“Well, that’s the way the ball bounces, Norvell,” Arnie went on. “/ don’t blame you. Forget it. I can’t blame you for
putting your own problems first.” He looked ostentatiously at his watch. “I don’t want to keep you,” he said. “I’d better be getting back to the Hall in any case; my brother has something he wants to consult with me about. Oh, nothing too special—but it’s every citizen’s duty, of course, to do what he can.” He dropped a bill on the table and piloted Norvell to the door.
Under the dingy marquee, he patted Norvell’s shoulder. “Drop me a line once in a while, won’t you?” he urged. “I’m the world’s worst letter-writer, but I’ll always be glad to hear how you’re getting along.”
Norvell stopped dead and planted his feet; the rain spun in on them from the tempest outside. “Write you a letter, Arnie?” he demanded urgently. “I’ll be seeing you, won’t I?”
“Of course you will.” Dworcas frowned at the rain. He said patiently, “It’s just that, naturally, you won’t want to make that long trip from Belly Rave too often. Hell, I can’t blame you for that! And for that matter I’ll be kind of tied up evenings myself until I get this thing for my brother over with. . . . Look, Norvell, no sense standing here. Drop me a line when you get a chance. And the best of luck, fellow!” And he was gone.
Norvell sloshed through the drowned streets. With his credit card canceled and no cash in his pockets, it was a long, wet way home. After the second block he thought of going back and borrowing cab fare from Arnie; but, after all, he told himself, you couldn’t do a thing like that, when Arnie had been so nice about the tickets and all. . . .
He had plenty of time to rehearse what he was going to say to Virginia.
He said it.
When it was over, he stared at his wife less in relief than in wonder. His walk home in the gusty rain had been a hell of apprehension. She would scream at him. She might throw things. She would call him names—horrible, cutting, hit-be-k>w-the-belt names.
But she didn’t.
Fortunately the daughter was asleep; it would have been harder with her around. He changed his clothes without a
I
…__. came down, looked her in the eye and told her—directly and brutally. /
Then he waited. The explosion didn’t come. Virginia seemed almost not to have heard him. She sat there, blank-faced, and ran her fingers caressingly over the soft arms of the chair. She rose and wandered to the wall patterner wordlessly. Typical of her sloppy housework, the morning-cheer pattern was still on. With gentle fingers she reset the wall to a glowing old rose and dimmed the lights to a romantic, intimate amber. She drifted to a wall and mirrorized it, looking long at herself. Norvell looked too. Under the flattering lights her skin was gold-touched and flawless, the harsh scowl lines magicked
away.
She sat on the warm, textured floor and began to sob. Norvell found himself squatting awkwardly beside her. “Please, honey,” he said. “Please don’t cry.” She didn’t stop. But she didn’t push him away. He was cradling her shoulders uncomfortably in his arms, her head on his chest. He was talking to her in a way he had never been able to before. It would be hard, of course. But it would be real. It would be a life that people could stand—weren’t thousands of people standing it right now? Maybe things had been physically too easy for them, maybe it took pressure to weld two personalities together, maybe their marriage would . turn into shared toil and shared happiness and—— Alexandra giggled from the head of the stairs. Norvell sat bolt upright. The girl tittered sleepily, “Well! Excuse me. I didn’t dream there was anything intimate going on.”
Virginia got quickly to her feet, bowling Norvefl over. He felt his neck flaming a dull red as he got up.
He swallowed and made the effort. “Sandy,” he said gently, using the almost-forgotten pet name that had seemed so much more appropriate when she was small and cuddly and not so much of a si—hold on! “Sandy, please come down. I have something important to tell you.”