under this Olivia Brenner name I think I can find her and three grand is more than fair. It doesn't hurt me one way or the other. But you spook me, Dawes. You're really locked on course."
"Yes."
Magliore frowned down at the pictures of himself, his wife, and his children under the glass top of his desk.
"All right," Magliore said. "This one last time, all right. But no more, Dawes. Absolutely not. If I ever see you again or hear you on the phone, you can forget it. I mean that. I got enough problems of my own without diddling around in yours."
"I agree to that condition."
He stuck out his hand, not sure that Magliore would shake it, but Magliore did.
"You make no sense to me," Magliore said. "Why should I like a guy who makes no sense to me?"
"It's a senseless world," he said. "If you doubt it, just think about Mr. Piazzi's dog."
"I think about her a lot," Magliore said.
January 16, 1974
He took the manila envelope containing the checkbook down to the post office box on the comer and mailed it. That evening he went to see a movie called The Exorcist because Max von Sydow was in it and he had always admired Max von Sydow a great deal. In one scene of the movie a little girl puked in a Catholic priest's face. Some people in the back row cheered.
January 17, 1974
Mary called on the phone. She sounded absurdly relieved, gay, and that made everything much easier.
"You sold the house," she said.
"That's right."
"But you're still there."
"Only until Saturday. I've rented a big farmhouse in the country. I'm going to try and get my act back together."
"Oh, Bart. That's so wonderful. I'm so glad." He realized why it was being so easy. She was being phony. She wasn't glad or not glad. She had given up." About the checkbook..."
"Yes."
"You split the money right down the middle, didn't you?"
"Yes I did. If you want to check, you can call Mr. Fenner."
"No. Oh, I didn't mean that." And he could almost see her making pushingaway gestures with her hands. "What I meant was... you separating the money like that... does it mean..."
She trailed off artfully and he thought: Ow, you bitch, you got me. Bull's eye.
"Yes, I guess it does," he said. "Divorce."
"Have you thought about it?" she asked earnestly, phonily. "Have you really-"
"I've thought about it a lot."
"So have I. It seems like the only thing left to do. But I don't hold anything against you, Bart. I'm not mad at you."
My God, she's been reading all those paperback novels. Next she'll tell me she's going back to school. He was surprised at his bitterness. He thought he had gotten past that part.
"What will you do?"
"I'm going back to school," she said, and now there was no phoniness in her voice, now it was excited, shining. "I dug out my old transcript, it was still up in Mamma's attic with all my old clothes, and do you know I only need twenty-four credits to graduate? Bart, that's hardly more than a year!"
He saw Mary crawling through her mother's attic and the image blended with one of himself sitting bewildered in a pile of Charlie's clothes. He shut it out.
"Bart? Are you still there?"
"Yes. I'm glad being single again is going to fulfill you so nicely."
"Bart," she said reproachfully.
But there was no need to snap at her now, to tease her or make her feel bad.
Things had gone beyond that. Mr. Piazzi's dog, having bitten, moves on. That struck him funny and he giggled.
"Bart, are you crying?" She sounded tender. Phony, but tender.
"No," he said bravely.
"Bart, is there anything I can do? If there is, I want to."
"No. I think I'm going to be fine. And I'm glad you're going back to school. Listen, this divorce-who gets it? You or me?"
"I think it would look better if I did," she said timidly.
"Okay. Fine."
There was a pause between them and suddenly she blurted into it, as if the words had escaped without her knowledge or approval: "Have you slept with anyone since I left?"
He thought the question over, and ways of answering: the truth, a lie, an evasion that might keep her awake tonight.
"No," he said carefully, and added: "Have you?"
"Of course not," she said, managing to sound shocked and pleased at the same time. "I wouldn't."
"You will eventually."
"Bart, let's not talk about sex."
"All right," he said placidly enough, although it was she who had brought the subject up. He kept