The Man Who Loved His Wife by Vera Caspary

turned high and the door closed. “You don’t think she was sore, do you?”
    â€œI did my best to smooth out the ruffled plumage.”
    â€œYou were adorable.” Cindy kissed the tip of his chin. “If businessmen were women, you’d be a millionaire.”
    Don stripped off his shirt and flexed his muscles at the suntanned fellow in the mirror. “Never underestimate the power of a woman. Her old man may be clay in Nan’s little hand.”
    â€œWasn’t Daddy terrible, though? Tomorrow, Donnie, I’m going to tell him what I thought of that performance—”
    â€œNot if you want the house. Tomorrow you’re going to ask Daddy for five thousand dollars. And one thousand of it right away.”
    â€œYou’re the man, darling, you’ve got to ask.”
    Implacable, the man said, “You’re his daughter, the sweetest little girl in the world. Remember, daughter dear, it’s only a loan you’re asking for.”
    â€œHe’ll squawk at me in that voice. It makes me sick. I just can’t take it.”
    The argument went on until they reached a compromise. Cindy would gird up courage and appeal to her father; Don would charm Elaine into using her influence with Fletcher. This seemed a brilliant idea. A couple of cocktails stiffened their courage. Fletcher drank a lot before and during dinner. Afterward they played bridge and he won. This seemed a good omen.
    CINDY AND DON came to breakfast promptly. She explained prettily that she had decided to get up every morning at the crack of dawn, and do something useful. “After all, a vacation can’t last forever, you know.” She kissed Fletcher on both cheeks and ran to the kitchen to help Elaine. Don explained that he had an early appointment with Douglas Lyman Carter III about an opening in his family’s firm. Fletcher grunted something that Don preferred not to understand. Since the day he arrived in California, Don had been talking about his fraternity brother, the Carter heir. After several meetings and manymartinis, Don had been introduced to the personnel manager of Carter Consolidated. An opening had been mentioned, but it was neither interesting nor remunerative enough for a man of Don’s caliber. Young Doug had laughed at the very idea of his fraternity brother’s taking a job on a junior-junior level and promised a personal meeting with his grandfather.
    â€œToday’s the day. Doug’s done a top-selling job because the old man’s giving me a half hour of his time.” Don was never more blithe than in a spontaneous lie.
    â€œGood luck,” Elaine said.
    Cindy wore a pink ribbon in her hair. It gave her an innocent look so that she seemed only a little older than the ruffled child in the photograph on Fletcher’s desk. This picture was the one souvenir that Fletcher had wanted to keep after he married Elaine. It brought back memories of the days when his daughter had been adoring and adorable, and he had given her four Saturdays a year. They had gone off together like clandestine lovers, freed of his wife’s heavy companionship; to beach or circus or rodeo or ice show; to overeat and laugh boisterously together. He had been looked upon as the king of happiness and had bestowed extravagant toys.
    Cindy served Fletcher’s toast and eggs. In the softest of little-girl voices she asked if Daddy would like to have her come and play golf with him. “Not that I’m good enough . . . I’m more of the tennis type . . . but if you’d want me . . .” She had dressed for the links in a misty pink and gray plaid dress and flat shoes.
    She played deplorably, and the sun beat down like punishment. Fletcher tested her by going the full eighteen holes. She bore it valiantly so that he felt sorry and invited her to lunch. He suspected that she was out after a gift, perhaps a new dress for that shindig on Monday night. Why not give it to her?