’ll never see Christmas.”
Icy blood trickled through Gunther’s veins, and he had to ignore the perspiration that beaded his forehead and dripped down the sides of his temples and onto his neck. He forced himself to look steadily at the man with an expression of authority and power. “Why does he owe you?”
The man’s hard gaze bore into Gunther, suggesting both impatience and ruthlessness. “He don’t know a damned thing about blackjack. He also don’t know when to quit. If you see him, tell him that if he values his neck, he’d better call this number. I ain’t taking no excuse, and tell him Vegas is a small town. If he squeals, I got friends. Good friends. Be sure and tell him that.”
Gunther took the slip of paper on which only a telephone number had been written. “I don’t promise I’ll see him, but if I do, I’ll give him this number and your messages.”
The man nodded. “You do that.”
Shirley met Gunther in the hall as he headed back to the dining room. “I heard that. What are you going to do?”
“First I’m going to get hold of Edgar. Only an idiot would bet with a professional gambler when he doesn’t know the game.”
“But you know Edgar doesn’t have that much money,” Shirley said, her voice plaintive and almost pleading. “Are you going to lend it to him?”
“Definitely not. He’d gamble with it and sink deeper into debt. But I don’t want that man to kill him.”
He dialed Edgar’s cell phone but didn’t get a response, and fear began to furl up in him until he remembered and dialed Edgar’s hotel room.
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