The Trouble with Eden

  “Oh,” she said.

  “You’ve awakened the sleeping giant.”

  “Oh, my.” Cramps, yet. Christ. “Can I do something about that?”

  “It’s not necessary.”

  “But I want to.”

  But he was moving her hand from him, shaking his head gently. “Not here,” he said. “Not here, not now.”

  “I’m sorry if I—”

  “Don’t be silly. I’ll call you.”

  On the way upstairs she thought of a dozen things could have said, ranging from a frank explanation of her lie to some gibberish about the cramps normally preceding the onset of her period. There were any number of things she could have said to cover herself, but they were all things she had not been able to think of until his car had pulled away.

  She took a shower, washed her hair. She tried listening to the radio but couldn’t find a station she could stand. She wanted to talk to someone and there was no one she could talk to. She looked up Hugh’s number in the phone book and sat at the telephone for twenty minutes before she realized she could not possibly call him, could not possibly find anything to say to him.

  She was so fucking neurotic. That was the trouble—she was so fucking neurotic. He had not proposed to her, had not begun to propose to her, and her anxiety about what she might do if he did, her stupid neurotic anxiety, was getting in the way of everything.

  In bed, she could not keep her hands off herself. She tried. She did not want to touch herself. Somehow she seemed to have evolved a double standard for masturbation: It was all right in the absence of an outlet, but forbidden if there was someone you were sleeping with. Going to bed with, she corrected herself. She had not yet slept with Hugh.

  She gave in ultimately, using her fingers quickly and deftly, her mind blank of fantasies, her manipulation wholly physical. She reached climax quickly but it didn’t seem to do her any good; the same tensions were still there when she had finished.

  When he entered the living room Karen closed her book and got up from his chair. “Home early,” she said.

  “Linda wasn’t feeling well.”

  “Is she all right?”

  “Uh-huh. Drinking alone? That’s a hell of a note.”

  “Well, you’ve been teaching me bad habits. Is it awful to drink alone?”

  “I never saw anything wrong with it. The world is filled to overflowing with men and women who seek out boring company to avoid the stigma of solitary drinking. You could mix me one, though, and that would solve the problem.”

  She made him a drink and freshened her own. He sat on the couch and she took a seat beside him. “I thought you were going out,” he said.

  “I drove around town but I didn’t see anybody I wanted to spend any time with. It’s all the same people and I didn’t feel like that kind of company.”

  “Is it starting to get to you?”

  “What? All the same people? Not exactly. Just that most of the time I’d rather sit around here. Am I getting in the way?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Because if I am—”

  “You’re not. On the way back here tonight I was hoping your car would be in the garage. I had to take Linda home early, and I hate being alone on nights like this. I can’t get the damned book out of my head.”

  “That’s good, isn’t it?”

  “It’s a good sign but it’s not much fun. I’ll have scenes running through my head, whole patches of dialogue, and I can’t shut them off. Ninety percent of the time it’s stuff I’ve already got planned out well enough, or material that happens offstage, conversations that will never wind up in the book anyway. Sitting down at the typewriter doesn’t do any good. I’m already written out for the day and anything I did now would be second-rate. But I can’t get the words out of my mind.”

  “It sounds like a speed high.”

  “Another part of the collegiate experience?”

  “Not in a heavy way. I guess there were kids who were borderline speed freaks. Just on pills, I never knew anybody who shot crystal or anything.”

  “Which is crystal?”

  “Methedrine. I used to take Dex some of the time. Not for a high but to study for a test. Back when I bothered studying for tests.”

  “Did it do you any good?”

  “Oh, tons of good. But after awhile it backs up on you. Your mind starts curving in on itself. You get hung up on trivia. Spend hours cleaning the dirt out of your typewriter keys or arranging books on a shelf. Or running one phrase through your mind and getting all sorts of different vibrations out of it, but afterward none of them mean anything.”

  “I took some of your mother’s pills once when she dieting. Those would be amphetamine, wouldn’t they?”

  “Probably.”

  “Then I see what you mean. There was too much mental energy and no place for it to go. It’s something like that now. I haven’t had this feeling on a book in years, and by God it’s a good feeling, but I’d like to be able to close the door on it when the day’s over.”

  “Oh, you had some phone calls. Mentioning Mother reminded me. She called.”

  “What did she want?”

  “Also Mary Fradin.”

  “Again? I hope I’m not supposed to call her.”

  “Just a minute, I wrote it down. No, you don’t have to call her. She thinks she has a three-book contract almost nailed down with Huber and Lazarus, whoever they are.”

  “A publishing house.”

  “Also she had a feeler from somebody interested in making a television movie of Caleb’s House. She’ll report on that if there’s anything definite.”

  “Then why bother me with it in the meantime?” He drank half his drink. Mary had been calling far more frequently than usual lately, ever since he had spoken to her about The Edge of Thought. Evidently she had caught his own enthusiasm for the book and felt it might serve as a turning point in his career. A week ago she had reported that his most recent editor had left Hugh’s publishers for a position at another house. Hugh’s publishers had recently had an especially high turnover rate in an industry where musical chairs was a way of life, so Hugh had not been surprised.

  “Well, I won’t much miss him,” he had said. “Editors come and editors go but Markarian is here to stay. The one constant in a world of change.”

  “Maybe it’s time for you to be a rat.”

  “And leave the ship? I didn’t know that boat was sinking.”

  “I think it is as far as you’re concerned,” Mary had said. “They’ve been taking you for granted for years.”

  “I’m easy to take for granted.”

  “Only because they’re in a position to do it. I’ve had interest from other houses on and off over the years. I never bothered you about it because I didn’t think it was worthwhile. But right about now might be a good time. I ought to be able to get you a three or four-book contract with a healthy advance. A very healthy advance, I’m thinking in terms of six figures.”

  “That’s healthy, but isn’t that just numbers? I don’t have any particular need for cash at the moment.”

  “Lucky you. It isn’t just numbers. It’s an investment on their part. If they put up that kind of money in front, they have to back it up with the kind of advertising and promotion you deserve. And which you’re not getting from you-know-who. All we need is the right book to make the jump with, and I think you’re writing that book right now.”

  “I haven’t even let on what it’s about.”

  “No, but how long have I known you, Hugh? You’ve never been this excited about anything you’ve done. That’s good enough for me.”

  “Your faith is reassuring, but—”

  “Cut the crap. The only thing I have faith in is that ten percent of six figures is five figures. And this new one—damn it, I can’t think of the title—”

  “I never told you the title. Nice try, Mary.”

  “Why don’t you tell me the title, lamb?”

  “No.”

/>   “Jesus, give me something to play with. The title, the theme, something. You’re a pro, for Christ’s sake. You’re not going to lose the handle this late in the game. You sound like one of those baseball players who won’t change their socks while the team’s on a winning streak.”

  But he had been adamant and she had stopped trying to push him. Still, she kept finding excuses to call him, dangling possible deals in front of him every chance she got. He was pleased by her enthusiasm and knew it would still be there when the book was done. As far as a switch in publishers was concerned, he had told her to use her own judgment and get what she felt were the best terms at the best house.

  “You’re the agent,” he had said.

  “I just wanted to make sure you weren’t constitutionally opposed to a jump.”

  “Why should I be?”

  “The usual loyalty horseshit.”

  “What’s there to be loyal to? There’s nobody who was there five years ago. I can’t even be loyal to the corporation since that conglomerate took it over.”

  “Now you’re talking. You write, and I’ll scheme, and we’ll both get rich.”

  The money did not much matter. It was nothing if not professional to concentrate on the money, to take the cash and let the credit go. But money as an incentive had long since failed to stir him. He had not been poor enough long enough to take real pleasure in the simple accumulation of wealth. Thus money was of value only in terms of what it could buy, and there was little he wanted to buy.

  But he could not pretend that he did not want the glory. He could tell himself he wrote for his own pleasure, or for the small circle of perceptive readers, yet he recognized he wanted to be important, to be esteemed. And recognized, too, that this was a yearning one could never acknowledge.

  Now he said, “What did Anita want?”

  “To talk to me, mostly. She asked to talk to you, but she didn’t seem upset that you were out. I asked her if you should call her back, but she said it wasn’t important.”

  “Good.”

  “She seemed worried about me.”

  “How so?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. You know, things like what I’m going to do next. I tried to tell her that I didn’t know what I’m going to do next. That it’s a waste of time to be hung up on what I’m going to do next. She didn’t understand.”

  “No, I don’t suppose she would. She’s always been the sort to think in terms of goals.”

  “So you could spend your entire life thinking where you’re going next and never concentrating on where you are now. I can’t see it.”

  “I’m not sure the reverse is perfect either. Spending all your time concentrating on the present and letting the future just happen.”

  She nodded agreement. “Oh, I know it. But right now, the stage I’m in. The last thing I want to do is get hung up on tomorrow.” She hesitated. “I don’t think she likes the idea of me being here.”

  “Thinks I’m a bad influence?”

  “No, not exactly. I don’t know. Honestly, I don’t understand her at all. I compare the two of you, you and Mother, and it’s weird.”

  “How so?”

  “Just weird. You’re both so different. I remember when you got divorced. I couldn’t believe it. I was shocked. Not the idea of divorce. Everybody’s parents were getting divorced; it was something that happened all over the place. But the two of you. I couldn’t handle it. I suppose it’s that way for every kid because you can only think of your parents as being together because you always knew them that way. For the longest time I kept thinking you would get back together again. Even after she married him I used to think that, even though I knew it wasn’t going to happen.”

  “So did I.”

  “You did? I thought—”

  “What?”

  “Oh, that it was your idea.” He didn’t say anything, and she said, “Did you love her very much?”

  “Yes.”

  “And now?”

  “I don’t know her now,” he said. “I haven’t known your mother for years.”

  “What I was thinking. When I was a kid, while all this was happening, I thought how perfect you were for each other. Because I saw you that way. And now I see the two of you as being so completely different. Are you going to marry Linda?”

  “Where did that question come from?”

  “I don’t know. I guess I shouldn’t have asked it.”

  “Why not? I’ve been asking myself. I find myself thinking about getting married again. It’s something I haven’t thought of in a long time. It’s probably your fault.”

  “My fault?”

  “I think I’ll have one more of these before I turn in. Can I fix you another?”

  “All right.”

  When he returned with the drinks she said, “How is it my fault?”

  “You’ve made me realize how lonely I was living by myself.”

  “Is it just the loneliness, or is it something special with Linda? I guess that’s nosy.”

  “I guess it is, but it’s a good question. I suppose it’s probably a combination of the two. Most things are, you know.”

  “The first time I was in love, later on I realized it was because I was ready to be in love.”

  “Sure.”

  She grinned suddenly. “When I was very little,” she said, “I thought I would get married to you when I grew up. Before I knew you couldn’t do that. Marry your father. I guess all little girls go through that, don’t they?”

  “So I understand.”

  SIXTEEN

  Ever since he and Bert had talked about her, Warren Ormont had taken an interest in Melanie Jaeger. At first this consisted of little more than finding a way to drop her name into casual conversations and see where those conversations led. The result was largely a matter of inference. No one actually came right out and said anything, but from a throwaway line here and a raised eyebrow there, Warren was able to piece things together. The conclusion was what he had hoped it would be. In a selective and reasonably discreet fashion, Melanie was offering her ass around all over the place.

  On several occasions he managed to be near her, close enough to watch the way she handled herself in public. She did not flirt, he noticed, and she seemed impervious to the casual flattery she frequently attracted. Warren registered this and approved. She was not easy, then, not a mindless little cunt who could be caught on an un- baited fishhook. No, it was Melanie who did the selecting, Melanie who determined the occasions for her adultery. She was looking for something new, he guessed. Something special, something out of the ordinary. Something—if one could countenance the word—something perverse.

  This, as much as her unquestionable physical appeal, particularly attracted Warren. While he frequently found women attractive, he was rarely moved to act on his feelings. As comfortable as he was with female bodies, he was rarely at ease with the minds that inhabited them. The thought of living with a woman appalled him. It was difficult enough to live with a man, even a man as temperamentally suited to him as Bert, but with any woman ever born it would have been quite impossible.

  On a simpler plane, he had found that the discomfort of intimate female company generally outweighed the pleasure of occasional affairs with women. It was one thing to fuck them, another thing entirely to have them that close to you. The sort of closeness which he treasured with male lovers was upsetting with females.

  The more he saw of Melanie, and the more he thought about her, the less he felt such considerations be operative in her case. She wanted thrills—he was sure of this, and no less sure because he had reached this conclusion largely through intuition. He had learned over the years to trust his intuition, had found it more reliable in most instances than reason. His intuition, given free rein, supplied him with a fairly detailed portrait of Melanie before he exchanged a single word with her.

  That first exchange took place on a Tuesday morning. They passed on the street, she with a bag of groceries, he en route to the laun
dry with a half dozen dirty shirts in a paper bag. “Why, it’s Melanie Jaeger,” he said enthusiastically. “Warren Ormont. I believe we did meet once, but I doubt you’d remember.”

  “Of course I do,” she said. “And I’ve seen you onstage at the Playhouse.”

  “We’ll, I’m sure I was giving a ghastly performance, and I hope I won’t be judged on the basis of that.”

  “No, I—”

  “I won’t keep you,” he said. He deliberately let his eyes travel down her body, then up again to meet her eyes. She did not flush. He gave her a smile, put a little extra into it. “It’s so good seeing you,” he said.

  He had been stopping at Sully’s fairly regularly. Now he made it a point to have a drink there every night, deliberately studying the man behind the bar. If Melanie’s behavior had worked any changes in her husband, Warren was unable to spot them. “He is the same old hairy bear,” he confided to Bert. “I’m told the husband is always the last to know, but it’s hard to believe he doesn’t have an inkling.”

  “Maybe he doesn’t care.”

  “He does tend to lose interest in his little wedded playmates. But generally he just detaches them and sends them on their way, suitably equipped with a handsome settlement. And there’s never been the slightest breath of scandal. Goodness, hear me talking in clichés. Never the slightest breath. Of course there’s no scandal with Miss Fancy Pants, come to think. I wonder just how available she’s made herself.”

  “We’d better have her soon.”

  “Don’t I just know it. But the waiting adds to it, don’t you think? I like to scheme, you know. I’d have made a marvelous Renaissance courtier. ‘Love is a precious thing, love is a poison ring… Getting there is half the fun, you know. Suppose you had brought her home that first night.”

  “Oh, I could never have done that.”

  “Why, she was cruising, for heaven’s sake.”

  “Yes, but you know I’m incapable of arranging things like that. It’s your province, Warren.”