“Stay awhile,” said Marcy.
“No, thank you.”
“I’ve brought a bottle of champagne. Help us drink it.” She took Karen Harper’s arm and led her to the staircase.
Karen Harper seemed to sense that to insist on leaving would be more awkward than staying. She said, “Thank you.” She went up the stairs.
Marcy looked at her husband, smiled sweetly, then went into the kitchen without a word.
Tyson mumbled to himself, “Typical Tyson luck these days.” He headed up the stairs, passed the closed door to the bathroom, and heard the hair dryer running. He entered the master bedroom and was surprised to see the bed covered with garment bags and the floor crowded with suitcases. He slipped off his running shorts and wet T-shirt, dried himself with his terry-cloth robe, and put on a pair of jeans, a tennis shirt, and sandals. He combed his damp hair and went out into the tiny hallway where he bumped into Karen Harper, whose hair and blouse were now dry. She had touched up her makeup and looked, Tyson thought, rather good.
She said, “I’m finished in the bathroom if you want to use the dryer.”
“That’s all right.”
They looked at each other, and Tyson said, “Please stay for a drink.”
“I’d rather not.”
“I sense that my wife is upset about something, and if you had a drink with us, she might feel better.”
“I doubt that, but if you mean you’d like ten minutes of calm before the storm, I’ll stay.”
Tyson smiled. “I guess that’s what I meant.” He motioned toward the stairs. “After you.”
They descended the stairs in tandem, and Marcy greeted them in the living room. “There, you both look much better.” She popped the cork on a bottle of champagne and filled three plastic champagne glasses that sat on the coffee table. She said to Tyson, “When you told me there was no dishwasher, I brought lots of plastic and paper with me.”
“Good thinking. Where’s David?”
“The Jordans are looking after him. Melinda is only too happy to have him as a houseguest.”
Tyson explained to Karen Harper, “She’s my son’s girlfriend. The Jordans are summering in Sag Harbor. The Tysons are apparently now summering in Brooklyn.”
Karen Harper addressed Marcy, “Will you be staying here then?”
Marcy handed her a glass as she replied, “Yes. I thought Ben was probably lonely here.” She smiled and turned to Tyson. “Are you surprised? You looked very surprised.”
“Did I?” Tyson picked up his glass. “I suppose that surprise is as good a word as any to describe my joy.”
Marcy added, “David will join us shortly.”
Tyson replied, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Nevertheless,” said Marcy, “we’re cutting our vacation short to be with you.” She looked at Karen Harper. “When will this be resolved?”
“By mid-October. The law—”
Tyson interrupted, “Why don’t you and David just return to Garden City? We’ll be close, and—”
“No, darling, we want to be with you. Here.” She motioned around the room with her glass. “It’s . . . cute. Like our first apartment.”
Tyson didn’t see any comparison with their first apartment. He said, “Major Harper thinks it will do me some good to experience a reduction in my life-style.”
“I’m happy to see Major Harper is interested in the development of your character.” She added, “I sublet the Sag Harbor house for August and got a nice price. So there’s no turning back there. As for Garden City, I don’t think the climate is quite right for David or me to return.” She looked directly at Karen Harper. “David has suffered far more peer persecution than he’s let on. Children are such savages. Do you have children?”
“No, I’ve never been married, as you may have read.”
Marcy held up her glass. “Well, before it goes flat—here’s to our new house.”
They drank. Tyson put his glass down on the coffee table. “Anyway, I’m glad the two women in my life had this opportunity to meet. So—”
Karen Harper addressed Marcy, “I want you to know, Mrs. Tyson—I told your husband this—that I personally feel very badly about the way the press has carried on regarding your . . . your counterculture activities and other forms of protest during the Vietnam War. I myself was not old enough at that time to comprehend much of it, though I think I can understand your commitment to the peace movement as well as the forms of protest you chose to exhibit . . . to demonstrate that commitment. And I want to assure you that the negative publicity you are receiving is in no way influencing the Army’s handling of this case.”
Marcy Tyson regarded Karen Harper for some time. The sound of the rain outside filled the small room. At length Marcy responded, “I would have guessed you to be old enough to recall the war. But I’ll take your word for it.”
Tyson thought he ought to change the subject, but some perversity in his character made him want to hear more.
Marcy moved closer, then said, “I want you to know that I never gave any credence to those asinine innuendos in the tabloids regarding you and my husband.”
Karen Harper replied coolly, “It’s good of you to say that. I wish others could be as mature.” She put her glass down and with her hand out approached Marcy. “Thank you for the wine.”
Marcy took her hand and held it. She looked into Karen Harper’s eyes and said, “But I’m also not so foolish or naive as to believe that you and Ben have not established a close rapport. I’m sure you’ve discovered that my husband is a remarkable and decent man and if the law is at all compassionate, he is deserving of that compassion.”
Karen Harper held Marcy’s gaze and replied, “That is precisely what I’ve discovered, Mrs. Tyson, and unfortunately not much else. Good evening.”
Marcy released her hand.
Karen Harper retrieved her handbag and briefcase. Tyson picked up the umbrella that was propped beside the front door. Karen Harper walked to the door, then she turned back to Marcy. “I had an image of you that was quite different and probably influenced by the media. In fact, I thought you were a liability to your husband’s cause, but I see you are an asset. He needs all the assets he can get now.” She turned to Tyson. “The best of luck to you.”
Tyson smiled. “Alas, the Tyson luck has run out. But the Tyson wit, charm, and intelligence will suffice. Good night, Karen.”
“Good night, Ben.”
Tyson handed her the umbrella and opened the door. He watched her raise the umbrella and walk off in the gusty rain. He was reminded of the first day they’d taken leave of each other in front of his house, another house, long ago in the May rain, with his borrowed umbrella above her head. He closed the door and turned to his wife. Marcy’s eyes were fixed on him, and he knew from long experience that she would not speak unless he did. He said, “Women are very stiff and formal with each other when they first meet, but they can still get some good zingers in. All in all, I’m happy to see you finally learned something from the ladies in Garden City.”
Marcy peered at him through narrow eyes.
He cleared his throat and added, “There are times when savoir faire is preferable to salty language and emotional outbursts. You are, after all, an officer’s wife. I’m quite proud of you.”
“Go fuck yourself.”
“Now, now—”
“You were both here before you took a walk, weren’t you? That’s when she said something about this place being good for you or something. How long were you here?”
“Not long enough for a man my age to consummate the sexual act.” He poured himself more champagne and added, “Look, I’m flattered that you’re jealous. But I’m being extremely faithful to you and chivalrous to her.”
Marcy seemed to have calmed down somewhat. “All right . . . but things sometimes happen even when we don’t want them to.”
He drank the champagne. “What the hell is this stuff?”
“Cordó
n Negro.”
“What? African champagne?”
“No, idiot. It’s Spanish. It’s not bad, and it’s cheap.”
“Spain is off the boycott list?”
“Yes, since Franco died. Didn’t I tell you?”
“No. Can I buy sherry now?”
“Absolutely. And real Spanish olives for your martinis. And I think you fucked her. Psychologically, I mean. She’s old enough to understand a man like you but still young enough to be spiritually seduced.”
“How much a bottle?”
“Less than seven dollars. Incredible. The dollar is strong against the peso. She wished you luck with some finality. Does that mean your official relationship is over?”
“Yes. I don’t think champagne is the place to cut corners, though.”
“You have domestic beer in the refrigerator.”
“Don’t tell anyone. By the way, I didn’t see the Volvo outside.”
“I guess not, or you two wouldn’t have charged in here hot as three-dollar pistols.”
“That’s hardly the way I would characterize our taking shelter from the rain. Where’s the Volvo?”
“It died, and I gave it a Viking funeral. That new Toyota outside is ours.”
“What? You bought a Nipponese automobile? Are you crazy? I won’t drive it. How could you do that knowing how I feel about Japanese products flooding the country, and—”
“Don’t try to change the subject. Will you have any occasion to go to Washington to see her again?”
“None. The preliminary investigation is concluded. And I’m not speaking to anyone again without counsel present.”
“All right.” Marcy drank her champagne. “You do have taste. She’s quite good-looking. A natural wholesome beauty. She even looked good wet. I wonder why she never married. Did you ask her?”
Tyson didn’t think this was a subject he wanted to discuss any longer. He said, “She’s engaged to a colonel. The papers never tell you that.”
“I didn’t see an engagement ring.”
“Well . . . engaged to be engaged. Anyway, are you really moving in?”
“Yes. David is coming as soon as we’re set up.”
“Why?”
“Because we had a family council and decided you couldn’t be trusted alone. Also, your mother called again. This time to inform me that a wife’s place is with her husband. I didn’t know that. Did you know she lived in a converted chicken coop near Fort Stewart, Georgia, while your father was training in the Army Air Corps?”
“I believe she mentioned it a few hundred times when I was growing up. In fact, I was conceived in that chicken coop. Born in a private hospital on Park Avenue, to be sure, but conceived in a chicken coop.”
“That explains a lot. Anyway, if she can do it, I can damned well do it.”
“Don’t put yourself out on my account.”
Marcy looked at him. “Actually David was coming with or without me. He decided he loves you and is willing to give up his first lay in order to be here with you. Knowing men as I do, I would say that is a supreme sacrifice.” She added, “Sometimes adolescents act like adults. Sometimes it’s vice versa.”
Tyson said, “I do miss you both, but it’s . . . embarrassing . . . I mean, for you to see me like this. . . .”
She replied, “You’re not on the Bowery. You are an officer in the United States Army. And that’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”
Tyson tugged on his ear. “I must be hearing things.”
“I’m not as subversive as you like to think,” she said. “Anyway, the point is the minister said for better or worse, and I said yeah, okay, and we’ve had it mostly better for our whole married life, and what the hell, it could be even worse. And I love you and missed you like hell.”
Tyson put his arms around his wife, and they embraced.
Marcy said, “You are a proud man, Benjamin Tyson. Entirely too proud and too macho to survive in this sort of world. You have to show your weaknesses, let your friends and family share your pain.”
He squeezed her tighter. “You know, Marcy, I’ve been a careless husband, indifferent father, shallow friend, and undedicated employee. I haven’t shown any commitment to you, David, my job, or anything. And it started sometime before this mess.”
“I know. Other people noticed. But don’t be too hard on yourself.”
“Why not? I’m glad I got this kick in the ass to wake me up. I’m not going to romanticize how things were before this started, but life was good. It was my perceptions of home, family, job, and friends that had gone wrong. I don’t know why it did, but it did.”
“It was partly my fault. I needed this, too, Ben. Our marriage, our life together, had become unnecessarily pointless. We’re going to be one hell of a happy couple when this is behind us.”
Tyson stayed silent for some time, then said, “I may be away awhile.”
She dug her fingers into his back. “No! No, you won’t be!”
He kissed her, and they clung tighter to each other. She put her head on his shoulder, and he could tell she was crying. He said in a light tone, “Where’d you get that idiotic T-shirt?”
She spoke without looking up. “Oh . . . I had it made at that shop in Southampton. It struck me as a double entendre. Keep a good soldier in.” She laughed. “Get it?”
“No. And I don’t find it very funny.”
She drew away from him, and he saw that her eyes were moist. She said, “Then I’ll remove the offending article.” She pulled the shirt off and threw it on the floor. “Better?”
Tyson found he was staring at her bare breasts. “Yes. Oh, yes.” He smiled.
She cleared her throat and wiped her eyes with her hand. “Well, what am I supposed to do as an Army wife? I mean, besides cleaning the upstairs latrine?”
He poured the last of the sparkling wine into their glasses. “Well, get a dependent’s ID card first, a bumper sticker for the car, join the officers’ wives’ club, volunteer for something worthy, get the downstairs squared away, and invite some of the officers’ ladies for tea, familiarize yourself—”
“Whoa, Tyson. Let’s just start with the bumper sticker so I can park.”
“That reminds me—”
“Oh, I didn’t buy a Toyota. Just pulling your chain a little. I bought a Jeep.”
“A what?”
“Jeep. Very practical. Good for your image. It’s out front. Take a look.”
Tyson looked out the window and saw a light-colored vehicle glistening in the rain.
“Jeep Cherokee. Four-wheel drive. It’s got a CB radio and a gun rack.”
“Are you serious?”
“It’s only a year old. Bought it from a local out east. It’s also got a winch so you can pull in fishnets or small boats or pull yourself out of mud or snow. That’s neat. Go look at it.”
Tyson turned from the window. “Maybe later.”
“Can I see you give a tour of the museum tomorrow?”
“If you wish.”
“Great. Hey, put on your uniform.”
“No.”
“Yes, I want to see how you look.” She held his arm and pulled him toward the stairs.
“No, really—”
She rubbed her breasts against him. “Come on. I’ve never done it with a soldier.” She winked.
“Well, if you put it like that. . . .”
They climbed the stairs and went into the master bedroom.
Marcy sat on the edge of the bed and crossed her bare legs.
“Okay, soldier, strip off those civilian duds and get into uniform.”
Tyson found he was self-conscious as he began undressing.
Marcy whistled.
“Cut it out.” He stood before her, naked, and drew a deep breath. “Warm up here.”
“Turn around. Let me see your body.”
Tyson turned around, then faced her again. She said, “Good officer material. Come here.”
He approached the bed. She reached out and
cupped his testicles in her right hand. “Turn your head and cough.”
He did as she said.
She pronounced, “Okay, you’re in.” She reached around and slapped him on the buttocks. “Get dressed.”
He went to the closet and began putting on his greens without underwear. “This is silly—”
“Speak when you’re spoken to.”
He mumbled something, knotted his tie, and slipped on his tunic, buttoning it as he turned to her.
She nodded. “Not bad. Good fit. Brass all shiny. Ribbons straight. Okay, take a shower. Then report to me here.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
He undressed again and walked naked to the bathroom. He showered the sweat off, dried himself, and came back into the bedroom. The bed was clear of luggage, and Marcy lay on the rough white sheets, her legs spread and a pillow under her rear. She was wearing his fatigue shirt, which was hiked up to her waist, and his forage cap sat on her head. She said, “Let’s clip those horns, Lieutenant, before you get into trouble.”
He got into the bed, on top of her, and slipped in easily, finding her wet.
They made love in the small, hot, airless room, and they both knew this was a sort of parody of what could have happened with Major Karen Harper. Marcy whispered in his ear as she neared orgasm. “I don’t usually do this with married men.”
“My wife’s a bitch.”
“I know. I know.”
“Keep a good soldier in,” he said.
She wrapped her legs around his back and locked her ankles together. “I am. I am.”
CHAPTER
31
Marcy and Ben Tyson sat across from each other at the small table. Tyson was dressed in a maize-colored linen suit. Marcy wore a yellow cotton-knit sweater and matching skirt.
Marcy said, “This was a fort?”
“Not this part. This is the new dining room. Most forts don’t have picture windows.”
“Don’t get smart.”
Tyson picked up the menu. “The steak here is good.”
“I don’t see any quiche on the menu.”
“Nor will you ever.”
“You say that with relish.”
“With steak sauce.”
“I’ll bet you stay in if you’re acquitted.”