Free The Big Eye by Max Ehrlich

quarrel. Not now."
     
     
She clung to him, and to David the room became a kind of blur, like a
background out of focus, a hazy cubicle hemming them in. He was drunk
now, drunk with the whisky, drunk with the feel and the scent of her,
drunk with the warmth of her body against his, the perfume of her hair,
the caress of her lips on his ear.
     
     
"David, will we really be married soon?"
     
     
"As soon as you get out to Palomar." He almost added "if."
     
     
She kissed the lobe of his ear again, his cheek, his throat, his mouth.
He was afire with the feel of her, and he thought, I can't, Carol,
I can't take any more of this. Carol, Carol, I can't take any more!
     
     
"What are we waiting for?" he whispered. "What are we waiting for?"
     
     
"No, David, no, darling, no."
     
     
She drew away from him, held him at arm's length, looked at him. It
was perverse of her, he thought wildly, one of those baffling things
women do without rhyme or reason. There was compassion in her eyes,
but he resented it, he didn't want compassion now.
     
     
He could have fought it, tried to overwhelm her.
     
     
He could have shouted: "Now, now, or maybe it'll be never. Maybe there'll
never be any tomorrow, or the day after tomorrow. Carol, for the love
of God!"
     
     
But he didn't.
     
     
Instead he rose abruptly and glanced at his watch.
     
     
"Two-thirty," he said, almost too casually. "I'd better go."
     
     
Carol nodded.
     
     
He picked up his brief case, and the feel of the leather and the bulging
papers within brought him back to his dilemma. He went to the phone again,
dialed the operator.
     
     
"I'm sorry, sir," said the operator. "But the Army took over all
long-line circuits ten minutes ago. They may be released by morning.
I'll call you."
     
     
He hung up, and he thought, That's that. It's out of my hands, there's
nothing I can do. Nothing, except -- wait for tomorrow.
     
     
He turned to Carol. "What was the name of that hotel again?"
     
     
"The Rutherford," she answered mechanically. "It's east of Fifth,
on Fifty-sixth."
     
     
"The Rutherford," he repeated.
     
     
He waited for her to rise, to say something, to see him to the door.
But she did not stir from the couch. Instead she lay there motionless,
watching him, appraising him, measuring him. Something had come into her
eyes. They were hard to read at the moment ; they said nothing, really,
except that they expected him to do something, to make the next move.
     
     
The wail of a siren screamed up suddenly from the dark canyon outside.
It tore the silence of the room with its shrieking din. Then it threaded
away somewhere in the night, fading as fast as it had come.
     
     
They were apart now, out of each other's arms, and the Outside had come
between them again. The realization was in her face, and he knew it
was in his. The little island they had inhabited briefly and together
had slipped into the dark sea, and they were both afraid and swimming
for their lives again. The Fear, by some subtle osmosis, had penetrated
through the walls; it was in the room again, a cold and oppressive shroud
enveloping them both.
     
     
"Hope I can get a cab," he said.
     
     
His voice sounded strangely false. Still she said nothing, made no move to
get up. He turned his back on her, acutely conscious that she was watching
him intently as he walked toward the foyer. He picked up his coat and hat
deliberately from the chair where she had left them, and turned to her.
     
     
"David," she whispered suddenly. "David -- don't go!"
     
     
He stood there transfixed, staring at her. Mechanically, unaware of what
he was doing, he put his hat and coat down again. The blood rushed hotly
to his face, his heart pounded, and he began to tremble violently.
     
     
"Carol . . ."
     
     
"Don't go out there, darling." Her voice was husky. "Don't go out
there -- and leave me alone."
     
     
The morning light was streaming in the window when Carol said:
     
     
"David, I've got to get