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There was a shriek of lusty delight from the house and Forrester wheeled in time to see Alice Ryan rush breathless down the steps. “Why didn’t you tell me they were here? Alan, darling, it’s been so long!” She planted a warm wet kiss full on his mouth. Her assault almost knocked him back against the car and he laughed, untangling himself, but when he caught Ro
They went inside amid a great deal of chatter, both Ryans trying to talk at once. Forrester felt curiously detached, unable to enter into the spirit of hearty reunion; he had always liked Bill and Alice, had always been at; ease with them, but up to now they had been friends with no outside issues to color the relationship.
The room was self-consciously new, deliberately underfurnished, with large expanses of parquet floors and vastnesses of plate glass. The obligatory display case of a commanding officer; but in it, Bill Ryan looked alarmingly out of place.
There was a mild confusion of choosing seats and talking loudly across the room while Ryan, mixed strong drinks and served them with Alice trailing him around distributing napkins and appetizers from a wooden tray. Forrester marked the contrast between all this and the cluttered pillowy comforts of the quarters Ryan had inhabited in his throttle-jockey youth. In those days they had sat around a kitchen table drinking beer from cans.
They were feeling each other out like strangers. Alice’s bouncy enthusiasm was forced, she was drinking too fast, and Ryan was putting on a hearty front but he was searching for things to talk about and there was too much postmorteming of old times. Ro
Alice fluttered nervously in and out of the kitchen, preparing to serve di
Di
In the end Forrester felt ashamedly stupid: it had taken him too long to realize they were nervous and Upset because they were in the presence of a United States Senator. He made the discovery in a remark Ryan let drop; a moment later he could no longer remember the remark itself but he knew what he should have known all along. They were commoners in the presence of royalty; Ryan was an unhappy Falstaff whose Hal had become king.
He took no comfort from the discovery; he could see no way to put them at their ease. It made him quietly miserable. Over coffee he caught Ro
Ro
Forrester turned away when he heard Ryan’s step; he began to speak to Ro
Ryan came in red-faced, trying to beam. “How about a little snort of brandy to go with that coffee? Whaddya say, buddy? Mrs. Tebbel?”
“Please call me Ro
“How about you, buddy? Not going to let me down, are you?” Ryan’s grin was painful. He had started to clap Forrester on the shoulder but thought better of it. He wheeled furiously toward the bar without waiting an answer. “Got some real fine Havanas here. Old buddy of mine flew them in from Guantánamo.”
They left the table and settled around the phony brick fireplace. Forrester heard the click of the refrigerator door and in a moment Alice arrived from the kitchen, unsteady on her feet, carrying a tall glass full of ice cubes and whiskey. Ryan launched into another Good Old Days monologue with heavy jocularity but rapidly ran down, dragged on his cigar and jetted smoke, and finally squirmed in his chair and said, “Time to go from the preamble to article one. This damn house hasn’t got much more than this one room. You want to exile the ladies to the bedroom or take the cigars out on the patio?”
Alice muttered something unintelligible and Ryan professed not to hear her; he got up and said, “You gals mind entertaining each other for a while?” and marched toward the sliding glass doors at the back of the room.
Ro
Ryan had turned the outdoor lights on. “No bugs this time of year. I love it out here on the flagstones. But if you get chilly I’ll hunt up a sweater.”
“This is fine, Bill.”
Ryan slid the doors shut, closing them out. “Sit down, sit down. Want another drink before we start the brouhaha?”
“No, thanks.”
“Neither do I. Well then, old buddy, let’s have at it.”
“You don’t like this, do you?”
“Oh, hell, don’t mind any of this. I don’t like anything right now. It’s a bad patch. Alice and me, I don’t know—it seems to’ve become nothing more than some kind of incessant bargaining. And this stinking job of mine …”
“What’s wrong with it? It’s a pretty important job.”
“Nuts. I’m just marking time here. It’s a dead end. This command’s supposed to belong to a brigadier general, you know. I’m just filling in until they find themselves the right general to take it over.”