Blowback(34)

I carried that thought with me down to the lake and onto the beach-and lost it when I saw the two people sitting with their heads together like a couple of conspirators, or a couple of lovers, in the shadows up near the trees. There was a flash of white as one of them moved and then a deep lazy rumble of laughter from the other one. Mrs. Jerrold. And Todd Cody.

Well goddamn it, I thought, and veered up toward them. They could see me clearly enough, silhouetted against the lake, but neither of them moved as I approached. I told myself to take it easy, keep things light and affable, but there was a knot of anger in my chest; I slid my hands into my pockets to keep them from clenching.

They were sitting on a flat outcropping of rock, bare shoulders touching, and Mrs. Jerrold had her legs stretched out in front of her and her arms folded under her breasts so that they bunched up like a couple of half-peeled melons inside the white halter top of her bikini. Cody was in that skintight bathing suit of his, a towel draped around his neck. His expression was insolent, and the smile on his mouth had a fox-in-the-henhouse leer to it.

Mrs. Jerrold's smile was more tentative. “The water's lovely,” she said. “We've just been in.”

“Have you?”

“Yes. God, it's muggy, isn't it.”

“Too muggy for anything but swimming.”

She nodded, but Cody took it the way I meant it and let me hear his snotty laugh. “That's not necessarily so,” he said. “Look at that moon, that lake-it's a perfect night for making love.”

“You're a romantic, Todd,” she said.

“Sure. One of the last romantics in a world of cynical pragmatists.”

I said nothing; I did not trust myself to say anything just then.

Mrs. Jerrold shifted slightly on the rock. “Todd's invited me to his cabin for gin and tonic,” she said to me. “Why don't you join us after you've had your swim?”

“He doesn't look like the gin-and-tonic type,” Cody said, and he was mocking me. He was young enough to be my son, and he was sitting there mocking me with another man's wife.

I said tightly, holding onto my temper, “No, I'm not the gin-and-tonic type. I'm the beer-and-pretzels type. And I'm not a romantic, I'm a cynical pragmatist. Thanks anyway, Mrs. Jerrold.”

“Angela-please?”

“Thanks anyway, Mrs. Jerrold,” I said. Then, pointedly, “How's your husband doing tonight?”

“Oh, well, he's… sleeping.”

“That's probably a good idea, don't you think? I understand you're leaving tomorrow; you've got a long drive ahead of you.”

“That's true. But it's so hot…”

“Gin only makes you hotter,” I said.

Cody had stopped smiling; he got up on his feet and narrowed his eyes at me. “If Angela wants a gin and tonic to cool off, man, that's her business.”

“It might be her husband's too,” I said. “He's the jealous type, or haven't you noticed?”

“What the hell are you, her father?”

“Stop it, Todd.” She sighed softly and stood up. “Ray can be awfully jealous, you know, and it is getting late. I'd better get back.”

“Hell, Angela-”

She patted his arm. “It was a nice swim, wasn't it?” she said. “Good night.” Then she gave me a thin, pouty look, but not the good night, and left the two of us alone.

Cody took a step closer to me and shoved his jaw out belligerently. “I don't like people sticking their noses in my life, man,” he said.

“That's too bad, man.”

“Maybe you're jealous yourself, huh? You'd like to make it with her but you haven't got the tools, so you screw it up for somebody who has.”

I brought my hands out of my pockets. “Listen, I've had about all of your mouth I can stand. Suppose you button it the hell up.”

“I don't have to take crap like that from you.”

“All right,” I said, “don't take it.”

But he was not going to get into anything with me, any more than he had wanted to get into anything with Jerrold yesterday. He was all mouth, the kind of guy who goes through life blowing in the wind and then backing away when the blowing threatens to push somebody over on him.

He pulled his lip into a sneer and said, “Another big macho,” and then pivoted away from me. After half a dozen steps I heard him mutter, “Fat old bastard.” He said it louder than he'd intended and he threw a quick, half-furtive look over his shoulder to see if I had heard. I stayed where I was, silent. He lifted the towel from around his neck, walking in a slow swagger, and flicked it back toward me in what was probably supposed to be a gesture of contempt.

I stood there seething. Fat old bastard, I thought. Fat. Old. Bastard. I looked down at myself, at the way my stomach bulged over the waistband of my trunks, at the gray snarls of hair that grew on the bulge. Fat old bastard.