Atlanta Daily World

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

IT Was something of a relief when Adam called up to her-an exact hour after Pinky had left- to ask when lunch would be?

"Any time you get hungry, I'll fix something," said Ann, her voice thin with her effort at control.

"You mind if I run in to talk to Hermann instead, and go on to the barber's? Ill get a sandwich in town."

"Go ahead," said Ann. And see Pinky, too! her thoughts added. She'll be waiting. She'll tell you an earful.

Ann would have the other earful ready when Adam came home again. One of her plans was to force a showdown with him. She was well on her way to the proper mood for it.

Before his car door slammed, and the engine started, she had picked up the ashtray which Pinky had used, and hurled it shattering into the deep fireplace.

She only wished she'd thrown it at Adam's head!

She was angry. and the time had come for that man to know it. He wouldn't like a row-of course not! Men didn't like scenes. They liked doing the things that brought on scenes, but they disliked women who called them to account.

Well, what if they did? What if it was the worst possible thing Ann could do. to fly into a rage with Adam and break things?

That young man needed to be told! And she'd tell him. She had meant to unpack dishes, wash them, put them in the kitchen cupboards.

Her trembling hands warned her that she was in no state for the job; she'd better stow bedding and linen.

So she went into the empty bedroom where those boxes had been placed, and ripped open the first of them. Her lips still moved with the speech she was planning to make to Adam. She carried an armful of towels to the bathroom.

"Nobody," she said aloud, "could expect me not to be angry, Adam Laird! I have every right and cause to resent the way you've behaved. I wouldn't be human if I didn't resent it. The very thought that you would choose that bold, cheap woman-that red-headed tramp-ready to pick up any man in La Fonda's dining room. She says she is!

"And the bold way you've done, too! Right out in public. At the Lodge! You took her out to Mrs. Bohbrink's-you park with her on the Square in your truck. The whole town knows she's a tramp, and that you-"

Ann thrust the last towel into its place, turned.-There was a wide mirror across one end of the bathroom: the washbasin was set into a shelf below it, making a dressing table.

She startled at the reflection it gave her of a small brown-haired girl in a white blouse and denim skirt, with her fists clenched so that her arms were hard and corded, the young soft lips twisted in anger, the cheeks blotched with rage, and the eyes . .

Ann's hand moved to her mouth, as if to smooth those ugly lines away, to straighten her lips free of contortion.

She walked toward the mirror, and leaned across the brown marble shelf. Her eyes were red-rimmed. Why, if she sounded half as ugly as she looked . . . She turned on the cold water, cupped some in her hand, and' dashed it upon her cheeks.

To look as she'd done in the mirror . . . what would it get her? Pinky might be everything Ann knew her to be, but she always looked, to a man, at least, like baba rhum. Smooth, cool, exciting -not ugly. Never, never ugly!

Ann gulped and sniffled. She went out to the living room and collapsed on the couch. She sat there, staring at nothing.

It was May. and except in winter the blazing white sunlight of this country could not enter this room. But it came close enough, at noon, for its reflection upon the ceiling to touch into brighter colors the bold design of the painting over the fireplace. The great triangular blob of yellow glowed like a second sun, demanding Ann's attention.

She smoothed her hands down over her denim skirt.

Adam had behaved shabbily, meanly. He had let his wife down. But if Ann knew the man-and she did!-he had already told him-self those truths.

With a deep sigh, Ann got up from the couch, her hand automatically straightening the wool serape. She went over to the fireplace, knelt and, with the little tied-broom she swept up every shred of glass, and dumped them, tinkling. into the ashhole. She stood erect, and rubbed her fingers through her hair, trying to remember ...

She finally located the black pottery bowl which Adam had brought her a year ago. She turned it over to look with new interest at the name Juanita carved into its base.

She set the bowl upon one of the jutting stones of the chimney, and stepped back.'

There she stood, desolate, like a child lost. The task before her was so difficult! To make Adam fall out of love with Pinky, and in love with Ann! The first seemed impossible; the second, even harder.

He once had loved Ann. It might well be that no marriage stayed on the peaks of romance. But Ann's marriage seemed to lie on the floor of Death Valley itself!

Adam came home before Pinky; he had left her reluctantly And the first thing he asked Ann was, "What happened to the big ashtray by my chair?"

Ann stood for a minute as if she had. something to say, more than the reply she finally made. "I-- broke it. I'll get another one on Monday."

That afternoon, by way of being "honest," Adam had done the things he'd mentioned to Ann. He'd talked to Hermann, and he'd gone to the barber's. By then it was nearly two, so he went to La Fonda for lunch, and was not surprised to have Pinky join him. She slid into the chair on the other side of the small table and ordered a chicken salad. The dining room was packed, and so noisy that talk was impossible. The meal finished, they went out to the patio.

Pinky had brought bread out with her for the goldfish, and she made a charming picture seated on the tiled edge of the round fountain. Sunlight sifting through a palm tree glinted upon her hair.

In a woven chair close by, Adam sat smoking, watching her. She wore a full skirt of black and white print, a tight black sleeveless blouse. Her bright hair was twisted into a smooth knot. Finished with the fish, she played with a huge black handkerchief.

She seemed to be waiting for Adam to say something which he did not say, and finally she turned to look at him, purpose in her face. "Why do we sit here?" she demanded, "and waste time?"

"I like it here. Don't you?"

"It's a beautiful day."

"Wonderful."

"It would be very nice out at Bishop's lodge-and there'll be a moon tonight . . ."

"Be one here. too. I'll bet."

"I'd like to see what that place is like in the spring." Pinky's eyes widened in question.

"It's pretty, I'll bet. Into the mountains that way, with the aspens and all."

"Or we could drive up to Taos again. Remember, when we did go, we said we'd come back," her mouth drew down comically, "and look at the museum."

Adam laughed, and recrossed his legs.

"Remember that attractive motel up there?"

She was demanding a forward move in their relationship, a definition of that relationship.

And he wanted everything she offered. He wanted to go back to the Lodge with her, or to drive up to Taos. But, just the same-

Pinky turned, and dribbled the corner of the black handkerchief across the water: a goldfish rose nibbling, and she laughed. Then she glanced at Adam. "Ann," she said softly, "knows about us, Adam."