Free The Laments by George Hagen Page B

compliment to Howard if he had ever shown a hint of respect for Trixie, but the company gossip had hardened his opinion of her. For months he resisted any suggestion of a gathering between the families. Then, one evening, Chip appeared at the door to make a personal appeal; Wayne’s fourth birthday was coming up, and they wanted to host a small dinner. This time Howard accepted—he couldn’t deny Will’s happy kinship with Wayne.
    AS DUTCH OIL’S MIDDLE EAST MARKETING MANAGER , Chip Howitzer was entitled to a spacious pink villa with a dazzling view of the old city. At sunset, the dusty orange minarets turned golden and the city seemed magically suspended just beyond the windows.
    But when the Laments arrived, the air had a chill to it. Chip opened the door, dabbing his nose with a bloody tissue.
    “Good God, what happened?” asked Howard.
    “I’ll tell you later. Can I get you a bourbon? That’s all I have—bourbon.”
    Trixie appeared behind her husband. “Chip never met a bourbon he didn’t like.”
    “And you never met a
man
you didn’t like!” Chip shouted in reply.
    Julia quickly steered Will to Wayne’s room, with Trixie following. They found Wayne wearing a pressed sailor suit and white patent-leather shoes; he looked pretty miserable, too. “Can I take it off now?” he asked.
    “But you’re the birthday boy,” insisted Trixie, with a strained smile. Nevertheless, Wayne kicked off his shoes, and urged Will to join him in destroying the wood-block city he had built.
    Trixie led Julia back into a spacious living room, where a number of large canvases hung on the walls. Julia recognized several flaccid nudes by an emerging English painter, and some small contemporary sculptures of walking figures.
    “Trixie collects that stuff whenever she goes to London or New York,” said Chip.
    “Art keeps me
happ
y
!” Trixie shouted back at him.
    “Oh, is
that
what keeps you happy?” Chip gestured for Howard to join him in his den, a small alcove with leather chairs and a zebra skin hanging on one wall.
    Alone with Julia, Trixie whispered: “Chip found out.”
    “About what?”
    “That dreamboat in the medina, remember? The one who tried to read your palm?”
    “Mr. Mubarez?”
    Trixie gave Julia the particulars of her affair with Mr. Mubarez, which began with an encounter in a hotel swimming pool. “But then the dope called the house when Chip was home. Chip said he would kill him and me,” she said.
    Julia gasped. “Well, did you apologize to Chip?”
    “Apologize?” Trixie looked startled. “I have never apologized for anything in my life.”
    As the two women contemplated the ethical chasm between them, Howard came stalking out of Chip’s den.
    “Julia, where’s Will?” he asked sharply.
    Julia turned to indicate Wayne’s room. Moments later Howard was heading out of the house, with Will squirming in his arms.
    As Julia followed, Trixie gave her a tender peck on the cheek, leaving a smudge of lipstick that remained until Julia discovered it in the mirror much later.
    Will sensed the tension between his parents, and put up a struggle at bedtime. Howard and Julia bore his demands for water and an extra kiss with unusual patience—anything was preferable to the discussion that lay ahead.
    “Julia?” said Howard as he lay in bed, fingers pressed to his temples.
    “Yes, darling?” replied Julia.
    “What do you know about that man?”
    “What man?”
    “You know,” said Howard, turning to face her in the darkness, “the one she’s been sleeping with.”
    Julia held her breath for a moment. “Nothing, darling,” she replied. And waited.
    “I
thought
so,” said Howard. “Trixie told Chip that the man who called was some fool who had a crush on
you
. I told him it was nonsense. Not only is that woman a slut but she’s a liar, too.”
    It seemed wiser for Julia not to reply. In explaining her own encounters with Mr. Mubarez, she might risk the loss of Howard’s trust