He dressed in his summerweight gray suit—as gray as the early light outside—and picked up his two suitcases. One of them was much heavier than the other. That one contained most of the Sharp Cereals file. Roger had all the graphic layouts.
Donna was making waffles in the kitchen. The teapot was on, just beginning to huff and puff. She was wearing his old blue flannel robe. Her face was puffy, as if instead of resting her, sleep had punched her unconscious.
“Will the planes fly when it’s like that?” she asked.
“It’s going to burn off. You can see the sun already.” He pointed at it and then kissed her lightly on the nape of the neck. “You shouldn’t have gotten up.”
“No problem.” She lifted the waffle iron’s lid and deftly turned a waffle out on a plate. She handed it to him. “I wish you weren’t going away.” Her voice was low. “Not now. After last night.”
“It wasn’t that bad, was it?”
“Not like before,” Donna said. A bitter, almost secret smile touched her lips and was gone. She beat the waffle mixture with a wire whisk and then poured a ladleful into the waffle iron and dropped its heavy lid. Sssss. She poured boiling water over a couple of Red Rose bags and took the cups—one said VIC, the other DONNA—over to the table. “Eat your waffle. There’s strawberry preserves, if you want them.”
He got the preserves and sat down. He spread some oleo across the top of the waffle and watched it melt into the little squares, just as he had when he was a child. The preserves were Smucker’s. He liked Smucker’s preserves. He spread the waffle liberally with them. It looked great. But he wasn’t hungry.
“Will you get laid in Boston or New York?” she asked, turning her back on him. “Even it out? Tit for tat?”
He jumped a little—perhaps even flushed. He was glad her back was turned because he felt that at that precise moment there was more of him on his face than he wanted her to see. Not that he was angry; the thought of giving the bellman a ten instead of the usual buck and then asking the fellow a few questions had certainly crossed his mind. He knew that Roger had done it on occasion.
“I’m going to be too busy for anything like that.”
“What does the ad say? There’s Always Room for Jell-O.”
“Are you trying to make me mad, Donna? Or what?”
“No. Go on and eat. You got to feed the machine.”
She sat down with a waffle of her own. No oleo for her. A dash of Vermont Maid Syrup, that was all. How well we know each other, he thought.
“What time are you picking Roger up?” she asked him.
“After some hot negotiations, we’ve settled on six.”
She smiled again, but this time the smile was warm and fond. “He really took that early-bird business to heart at some point, didn’t he?”
“Yeah. I’m surprised he hasn’t called yet to make sure I’m up.”
The phone rang.
They looked at each other across the table, and after a silent, considering pause they both burst out laughing. It was a rare moment, certainly more rare than the careful lovemaking in the dark the night before. He saw how fine her eyes were, how lucent. They were as gray as the morning mist outside.
“Get it quick before it wakes the Tadder up,” she said.
He did. It was Roger. He assured Roger that he was up, dressed, and in a fighting frame of mind. He would pick Roger up on the dot of six. He hung up wondering if he would end up telling Roger about Donna and Steve Kemp. Probably not. Not because Roger’s advice would be bad; it wouldn’t be. But, even though Roger would promise not to tell Althea, he most certainly would. And he had a suspicion that Althea would find it difficult to resist sharing out such a juicy bit of bridge-table gossip. Such careful consideration of the question made him feel depressed all over again. It was as if, by trying to work out the problem between them, he and Donna were burying their own body by moonlight.
“Good old Roger,” he said, sitting down again. He tried on a smile but it felt wrong. The moment of spontaneity was gone.
“Will you be able to get all of your stuff and all of Roger’s into the Jag?”
“Sure,” he said. “We’ll have to. Althea needs their car, and you’ve got—oh,