Riders on the Storm

As I walked to the manager’s office — Tom Wentworth had small real estate offices all over town; Cathy Vance’s was right here where she lived — I passed along the pool where eight young women (I counted them) lay in lounge chairs. They wore bikinis of various colors and hairstyles of even more variety. A speaker hidden somewhere above the office played Me and Bobby McGee. Janis sounded as wasted as I felt. I had no doubt that Will was innocent, I had no doubt that he was worth every second I put toward proving him innocent, I had no doubt that we’d be good friends for the rest of our lives.

But I sensed his relationship with Cathy Vance had been much more serious than either of them had let on. Right now all I knew was that he’d badly damaged his wife. His daughter would be next. She wouldn’t understand it now but three or four years down the line she’d begin to know what had, in all likelihood, driven her parents apart. The stats on divorces on returning vets were so bad that Congress had done what they always did, ordered a committee to study it.

I could see Cathy through the front window marked Wentworth Real Estate. In a tight black skirt and red blouse, her Ava Gardner hair flung back with contrived abandon, she perched on the corner of her desk, a receiver between ear and shoulder, the long fingers holding a cigarette that coiled blue smoke into the office air.

She watched me walk into her office with those wary silver-blue eyes of hers. The terrible thing that had happened to her that night in the Hills would always deny her the cachet of a true femme fatale. She’d been raped by two older men who’d been drunkenly stumbling home. That they served long prison terms didn’t matter much to a girl of twelve. Her cynicism was the product of pain, not arrogance. She broke too easily.

“You asked for my opinion, Nick, and I gave it to you. I think they’re asking way too much for that land. I’m halfway convinced he’s even making up those rumors about a big office building being planned for there.” There was no smile for me but she did point to the small buff-colored leather couch in the far corner. “Nick, we’re friends. I’m not saying you don’t know what you’re doing.

“We all misjudge things. I’m right about three out of four times at best. So you shouldn’t take what I say personally. All right?” Then, “Nick, a customer just came in. Just think about what I said. I could always be wrong about this and you could always be right, all right?”

She hung up. “I don’t care what they say. You boys are way more vain than us girls. The guy calls me for an opinion and I give him an honest answer and he’s hurt. I offended his manliness somehow.” The showgirl smile. “But then I guess I can’t blame him. He doesn’t have much manliness to spare.”

Four desks, walls covered with photos of homes and businesses and properties for sale. The furnishings and the carpeting ran to variations on brown.

“I imagine you’re here to pester me about Will some more. And by the way, I see you’ve done a fine job of proving how innocent he is.”

“I’m doing the best I can.”

“I’m sure that’s a great comfort to him.”

“Did he ever write you any letters?”

“Yes, he did as a matter of fact. Before she stole him from me that summer in college. I used to think that maybe he was going to be a writer.”

“More recently, I mean. When you were having an affair with him.”

“You’re still on that.”

“His wife found some letters he wrote to you but apparently never mailed. Recent letters.”

“I imagine she had a fine time reading them. The same fine time I had reading his letter that he was breaking off our engagement.”

“That was a long time ago.”

“Maybe for you. Not for me. I still remember basically going to bed for a month and not being able to get up. I started thinking that the shock had paralyzed me. I was that nuts. I got over that part of it but there was a part that stayed with me. And it’s with me now. Two husbands and two shrinks later and it’s still with me.”

“So you had an affair with him.”

She was leaning against the desk facing me. In her languid, enigmatic way her sexual powers were undeniable. But the silver-blue eyes never quite gave you any hint of what she might be thinking. There was even a possibility that she did not understand her own erotic force.

“Yeah, Sam, we had an affair. And yes, he wrote me some letters. It’s nice to know that he wrote some that he didn’t even mail. Which makes me wonder why he broke it off.”

“Well, it could always be that he was married.”

“I know you think that’s a smart remark but that’s not why he broke it off. He didn’t love Karen anymore. He made that plain. I wanted him to leave her and marry me. For me the affair was like being in college again. I even let some of my work go, which I never do. But I didn’t care. We got together every chance we had. We even used to meet at seven thirty in the morning sometimes. He always joked how good morning sex was in a sleazy motel. Then it ended. And he broke it off the same way he’d broken it off the first time. No explanation. Just ‘I can’t do this anymore.’ No warning whatsoever. I’d had to find out about Karen by myself. And it’s the same this time. No idea.”