Chapter 6

We arrived at John's place about eight o'clock. It had been darker than usual that night, and Jack experienced some difficulty negotiating the road up to the house. It turned out to be every bit as winding as John had described it, and I could imagine the road after a heavy rainstorm.

Jack was in high spirits. Helen had promised to return the pony the day after next, but only because Jack had carried on so. Pleased at her acquiescence, he had mixed himself a few highballs after dinner and had become jolly company for us ever since.

John's house turned out to be more of an oversized cabin than a regular house. As we pulled up, I noticed another car next to John's pickup.

John met us at the door and we trooped inside en masse. The interior resembled a lodge. We entered first a narrow hallway lined with coat hooks, but this led directly to a huge living room with a fireplace at one end and a balcony all along one side. A small fire burned in the fireplace.

Stereo speakers were placed on each side of the fireplace, which was very wide and made of a white stone of some kind. Music was coming from all sides of the room, however, and I noticed another pair of speakers at the opposite end of the room. The walls were covered with paintings.

A large polished oak bar had been installed near the fireplace just under one end of the balcony. It was heavily carved and looked like it might have been European. There was a man standing behind the bar, leaning on his elbows and swishing a drink in his hands. He was staring right at me with an almost imperceptible smile on his face.

John introduced everybody calmly, and asked what we were drinking. All of the men had either bourbon or scotch, but Helen as usual asked for a cocktail. I settled for some bourbon on the rocks with a little soda.

The man behind the bar was introduced as Perry Somers, John's lawyer and drinking partner. The latter designation brought smiles to both of them. He had dropped by unexpectedly, and there was a lot of repartee about where to find a girl for him to round out the party.

Some jokes were made about sharing the girls who were already there, and I was certain that the idea was not entirely a matter of humor to Somers.

John passed out the drinks and we grouped ourselves around the fireplace. He explained that we were hearing quadraphonic, not stereophonic, music being produced because there were four speakers instead of two. The music sounded like early ragtime piano.

As I sat there, I thought of the difference a few years made in terms of a get-together like this, or perhaps it was a matter of geography.

The last gathering I had attended in New York had involved people a good decade younger on the average. There had been no booze, just pot for those who wanted it, very loud rock music, and low, low lights. There wasn't all the talk about sex as there seemed to be here, but there was plenty of action although none of it was very private.

I wondered what kind of a sex scene was going to evolve out of the five of us. My personal preference was to have John all to myself somewhere for the rest of the evening, but the independent streak in me was telling me maybe that would just lead to unwanted complications.

John was friendly but seemed to be making a point of not appearing possessive with me. I was annoyed that that should bother me, which it obviously did. Somers was acting like he had a clear field with me. It made me wonder what John had gotten to tell him about me before we arrived.

"As a writer," Somers was telling me, "you must have some opinions about today's young people."

"I do," I said. "I think they are just as you named them. Young people."

"I detect then a note of disapproval. You feel, perhaps, like many of us, that parents and the nation as a whole have been too permissive?"

"When there is affluence, much leisure time, and a high degree of technology, permissive attitudes are a natural consequence," I said. "I myself could not, as a woman, be as independent as I am in a poor, struggling society such as exists today in Latin America, for example."

"I should expect you to express your independence quite agreeably wherever you lived, Miss Starr," he complimented me.

"Beatrice," I informed him.

"Ah yes, Beatrice. Bay-at-trichay." He gave it the Italian pronunciation. "Dante's distant vision of loveliness, and you are very lovely, Beatrice, too." He kept his eyes on me as he drank. "And very intelligent as well."

He was spreading it on thick. I figured then he had me all staked out for the bedroom. I glanced at John. He was taking it all in from across the room, all smiles. I pretended complete bemusement.

"You feel then, Bea, your independence, or your freedom, whatever you want to call it, exists only because men have permitted it?"

"In a patriarchal society, such as we have, it could not be otherwise," I said.

"I think you must hate us men very much," he imagined. "Tell me then, Bea. I'm calling you Bea, I hope you don't mind. Tell me that you don't hate me. I should feel terrible if you said otherwise."

"Why don't you fix me another drink?" I asked, tiring of his game.

"By all means, Bea," he replied, getting up and going over to the bar.

John was sitting in between Jack and Helen and came over when he saw Somers head for the bar.

"What do you think of the old family retainer?" he asked me.

"Who is he retaining tonight?" I wanted to know.

"Are you interested?" he asked, pretending surprise. "I'll relay the message, that is, if you haven't already. But Perry's a little dense that way."

"He's only dense when it comes to saying 'no'," I informed him.

Somers returned with two drinks. "Here you are, Bea." He sat down across from us. "Your little friend is quite charming, Johnny. It's a pity you can't tie her up or something. New York's such a dreadful place." He sipped his new drink carefully.

"Maybe a lot of people might think the same of Dallas," I said to him, a bit ruffled.

"Perhaps. But you never hear it," he said. "And you always hear it about New York."

I refused to be baited into defending the place I had chosen to live in, particularly when I wasn't sure why he was hoping I would lose my temper. He probably hoped to work the old ploy of women being unstable, emotional and the like.

He could then say to John, "See, your free-flying little bird is just like all the rest. Clip her wings and she'll keep house for you."

"How long have you lived here?" I asked John.

"About six months, Bea. How do you like it?" he asked.

"It's cozy," I said, "and isolated. It's such a funny place to live in all by yourself."

"Haven't you told her, Johnny?" Somers interrupted.

"Told me what?" I looked startled.

"It isn't perhaps that important, Perry," John said. "Bea wants no involvements."

Somers laughed out loud at that. "You naive boy," he almost choked. "At, what is it, forty-one? Two? There hasn't been a woman born, Johnny, who doesn't want that ball and chain welded on. This lovely girl is no exception."

I hated to see John let himself become embarrassed but his friend had succeeded.

"Perry is very opinionated, Bea. He also is not going to be satisfied until he can find that chink in your armor where he can dig the old knife in. Don't let him find it," John said.

"Bravo, Johnny!" Somers roared.

"Forewarned is forearmed, Bea. My terrible secret is out."

"What is it that he meant before, John?" I asked, my curiosity still aroused.

"This house was built for me and my future wife, Bea," he said. We were to have been married last June, but Pat's mother in Los Angeles developed terminal cancer, and we put things off until January."

"You mean you're engaged, is that it?" I asked.

He nodded.

I couldn't help but laugh. I don't know what I had expected him to say, but the news of his engagement was anticlimactic. Somers was examining my face for the faintest sign of disappointment.

"Ten to one, Johnny," Somers said, "Ten to one, she starts acting differently with you."

"I'll get in on that bet, too," I said. "There may be a lot of angles here you haven't even thought of, Mister Attorney." I said it and wasn't even sure myself what I meant by it. It had an effect on him.

"What's happening over here?" Helen interrupted.

Somers was looking at me and thinking.

"What do you say we get more comfortable?" John suggested. "Bea, I'll show you the rest of the house." He walked over to the wall and turned a switch, dimming the lights in the room to a very low level. "Come on," be said.

I got up and followed John to a stairway leading up to the balcony. We walked up together, arm in arm. When we reached the top, he took me in his arms and kissed me. All I could think of was Somers down below, watching my every move.

"Your mind's not on your work," John informed me.

"Your friend. How does Pat get along with him?" I asked.

"Hate each other's guts, naturally," John informed me.

"Seriously," I urged.

"Well, actually, he thinks Pat would make a good wife for me, like he thinks of a wife, a housekeeper, mother, mistress combination thing. But in reality I don't think he wants me to get married at all. We've been bachelors all our lives, and he sees no reason to change."

We walked slowly down a corridor to a large bedroom.

"This is the master bedroom," he said, turning up a dimmer switch. Several

colorful paintings on the walls attracted my attention.

"Who did all these wonderful paintings?" I asked.

"You're looking at him."

"John, you're an artist!" I exclaimed, amazed I hadn't found it out sooner. "You must think me awfully uninterested in you." It had not even occurred to me before to ask him what he did.

He seemed embarrassed. "Some of these are Pat's."

"Those downstairs, are they all yours?" I asked.

He nodded.

I shut the door and walked over to the bed, unbuttoning my blouse. I sat down on

the bed to remove my shoes.

"You're not bothered, knowing this belongs to someone else?" he inquired.

"I said no strings. How could I be bothered?" I lied. I was down to my bra and panties when he came over and sat down beside me.

"I had hoped downstairs, after you had found out, that it might make a difference," he revealed.