“What? What did you say, George?”
“Nothing, hon.”
“Maybe you better not call me that.”
“Sorry.”(I’m not.)“What exactly are we talking about?”
“You and me and whether or not that still makes anus.It would help if you could tell me why you’re in Texas. Because Iknowyou didn’t come to write a book or teach school.”
“Telling you could be dangerous.”
“We’reallin danger,” she said. “Johnny’s right about that. Will I tell you something Roger told me?”
“All right.”(Where did he tell you, Sadie? And were the two of you vertical or horizontal when the conversation took place?)
“He’d had a drink or two, and he got gossipy. We were in his hotel room, but don’t worry—I kept my feet on the floor and all my clothes on.”
“I wasn’t worrying.”
“If you weren’t, I’m disappointed in you.”
“All right, I was worried. What did he say?”
“He said there’s a rumor that there’s going to be some sort of major deal in the Caribbean this fall or winter. A flashpoint, he called it. I’m assuming he meant Cuba. He said, ‘That idiot JFK is going to put us all in the soup just to show he’s got balls.’?”
I remembered all the end-of-the-world crap her former husband had poured into her ears.Anyone who reads the paper can see it coming,he’d told her.We’ll die with sores all over our bodies, and coughing up our lungs.Stuff like that leaves an impression, especially when spoken in tones of dry scientific certainty. Leaves an impression? A scar, more like it.
“Sadie, that’s crap.”
“Oh?” She sounded nettled. “I suppose you have the inside scoop and Senator Kuchel doesn’t?”
“Let’s say I do.”
“Let’s not. I’ll wait for you to come clean a little longer, but not much. Maybe just because you’re a good dancer.”
“Then let’s go dancing!” I said a little wildly.
“Goodnight, George.”
And before I could say anything else, she hung up.
15
I started to call her back, but when the operator said “Number, please?” sanity reasserted itself. I put the phone back in its cradle. She had said what she needed to say. Trying to get her to say more would only make things worse.
I tried to tell myself that her call had been nothing but a stratagem to get me off the dime, aspeak for yourself, John Aldenkind of thing. It wouldn’t work because that wasn’t Sadie. It had seemed more like a cry for help.
I picked up the phone again, and this time when the operator asked for a number, I gave her one. The phone rang twice on the other end, and then Ellen Dockerty said, “Yes? Who is it, please?”
“Hi, Miz Ellie. It’s me. George.”
Maybe that moment-of-silence thing was catching. I waited. Then she said, “Hello, George. I’ve been neglecting you, haven’t I? It’s just that I’ve been awfully—”
“Busy, sure. I know what the first week or two’s like, Ellie. I called because Sadie just called me.”
“Oh?” She sounded very cautious.
“If you told her my number was on a Fort Worth exchange instead of Dallas, it’s okay.”
