Deep Water by Patricia Highsmith (romance novel chinese novels .txt) 📗

gardenia bush, the gardenia became stronger. Vic turned and walked back toward the house. It was only nine-thirty. Another full hour before there would be a respite from De Lisle. Vic marched up the terrace steps toward the living room door, braced to find anything going on inside.

       But Melinda was dancing with Mr. Kenny. "Mr. Van Allen," said a woman's voice beside him. It was Mrs. MacPherson. "You're such a scholar. Can you tell me what people wear under their togas or do they wear anything?"

       "Yes." Vic smiled. "I've heard they wore underwear." No use telling her the Latin name for it, he thought. She'd think he was stodgy. He added, "I understand that when orators orated and wanted to show the populace their honorable scars, they left off their underwear so they could lift up their togas and show the people whatever part of the body they wanted to."

       "Oh, what fun!" Mrs. MacPherson squealed.

       She was the daughter of a wealthy Chicago meat packer, Vic recalled. "Yes. I don't suppose I'll be much fun tonight. I've got on walking shorts and a T-shirt underneath."

       "Oh-ho!" she laughed. "Horace told me you're going to publish the most beautiful book this summer."

       "Xenophon?"

       "Yay-yuss! That was it!"

       Then somehow Vic found himself on a sofa with her, talking about Stephen Hines, whom she knew slightly because they went to the same church, and about the MacPhersons' garage roof, which they didn't know whether to repair or to tear off and rebuild. George MacPherson—Mac—was a completely ineffectual fellow, Vic knew from other similar conversations with Jennie MacPherson. Vic had given them advice about enlarging their cellar a couple of years ago. Mac had retired, on his wife's money, and managed to do nothing at all at home—except drink, some people said. Vic discussed the roof problem thoroughly and at length, quoting prices and building companies' names. It was more interesting to Vic than most party conversations, and it made the time pass. He noticed that Melinda went over to Charley at exactly ten-thirty-two, put a hand on his shoulder and told him—Vic felt sure—that it was time he had to leave, and Charley nodded. He finished the song he was playing, stood up and wiped his shiny flat forehead amid the slight but enthusiastic applause.

       "Charley's leaving, but he says he'll be back at twelve-thirty, and we'll carry on from there!" Melinda announced to all and sundry, waving an arm.

       She went out with him onto the terrace, a fact which was noted by Horace, Vic saw. Then Horace looked over at Vic, gave him a casual nod and a smile, but Vic could read Horace's thoughts in his eyes. It crossed Vic's mind that perhaps many or all of the women, being quicker at such things, had already guessed that De Lisle was Melinda's new conquest and were refraining from showing that they had noticed it for politeness' sake. But of course not all the women were that polite. Vic didn't know. He found himself looking around at everybody in the room, examining each face. He got nowhere.

       Evelyn was herding people into the living room, in a circle, for the costume judging. There was to be no judge except the applause each contestant received.

       Martha Washington (Mrs. Peter Jauch) stepped forward first, being the First Lady, complete with ruffled cap, ruffled apron, candy box, and a cigarette holder sticking out of her mouth at a jaunty angle. She curtsied somewhat shakily. Then came Lady Macbeth, with a candlestick, accompanied by her husband, who was Hamlet, looking quite mad with a hand mirror.

       Vic kept his eyes away from the terrace door, already reconciled to Melinda's having gone to Ballinger with De Lisle, but after five minutes or so she came in again, alone, and fixed a cigarette coolly into her holder in preparation for the judging.

       Ernest Kay, a skinny, shy fellow who turned up at parties about once a year, got the loudest applause that had yet come with his Dr. Livingstone costume—riding breeches with ancient puttees, pith helmet, a monocle for some reason, and an absurdly long, narrow-shouldered, cotton riding jacket which hung almost to his knees. Vic, when his turn came, got a surprising amount of applause and loud cries of "Take it off, Vic!" He unfastened one shoulder clip, revealed his walking shorts and T-shirt with a complete turn and a bow, then refastened the toga with a flourish like a practiced Roman. Melinda got applause and howls, and she held her act, dropping her ashes disdainfully into Phil Cowan's hair.

       Little Martha Washington got the prize for women—a cellophane bag of goodies including a small box of candy, lipstick, and perfume, and she looked at the box of candy suspiciously and asked, "What brand is 'this'?"

       Dr. Livingstone won it for the men's costumes, a package wrapped in a great deal of tissue and in his nervousness at being watched by the whole party he dropped it, and there was more laughter. Finally, he held up a hip-molded bottle of brandy. "I presume this is Mr. Stanley," he murmured, and everybody laughed and applauded.

       There was more music from the phonograph, more trays of drinks, and two maids put out a baked ham and a great many other t lungs on the long table that stood against the windows. Vic went nit on the terrace. People were playing some kind of game on the terrace, crawling on hands and knees blindfolded, carrying plastic glasses of water between their shoulder blades. The game was ailed "Llama."You raced a competitor blindfolded, to the end of the terrace, always moving hands and knees alternately as four-looted animals did, and without spilling the water, although much water was spilled. Vic could not think of anything he felt less in the mood to do, though he stood a long while watching, and he was still standing there when De Lisle returned at half-past twelve.

       Melinda met De