Free A Man of Affairs by John D. MacDonald Page A

quarter of nine before Fletcher Bowman put in an appearance. He wore brief knit trunks and had a striped towel around his neck. He was well browned and impressively muscled. He wore his All-American smile, and I was certain the label in the trunks would be a good one.
    After he had sat with us and told us what a beautiful day it was, and how many gallons of water the pool held and how the purifying plant worked, he said, “I do hope you people weren’t upset in any way by the little disturbance we had in the wee hours.”
    “I heard it,” Louise said, “but Sam slept through it and so did Warren. I don’t know about the others. What was it about?”
    He looked uneasy for the first time since I had met him. “It was a little shabby, I’m afraid. Poor Bonny Carson was completely and soddenly drunk. I don’t think she knew where she was or what her name was. Let’s say she is at a… difficult transition place in her life. She and Mike have been friends for years. Now she wants Mike’s backing for a new musical. He doesn’t think she ought to try it. We don’t think much of the book or the songs, and he’s afraid of what a flop might do to her. But no decision has been made as yet. Anyway, that’s just background. That young Jack Buck got just tight enough to decide to take Bonny to her bed, probably so he could brag about it later. She certainly wasn’t in any condition to provide anything but acquiescence. Bundy took objection to the plan. Jack knocked him down. Bundy came and woke me up and we intercepted them outside Bonny’s room. By then she was having a crying jag. Jack was ugly about it, but I broke it up. If Port Crown wasn’t such a stubborn man, Jack Buck would be gone long ago. But Jack is the son of some old rancher buddy of Port’s who died broke, and Port thinks Jack is a fine virile young man. I think he’s a punk with a mean streak. Were I Port, I would no more travel with Jack and my wife and daughter than I’d stick my arm in a snake pit. After Jack went out last night to sleep aboard the Portess, I sat on the veranda for a half hour to make certain he wouldn’t try again. Enough of that. I hope we won’t have any more of that sort of thing. What are your plans for today?”
    “We’ve been waiting to see what Mr. Dean has in mind,” I said.
    He gave me a quick look of disapproval. “Mike and I have been going over a few things with Cam Duncan this morning. I asked him when we ought to have our little meeting about the Harrison Corporation and he said there was no rush about it. I gathered from that he doesn’t want to bring it up today. In fact, Mike and Port and Cam and I are going out in the Try Again at nine-thirty. We’re taking lunch with us and we’ll be back about four-thirty. I wish we could take more, but four is about the maximum for comfort and good fishing. I talked to Tommy last night. Tomorrow he and Puss are going out on the Try Again with Mike and Amparo. Warren wasn’t interested. Maybe the next day you and Sam could go, Louise?”
    There was a little needle in the offer, very subtle, but sharp enough. “Sam and I are going to do some fishing today,” she said.
    “From the shore,” I said. “How about tackle?”
    “There’s more than enough in the dock house. Just take what you think you need and rinse it in fresh water before you put it back. If you go east up the beach to where the rocky point is, there’s supposed to be good fishing there. Wear something on your feet. Those rocks are jagged.”
    We saw the Try Again off at nine-thirty, wished them luck and waved to them as they sped out of the bay. A sleepy Bridget walked down with Tommy and Puss to help us wave them off.
    “Hung?” I asked her.
    “Not too terribly. Something keeps going sort of bong bong right between my eyes. But I’ve got the remorses about running off at the mouth. To you and other people. Was I completely horrible?”
    “Just gay,” I said, grinning at her.
    “My God, you