Jaws Part 13

"Not if it's lamb, it isn't. Lamb's supposed to be cooked through, well done."

"Martin, believe me. It's all right to cook a b.u.t.terfly lamb sort of medium. I promise you."

Brody raised his voice. "I'm not gonna eat raw lamb!"

"Ssshhh! For G.o.d's sake. Can't you keep your voice down?" Brody said in a hoa.r.s.e whisper, "Then put the G.o.ddam thing back till it's done."

"It's done!" said Ellen. "If you don't want to eat it, don't eat it, but that's the way I'm going to serve it."

"Then cut it yourself." Brody dropped the knife and fork on the carving board, picked up the two bottles of red wine, and left the kitchen.

"There'll be a slight delay," he said as he approached the table, "while the cook kills our dinner. She tried to serve it as it was, but it bit her on the leg." He raised a bottle of wine over one of the clean gla.s.ses and said, "I wonder why you're not allowed to serve red wine in the same gla.s.s the white wine was."

"The tastes," said Meadows, "don't complement each other."

"What you're saying is, it'll give you gas." Brody flied the six gla.s.ses and sat down. He took a sip of wine, said, "Good," then took another sip and another. He refilled his gla.s.s.

Ellen came in from the kitchen carrying the carving board. She set it on the sideboard next to a stack of plates. She returned to the kitchen and came back, carrying two vegetable dishes. "I hope it's good," she said. "I haven't tried it before."

"What is it?" asked Dorothy Meadows. "It smells delicious."

"b.u.t.terfly lamb. Marinated."

"Really? What's in the marinade?"

"Ginger, soy sauce, a whole bunch of things." She put a thick slice of lamb, some asparagus and summer squash on each plate, and pa.s.sed the plates to Meadows, who sent them down and around the table.

When everyone had been served and Ellen had sat down, Hooper raised his gla.s.s and said, "A toast to the chef."

The others raised their gla.s.ses, and Brody said, "Good luck." Meadows took a bite of meat, chewed it, savored it, and said, "Fantastic. It's like the tenderest of sirloins, only better. What a splendid flavor."

"Coming from you, Harry," said Ellen, "that's a special compliment."

"It's delicious," said Dorothy. "Will you promise to give me the recipe? Harry will never forgive me if I don't give this to him at least once a week."

"He better rob a bank," said Brody.

"But it is delicious, Martin, don't you think?" Brody didn't answer. He had started to chew a piece of meat when another wave of nausea hit him. Once again sweat popped out on his forehead. He felt detached, as if his body were controlled by someone else. He sensed panic at the loss of motor control. His fork felt heavy, and for a moment he feared it might slip from his fingers and clatter onto the table. He gripped it with his fist and held on. He was sure his tongue wouldn't behave if he tried to speak. It was the wine. It had to be the wine. With greatly exaggerated precision, he reached forward to push his wine gla.s.s away from him. He slid (60) his fingers along the tablecloth to minimize the chances of knocking over the gla.s.s. He sat back and took a deep breath. His vision blurred. He tried to focus his eyes on a painting above Ellen's head, but he was distracted by the image of Ellen talking to Hooper. Every time she spoke she touched Hooper's arm --lightly, but, Brody thought, intimately, as if they were sharing secrets. He didn't hear what anyone was saying. The last thing he remembered hearing was, "Don't you think?" How long ago was that? Who had said it? He didn't know. He looked at Meadows, who was talking to Daisy. Then he looked at Dorothy and said thickly, "Yes."

"What did you say, Martin?" She looked up at him, "Did you say something?" He couldn't speak. He wanted to stand and walk out to the kitchen, but he didn't trust his legs. He'd never make it without holding on to something. Just sit still, he told himself. It'll pa.s.s.

And it did. His head began to clear. Ellen was touching Hooper again. Talk and touch, talk and touch. "Boy, it's hot," he said. He stood up and walked, carefully but steadily, to a window and tugged it open. He leaned on the sill and pressed his face against the screen. "Nice night," he said. He straightened up. "I think I'll get a gla.s.s of water." He walked into the kitchen and shook his head. He turned on the cold-water tap and rubbed some water on his brow. He filled a gla.s.s and drank it down, then refilled it and drank that down. He took a few deep breaths, went back into the dining room, and sat down. He looked at the food on his plate. Then he suppressed a s.h.i.+ver and smiled at Dorothy.

"Any more, anybody?" said Ellen. "There's plenty here."

"Indeed," said Meadows. "But you'd better serve the others first. Left to my own devices, I'd eat the whole thing."

"And you know what you'd be saying tomorrow," said Brody.

"What's that?"

Brody lowered his voice and said gravely, "I can't believe I ate the whole thing."

Meadows and Dorothy laughed, and Hooper said, in a high falsetto whine, "No, Ralph, I ate it." Then even Ellen laughed. It was going to be all right. By the time dessert was served --coffee ice cream in a pool of creme de cacao --Brody was feeling well. He had two helpings of ice cream, and he chatted amiably with Dorothy. He smiled when Daisy told him a story about lacing the stuffing at last Thanksgiving's turkey with marijuana.

"My only worry," said Daisy, "was that my maiden aunt called Thanksgiving morning and asked if she could come for dinner. The turkey was already made and stuffed."

"So what happened?" said Brody.

"I tried to sneak her some turkey without stuffing, but she made a point of asking for it, so I said what the heck and gave her a big spoonful."

"And?"

"By the end of the meal she was giggling like a little girl. She even wanted to dance. To Hair yet."

"It's a good thing I wasn't there," said Brody. "I would have arrested you for corrupting the morals of a maiden."

They had coffee in the living room, and Brody offered drinks, but only Meadows accepted. "A tiny brandy, if you have it," he said. Brody looked at Ellen, as if to ask, Do we have any? "In the cupboard, I think," she said.

Brody poured Meadows' drink and thought briefly of pouring one for himself. But he resisted, telling himself, Don't press your luck.

At a little after ten, Meadows yawned and said, "Dorothy, I think we had best take our leave. I find it hard to fulfill the public trust if I stay up too late."

"I should go, too," said Daisy. "I have to be at work at eight. Not that we're selling very much these days."

"You're not alone, my dear," said Meadows. (61)

"I know. But when you work on commission, you really feel it."

"Well, let's hope the worst is over. From what I gather from our expert here, there's a good chance the leviathan has left." Meadows stood up.

"A chance," said Hooper. "I hope so." He rose to go. "I should be on my way, too."

"Oh, don't go!" Ellen said to Hooper. The words came out much stronger than she had intended. Instead of a pleasant request, they sounded a shrill plea. She was embarra.s.sed, and she added quickly, "I mean, the night is young. It's only ten."

"I know," said Hooper. "But if the weather's any good tomorrow, I want to get up early and get into the water. Besides, I have a car and I can drop Daisy off on my way home."

Daisy said, "That would be fun." Her voice, as usual, was without tone or color, suggesting nothing.

"The Meadows can drop her," Ellen said.

"True," said Hooper, "but I really should go so I can get up early. But thanks for the thought."

They said their good-bys at the front door --perfunctory compliments, redundant thanks. Hooper was the last to leave, and when he extended his hand to Ellen, she took it in both of hers and said, "Thank you so much for my shark tooth."

"You're welcome. I'm glad you like it."

"And thank you for being so nice to the children. They were fascinated to meet you."

"So was I. It was a little weird, though. I must have been about Sean's age when I knew you before. You haven't changed much at all."

"Well, you've certainly changed."

"I hope so. I'd hate to be nine all of my life."

"We'll see you again before you go?"

"Count on it."

"Wonderful." She released his hand. He said a quick good night to Brody and walked to his ear.

Ellen waited at the door until the last of the ears had pulled out of the driveway, then she turned off the outside light. Without a word, she began to pick up the gla.s.ses, coffee cups, and ashtrays from the living room.

Brody carried a stack of dessert dishes into the kitchen, set them on the sink, and said, "Well, that was all right." He meant nothing by the remark, and sought nothing more than rote agreement.

"No thanks to you," said Ellen.

"What?"

"You were awful."

"I was?" He was genuinely surprised at the ferocity of her attack. "I know I got a little queasy there for a minute, but I didn't think --"

"All evening, from start to finish, you were awful."

"That's a lot of c.r.a.p!"

"You'll wake the children."

"I don't give a d.a.m.n. I'm not going to let you stand there and work out your own hang-ups by telling me I'm a s.h.i.+t."

Ellen smiled bitterly. "You see? There you go again."

"Where do I go again? What are you talking about?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Just like that. You don't want to talk about it. Look... okay, I was wrong about the G.o.ddam meat. I shouldn't have blown my stack. I'm sorry. Now..."

"I said I don't want to talk about it!"

Brody was ready for a fight, but he backed off, sober enough to realize that his only weapons were cruelty and innuendo, and that Ellen was close to tears. And tears, whether shed in o.r.g.a.s.m or in anger, disconcerted him. So he said only, "Well, I'm sorry about that." He walked out of the kitchen and climbed the stairs. In the bedroom, as he was undressing, the thought occurred to him that the cause (62) of all the unpleasantness, the source of the whole mess, was a fish: a mindless beast that he had never seen. The ludicrousness of the thought made him smile. He crawled into bed and, almost simultaneous with the touch of his head to the pillow, fell into a dreamless sleep.

A boy and his date sat drinking beer at one end of the long mahogany bar in the Randy Bear. The boy was eighteen, the son of the pharmacist at the Amity Pharmacy.

"You'll have to tell him sometime," said the girl.

"I know. And when I do, he's gonna go bulls.h.i.+t."

"It wasn't your fault."

"You know what he'll say? It must have been my fault. I must have done something, or else they would have kept me and canned somebody else."

"But they fired a lot of kids."

"They kept a lot, too."

"How did they decide who to keep?"

"They didn't say. They just said they weren't getting enough guests to justify a big staff, so they were letting some of us go. Boy, my old man is gonna go right through the roof."

"Can't he call them? He must know somebody there. I mean, if he says you really need the money for college..."

"He wouldn't do it. That'd be begging." The boy finished his beer. "There's only one thing I can do. Deal."

"Oh, Michael, don't do that. It's too dangerous. You could go to jail."

"That's quite a choice, isn't it?" the boy said acidly. "College or jail."

"What would you tell your father?"

"I don't know. Maybe I'll tell him I'm selling belts."

Chapter 8

Brody awoke with a start, jolted by a signal that told him something was wrong. He threw his arm across the bed to touch Ellen. She wasn't there. He sat and saw her sitting in the chair by the window. Rain splashed against the windowpanes, and he heard the wind whipping through the trees.

"Lousy day, huh?" he said. She didn't answer, continuing to stare fixedly at the drops sliding down the gla.s.s. "How come you're up so early?"

"I couldn't sleep."

Brody yawned. "I sure didn't have any trouble."

"I'm not surprised."

"Oh boy. Are we starting in again?"

Ellen shook her head. "No. I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything." She seemed subdued, sad.