Part 18 (2/2)

”I have to look up the zoning,” Sam went on. ”Maybe I could get a variance. Who's going to replace Sy?”

”It was a hit-and-run,” said Roy. ”n.o.body even got the number. Right in front of the courthouse, for G.o.d's sake. Cops all over.” He still knew no more than what Dorothea had provided.

Sam looked at him now for the first time. ”I don't know how much more I can take.”

Roy remembered Sam's inordinate grief when Roy's father died and wondered whether his friend had been personally close to Seymour Alt. He could not recall Sam's being at Dorothea's big parties, nor did he play much golf despite owning a set of the most expensive clubs Callaway made.

”Sy seemed like too alert a guy not to see a car coming.”

Sam continued to stare at him. ”Sy did some work for the mob, didn't he?”

”I never heard that.”

”Your dad told me once.” Sam looked away at last.

”It's news to me.... This is going to be tough on Dorothea.”

Sam looked back with a sneer. ”Are you putting the moves on her already? Or have you been doing it all the while?” The sneer became a bitter smirk. ”Though she's a little long in the tooth.”

”You're going too far,” said Roy. ”Take it easy. Sy was just run down in the street a couple hours ago, and she's a widow. Of course I've never touched her.”

Sam lowered and shook his heavy head. He had needed a haircut for weeks. He was also unshaven, now that he had been home awhile. ”s.h.i.+t. Sy Alt is dead. That's all I need.”

Facing him, here in their house, Roy felt so guilty about Kristin that he could not protest directly against Sam's self-absorption. ”Sy was a good father.”

Sam's nostrils dilated as if at a bad odor. ”Think Celia'll be at the funeral?”

The reference was to Sy's a.s.sistant of twenty years; she was also his mistress. ”It would seem funny if she wasn't, working for him as long as she did.” Sy was the most discreet of men. In two decades he had never been seen with Celia in any social venue. Roy and Sam for years had joked about this subject but only with each other. They had no hard evidence; they just knew that Sy and Celia had an intimate connection. You could tell by the way they spoke together on business matters, or anyway Sam could. He was the one who made the point to Roy, who had no gift for smelling out illicit liaisons despite his own proclivities, or perhaps because of them, his basic a.s.sumption being that he was unrepresentative: Most men, more fortunate than he had been, had permanent and exclusive attachments.

”If she does, Alt's wife can take her cue from that old French joke,” said Sam, patting the bamboo chair arms with his large, flat, hairy hands. ”You know.”

Roy did not.

”Well, it's usually the lover and husband, but in this case it would be Mrs. Alt, seeing Celia's tears, saying, 'Don't worry, my dear, I'll get married again.'” His laugh was short, loud, and ugly.

Roy nodded, not sharing the laughter. He was struggling against being overwhelmed by a conviction that Sam knew about himself and Kristin. ”I guess I never felt it up to me to speculate on what kind of arrangement Sy and Dorothea had, if in fact they had one. I considered both of them friends.”

”And friends.h.i.+p is sacred to you.”

Now Roy did smile, more in courtesy than affection, in an effort to keep the proceedings polite rather than personal, though well aware that he could not succeed. ”It certainly means a lot.”

”That's how you can f.u.c.k my wife without regrets,” said Sam, in the warm, soft voice of mockery.

”For G.o.d's sake,” Roy said, ”you're back to that. How many times do I have to tell you Kristin and I had a meal together when you were in the hospital. You know that. In fact, we ran into Sy and Dorothea in the restaurant. That's as intimate as we've ever been. Maybe it's your medication. It won't do your heart any good to get so worked up about nothing.”

”Swear to me you haven't touched her.” Sam leaned forward, hands tensed on the chair arms, as if he might leap at his friend, except that even after losing a pound or two during his hospital stay, he was still far too heavy to rise from a sitting position so easily.

Roy groaned. ”Want me to get a Bible? Okay, if that's what will satisfy you, I'll swear.”

Sam let his heavy eyelids fall. ”You dirty b.a.s.t.a.r.d you.” He opened his reddened eyes. ”You stupid p.r.i.c.k. Kris admitted it.” He paused to let the information establish itself. ”Get the h.e.l.l out of my house.”

Roy started to rise, then sat back down. He put his hand in the air. ”Listen, kid-”

”Not a word,” Sam said. ”You're s.h.i.+t. Get out of my life.”

Now that he could be honest, Roy no longer felt morally crippled. ”No!” he cried. ”Not until I speak my piece. I'm not going to try to justify myself in any way. You're right to be outraged. I deserve no consideration. But I want to say that this is not just an affair. I'm in love with her.”

Sam's grin was ghastly. ”You...are...in love...with her,” he said, dragging it out. ”It's not an affair.”

”It's no excuse,” said Roy. ”I admit that. But it's true. I fell in love, I couldn't help it. I didn't have any designs on her. I wasn't even attracted to her. This is different from everything else. I've never felt this way about anybody.”

Sam's large body was shaking in some awful caricature of mirth. ”I can't get over how stupid you are. That you're a corrupt, lying, cheating, backstabbing c.o.c.ksucker doesn't surprise me as much as how G.o.ddam dumb you are. I at least thought you were bright.”

The abuse relieved Roy of some of his debilitating sense of guilt. He had admitted the grave offense and had to take what he had coming. But though it might seem so to the injured party, he had not thereby become less than human.

”All I can say is I regret behaving dishonorably toward you. I apologize for that. I'm not sorry to have fallen in love with Kristin.”

”I've been saving the zinger,” Sam said. ”But suddenly I'm not getting the satisfaction I expected from the suspense.” He looked at the floor and exhaled audibly. ”I lied, and you fell for it. Kris didn't admit anything.”

”This started as a joke?” Roy could have smashed a fist into his fat flabby mouth, but that impulse lasted for only an instant. His feelings were in contradiction. Once again he sank into guilt, now for the damage he had done to Kristin. That he had been unwitting did not diminish his role in the destruction of her marriage. It was uniquely his accomplishment.

Wordlessly he rose to his feet. Not looking at Sam, he left the house and his best friends.h.i.+p.

13.

Roy crunched along the gravel driveway and had almost reached its junction with the road when the tan Toyota turned in. Its approach had been blocked by the shrubbery and, were the car not crawling, he might have been struck. He jumped aside, and Kristin braked to a stop.

She put her head out the window. ”Roy! Are you okay?”

He came to her window. ”Kristin, I-”

”And I just heard about Seymour Alt being killed, my G.o.d.... Why are you walking?”

He explained and then began an attempt to introduce the crucial matter. ”I came to tell Sam about Sy. We all go back a long way, you know.... And then I-”

”Get in,” said Kristin. ”I'll run you home.”

It was probably the best thing to do. He hoped Sam was not watching, though that would have been unlikely.

She backed out, swinging the car to point in the right direction. The world had changed since the last time he had been her pa.s.senger. That had been less than a week ago, at which time he could not have imagined they would ever be other than they were then, wife and husband's best friend, always a sensitive and often an uneasy alliance, unless perhaps the latter was gay.

”I never met him till the other night at the restaurant,” Kristin said, ”but what a shock to hear this.”

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