Best Friends Part 5

After Roy put the crate of bottled water on the floor of the closet, pushing a s.p.a.ce for it beside an outsize pair of custom-made lizard half-boots, he went to Sam's bedside. His friend was dangling a delicate-looking set of earphones from one thick finger. "These things weigh only a couple ounces. The sound is concert-hall quality."

"How are you feeling?"

"Perfect," said Sam. "There's no reason to keep me here another day. The doctors love to terrorize the layman. You know that."

He laid the earphones on top of the little Sony player to which they were attached. It was unusual for him not to have insisted that Roy verify the claims he had made as to their performance. The table on Sam's right was all but overflowing with heaped gadgetry: PalmPilot, cell phone, portable DVD player, miniature voice-operated recording device, remote for the television mounted high on the far wall.

Roy asked quietly, "Have you watched or listened to the news today?"

"h.e.l.l with it," said Sam. "If I have to stay in here, I don't care what happens in East Timor."

All the television and most of the radio stations were in the city where there had been a scary near-disaster on an airport runway, a big bank robbery, and the death by auto accident of a popular anchorman of the evening news. Francine's murder and the suicide of her ex-husband were so low on the gauge of public importance that Roy had as yet encountered no media reference, at least as long as he could bear to wait. There would not be a local newspaper until the following morning.

On the way to the hospital he had debated with himself whether to shock Sam with the whole story now or wait till his friend finally heard it from some impersonal source and was justifiably hurt, given the premium he put on loyalty.

Roy had made the painful decision. He began to pace about at the foot of the bed. "I've got to talk about this. Something terrible happened after I left here yesterday. I still can't believe it. I forget about it for a moment or two, then it comes back again. I'm sorry to burden you at this time, but-"

"That woman you were running around with got killed," said Sam without audible emotion. "I guess it was only a matter of time."

"What?"

"It's stupid to blame yourself. For what? You didn't kill her. You defended her. Your conscience should be clean."

"That's it? I should just shrug it off?" He reminded himself that Sam was still supposed to be a sick man. "I shouldn't be troubling you with this."

"It's no trouble," Sam said, but not in his familiar expansive way. "That's what friends are for. Kris and I are glad to help, but I can't see much is gained from going over and over the incident. Nothing can be changed now. What's done is done."

"Kristin told you."

"Well, we're married."

"I didn't mean she shouldn't have," Roy said quickly. But he lied. He had taken her into his confidence. He might not have used those terms, but he had expected her to understand them by implication.... But he was now lying to himself. She had had every reason to a.s.sume she was serving as a subst.i.tute for Sam. She had even said as much, had she not? "I was grateful to her for listening to my troubles."

"That's one of her specialties," said Sam, who seemed to be watching him for a reaction.

"Yes," said Roy. "I can understand that." The subject made him uneasy. Though Kristin had given Sam the secondhand account of what happened at The Hedges, she had apparently not told him the truth about lunch, though there was nothing incriminating to conceal. She had prepared an omelette aux fines herbes for each of them and a salad. Roy ate very little of either. They both drank only mineral water. The entire incident lasted half an hour, give or take.

"She can talk too," said Sam.

"I'm afraid all she got a chance to do today was listen to me whine. You're right, I should try to get past it. I've decided to do something for Francine's poor kids. They're orphans now. G.o.d knows what they've been left by their parents, if anything. Holbrook was a loser at everything he tried, according to her." It took a moment of silence for him to realize what he had told his best friend, of whom the same characterization could well be made.

Sam moued. "Well, that's your business. I'll be glad to tell you what Kris would have said if she had done the talking." His smile suggested an undercurrent of anger. "She would have asked you not to lend me any money." It was typical of Sam to have omitted the, to Roy, essential word "more."

Had his friend not been bedridden, Roy might well have made that point, because they had always been honest with each other. As it was, he could say only, lamely, "Is that right?"

"That's a laugh, ain't it? I'm married to a banker, and I'm strapped."

"This whole thing must cost a fortune," Roy said guiltily, meaning the complex of charges incurred by a hospital patient.

Sam dismissed that consideration. "Kris's insurance covers most of it, I guess. That's not what I'm worried about."

It was obvious Sam was about to put the bite on him in the interests of another bad business idea. Had it not been for Kristin's plea, Roy probably could not have rejected an entreaty by his best friend, or rather, lacking in valor, have evaded it at least at this moment. Still, it was to his credit that he did not carry out his threat to put the blame on her.

He consulted his watch. For once Sam did not comment on the cheap timepiece. "I've got to go, kid. Catch you tomorrow. I'll call first to hear what you need, but I hope you're getting out."

When Sam saw his friend was serious about leaving, he sneered at him. "s.h.i.t, she did talk to you."

"What do you mean?" Though he knew full well.

"Kris told you not to lend me any money."

"You're out of your skull," said Roy. "You've got too much time on your hands here. Better try to get well soon." He winked, then headed for the door but had not quite reached the k.n.o.b when he was halted by an anguished appeal in a contorted voice he had never heard before in all the years they had been best friends.

"Give me your word," Sam cried. "Are you f.u.c.king her?"

Reflecting later on this vile question, Roy could only a.s.sume that Sam's medication had mind-altering side effects. At the moment it was asked, however, he knew only an almost ungovernable rage, followed by so violent a fear of what he might do in such a state that he felt as though set afire. Incapable of speech, he stepped into the hallway and walked rapidly among white-coated people and stainless-steel conveyances until he reached the parking lot, where distracted momentarily by a loss of memory as to which car he was using, he had to recover a sense of himself in s.p.a.ce and time.

"Excuse me, but are you feeling okay?"

It was a woman, a pale-complexioned, redhaired young woman wearing a tan raincoat.

Roy was leaning against a blue Taurus of recent date. "I'm sorry," he said, straightening up. "Is this yours? I just felt a little shaky for a minute."

She pointed. "Maybe you ought to go over to the outpatient and have yourself checked out."

"I'll be all right. I've just lost a close friend, and it hits me from time to time." Lowering his head, he noticed white shoes and stockings below the raincoat.

"That's awful. I didn't know we lost anyone today. I'm very sorry."

"No, it was last night, and not in the hospital.... You work here, don't you?"

"In fact, I think I met you the other day. You're Mr. Grandy's friend?"

"Oh, sure," Roy said, his memory reviving to the degree that he could not only spot, in a rank of cars thirty yards away, the Jaguar E-Type he had parked there, but almost recall the nurse's name. "You're Miss Atkins."

He had never been attracted to redheads, but her smile was endearing. "It's Akins. But I'm impressed that you came so close on such slight acquaintance. You're living up to your reputation."

Roy was more incredulous than flattered. "How in the world do you know anything about me?"

"Your friend."

He had instantly forgotten about Sam. "Of course."

"He gives you the big buildup," Miss Akins said, twitching the retrousse nose Sam thought cute. "He has a high opinion of you."

"He'll say anything, Miss Akins. He's notorious for that. I wouldn't listen to him if I were you."

"It's Suzanne."

He felt considerably better than he had only a few moments earlier. "I hope you're not offended if I ask how is it that you are so much friendlier now than you were in Sam's room?" He was on safe ground, having never met a woman who did not enjoy most those questions which the typical man would think rude.

She produced an enumerated explanation. "I was on duty, one. Two, just now you looked like you were in trouble. Three, I didn't want to make your friend jealous. I'm serious. Patients are sensitive about the attention paid to them by nurses and, it goes without saying, doctors. Have you ever been a hospital patient, Mr., uh-"

"You don't know my name, do you?" Roy asked triumphantly.

"You own the fancy car store in town."

"I haven't been in a hospital bed since my mother delivered me. My name is Roy Courtright."

"Tell me, Roy, what do those cars cost? I can't see any posted prices through the show window, and that sign on the door says 'by appointment only.'" Her twinkling eyes reminded him of some star of the old movie musicals he had watched with Sam, but right now any a.s.sociation with his best friend had negative connotations for him.

"The phone number appears there as well." Roy spoke with a certain impatience, having heard this frivolous complaint more than once. "The prices vary greatly, according to the car, based on its rarity, condition, and so on."

"What's the 'so on'?"

He could not yet determine whether he was being baited. "Demand. There have to be people who want to buy it." He lifted his index finger. "See that XKE Jaguar over there? It's considered one of the most beautiful automobiles ever built. You don't see a lot of those on the streets nowadays, but quite a few were made during the years they were in production, and many were imported into the U.S.A. Because they aren't terribly rare, the demand for them is not great enough to bring really high figures. You could buy that one for about what your Ford Taurus cost you."

"That's not mine. There's my car. I bought it new last month."

"The BMW?" It was a black 530i, surely an extravagance on a nurse's income.

She laughed at him. "'Howinh.e.l.l can she afford that?' You're right, I can't. I haven't got any clothes and I've stopped eating. I'll have it paid off in ten or fifteen years, if I live that long, but I broke up with somebody and needed to lift my spirits."

"A doctor who drove an S-cla.s.s Mercedes?"

"Hey!" said she. "Close enough. You've been reading my diary."

Her vivacity seemed genuine enough, and Roy was reluctant to part with her and be alone with his troubles, which had continued to multiply. Now he could no longer even be friendly with Kristin.

"Suzanne, would you want to have some dinner with me? I'm aware we are hardly acquainted, but we do know each other's place of business."

"If I don't like the food I can throw a rock through your show window?"

"If you like."

"I'm not going to go in my uniform," she told him. "And I wasn't kidding about not owning any clothes. My one dress is at the cleaner's and I lately ripped my skirt and haven't fixed it. If jeans are okay, I'm your date. Could you pick me up at-"

Roy impulsively threw himself on her mercy. "Obviously you owe me nothing, but at the moment I don't want to be by myself." He took a breath; he had never made such an appeal before. "Could we get some take-out-not junk but decent stuff-and eat it at your house?" He closed his eyes and shook his head. "Please forgive me for being so pushy. This is awful." But he did not withdraw the request.

"I share a small apartment with two other women," Suzanne said. "All of them are home most evenings. You could come and eat with us if you just want company. Though I warn you, the others will be all over you. You're safe with me. I go out with men all the time, at least twice in the past seven months, both times with my dad. So I'm not desperate like the others. If you want to invite me to your house, you can trust me not to try to overpower you."

She was a remarkably good sport, but no woman not a blood relative would care to hear as much from a man.

He gave Suzanne the address, and she followed him in her car. He drove with moderation and did not play the childish tricks he pulled when Sam followed, no four-wheel drifts at the corners, no sudden flooring of the accelerator, nor downshiftings to slow the car, without applying the brakes, as he approached a stop sign or traffic signal. The last was most unnerving to Sam, who took his cue from the car ahead, braking only when its red lights came on.

"G.o.d," Suzanne exclaimed as she stepped from the BMW to the driveway and surveyed the facade of the building in which he lived. "Is this Courtright Palace?"

"I just have an apartment. I think it was probably originally the servants' quarters." He led the way, through the side door and up the staircase.

"Yeah, sure looks like where maids would live," said Suzanne on seeing the high ceilings and grand proportions of the sitting room.

"I hardly ever use it," Roy said truthfully. "Let's go to the kitchen-unless you'd rather stay here."

"If I did I'd be nervous that at any moment the cops would crash in and arrest me for trespa.s.sing."

This was an unpleasant reminder of the earlier part of his day. It was not easy to keep anguish at a distance.

"Is this furniture yours? And that tapestry?"

"Some of it is inherited stuff. The rest is on loan from Mrs. Swanson." Whom he identified for Suzanne.

"She lives in the rest of this castle?"

"In the sense that I'm her only tenant," Roy said. "I think she actually occupies fewer rooms than I've got. She's almost ninety, with a female companion in her late seventies."

"Bet you've got a rent-free deal for mowing the lawn and carrying out the garbage," said Suzanne, lightly punching him in his right biceps. She winced. "What have you got up your sleeve? A wooden arm? I think I busted a knuckle."

They were entering what might have served as a dining room had not Roy furnished it as a gymnasium instead, with floor mats, loose weights, a lifting bench, and a tall, elaborately branched contraption of black steel that in another context might pa.s.s as a work of kinetic art.

"Your chamber of horrors," Suzanne noted. "And that's your torture machine. What kind of h.e.l.l have I gotten myself into?" She went to the Bowflex and touched one of its many extremities. "This is that exercise gadget I've seen advertised on TV. I didn't know anybody actually owned one." She turned back to him. "The mystery of your arm is solved. In my line you seldom encounter anyone so healthy."

"I've been working out since I was a kid. It just got to be a habit. I probably couldn't stop now if I wanted to." With women he often felt as if he should apologize for weight training. With men it was the other fellow who was put on the defensive, unless he too performed heavy lifting-but if he had a job in which it was a requirement, he felt superior to the recreational athlete.

She smiled. "I can find it in my heart to forgive you, but only if you give me a real drink and not some cat p.i.s.s from the Juiceman."

"I'm not too much of a nutrition crank," said Roy, conducting her along the hallway and into the kitchen, "and no teetotaller."

"Now this," said Suzanne, who was still wearing her raincoat, "is the first room that makes sense. It's big enough without being outlandish. It's also the first that looks as if it could have been used by servants. I like that long table."

The kitchen was smaller than the Grandys', but had ample s.p.a.ce for a big central table of oil-finished wood under a hanging lamp. Roy took away Suzanne's coat and returned to list for her the available libations. She chose Maker's Mark, neat. She had meant it when asking for a real drink. Roy had heard that the hard stuff was coming back into fashion, but had not till now met any female who displayed that taste. Perhaps he was on his way to fogeyhood. When he looked at Suzanne with age in mind, he estimated she was probably still in her twenties, younger than he by five or six years; Francine had been almost three years older. He was not attracted to youth as such. There was something about Suzanne, despite her wisecracking insolence, that seemed basically old-fashioned. Perhaps it was her white uniform; nursing was not a fashionable profession for the young women of today.

"What did you do with your hat?" he asked when they were seated at the table with their whiskey.

"I had already put it in the car when I spotted you looking like you were going to faint." She swallowed the remaining third of the liquid in her gla.s.s and narrowed her pale-lashed eyes. "You're not one of those who likes to be paddled by someone dressed as a nurse?"

"Sorry to disappoint you." His drink was diluted with water and ice. The cubes clinked unpleasantly against his teeth, so he rose and ditched them in the sink, then reinforced his gla.s.s from the bottle, which he afterward brought to the table. "I don't want to be accused of plying you with strong drink, so please help yourself."

"I trust you," said she. "Mostly because you do not call me Suzie."

He swirled the whiskey in his gla.s.s. "He who avoids diminutives, in a minimizing world, can be relied on absolutely." He could not remember whether that was a quotation.

She became solemn for a moment. "This is a professional question. You're not drunk, are you? That wasn't why you looked like that in the parking lot?"

"This is the first alcohol I've had all day. I'm feeling it already, on an empty stomach." He lowered the empty gla.s.s. "What would you like to eat? There are some places I can call for edible take-out. Say, the veal chop and wild mushrooms from the Maison or white truffle pasta from San Pietro."