Evan Hunter - Strangers When We Meet

“What happened when she came in?” she asked.

“I recognized her, but she didn’t seem to remember me. Looked straight at me and then went off dancing with her ensign. Later on, I asked her to dance. She’s a good dancer, always was.”

“What else does she do well?”

“Lots of things.”

“Like what?”

“Look, you don’t want to hear this. You’re getting angry. I’d rather not tell it if you’re—”

“I want to hear it, Larry.”

“All right, I was dancing with her and I said, ‘You don’t remember me, do you?’ and she said, ‘Should I?’ and I said, ‘You slapped me on the B.M.T. in nineteen forty-three.’ And then she remembered.”

“What did she say?”

“She said, ‘I’m surprised the government allows degenerates to become officers.’” He laughed with the memory. “I explained to her that I hadn’t been the offender, though I certainly would have been if I’d known how pretty she was.”

“God, what a line!”

“It wasn’t a line.”

“Then you meant it?”

“Well... well, yes, I did.”

“You’re such a damn—” She stopped. “Did she swallow the hook?”

“She... oh, hell what’s the sense of this? I’m with you. Must we talk about Eve?”

“What happened?”

“Nothing happened. I asked her out, and that was the start of it. Let’s not talk about it.”

“You don’t seem to mind very much. You’ve been talking about it for the past fifteen minutes.”

“Look, you know she’s my wife, don’t you?”

“Of course I know it,” she said sharply.

“Then you know that people don’t get born married. They meet, and they go steady, and they get engaged, and things go through a natural progression, and then eventually they get married. So we went through the same natural progression and—” He grinned suddenly. “I don’t know what the hell I’m talking about.”

“You’re talking about your wife, Eve.”

“Let’s talk about Don, shall we?”

“You love her very much, don’t you?”

“Oh, for Pete’s—”

“Why is it so painful for you to talk about her?”

“It isn’t. I just can’t see why—”

“Is she good in bed?”

“Excellent!” he answered quickly, angrily. “The next question is ‘Is she better than me?’ Go ahead. Ask it.”

“I’d never ask that,” Margaret said.

“Why not?”

Her voice was very low. “I’m afraid of the answer.”

“Don’t ever be afraid of anything, Maggie,” he told her, and his voice was suddenly gentle. She looked at him a moment, rose suddenly, and walked away from the bed. She turned her back to him and stood by the dresser as if debating her next move. Then, without looking at him, she lowered the dress from both shoulders. It slid to her waist, catching at her hips. She pushed it over her hips, and then stepped out of it when it fell to the floor. Then she turned. He watched her as she walked to the bed.

“Do you know how much I love you?” she asked.

He did not answer.

“You’ll know,” she said. “Kiss me. Put your mouth on me.”

He sat up and pulled her to him. She stood close to the edge of the bed, her hands at her sides, accepting his mouth.

“Touch me,” she said. His hands moved over her body. She watched him with curiously calculating eyes. “We’re strangers until now, aren’t we?” she said. “Until this minute, we’re strangers.” And then she pushed him back onto the bed and her mouth descended fiercely, hungrily.

“Say it!” she said.

“I love you.”

“Again.”

“I love you.”

“Oh, you,” she said. “Again, you. Say it again, you, you!”

“I love you.”

“Don’t stop. Don’t stop saying it. Tell me you love me. Tell me I’m all that matters.”

“You’re all that matters.”

“Nothing else matters. Not her, not anything.”

“Nothing else matters.”

“No one, Larry. Nothing. Only me. Tell me you need me. Tell me you want me.”

“I want you.”

“Ohhh, yes. Yes. Yes. You, you, you, you. Tell me. Tell me. Tell me!”

Eve sat alone in the living room.

When the doorbell rang, she put down the socks she was darning and went to answer it. The clock in the kitchen read 10:45, and whereas she knew it was too early for him to be back, she hoped it might be Larry.

“Who’s there?” she said.

“Me. Mrs. Garandi.”

“Oh, Signora,” she said, disappointed. “Just a moment.”

She unlocked the door. Mrs. Garandi, holding open the storm door, a shawl thrown over her shoulders, said, “Eve, are you busy? Why don’t you and Larry come over for some coffee? Arthur brought home a beautiful cake, and the three of us will never finish it alone.”

“Larry’s out,” Eve said. “Why don’t you come in a minute?”

“All right, but just for a minute.” She closed the door behind her. Together they walked into the living room. The Signora looked curiously at the television screen and then sat opposite Eve.

“Come over anyway,” she said. “It’s right across the street. You’ll be able to check on the kids.”

“I’ve got darning to do,” Eve said.

Mrs. Garandi nodded. Silently, she studied Eve. “Did Larry go to a lecture again?” she asked.

“No, not tonight. He’s with a client. He delivered some sketches this week, and they’re going to discuss them tonight.”

“I see.” Mrs. Garandi was silent again. “These lectures he goes to. Does he go alone?”

“Yes.”

“Where are they?”

“At Pratt.”

“Why don’t you go with him?”

“They’re for a architects, and pretty technical from what Larry tells me. Besides, it’s good for a man to get away from his wife once in a while, don’t you think?”

“No. A man doesn’t need to get away.”

“Not even once in a while?”

“Not even ever. You should go with him.”

“Someone’s got to stay with the children.”

“Get a sitter. And if the lectures don’t interest you, meet him afterward. Go for a coffee together.”

“Oh, that’s silly,” Eve said. “I trust him completely.”

“Then why do you bring up the question of trust?”

“Well, you seemed to be imply—”

“Trust is only a word, Eve. Man-made. The things men conveniently make can just as conveniently be destroyed.”

“I think it’s a lot more than a word, Signora,” Eve said.

Mrs. Garandi shrugged. “If my husband were alive, I wouldn’t let him go wandering alone.”

“Larry doesn’t go wan—”

“I wouldn’t let him go wandering,” Mrs. Garandi said firmly.

Eve stared at her levelly. “Larry’s not that kind of man,” she said.

“He’s a man. And a woman is a woman. And there’s no such thing as that kind of man or that kind of woman. There are stronger things than the meaningless words we can invent, Eve. Are you so invulnerable?”

“Me?” Eve laughed. “I’ve never even looked at another man.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“Oh, well, looked, yes. But I never once thought of—”

“Stop him from going to his lectures.”

“I can’t do that, Signora.”

“Why not?”

“Because I trust him,” Eve said simply. “If I stopped him going to Pratt, I’d have to stop him from going to the store for cigarettes. I’d have to begin distrusting him. And I don’t want that.”

“I would stop him.”

“No.” Eve shook her head. “Larry’s not a cheat.”

“Another word,” Mrs. Garandi said. “Who’s to say what and what isn’t? Who’s to say what’s cheating? A man is a man, and a woman is a woman. That’s life, and that’s living, and I wouldn’t let my man go off alone each week.”

“Larry is satisfied,” Eve said calmly.

“With everything? Or only with you?”

“I try to keep him happy.”

“Then keep him home. Keep him happier.”

“I do everything I know how to do. He is happy, Signora. Really he is. I don’t know why you think he isn’t.”

“Eve, carissima, I don’t think anything. I don’t know. But marriage is a funny thing in America, and the American wife has in many ways stopped being a woman.” Mrs. Garandi paused, and her eyes met Eve’s. “Forgive me,” she said. “I’m a foolish old woman. I only came to invite you for coffee.”

“That’s all right,” Eve said, smiling.

“Eve?”

“Yes?”

“Keep him home.”

And again Eve said, “I trust him,” and to this there was no answer.

“Will you come over later?”

“Maybe.”

“Not after eleven-thirty,” Mrs. Garandi said. “Arthur has to work tomorrow.”

“All right.”

“Do you think Larry will be home by then?”

“I don’t know. He’s with Roger Altar — his client. If he’s home, I’ll bring him over.”

“Please come.” Mrs. Garandi said, and she left the house. Eve closed the door behind her. She went back into the living room and picked up the sock she had been darning. A television comic was laughing at his own humour. The house felt very still and empty. In the bedroom, one of the children mumbled something in his sleep.

I trust him, Eve thought. I love him.

It was strange that she loved him so much now, she supposed, because she hadn’t even liked his looks that night so long ago at the Officers’ Club. She’d always preferred light-eyed boys. Even the ensign she’d been with was green-eyed. And then when Larry’d reminded her of their first encounter, she couldn’t look at him for the next five minutes without remembering again the shame she’d known that day on the subway. Even though she became convinced that she’d wrongly slapped him, he was nonetheless a reminder of what had been a terrible experience for her. She wanted to dislike him, and his looks supported her original premise. But she found herself succumbing to his warmth and honesty as they danced. Honesty. That, she supposed, was what had first appealed to her. He was honest. When he asked her out, she surprised herself by accepting. But she didn’t particularly care for his looks.