Money for Nothing Read Free

Though it wasn't good, not really.
    Mrs. Winchell was an older woman, whose weekend-only husband was something in New York City government and whose children were grown and gone away. She provided baby-sitting and day care in her home up by the beach, and Eve had taken to leaving Jeremy there before Josh's Friday arrivals, so they could, as she said, "get acquainted again."
    Usually, his heart and so on leaped up at the idea of an hour or two alone with Eve, re-creating their pre-Jeremy relationship, but not today. Today he had too much on his mind.
    And one thing more to plague him: He couldn't tell Eve about this, either. Having hidden the checks from her all this time, how could he tell her about this? "I've loaned our apartment to some foreign spies or something, I don't know who they are or what they're doing." He couldn't open that can of worms, not at this point, it was far too late. He was going to have to be a spy himself, for the weekend, protecting his secrets.
    Eve put an arm around his waist, her eyes sparkling, and they started the walk to the rental, a little two-bedroom bungalow half a block from the beach. As they walked, Eve told him the gossip of the week, and for the first time in his life Josh thought: Will I be able to perform?
     
     
    The weekend was not a disaster. He kept up his part, as it were, or so he thought. Everything seemed normal and fine. On Saturday, at the beach, he and Jeremy spent a few hours playing the game they seemed to have invented, in which first they made a village, by upending pails of wet sand and shaping their tops to be the houses and poking fingerholes into their sides to be windows and doors, and then watching as a giant — Jeremy — with many a, "Ho ho ho," and, "Har har har," tromped through the peaceful village, destroying it and, presumably, all of its peaceful villagers.
    Josh had never minded this game before, had known that other little boys up and down the beach were also taking the opportunity of summer in the sun to improve their skills as homicidal maniacs, but today, after United States Agent had made him "active," he found himself regretting that it was too late to train Jeremy in the ways of pacifism.
    Not that Jeremy was at the outer extreme of homicidal mania among two-year-old boys. He was basically a sunny kid, agreeable and friendly except when tired, and from the beginning Josh had been amazed at the depth of the bond he felt with this new life. He looked for signs of himself in Jeremy's movements and reactions, and at times he thought he caught glimpses, but more often the boy reminded him most of Eve. Not in an effeminate way, of course, but in a kind of hurtling grace, an almost off-balance surge into life, that reminded him of certain things about Eve.
    So, what with playing one way with Eve, and another way with Jeremy, and seeing their friends out here in the evenings, and lazing Sunday away with the
New York Times
, it seemed to Josh he was behaving with his family exactly like someone who had not been made active. But then, Monday morning, as they walked toward the 11:10 ferry, Eve pushing Jeremy in the stroller their son was aching to grow out of, she said, "Phone me tonight."
    "Sure," he said. They always talked on the phone once or twice a week, but she hadn't ever made it a request before.
    "Call me every night," she said. "Will you?" And then he realized he must not have been perfect this weekend after all. His distraction had been noticed. She's beginning to wonder, he thought with astonishment, if I'm having an affair, separated in New York with her stuck way out here.
    How to deal with that? The worst thing, he knew, would be to deny an accusation that had not been directly made. That would confirm her in her belief. He said, "Sure, I will. But, you know, you ought to do it."
    She raised an eyebrow at him. "Do what?"
    "Make the call," he said. "I wouldn't want to call, and Jeremy's just about to go to sleep, or something like that. You