Mr Peanut - Adam Ross [126]
“Could I have a quick word with Marilyn?” He heard the clatter of the receiver dropping, a silence, a mumble, and the sound of footfalls.
“Sam?” she said.
“Hello.”
“Is something wrong?”
“No.”
“You woke us up.”
“I know. Go back to sleep.”
“What’s going on there?”
“It’s a party. Just a small gathering.”
“Where are you?”
“At Michael’s. It’s at his house.”
She waited.
“I just wanted to hear your voice,” he said.
“Here I am,” she said. “Here’s my voice.”
“All right. Tell Jo again I apologize.”
She hung up before he did.
He stood staring at the phone, then shook his head.
He called Susan and told her to come over immediately. When she asked him whether he was sure, he said yes. When she asked if the party was dressy or not, he could hear the excitement in her voice. A group of women had gathered nearby, so he described what they were wearing and told her to hurry. He walked to the bar and made himself another martini—the drink, he thought, he’d regret the next day—and then joined the men playing poker in Michael’s study. There were eight of them at the card table and so much cigar and pipe smoke that it looked like the felt had caught on fire. Two of them, Joseph Newton and Herbie Hawkins, were old medical-school classmates, their wives friends of Marilyn’s, and Sheppard felt a sharp twinge of fear about Susan’s arrival.
But later, when she was shown into the den by Emma and she stepped into the circle of light under which the men sat, the sight of her dispelled all his doubts. She was wearing a green dress, a matching green belt and coat, and a string of pearls around her neck. The bloodstone ring Sheppard had given her was on her finger. Out of defensiveness, perhaps, her haughtiness had returned; she was the girl she was three years ago, her original confidence and forthrightness restored. She seemed ablaze as she leaned over and put her arm around Sheppard’s shoulder—he’d placed his hand on her hip—and then kissed him, and they kept their hands where they were while she introduced herself to everyone. Her beauty drew all of their focus away from the game and seemed to embolden her further; she ran her nails gently along Sheppard’s neck while they played the next hand, then excused herself to get a drink after he folded. All the men watched her until the door closed, and when it did they passed glances between one another and then back at Sheppard, a couple clucking their tongues or half-whistling while another, a man who Sheppard didn’t know, softly laughed in derision or appreciation—he was too drunk to be sure.
“Goddamn, Sam,” Michael finally said.
Sheppard stared at the cards he’d laid on the table, then leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers across his stomach. He felt the rictus of a smile on his face.
“I don’t know,” Michael said. “That’s just … something”
Neither Newton nor Hawkins could look up from their cards, though after a long silence, Herb said, “Goddamn’s about right.”
Sheppard left the study and, passing through the living room where the women were, left a wake of silence behind him. He found Susan out by the pool, smoking a cigarette and staring at the candles that floated on the water. Slipping his arms around her waist, he kissed her neck and smelled her perfume mingling with the honeysuckle and jasmine on the breeze—Cleveland a blessed universe away.
“I shouldn’t have come,” she said.
“Of course you should’ve.”
She nodded at the house.
“No one in there will talk with me.”
“That doesn’t matter.”
“To you it doesn’t.”
“To us it shouldn’t.”
“Why’s that?”
“Come with me.”
He took her hand and led her into his room through the sliding door right off the pool. And as he closed it, he caught Emma staring at him, her eyes brilliant with fury. This he was able to forget once they were alone, and even his wife and what she’d said. He made love to Susan angrily and passionately, though now it was as if he were hovering overhead—that his prowess demanded he be utterly detached, or like one of the men playing cards in the other room, aware