Sudden Mischief Read Free Page B

was the presence of quiet.
    "Saw your ex-husband this morning," I said.
    Susan lifted her head from my shoulder and shifted slightly on the couch.
    "Don't call him that," she said.
    "Okay. I went to see the artist formerly known as Silverman today."
    "And you don't have to be a smartass about it either," she said.
    I nodded. This thing showed even more signs of not working out well for me.
    "Shall I call him Brad?" I said.
    "I really would rather not talk about him at all," Susan said.
    "Even though you have employed me to save him."
    "I didn't employ you," she said. "I asked for a favor."
    It was something she did when she was angry, or frightened, which made her angry; she focused vigorously on the wrong part of the question.
    "That's right," I said, "you did."
    In front of the fire Pearl got up quite suddenly and turned around three times and lay back down, this time with her back to the fire and her feet stretched out toward us. I wasn't aware that Susan had moved, exactly, but she was no longer in contact with me, and her shoulders were angular again.
    "Want some more wine?" I said.
    "No thank you."
    We sat silently again. The silence crackled. It wasn't quiet now; it was anger. I got up and walked to the kitchen and looked out of Susan's window at the darkness.
    "Suze," I said, "what the hell is going on?"
    "Am I required to tell you everything about everybody I've ever known?"
    "I don't recall asking you to do that," I said.
    "Well, don't keep bringing up my marriage."
    "Suze, for crissake, you came to me."
    "I asked for your help, I didn't ask for your approval," she said.
    She was a little nuts right now. She hadn't been until a moment ago. And she wouldn't be in a while. But right now there was no point talking.
    "Okay," I said. "Here's the deal. I'll help Brad Sterling and I won't tell you about it unless you ask."
    "Good."
    "And now, I think I'll go home."
    "Fine."
    Pearl followed me with her eyes as I walked from the kitchen, and her tail wagged slowly, but she didn't lift her head. I reached down and patted her and went to the front door.
    "Good night," I said.
    "Good night."
    I stopped on my way home to pick up some Chinese food and when I got to my place the message light on my machine was flashing. I put the food, still in cartons, in the oven on low and went and played the message.
    Susan's voice said, "I'm sorry. Please call me tomorrow."
    I poured a little Irish whisky in a glass with a couple of ice cubes. Scotch and beer were recreational, and now and then a martini. Irish whisky was therapeutic. I stood at my front window and drank the whisky. The apartment was very silent. Outside there was a wind, which was unusual-normally the wind died down at night-and it blew a couple of Styrofoam cups around on Marlborough Street. The argument made me feel lousy, but I'd get over it and so would she-the connection between us was too strong to break. What bothered me more was that I couldn't figure out what caused us to argue. Below me, a woman in a long coat was walking a yellow Lab toward Arlington Street. The dog, eager on his leash, had his head down into the wind. But his tail was moving happily and he sniffed at everything. I took a little whisky. In Susan's anger there was something else besides anger. Under the brisk annoyance was a soundless harmonic that I hadn't heard in a long time. She wasn't afraid of much. And when she was afraid it made her furious. The dog paused at Arlington Street and then crossed when the light changed without any sign that I could see from the woman holding the leash. Something about Brad Sterling scared her. It wouldn't be Brad as Brad. The only thing Susan was ever really scared of was herself. It would have to be something that Brad stood for. If it were someone else, I could ask her about it. But it was her. The dog was out of sight now, in the dark of the Public Garden, probably off leash at this time of night, rushing about tracking rats along the edges of the swan boat