man. And Arty’s your colleague. One who’s never let you down. You don’t like him? I couldn’t care less. This is not a ballroom to like your partner. In this job partnership is based on respect and complete trust.”
“I’m sorry, Mark,” Sean seemed to be finally accepting his guilt. “I didn’t mean to hurt his feelings. I do care about him, you know? Maybe you’re right. There is something of a Bronx bully in me. The problem is what can I do now?”
Mary sprang from her desk, still flushed. “You’d better get an appointment with Dr. Kevorkian.”
Mark calmed her down with a wave of his hand. Then he grabbed Sean by the arm. “Go and apologize to him. Arty’s such a good guy he might even forgive you.”
As soon as Paulardis left, Mary said to her boss indignantly. “I’ve told you before, Mark, if someone considered an anima in this office, the result would be navy blue.”
But the agent did not have time to answer her as the phone started to ring. He picked up the receiver. “Hello!”
“I’d like to speak to Agent Mark Du Nancy,” he heard a voice that made his heart throb.
“This is he, Miss Wheller.”
“Dorothy,” she corrected him. “Have you forgotten already? Tell me, Mark, have you got any plans for Sunday evening?”
“No. I don’t.”
“Sunday’s my father’s birthday and we’re having a little party at my uncle’s villa, near South Mountain Reservation. We’d all appreciate it if you could come. You can bring your wife with you if you want.”
The agent wondered why she had mentioned Cathy but never thought to ask about Steimberg and especially Paulardis who had taken the bullet for them. He weighed the unfair omission against the perspective of a new meeting with the actress. To his surprise, the latter weighed more. To numb his conscience he said to himself that they probably believed Sean was still in hospital.
“I don’t know what to say. Anyway, I can’t bring my wife with me. We’re hardly on speaking terms.”
“Well, come alone then! I’m going to leave some openings on my dance card for you. And you don’t have to wear your tux. It won’t be anything formal. It’s a mixed party: both outside and in the reception room.”
“What time?”
“If you tell me where to send the limo, the chauffeur will pick you up around 5:00 p.m. so that you can be here at 6:00.”
Mark gave her the address, thrilled at the thought of seeing her again, feeling her body against his while dancing. Only after he hung up did he recall his decision and realize that he had given her the wrong address. That’s all right, he’d call her tomorrow and tell her the name of the hotel at which he was staying.
After that he could not think of anything else. His colleagues (in the meantime the two reconciled agents had returned) did not ask him any questions, although they were all dying to know.
Mark heaved a sigh of relief when the workday was over. As he was heading for the coat rack, he said to Steimberg. “Listen, Arty, you’re a movie fan. You know all the actors, right? Tell me, how the hell does Freddie McGuire wear his hair?” The agent smiled and poured out all the details.
Outside the building Paulardis tried to make up with his female colleague. He pulled his beautiful Corvette next to her. “I’m sorry about that argument with Kurren, Mary. I take all responsibility. Can I drive you home?”
“Are you going south?”
“Indeed I am,” he answered hopefully.
“Well then, give my regards to the Mexicans.”
* * * * * * *
On his way home Mark tried to pull himself together. A difficult moment was lying ahead: the discussion with Cathy. He was trying to convince himself that his decision to break up with her had nothing to do with the actress. After all, he had decided to move to a hotel on Monday, after that argument from which he had emerged like a whipped dog. As for Dorothy, he hadn’t done anything that he should feel sorry for. He wondered if his wife had seen that picture in The New York Times. The one that showed him leading the actress protectively by the shoulders out of the theatre. Damn it! he concluded. I worry too much about a marriage that died years ago.
The thing that was really breaking his heart was Tommy’s predicament. How was he to explain all that to the little boy? Anyway, rather than keep him in the middle of a war they should share his affection in times of peace.
When he parked his car outside his house, Mark felt he was in a mood for a row, which hadn’t happened in a long time. He was going to put in a good fight this time.
After he got in he looked for his wife. He saw her on the couch. She was just finishing a cosmetic procedure. She had put a mixture of creams on her face. Only her eyes shone through.
“I didn’t know we’re having a masquerade,” the man said sourly.
“That’s a beauty mask,” explained Cathy who was trying to relax following McGerr’s advice. “Jenny, our neighbor, told me how to do it. And I’ve been using it every day for three weeks now. What do you think: am I doing it for nothing or does it really make me look better?”
“Of course it does. What I really don’t understand is why you ever wipe that off!”
The woman was stunned by this sudden hostility coming from her husband whose attitude was usually that of non-combat. What had happened? Mark didn’t give her the time to ask anything. He ran upstairs straight to his bedroom. He pulled a big leather suitcase from under the bed. Then he opened the wardrobe sorting his clothes, throwing some into the case. Cathy finally showed up in the doorway, speechless, failing to understand what was going on.
“What are you doing, Mark?” she asked him after a while.
The man didn’t answer. He was done with the clothes and was now squeezing in his towels and toilet items. Then he started looking for something anxiously. As he couldn’t find it he questioned the woman harshly. “Where’s my insignia jacket?”
“Ask the guys from the sanitation service,” she answered coldly.
“I thought we had some rules around here. The things that bring luck don’t get thrown away. That jacket brought me luck in college and even some more years after that.”
“But it was full of holes.”
“It was. But each hole had its own story. It was a jacket full of memories.”
“Of course,” she replied angrily. “Full of memories with whores in the bushes and second-hand cars.”
Mark turned to her instantly. He gave her a look full of pain and pity. “You’re pathetic, Cathy! And at times like this you make me sick. I’ve decided to separate from you. At least for a while. That’s why I’m moving out to a hotel.”
There was panic in the woman’s eyes. “Why are you doing this to me, Mark? Is it because last Monday I gave you a passionate speech on how you should behave? I just wanted you to spend more time with me and
