Nine Lives(46)

She returned with his drink just as the front door opened, and Eric shouted out, “Sorry, sorry,” very loudly into the house. Margaret spilled a little of the gin as she handed him the large martini glass. He took an immediate sip and set it down on the coffee table, standing up just as Eric walked into the living room, shedding a raincoat.

“Yep, I’m an asshole,” Eric said. “The guest is already here, and I’m just coming in.” He was talking theatrically, as though he were trying to project out to some nonexistent back row.

“I just got here,” Jack said, reaching a hand over the couch to shake Eric’s hand, bracing himself for the tight squeeze.

“Hey, I know that you don’t think I’m an asshole, but this one does.” He grinned at Margaret, who seemed embarrassed.

“As far as I know, I’ve never in my life called you an asshole, and you are right on time, Eric, so no worries.”

“So she says. Look, do I have time to grab a beer and a shower and get back down here in time for dinner or would that fuck everything up?”

“It’s fine with me,” Jack said, at the same time as Margaret said, “Not a problem.”

After Eric had grabbed a can of beer, then gone upstairs for his shower, Jack told Margaret how much he liked the martini.

“Oh,” she said. “Thank you. It’s funny. I used to make them for my dad, when I was a little kid. Doesn’t sound appropriate now, I guess.”

“No, it sounds sweet.”

“I’m going to go get my wine and join you, since we won’t be eating for a little while.”

After she’d settled down on an uncomfortable-looking modern chair, she said, “Eric can be a little much for people, sometimes. He’s really a good guy, at heart, but I’m worried he’s going to try to impress you and end up looking like a jerk.”

“I’ve met every type of person in my life, and I already like Eric because you like Eric, so don’t worry about it.”

“Okay. Thanks. At least the food will be good, I think.”

“How’d you two meet?”

While she recounted a more detailed version of how she and Eric had met in college, Jack wondered again why good women wound up with bad men. It wasn’t life’s greatest mystery, but it certainly was one of them. Eric, of course, would be exactly what he seemed on first impression. An insecure bully who lorded it over those he felt superior to, and groveled to those he believed had more power than him. And he would beat down this poor woman until she either left him or she had a nervous breakdown. Jack knew that he was making a lot of assumptions about a man he’d spent less than ten minutes with, but he was sure that he was right.

The rest of the evening unfolded along the lines he thought it would. After Eric returned from his shower, dressed in jeans and a green Oxford shirt, he was initially okay, as though the beer had calmed him down enough so that he actually made decent small talk with Jack. But as the evening went on, as everyone drank a little too much, Eric began to criticize his wife. It started with the food. He asked for salt and pepper to be brought to the table, even though he was sitting closest to the kitchen. After Margaret got them for him, he sprinkled heavy amounts of both on his braised ribs, then passed the shakers to Jack. “Don’t be polite, Jack,” he said, “Margaret doesn’t understand how to season food.”

“I think it tastes perfect,” Jack said, even though, he had to admit, it was a little underseasoned.

“He’s just being polite, honey. No offense, but it needed salt.”

“I guess we have different taste buds,” Margaret said.

Eric, in a voice that sounded as though he were containing his rage, said, “Actually, that’s scientifically not even true, but we don’t have to get into it right now.”

After this exchange, there was a brief pause in the conversation, everyone tucking into their food. Jack broke it by telling them the story of the list he’d gotten in the mail. He hadn’t planned on telling anyone about it, but it seemed like neutral territory with which to get the evening back on track.

“So, they are taking it pretty seriously,” Margaret said, after Jack told them about the offer of police protection.

“I guess so. They certainly spent more time asking questions than answering them, so I have no idea what it’s about.”

“You’re a big-deal author,” Eric said. “I’m sure you have some enemies out there.”

“Maybe. I don’t know. But I didn’t recognize any of the other names.”

“So, is there a policeman sitting outside on the street right now?” Margaret said, pouring herself some more of the red wine that Jack had brought.

“No, I turned the police protection down. They tried pretty hard to convince me, but it seemed like a waste of time. Besides, I’m traveling tomorrow. I’m just not worried about it.”

“Other people on that list have died?” she said.

“Again, they didn’t tell me much, but I looked up some of the names and there are some recent suspicious deaths, so who knows. Maybe I just don’t care that much. I know that sounds awful, but I’m an old man, and I’ve lived most of my life. If someone wants to take a shot at me, what do I care?”

Dessert was butterscotch pudding, something Jack’s mother used to make, in the days of the dinosaur. The first taste brought him back in time with such a ferocity that it was almost too much to bear.