A Flash of Green

Eight

Kat Hubble, in a plastic and aluminum pool-side chaise at the Sinnats, tilted her head back and looked up at countless stars. They did not veer in the sickening way they had the last time she had looked. They were comfortingly steady in the heavens. She had had only two drinks before the steak and salad, but they had been made by Di Sinnat, and had hit her harder than she had expected. She had always been circumspect about drinking, less out of conservation than out of a reluctance to impair her awareness of everything around her. In this past year she had been doubly careful, having learned that it took very little alcohol to relax her control over herself. Grief was an act of balance on a high thin wire. Balance improved with practice. You hoped that one day you could walk it as casually as though it were a city sidewalk, but in the meantime you avoided anything which might imperil the careful balance.

The Sinnat twins were in bed and Natalie had gone home with Roy and Alicia to put them to bed and stay there until Kat came home. The night was hot and still. Claire Sinnat was in the pool, floating nearby in a hammock-and-pontoon arrangement, her heels hooked on the overflow gutter. She was twenty-seven, a pretty, merry, untidy little woman, brown as peat, muscled like an acrobat, her abrupt hair calicoed by the sun. She enjoyed people and laughter and horseplay. She played with the children like another child. At times she seemed more daughter than wife to Di. Her voice was thin and penetrating, her laugh a deep bawdy bray. She had no patience with malice, and was fun to be around, except when she drank too much. Liquor fouled her language and made her venomously quarrelsome.

Eloise Cable sat on the edge of the pool in her white swimsuit, dangling her legs in the water. Superficially, Eloise seemed a lustier, more obvious version of Carol Killian. They both had tall bodies, dark hair, and an air of brooding reserve. But there was a rather pallid and sickly flavor to Carol’s slenderness. Eloise had a fearful bursting health. Somehow she always looked freshly steamed, massaged and oiled. Her tan had a glowing depth. Her figure had a glossy ripeness which no style of dress could diminish or restrain. She had all the gleaming and somehow ludicrous overemphasis of a calendar girl. She seemed both smugly aware of and obscurely disconcerted by these awesome riches, and carried herself slowly and with great care, as if she carried herself on a tray over rough ground, full to the brim. Her walk was constricted and circumspect, and there was no flirtatiousness about her. In another and more basic way she was unlike Carol Killian. Carol had the nervous, irremediable stupidity of an inbred dog. Eloise, from a far more humble background, had a tough peasant shrewdness.

If it ever astonished Eloise that she had married Martin Cable, the third, she did not show it. And it would have taken a very perceptive observer to detect that she had married better than her background warranted. Palm County had been astonished seven years before when Martin Cable, at the age of thirty-six, had suddenly married the nineteen-year-old daughter of a garage mechanic, a girl not long out of high school, then working as a file clerk in the installment loan department of the bank.

No one had expected Martin Cable to marry, probably because, at thirty-six, he had the bearing and mannerisms and fussy habit patterns of a bachelor of fifty. The first Martin Cable had been a St. Louis businessman who had come to Palm County to fish and hunt, had bought up large tracts of land, and had eventually settled permanently in the county after his retirement from business. The second Martin Cable had been a yachtsman, a drunk, a gambler, a lecher and an international boor, slain at fifty-one by a black Miura bull in a cobblestone street in Pamplona during a fiesta, spun on a dung-caked horn snugged into the lower bowel, dying in the middle of a scream nine days later. Despite cautious testamentary restrictions, he had worked a considerable diminishment of the involved estate the third Martin Cable inherited. The bank was the executor of the estate of the second Martin Cable, and Martin the third was executor of his mother’s estate.

Martin had been a somber child, a dim and diligent young man, and had grown to become a humorless and exacting adult, a bit too jowly to be adequately described as Lincolnesque, vague and thoughtful in manner, aware of the social and civic responsibilities of his name, humble, distant, self-effacing, as is the habit of the inheritors of wealth.

Immediately after his marriage Martin took his bride on a three-month honeymoon, the only vacation of his adult life. Upon their return even the hastiest glance at his wife confirmed the gossip which had attended their departure. Yet even in the obviousness of pregnancy, the change in the girl was total and evident — Ellie Mikersy, the gum smacker, full of prance and halloo, snickerings and bobblings and hot blue glances, was gone forever, to be replaced by Eloise, wife of Martin, a woman who, with a ruthless and astonishing success, immediately patronized those who sought to patronize her. It was a seven-and-a-half-month baby, reportedly premature, but those few who saw it during its first few days were eager to report that the birth weight had been understated by a good five pounds.

A single mystery remained. How and where had the entrapment been consummated? How had such a total wariness been overcome? Yet most of the men of the community found it understandable. Eloise could induce a mild sweat at fifty yards. It was agreed that she had made the optimum use of her natural endowments within her hunting area, and when the baby, Martin IV, matured sufficiently to disclose the unmistakable Cable features, all agreed she had met the minimum ethical standards of the pursuit. Martin IV was now six years old, and his sister, Cooky, was three. They were beautiful children, completely out of control, sweet, active and savage as weasels.

Kat’s chaise was angled toward the pool. Martin and Dial Sinnat sat at a table to her left. Eloise sat on the edge of the pool beyond her feet, with Claire afloat just beyond Eloise. The pool lights had been turned off to lower the bug count. Three flares burned atop tall metal stakes, the orange flames guttering and smoking when the night breeze stirred them, emitting a fragrance of aromatic repellent. The flames made patterns on the dark water of the pool, and on the naked glossy back of Eloise, tapered, smoothly muscled, with an ample breadth across the shoulders to carry the richness of the invisible breasts.

They had been talking, the four of them, carrying on two simultaneous conversations, and Kat had not been listening until Di said, “You keep side-stepping, Martin. By God, I’m going to nail you down.”

The two conversations became one as Claire said, “I didn’t marry a very subtle fellow, Martin.”

“Let me try the question a new way,” Di said. “Two years ago, Martin, you didn’t get down in the mud and help us slug it out, but you were sympathetic when we were fighting that Lauderdale group. That big broad beautiful bay gives this town class. It’s distinctive. For long-run business reasons, it’s a good thing to have, particularly with the other west coast communities filling their own bays up as fast as they can so they all look alike. Now we find out you’re going along with this new group, this Palmland Development outfit. I think we’ve known each other long enough for you to stop hedging and give me some reasons.”

Martin said, vaguely, “I can’t really give you a simple answer.”

“So give me a complicated answer then. If I can’t understand it I’ll stop you.”

“Well... my responsibilities as executor of my mother’s estate come ahead of any personal feelings I might have, Dial. I’m accountable to the probate court. I’d have a certain amount of difficulty explaining why I turned down the best offer ever made for that land. Almost seven hundred feet of bay frontage at three hundred dollars a foot. It comes to more than two hundred thousand dollars. The estate retains the land to the south of that piece, and it will become much more valuable when the development is completed.”

“Is the estate hurting for cash? Are there unpaid obligations?”

“Oh, no! If that was the case, that land would have been sold off long ago. Actually, I’ve been in the position of waiting for a good offer.”

“So you could wait longer?”

“It isn’t that simple. I’d have to justify waiting, on some kind of financial basis.”

“But you have to exercise demonstrable bad judgment before the probate court gets agitated, don’t you?”

Eloise spoke then. “But Martin has other responsibilities too, Di. Responsibilities to the community, as president of the bank.”

“How did you get into this?” Di asked, astonished.

“Don’t be rude, dear,” Claire said.

“Eloise has been taking an interest in this,” Martin said proudly. “She really has had some very sound thoughts about it. Tell Di what you told me, dear.”

Eloise had turned toward the two men. “I told Martin a banker has to do more than just loan money and so forth. He ought to help get things started where a lot of people make money, like a farmer planting things. I mean it’s sort of a responsibility to the community for Martin to do something to help such a big project get started, even though we all might rather have it stay the way it is. It would be different if he was in your position, Di. But a banker has to think of the economic health of the community.”

“I didn’t know you cared,” Di said to her.

“Do you think it’s wrong for me to take an interest in Martin’s work?” she asked.

“No, Eloise,” Di said. “It’s very refreshing.”

“In any case,” Martin said, “the upland is optioned now.”

“And you’re certain you’ve done the right thing?” Di asked.

“I’m doing the reasonable thing, Dial.”

“An option and a nice fat line of credit.”

“That will be up to the Loan Committee.”

“My God, don’t give me that occupational sidestep, Martin!”

“What are you getting angry about? These are local men of good reputation, Dial. They have an option on access. They have their initial capital. Once they have the right to buy the submerged land from the IIF, they can present a very attractive operating picture. I’ve been assured the development will be in... good taste.”

“Martin,” Eloise said, “can we tell them about Turk’s Island?”

“But we aren’t ready to make any public...”

“Please keep it a secret,” Eloise said eagerly. “It’s being done through the Eleanor Marrinar Cable Foundation. The deeds and surveys and ownership of the land on Turk’s Island were in a terrible mess, and the lawyers have been working on it for over three years, buying it through dummies, or however you say it. Pretty soon the foundation will have the last tract, and then the whole island is going to be presented to the State of Florida as a wildlife refuge, along with all the bay bottom between the island and the channel.”

After a long silence Dial Sinnat said bitterly, “Very very neat, folks. It’s too low and too far offshore to be developed. A sop to the bird-watchers, at a very strategic time. We fight for Grassy Bay too, and we look greedy. I suppose you got it set up so that if the state tries anything cute, title reverts to the foundation?”

“Of course,” Martin Cable said. “There are some squatters on the island. They’ll have the right to stay during their lifetime. The foundation will retain a one-hundred-acre piece of high land fronting on the bay for eventual use as a marine biology laboratory site.”

“And this might just happen to be announced at the Public Hearing on the Grassy Bay development?”

“If it seems opportune.”

“Martin, will you answer just one small silly question?”

“I’ll try, Dial.”

“You’re chairman of the Board of Directors of that foundation. Eloise says you started quietly assembling the Turk’s Island property three years ago. Was this the plan you had in mind in the beginning?”

“N-not exactly.”

“When did you decide to do this with it?”

“I’d have to look at the minutes of the meetings. Perhaps six months ago.”

“Martin, was that before or after you heard of the Palmland Development Company plans?”

Martin Cable chuckled softly. “My word, Dial, I’m not that devious, really.”

“Somebody is, dammit!”

“I hardly think so. Dial, I think you’re trying to make a perfectly innocent coincidence appear to be a plot of some sort. As a matter of fact, Eloise and I had that inspiration one afternoon when we were out on the boat off Turk’s Island last autumn.”

“It was really your idea, darling,” Eloise said.

“Maybe I’m turning paranoid,” Di said. “I keep imagining some masterful hand behind this whole damnable deal. But when I think of the primary personnel involved, Burt Lesser, Bill Gormin, Shannard, Felix Aigan and that Flake animal, there just doesn’t seem to be anybody that damn special. I hear there are others in it, but those are the big five. Leroy Shannard is probably the shrewdest of the lot, but he’s never seemed to have the hunger to go with it. The way this whole thing is being shaped up so carefully, it has the mark of a bold and hungry man. It’s as if we had a visiting eagle in our midst. Martin, is there any chance those five guys are fronting for some tough visiting talent? Is the Lauderdale group trying the devious approach, maybe?”

“On the option, I dealt with Burt Lesser, Leroy and Mr. Gormin, Dial. Not for one minute did I have the impression they were ‘fronting’ for anybody, as you put it. After all, isn’t it a very straightforward development operation?”

“There’s money in it. Lots of money. I’ll feel better about the whole thing when they start to make mistakes, Martin. Then I’ll know it’s purely a local project.”

“Aren’t you in favor of the Turk’s Island plan, Di?” Eloise asked in a chilly tone.

“I think it’s just delicious, sweetie,” Di said. “Let’s all drink to the Eleanor Marrinar Cable Foundation, and to truth, beauty and all the little old lady bird-watchers in tennis shoes, to marine biology, public hearings and all the good gray gentlemen of the Chamber of Commerce. Sorry you’ve resigned from our ball club, Martin, my boy. We’re playing in a tough league this year. We’ll miss you.”

“If it wasn’t for the bank...”

“I know. Eloise explained it to me, and very nicely indeed.”

“I think we should be getting back, dear,” Eloise said to her husband. The Cables left about fifteen minutes later, disappearing into the darkness, and then reappearing thirty yards along Gulf Lane under the small glow of one of the few streetlights in the Estates.

Di said, “Ladies, I am still paranoid.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Claire said. She had climbed out of the pool to say goodnight to the Cables. She sat on the foot of Kat’s chaise. Dial sat on the redwood table, his powerful legs dangling, looking down at them.

“Our Eloise has taken a hell of an interest in the dreary world of commerce. Whenever poor Martin talked business, she’d yawn and whine. All of a sudden she’s the helpful little woman. Martin thinks it’s cute. I think it’s very strange. How does it strike you, Kat?”

“It’s a little out of character, maybe. But she could just have decided to take an interest.”

“Or she could be working on Martin, as a favor for a friend. A shrew friend could tell her just what line to take with Martin.”

“She doesn’t act as bored as she used to,” Claire said.

“Martin wouldn’t be a very stimulating husband,” Di said. “She’d be a damn fool to play around. She’s got everything to lose. But she’s a crafty one. I think she has a taste for intrigue.”

“Have you checked her out, dear?” Claire asked, too sweetly.

“I haven’t had the time, the energy or the impulse, sweetheart.”

“I’ll make sure you don’t have.”

“I’m sure you will, love. But forgive me for saying I do have a kind of an instinct for such opportunities. I’d mark her possible, but not probable. My interest is totally academic.”

“See that you keep it that way, buster,” Claire ordered.

“With your help, dear.”

“I better be off too,” Kat said. “You understand why I couldn’t say much. I do work for...”

“We understand,” Claire said. “Di wanted you nearby to listen.”

“And now I want to know what you think,” Di said.

“I guess I feel sort of depressed. The way it’s organized, it’s like a steamroller. I can’t really blame Martin for what he’s doing.”

“But given a choice, Martin always prefers to do nothing. So he’s been pushed. By Lady Eloise. That’s what’s odd.”

“Well, thanks for the drinks and steak,” Kat said.

“Walk her home, Di, and walk Nat back, please. That damn Gus makes me nervous this time of night.”

They renewed their repellent spray and walked toward Kat’s house through the dark night. Di carried a small flashlight.

They had not gone far before he sighed audibly and said, “I really think you ought to sit this one out, Kat.”

“But I couldn’t!” she said. “It’s something I believe in, Di. Gosh, you know how hard Van and I worked that last time.”

“I know, I know. But I have the feeling this one is going to be a little gamey. We fought outsiders last time. This time it’s a civil war, and that’s the kind which can get nasty. I’m going by instinct on this. I have the feeling I’d like to check Lady Eloise out and see if I could come up with something that would turn Martin against the whole scheme. Now, if I can think in those terms, the opposition can too. We’re so damn vulnerable it scares me.”

“Vulnerable? What do you mean, Di?”

“Take a look at our Executive Committee, honey. Pretend you’re an electrician’s wife, and the Grassy Bay deal will give your husband steady work for a long time. Who are the people trying to block it? First, most of them live down there on Sandy Key, so that makes them rich folks. Now look at the individuals who ramrod the S.O.B.’s. That name, by the way, is too sassy. This time it may hurt more than help. The Executive Committee is made up of two retired army officers, one man who retired too soon and got married too often, one dilettante advertising phony, one wife of a magazine artist, one widow of a young architect, one weird old lady amateur scientist, and one pansy gallery director. Who are those nuts to try to take the bread out of our children’s mouths? They just don’t want their view spoiled. They’re just a bunch of rich, nutty, degenerate Communists.”

“Di!”

“It can get that bad, kid, and we are a slightly strange group, you must admit. But I’d guess we’re probably typical of the strange groups all over the country who are fighting with absolute sincerity to protect the countryside from the uglifiers, from the spoilers, the asphalters, the sign merchants, the tree haters. But, God, how vulnerable we are! I just hope they concentrate on trying to make us look silly, the way the Lauderdale group tried. But I have a feeling they’ll use heavier weapons. Hell, it doesn’t matter to me. There’s no way they can touch me. But maybe you ought to make this one a spectator sport.”

“I’m not hiding anything. There’s no way they can hurt me either, Di.”

They were in front of her house. He stopped her and took hold of her hands. “If they find a way to hurt, Kat, just don’t get all choked up with valor. Get right out, will you?”

“But I don’t see how...”

“Then be cautious, honey. Don’t quack with strangers. Wear your life belt at all times, and be ready to abandon ship. The rest of us will understand, and Van would understand too.”

“I’ll be careful, Di, but I...”

“Let’s get this sitter off duty. Miss Natalie Sinnat, the sweet dreamer.”

“She’s a wonderful girl, Di.”

“Excuse me if I agree.”

Natalie looked up quickly as they walked in. She put her book aside and stood up. “So soon?” she said, smiling.

“Martin Cable passed out early,” Di said. “Fell right off his chair wearing a wide drunken smile. Eloise slung him over her shoulder and packed him off home.”

“Again?” Natalie said, shocked and solemn, her eyes sparkling. “The kids were utter lambs, Kat, as usual. No phone calls. I dipped into the Coke supply.”

Her father looked at the four empty bottles on the coffee table and said, “Don’t you mean you wallowed in it, child?”

She blushed visibly and immediately and said most casually, “Oh, Jigger saw me walk the kids home and he came with us and hung around for a while.”

“Indeed!” Di said. “Isn’t he a little young for you? A gloriously beautiful chunk of muscle, I grant you, but that Lesser boy can’t be over seventeen. I’ve made attempts to talk with him, but he seems to have the same shining emptiness as a brass spittoon, child.”

She picked up the empty bottles to take them to the kitchen and looked angrily at her father. “I know he’s young. And he has sort of a crush and I can’t help that. But he’s not empty! He’s just very defensive with adults. He’s a lonely, unhappy boy, and he’s really terribly sensitive, Father.”

“Excuse me!” Di said. “I wouldn’t deny him the chance to unburden his troubled heart to an understanding older woman.”

“You’re terribly amusing, Father,” she said tonelessly, and took the empty bottles to the kitchen. When she came back she said to Kat, “You don’t mind Jigger having been here, do you?”

“Of course not, dear.”

“He has to have somebody to talk to. If he didn’t have, I’m afraid he’d... get into some kind of crazy mess.”

“Like what?” Dial demanded.

“Let’s go, Father.”

After they were gone and Kat had looked at her children, she remembered that this time she had forgotten to even go through the motions of trying to pay Natalie. Maybe, she decided, it was easier to forget the ritual, and not make the attempt.

Natalie was a very poised and adult nineteen. She was a dusky, very slender brunette, with a small piquant face, wide-spaced brown eyes, with a good sense of style and color, and a pert, trim way of handling herself. She was a child of divorce, and this was the first complete summer she had been permitted to spend with her father. In the fall she would return to the University of Michigan where she was taking an undergraduate degree in fine arts. Three mornings a week she was teaching a children’s art class at the Palm County Art Center. She drove a little red Jaguar with a steely competence, sailed Claire’s tender Thistle in hard winds, swam, sunned, sketched and helped with the house, the twins, the entertaining.

As Kat got ready for bed, she had a feeling of loneliness more acute than on the ordinary evenings of her life. For a long time she had wondered why it should always be worse after being out, and thought it was because of coming back to an empty house. Then she had gradually realized that it was worse because there was nobody to tell things to. She would come back full of things to tell, little observations of humor and drama, of things said and done, and there was no one to listen and care. On the ordinary nights nothing happened and so there was no fund of things to relate, and emptiness did not seem as critical. Whenever they had spent an evening apart, Van had enjoyed listening to her. She had liked making him laugh.

There should be a service for widows, she thought. Good listeners who could be acquired by appointment. One of them would be here for the ritual Sanka, eagerly listening, making little exclamations, laughing in the right places.

There has to be somebody to listen to you, because of you, not what you say. Without them, you walk around with the weight of all the untold things. When something happens you say to yourself, I must remember this, so I can tell it just the way it happened. When there is no one to listen, all these things clot in your mind.

When she was in bed she thought that she might talk to Jimmy Wing about the meeting. She turned her bed lamp on again, dialed all but the last digit of his number, and then hung up, clicked the light off and lay back in darkness. It was too late to phone him.