Democracy by Joan Didion Page B

seeing a cracker given this level of attention.
    “A real bitch. This whole deal. She was perfectly fine when I left for Guam.”
    “Why wouldn’t she have been,” Inez said.
    Dick Ziegler did not look up. “She was going up to San Francisco Friday. To see the boys. Chris and Timmy were coming up from school, she had it all planned.”
    “I mean it’s not a lingering illness,” Inez said. “Getting shot.”
    “Inez,” Dwight Christian said. “See if this doesn’t beat any martini you get in New York.”
    “You don’t exhibit symptoms,” Inez said.
    “Inez,” Billy Dillon said.
    “I add one drop of glycerine,” Dwight Christian said. “Old Oriental trick.”
    “She’d already made a dinner reservation,” Dick Ziegler said. “For the three of them. At Trader’s.”
    “You don’t lose your appetite either,” Inez said.
    “Inez,” Billy Dillon repeated.
    “I heard you the first time,” Inez said.
    “What’s the trouble here,” Dick Ziegler said.
    “About Wendell Omura,” Inez said.
    “Ruthie’s on top of that.” Dwight Christian seemed to have slipped into an executive mode. “Flowers to the undertaker. Something to the house. Deepest condolences. Tragic accident, distinguished service. Et cetera. Ruthie?”
    “Millie’s doing her crab thing.” Ruthie began spreading crackers with the shrimp paste. “To send to the house.”
    “That’s not just what I meant,” Inez said.
    “I hardly knew the guy, frankly,” Dick Ziegler said. “On a personal basis.”
    “Somebody must have known him,” Inez said. “On a personal basis.”
    Dwight Christian cleared his throat. “Adlai still a big Mets fan, Inez?”
    Inez looked at Billy Dillon.
    Billy Dillon stood up. “I think what Inez means—”
    “Jessie still so horse crazy?” Ruthie Christian said.
    “Horse crazy,” Billy Dillon repeated. “Yes. She is. You could say that. Now. If I read Inez correctly—amend this if I’m off base, Inez—Inez is still just a little unclear about—”
    Billy Dillon trailed off.
    Now Ruthie Christian was arranging the spread crackers to resemble a chrysanthemum.
    “This is a delicate area,” Billy Dillon said finally.
    Inez put down her glass. “Inez is still just a little unclear about what Wendell Omura was doing on Janet and Dick’s lanai at seven in the morning,” she said. “Number one. Number two—”
    “Tell Jessie we’ve got a new Arabian at the ranch,” Dwight Christian said. “Pereira blue mare, dynamite.”
    “—Two, Inez is still just a little unclear about what Daddy was doing on Janet and Dick’s lanai with a Magnum.”
    “Your father wasn’t seen on the lanai,” Dick Ziegler said. “He was seen leaving the house. Let’s keep our facts straight.”
    “Dick,” Inez said. “He said he was on the lanai. He said he fired the Magnum. You know that.”
    There was a silence.
    “You should get Inez to show you the ranch, Billy.” Ruthie Christian did not look up. “Ask Millie to pack you a lunch, make a day of it.”
    “Number three,” Inez said, “although less crucial, Inez is still just a little unclear about what Daddy was doing at the YMCA.”
    “If you drove around by the windward side you could see Dick’s new project,” Ruthie Christian said. “Sea Ranch? Sea Mountain? Whatever he calls it.”
    “He calls it Sea Meadow,” Dwight Christian said. “Which suggests its drawback.”
    “Let’s not get started on that,” Dick Ziegler said.
    “Goddamn swamp, as it stands.”
    “So was downtown Honolulu, Dwight. As it stood.”
    “Sea Meadow. I call that real truth-in-labeling. Good grazing for shrimp.”
    “Prime acreage, Dwight. As you know.”
    “Prime swamp. Excuse me. Sacred prime swamp. Turns out Dick’s bought himself an old kahuna burial ground. Strictly kapu to developers.”
    “ Kapu my ass. Kapu only after you started playing footsie with Wendell Omura.”
    “Speaking of Wendell Omura,” Inez said.
    “If you went around the windward