The Tiger's Wife by Wade Miller

Author:Wade Miller [Miller, Wade]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Fawcett
Published: 2015-02-18T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Tuesday, December 11, 11:00 p.m.

The gown became a glistening pool about her ankles. Under it Alice Granada wore a flesh-colored evening slip like a silken skin. She pulled it up her legs preparatory to taking it off over her head.

Bohy found his voice then. He lumbered to his feet in wrath and shouted, "For God's sake! What do you people think I am?"

The woman halted, holding the slip hem in mid-air dumbly. "I was just told-"

"I saw your husband do his act," Bohy raged at her. "That's enough exhibition for one night, understand? Keep your clothes on, you slut! Hear me?"

The slip covered her slim legs again as she let go of it and raised her hands to her mouth. Looking at him, she began to cry softly while the tears ran down onto her fingers.

"By God," he said after a moment. The tears were the first genuine objects he'd seen all evening. Ashamed, he growled, "Didn't mean to holler at you. Didn't mean what I called you. I was just taking something out on you."

"I'm sorry I'm no good," she whispered.

"No, I just lost my temper. Come and sit down and have a drink. Make us both feel better." He shoved the suitcases onto the floor so there was room to sit on the bed. He found his bottle of private-stock rum and two glasses.

Alice said meekly, "Thank you very much." She drank, holding the glass in both hands. She didn't wipe the moist streaks off her face. "Yes, I'm what you said."

"I was just hollering. I'm drunk and mad. Didn't mean to call names." He sat down beside her sadly. "Nobody bothers with what I say. Why'd you come up here?"

"They thought it was a wonderful idea. They were busy talking and Dick was being the big executive. Your wife suggested it, and Dick told me to. They were busy."

"Your husband told you to?" Bohy asked incredulously.

Alice started a bitter little laugh, interrupted it with a quick drink of rum. Then she lay back wearily on the bed, staring at the ceiling; the liquor had picked her up not at all. She was only in her middle twenties, but her face in repose was not young. "I may be a slut," she murmured, "but I hate him. Everybody knows that."

A minute later she turned her head to look at Bohy. "You're a funny big guy. What're you doing here?"

He tried to think it out. "I wanted something that lasted. When you live in a tent like an animal, worry about nothing but rifles and rations-nothing lasts that way. So I fell in love with her. And married her."

She reached out and patted his hand. "I'm sorry I cried, but suddenly tonight there was so much to cry about. Now my face is a smear. I don't care, I might cry again. I never did fall in love. Maybe that's what was wrong… No, Dick is Dick."

Bohy grunted grimly.

"Oh, you can't blame it all on him. He can be quite nice and charming, when he thinks it's the thing to do.

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