Night passage

“Oh,” Jesse said.

“One year they had a Crock-Pot of blushing bu

“Which is?”

“Kind of a Welsh rabbit. Campbell’s cheese soup and Campbell’s tomato soup mixed equally and served over toast.”

“It’s gotta be Campbell’s?”

“Yes. WASPs are very brand-name loyal.”

Abby’s glass was empty. He stood near the end of the buffet table trying not to hear the music while she went for a refill. He looked at the buffet table and smiled. I hope I don’t get hungry, he thought. He took another drink. Carefully.

“You’re all alone, you poor dear,” Cissy Hathaway said.

Her speech was slow and careful, the way people speak when they’re drunk and trying not to show it. She had on more makeup than usual and behind the makeup Jesse could see that her cheeks were very red. She wore a long-sleeved formal gown, cream-colored with a red-and-green floral pattern and a high neck. The dress was very tight. Her high-heeled shoes were the same green as the leaves in the floral pattern.

“Abby’s getting a drink,” Jesse said.

“Well pooh on her,” Cissy said. “Come dance with me.”

If he said no, she’d insist. Jesse could see it in her face. Jesse put his glass down and let Cissy take him to the floor. The band played “We’ve Only Just Begun.” Jesse was a good dancer. He had good coordination and he could hear the music. But dancing wasn’t really what Cissy had in mind. She pressed against him as they moved among the dancers, pushing her pelvis against his and moving her hips slightly without regard to “We’ve Only Just Begun.”

“Do you like my dress?” she said. Her face was turned up to his and her lips almost brushed his face as she talked.

“Yes, ma’am,” Jesse said.

“You don’t think it’s too tight?”

“No such thing,” Jesse said.

“Men are all alike,” Cissy said. “They judge clothes by how much of a woman they show.”

“You’re probably right,” Jesse said.

“When a man is with a woman,” Cissy said, “clothes are just in the way.”

Jesse said, “Un huh,” emphasizing the second syllable, trying to sound both interested and noncommittal. Not easy, he thought, while being dry-humped on the dance floor.

“It’s why when I’m with a man,” Cissy said, her lips now actually brushing Jesse’s as she spoke, “I wear as little as possible.”

The band segued into “I Left My Heart in San Francisco.”

“Hasty’s a lucky man,” Jesse said. He was looking past Cissy’s shoulder for Abby.

“Oh, Hasty,” she said. “I can’t wait around all year for Hasty.”

Jesse smiled without speaking. He couldn’t think of anything to say to that. He was thinking of Suitcase.

“Can you tell,” she whispered against his mouth, “that I’m not wearing anything under this dress?”

“I wasn’t sure,” Jesse said.

Cissy had a good body under her ridiculous dress. It was becoming difficult for Jesse to remain detached.

“Is it something you might want to see?” she whispered.

Christ! Jesse thought. Where’s Suit when you need him.

“Is it?” Her mouth was against his.

“Not right here,” Jesse said.

“But somewhere you would, wouldn’t you. I can tell.”

Jesse was still struggling for gallantry.

“Anyone would,” he said.

Cissy clamped her mouth against his and began to kiss him aggressively. Jesse felt a tap on his shoulder. It was Hasty, his bow tie blinking steadily.

“Mind if I cut in?” Hasty said.

Cissy continued to kiss him.

Jesse pulled away and said, “No, not at all,” and turned Cissy, her eyes still half closed, into Hasty’s arms.

The band began to play an old Beatles tune. He found Abby near the bar, with a martini. The bar had cleared somewhat as people danced.

“Last Tango in Paris?” Abby said.

“Help,” Jesse said.

He ordered a fresh scotch from the bar.

“How’s she stack up as a kisser?” Abby said.

“There’s better,” Jesse said.

“Good to know.”

Abby’s eyes were bright and Jesse realized that she might be a little drunk too. He knew their relationship wasn’t helping her drinking. He picked up his scotch. Careful. He sipped a small sip and put the drink back down on the bar. Morris Comden, one of the other selectmen, came across the room and asked Jesse if he could have the next dance with Abby. It was the boldest thing Comden had done since Jesse had been in Paradise. At selectmen’s meetings, he sat quite still and watched Hasty so he’d know how to vote.

“Ask her,” Jesse said.

Abby smiled and said, “Of course,” and went to the dance floor with him. Over Comden’s shoulder on the floor, she stuck her tongue out at Jesse. Jesse smiled at her and sipped his scotch. Hasty Hathaway came to the bar.

“Wild Turkey,” he said to the bartender. “Straight, one ice cube.”

He got his drink and turned and put an arm around Jesse’s shoulder.

“Wife gets a little giddy,” he said, “when she drinks.”

“Sure,” Jesse said.

Hasty took a drink.

“Mother’s milk,” he said.

Jesse nodded. The dancers labored about the floor. Most people were terrible dancers, Jesse thought. He wondered if Comden had been dispatched to dance with Abby, so that Hasty and he could talk man to man. He didn’t see Cissy anywhere.

“Women are hard to figure, aren’t they, Jesse?”

“Yes,” Jesse said, “they are.”

“I guess you’ve had your share of trying to figure them out.”

“Un huh.”

“Being divorced and all.”

“Still trying to figure that out,” Jesse said.

“Well,” Hasty said, “that’s just how women are, I guess. When you want faster, they want slower. And when you want slower, they want fast.”

Hasty shook his head.

“You and Cissy seem happy,” Jesse said.

“Ciss? Oh hell, sure we are. But even a happy marriage isn’t easy, is it. There are adjustments.”

Hasty drank the rest of his Wild Turkey and ordered another.

“Sexual problems?” Hasty said.

“Who?” Jesse said.

“In your first marriage. It’s usually sexual stuff that makes a marriage hit the reef.”

“No,” Jesse said. “We didn’t have sexual problems.”

Unless, Jesse thought, your wife boffing a producer could be considered a sexual problem.

“What was your deal,” Hasty said.

Jesse shrugged.

“I’m not sure I know,” he said. “We didn’t seem to want the same things.”

“Let’s get some air,” Hasty said.

With his arm still on Jesse’s shoulder Hasty steered him toward the sliders and out onto the deck over the water. The strong salt smell reminded Jesse again of how far he was from home. The Pacific never smelled like this that he could remember. Maybe it was the cold weather made the ocean smell different. The light from the ballroom spilled out for a little way onto the black water. There was a small chop. Across the harbor the lights of the town were strung along the coastline and rose up from the water to Indian Hill, where the park was.

They leaned on the deck rail. Below them, Jesse could hear the water moving over the rocks.

“Man to man,” Hasty said.

Jesse nodded to himself. Comden had been dispatched. He was not a good choice. He was too dull to carry on a conversation. Poor Abby.

“Your ex ever fool around?” Hasty said.

He wasn’t looking at Jesse. Arms resting on the railing, he stared out across the water.

“Yes.”

“How’d it make you feel?”

“Bad.”

Hasty nodded.

“You fool around?” he said.

“Not till we separated,” Jesse said.

“You ever wonder why you weren’t enough?”

“Yes.”

Hasty nodded again. He was silent for a time. Through the glass doors behind them the band had finished its set and the sound of conversation and glassware replaced the sound of music.

“When we were dating,” Hasty said, “she was hotter than a cheap pistol. Part of the reason I married her, I suppose. I never had many girlfriends, and when I started dating her . . .” He shook his head at the memory. “But as soon as we got married she wasn’t interested anymore. The fu