18mm Blues by Gerald A Browne Page A

when they were really going to eat.
    â€œDid a shipment arrive from Sri Lanka this morning?” Harold asked.
    â€œNot that I know of.”
    â€œProbably still in customs. Juja is sending some yellow sapphires they say are the finest they’ve found in years.”
    â€œCooked goods?”
    â€œThey say not but I hear Juja is hurting, so they could be cutting back on reliability. Look into it.”
    â€œSure.”
    â€œThe whole fucking market is hurting,” Harold grumbled, as though the thought was more lenient let out. He munched and asked, “Heard from Gayle?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œI spoke to her last night early.”
    â€œWhere is she?”
    â€œWith her Aunt Miriam in Rancho Santa Fe, but she doesn’t want you running down there.”
    Grady tried to recall anyone ever mentioning an Aunt Miriam. “When’s she coming back?”
    â€œAs soon as everything’s settled. It would only be confusing and painful for her if she came back now.”
    â€œWhat’s not settled?”
    â€œGayle wants a divorce.”
    Grady allowed the words to sink in. They didn’t have the impact they should have. “Shouldn’t she be telling me?”
    Harold sat up so his words would be right at Grady. “Look, Bowman”—What happened to Grady? Grady thought—“I didn’t have you over here today to get tangled up in your emotional attitudes. It just happens that Gayle says she wants a divorce and I’m not the one to talk her out of it. Hell, divorce is no big deal, just an evolutionary paragraph, so to speak, a kind of healthful hitch that breaks up the tedium. Know what I mean?”
    Grady knew. He’d heard it from Harold a number of times before, nearly syllable for syllable, Harold’s condensed rationale for his four failed marriages. Once at a dinner gathering someone had pressed Harold to explain those words, and all Harold could do was repeat them.
    â€œNo,” Harold continued, “I very definitely don’t want my life sullied by your resentments and despondency.”
    Why presume I’m despondent? Grady thought.
    â€œNaturally my favor falls on Gayle’s side,” Harold said, “and I’ll be looking out for her interests.”
    â€œVery definitely and naturally.”
    â€œAre you ridiculing me?”
    Grady looked away.
    â€œAnyway, Bowman, what you and I have to straighten out has to do with business.”
    â€œLike what?”
    â€œTo get right to the bone of it, considering the deterioration of your and Gayle’s relationship, I don’t see how you’ll be able to function comfortably in the firm.”
    He’s right, Grady thought.
    â€œNeither of us wants to suffer that kind of aggravation, do we?”
    Grady thought he sure didn’t, said so.
    Harold flashed his gold crown. “Good. I’ve always had faith in your business sense.”
    Always isn’t forever, Grady thought. Always is as long as there isn’t a hitch, no need for an evolutionary paragraph. He didn’t know whether he should laugh or be bitter.
    â€œOf course, I’ll help you get resituated any way I can.” Another gold flash. “Actually it’s been a pretty good ride, ten years, hasn’t it?”
    What shit, Grady thought.
    Harold’s face tightened again. “The other matter we have to set right is the house,” he said.
    Grady gathered Harold meant the house in Mill Valley. When he and Gayle were first married they’d lived in a leased apartment on Russian Hill. Gayle seemed to be satisfied with it for a while, less than a year, really, but then insisted on the house. Harold insisted on financing it, as though his holding the mortgage was a gift. “In case there’s ever a sudden need to have it free and clear,” he’d said. It was all drawn up tightly, the 30 percent down, the monthly payments including interest. A fifteen-year