Two Much!

16

Sunday morning Betty said, “Bart, I think I’ll go into town with you.”

“That’s wonderful,” I said.

She gave me a conspiratorial smirk. “We’ll leave Liz alone here with Art.”

“Sneaky of us,” I said.

Liz had returned this morning, probably in anticipation of Art’s arrival. Could she actually have spent last night — not to mention Wednesday and Thursday and Friday nights — coupled with that creep Volpinex? Had the woman no standards at all? There was no telling from looking at her, of course. Briefly I considered probing more deeply while in my Art persona, but quickly abandoned that idea. Art, after all, had not seen Liz and the ferret together. Also, Liz was far too sharp for me to get cute with.

Anyway, I now had a much more serious problem to deal with. Betty was coming to town with me? How could Art spend the next three days with Liz if Bart was stuck in Manhattan with Betty? For the first time I found myself wishing I actually were twins.

All right. Every problem can be dealt with, if we but try. I managed to get away from Betty briefly, and phoned the Minck household. Let Ralph answer, I prayed, and let it not be Candy.

Well, it was neither. It was a snot-nosed brat. “Child,” I said. “I wish you to take down a phone number, and if you take it down wrong I shall come to your house tonight with a hatchet and chop off your feet.”

“I’ll get it right,” the child said defensively. “I always do.”

Slowly I read off the number from the phone in front of me, then demanded the child read it back. Only when it was read back to me with no numbers transposed or misinterpreted did I move on. “I wish you, child,” I said, “to go to your father at once, tell him it’s important, and tell him to call this number and ask for Bart. B. A. R. T. Got it?”

The child, upon reading it back, turned out to have it.

“Good, child,” I said. “Your father must call this number within half an hour. Not your mother — your father. Got that?”

The child said yes. We both hung up. I went off to the kitchen and prepared myself a drink containing alcohol. Then there was nothing to do but rejoin Betty on the front porch and wait.

Twenty minutes. I was becoming fidgety, I was having trouble concentrating on Betty’s heartwarming tales of college days at dear old Bennington. I was on the verge of losing my sweet disposition. What the hell was I doing all this for anyway? The card racket wasn’t major money, but it was keeping me housed and fed. Screw the world’s third largest supplier of wood and wood products and the several other firms and the television station in Indiana. Let the money go, let Volpinex have both sisters and whatever else he wanted; why should I strain myself when the whole scam was certain to fall apart sooner or later anyway?

Phone. Ting-aling-aling; what a cheerful sound.

Through which Betty kept talking, paying no attention. “Dear,” I said. “Wasn’t that the phone?”

“Hm?”

Ting-aling-aling. “The telephone,” I said. “I think it’s ringing.”

She’d been halfway through a story as fascinating as the road from Cairo to Aqaba and the interruption made her irritable. “Now, who could that be?”

“Someone who wants to talk to you,” I suggested, and for the third time the phone went ting-aling-aling.

“Oh, well.” At last she got off her ass and went inside and I heard her say, “Hello?” Yes, yes, yes. “Just a minute.” Ahhhh. “Ba-art?”

“Mmm?”

“It’s for you.”

“Really?” Already on my feet, I strolled into the house and crossed the living room toward the phone she was extending in my direction. “Who is it?”

“I’ll ask,’ she said, and dipped her head toward the receiver.”

Christ. “Never mind, it’s okay.” I took the phone away from her and said, “Hello?”

Ralph’s voice. “Art? Is that you?”

“Oh, Art!” I said. And I mouthed silently at Betty. It’s Art. She nodded hugely, understanding.

“The darn kids got it wrong again,” Ralph was saying. “They thought you said Bart.”

“Oh, that’s a shame,” I said.

“Well, at least they got the phone number right.”

“Well, sure,” I said.

“You think so? You’d be surprised how those kids can louse up a message.”

“If you say so,” I said.

“Art? Is there something wrong?”

“I’m really sorry to hear that,” I said. Betty was mouthing What is it? I gestured at her to wait.

Ralph was saying, “What? No, I didn’t mean there was anything wrong with me, I meant was there— Uh, is everything okay there?”

I said, “You sure I can’t help?”

“I’m fine, Art,” he said. “Listen, you’re all confused.”

“Well, okay,” I said, sounding doubtful.

“You wanted me to call you, right?”

“Then I’ll give you a ring tomorrow,” I said.

“Oh, I get it. There’s somebody there right now, and you can’t talk.”

“Sure,” I said.

“You and your girls,” he said, with a little chuckle of envy. “Okay, I’ll talk to you later.”

“Any time at all,” I said.

“So long.”

Would he ever get off the goddamn phone? “That’s right,” I said.

“Well, uh...” For the love of Christ, Ralph! “So long, then.” And he finally hung the hell up.

“The thing is, Art,” I told the dead phone, “when I came back East it was to be helpful.” I waited; the phone said buzzzz. “Well, sure, kid, I realize that” Buzzzzzz. “Fine. Then I’ll see you Wednesday.” Buzzzzzz. “So long.”

I hung up, and Betty said, “What was that all about?”

“That was Art,” I said.

“Well, I know that. What did he want?”

“He can’t come out this week. There’s some tax problem, auditing the company books, something like that. I really don’t know enough about that side of the business yet, so Art has to handle it himself.”

“Oh, that’s too bad,” she said. “Liz will be disappointed.”

“So’s Art,” I said, and I meant it. “But he says I should just stay out here all this week. There wouldn’t be room for me in the apartment with him there.”

“Well, we’ll stay in my place,” she said.

Another complication? “What place?”

“In Manhattan.”

“Gee,” I said, “I do hate to waste these summer days. It’s so much nicer out here.”

She gave me a coquettish look. “But we have a special reason to go to the city,” she said. “Don’t you know what it is?”

I didn’t, and I hate uncertainty. Life is tricky enough as it is. “Some special reason to be in New York?”

“Do you know who I’m going to be by Wednesday?”

“Who you’re going to be?”

“I’m going to be Mrs. Bart Dodge,” she informed me, then abruptly flung her arms about me and kissed me on the ear and neck. “Isn’t that going to be wonderful?”

“Fabulous,” I said, which was the simple truth.

She released me, and I saw there were stars in her eyes. “Do you think your brother could be our best man?”

“Gee, what a great idea,” I said. “Of course, he might be too busy this week, but I’ll sure ask him.”