Flood, of course, watched, one eyebrow cocked quizzically, gauging the progress of the affair by Raphaels increasing irritability and the lateness of his return to their room. No score yet, I see, hed observe dryly upon Raphaels return on such nights.
Why dont you mind your own damned business? Raphael would snap, and Flood would chuckle, roll over in his bed, and go back to sleep.
In those weeks Isabel became a virtual necessity to Raphael. With her he found a release for the tensions that had built up to an almost unbearable pitch during the course of the week. She gloated over the passion he brought to her, and sent him back to Portland on Sunday nights sufficiently exhausted to keep him short of the point of no return with the girl. The knowledge that Isabel was there served as a kind of safety valve for him, making it possible for him to draw back at that last crucial instant each time.
And so autumn ground drearily on with dripping skies and the
now-bare trees glistening wet and black in the rain. Isabel grew increasingly waspish, and finally announced that she was leaving for a few weeks. Ive got to get some sun, she said. This rains driving me up the wall.
Where are you going? Raphael asked her.
Phoenix maybe. VegasI dont know. I havent decided yet. Ive got to get away from the rain for a while.
There was nothing he could say. He knew he had no real hold on her, and he even welcomed the idea in a way. His visits had become almost a duty, and he had begun to resent her unspoken demands upon him.
After he had seen her off at the airport outside Portland, he walked back to his car almost with the sense of having been liberated.
On his first weekend date with Marilyn he felt vaguely guiltyalmost like an unfaithful husband. The weekends had always belonged to Isabel. He had not been entirely honest with Marilyn about those weekends. It was not that he had lied, exactly; rather, he had let her believe that Isabel was elderly, an old friend of his family, and that his weekly visits were in the nature of an obligation.
After the movie they drove to their special spot in the country and began the customary grappling. Perhaps because the weekends had always been denied to her and this evening was somehow stolen and therefore illicit, Marilyn responded to his caresses with unusual passion, shuddering and writhing under his hands. Finally she pulled free of him for an instant, looked at him, and spoke quite simply. Lets, she said, her voice thick and vibrant.
And so they did.
It was awkward, since they were both quite tall, and the steering wheel was horribly in the way, but they managed.
And afterward she cried. He comforted her as best he could and later drove her home, feeling more than a little ashamed of himself. There had been some fairly convincing evidence that, until that night, Marilyn had been one of the girls one would normally take to a school dance.
The next time they used the backseat. It was more satisfactory, and this time she did not cry. Raphael, however, was still a bit ashamed and wished they had not done it. Something rather special seemed to have been lost, and he regretted it.
After several weeks Isabel returned, her fair skin slightly tanned and her temper improved.
Flood accompanied Raphael to the lake on the first weekend, his eyes bright and a knowing smile on his face.
Raphael was moody and stalked around the house, stopping now and then to stare out at the rain, and drinking more than was usual for him. It was time, he decided, to break off the affair with Isabel. She was too wise for him, too experienced, and in a way he blamed her for having planted that evil seed that had grown to its full flower that night in the front seat of his car. If it had not been for her insinuating suggestions, his relationship with Marilyn might still be relatively innocent. Beyond that, she repelled him now. Her overripe figure seemed to have taken on a faint tinge of rottenness, and the smooth sophistication that had attracted him at first seemed instead to be depravity noweven degeneracy. He continued to drink, hoping to incapacitate himself and thus avoid that inevitable and now-disgusting conclusion of the evening.
Our Angel has fallen, Im afraid, Flood said after dinner when they were all sitting in front of the crackling fireplace.
Why dont you mind your own business, Damon? Raphael said, his words slurring.
Has he been naughty? Isabel asked, amused.
Repeatedly. Hes been coming in with claw marks on his back from shoulder to hip.
Why dont you keep your goddamn mouth shut? Raphael snapped.
Be nice, dear, Isabel chided him, and dont try to get muscular. My furnitures too expensive for that sort of foolishness.
I just want him to keep his mouth shut, thats all. Raphaels words sounded mushy even to him.
All right then. You tell me. Was it that girl?
He glared sulkily into the fireplace.
This wont be much of a conversation if you wont talk to me. Did she really scratch you, Angel? Let me see. She came across the room to him and tugged at his shirt.
Lay off, Bel, he warned, pushing her hands away. Im not in the mood for any of that.
Ohshe laughedits true then. Ive never liked scratching. Its unladylike.
How the hell would you know?
Her eyes narrowed slightly, and her voice took on an edge. All the usual things, I suppose? Parked car, clumsy little gropings in the dark, the steering wheel?
Raphaels face flamed. She saw the flush and laughed, a deep, throaty sound that made him flush even more. You did! she exulted. In a car seat! My poor Angel, I thought Id taught you better. Are motels so expensive now? Or couldnt you wait? Was she a virgin?
Why dont we just drop this?
I think the boys in love, Junior, she said to Flood.
Heres to love. Flood toasted, raising his glass. And to steering wheels, of course.
Oh, thats cute, Hood, Raphael said sarcastically. It sounded silly even to him, but he didnt care.
Dont be nasty, dear. Isabels tone was motherly. It doesnt become you.
It was that note in her voice more than anythingthat tolerant, amused, superior tone that finally infuriated him. Dont patronize me, Bel, he told her, getting up clumsily. I wont take thatnot from you.
I dont think I Eke your tone, Raphael.
Good. At least I managed to insult you. I wasnt really sure I could.
Ive had about enough of this.
I had enough a long time ago. He picked up his jacket. Where are you going?
Someplace where the airs a little cleaner. Dont be stupid. Youre drunk. What if I am? He started to lurch toward the door. Stop him, Junior.
Raphael stopped and turned toward Flood, his jaw thrust forward pugnaciously.
Not me, Flood said, raising both hands, palms out. If you want to go, go ahead. His eyes, however, were savage.
Thats exactly what Im going to do. Raphael turned and stumbled out the door into the rain.
Raphael! Isabel called to him from the porch as he fumbled with his car keys. Dont be ridiculous. Come back into the house.