no chance at all. Victimized all of his short life by brother James.
A few relatives were there. Not many. Most of them, I suspected, were in Missouri. Even the ones that came looked like country cousins. Their clothes weren’t on a par with Jim and Audrey’s. Yes, Jim had his wife with him. It was his concession to appearance After all, this was in the paper and no breath of scandal must besmirch the moment.
Some people there I didn’t understand. They were men mostly. And there was something about them. Something faintly tawdry in spite of the clothes they wore. An aura of inherent cheapness and vulgarity.
They didn’t look too sad either. One of them even snickered during the service. Jim didn’t hear it. But Steig did and I saw him put his big hand on the man’s shoulder and the man went white.
The relatives played their expected role. They looked sad. They clucked pityingly. They commented. Once I thought it was a joke, that line about how “natural” the corpse looks. Well, it’s not a joke. I heard it about five times that afternoon.
And there was poor Dennis, unable to complain, lying up there in front and taking it straight. That ugly little hole in his temple all covered up and prettied. Dennis finally at peace. The hard way.
Peggy didn’t speak to me much. She kept her head lowered during much of the service. I don’t think she looked at Dennis once. Her dark gloved hands were clasped tight in her lap. The thought in my mind that she might have caused all this was enough to make my hands tremble spasmodically all afternoon.
I watched Audrey in the front row. I’d been surprised to see her at first. I didn’t think Jim would want her there. Maybe he didn’t.
Maybe she went in spite of his wishes. But there she was at his side, thinner-looking than ever in her black dress, looking at Dennis fixedly.
When the dismal charade was over and we had all guessed that Dennis was dead, we filed out in the sunlight and found Wilshire boulevard much the same and all the people thereon alive and moving.
The assemblage milled respectably in front of the parlor. They made gentle, strained smiles and spoke in muted, strained tones.
“Horrible thing, James, horrible.”
Jim nodding gravely, lips pressed together. To keep back a smile? I didn’t know.
“The dear boy looked so natural.”
Chicken claw hands plucking at pearls. A relative ghoul passing comment on the dead.
I didn’t concentrate on staying by Peggy and somehow, Jim managed to get her beside him. So I moved over to where Audrey stood with an aunt.
As I approached, the woman said a few extra words of vain condolence and then passed into the void.
Audrey looked at me, dry-eyed and dead sober, it appeared. There was a certain classic loveliness about her. Dressed in black, her dark hair pulled back tight, her eyes as funereal as her outfit, her skin pale and clear.
She tried to smile at me but couldn’t, it was nice of you to come,” she said.
I took her hand and squeezed it.
“I’m sorry for him,” I said. “That’s why I came.”
As I stood close to her now. I noticed her breath. She wasn’t sober. Sorrow had just given her the capacity to hold it in. She was as taut as a drum. I got the impression that it wouldn’t take much to unhinge her.
“I’ll be going.” I said.
She held onto my hand
“Don’t leave me,” she whispered. “Don’t leave me with these, jackals. Relatives waiting for scraps. And those . . . those tramps.”
I didn’t know what she meant. But I stayed as her fingers dug pleadingly into my arm.
“Have you your car?” she asked. “Yes, but . . .”
“Take me somewhere,’’ she begged, “anywhere, David. I’ve got to have a drink or I’ll go out of my mind.”
“But I’m with Peggy.”
“Does she look as if she’ll have to walk home?” she asked bitterly.
“Well,” I said, “I should . . .”
* * *
The bar was cool, dark and empty. We sat in a back booth. Outside July
A few relatives were there. Not many. Most of them, I suspected, were in Missouri. Even the ones that came looked like country cousins. Their clothes weren’t on a par with Jim and Audrey’s. Yes, Jim had his wife with him. It was his concession to appearance After all, this was in the paper and no breath of scandal must besmirch the moment.
Some people there I didn’t understand. They were men mostly. And there was something about them. Something faintly tawdry in spite of the clothes they wore. An aura of inherent cheapness and vulgarity.
They didn’t look too sad either. One of them even snickered during the service. Jim didn’t hear it. But Steig did and I saw him put his big hand on the man’s shoulder and the man went white.
The relatives played their expected role. They looked sad. They clucked pityingly. They commented. Once I thought it was a joke, that line about how “natural” the corpse looks. Well, it’s not a joke. I heard it about five times that afternoon.
And there was poor Dennis, unable to complain, lying up there in front and taking it straight. That ugly little hole in his temple all covered up and prettied. Dennis finally at peace. The hard way.
Peggy didn’t speak to me much. She kept her head lowered during much of the service. I don’t think she looked at Dennis once. Her dark gloved hands were clasped tight in her lap. The thought in my mind that she might have caused all this was enough to make my hands tremble spasmodically all afternoon.
I watched Audrey in the front row. I’d been surprised to see her at first. I didn’t think Jim would want her there. Maybe he didn’t.
Maybe she went in spite of his wishes. But there she was at his side, thinner-looking than ever in her black dress, looking at Dennis fixedly.
When the dismal charade was over and we had all guessed that Dennis was dead, we filed out in the sunlight and found Wilshire boulevard much the same and all the people thereon alive and moving.
The assemblage milled respectably in front of the parlor. They made gentle, strained smiles and spoke in muted, strained tones.
“Horrible thing, James, horrible.”
Jim nodding gravely, lips pressed together. To keep back a smile? I didn’t know.
“The dear boy looked so natural.”
Chicken claw hands plucking at pearls. A relative ghoul passing comment on the dead.
I didn’t concentrate on staying by Peggy and somehow, Jim managed to get her beside him. So I moved over to where Audrey stood with an aunt.
As I approached, the woman said a few extra words of vain condolence and then passed into the void.
Audrey looked at me, dry-eyed and dead sober, it appeared. There was a certain classic loveliness about her. Dressed in black, her dark hair pulled back tight, her eyes as funereal as her outfit, her skin pale and clear.
She tried to smile at me but couldn’t, it was nice of you to come,” she said.
I took her hand and squeezed it.
“I’m sorry for him,” I said. “That’s why I came.”
As I stood close to her now. I noticed her breath. She wasn’t sober. Sorrow had just given her the capacity to hold it in. She was as taut as a drum. I got the impression that it wouldn’t take much to unhinge her.
“I’ll be going.” I said.
She held onto my hand
“Don’t leave me,” she whispered. “Don’t leave me with these, jackals. Relatives waiting for scraps. And those . . . those tramps.”
I didn’t know what she meant. But I stayed as her fingers dug pleadingly into my arm.
“Have you your car?” she asked. “Yes, but . . .”
“Take me somewhere,’’ she begged, “anywhere, David. I’ve got to have a drink or I’ll go out of my mind.”
“But I’m with Peggy.”
“Does she look as if she’ll have to walk home?” she asked bitterly.
“Well,” I said, “I should . . .”
* * *
The bar was cool, dark and empty. We sat in a back booth. Outside July
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