chiaasen.stormyweather-第19节

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　He　was　falling　for　her；　and　she　was　falling　（though　a　bit　less　precipitously）　for　him。　As　it　turned　out；　Max's　bosses　at　Rodale　&　Burns　liked　his　slogan　but　hated　the　concept　of　Dinah　the　Mynah。　The　executives　of　Crespo　Mills　concurred。　When　the　new　cereal　finally　debuted；　the　box　featured　a　likeness　of　basketball　legend　Patrick　Ewing；　slam…dunking　a　giddy　cartoon　plum。　Surveys　later　revealed　that　many　customers　thought　it　was　either　an　oversized　grape　or　a　prune。　Plum　Crunchies　failed　to　capture　a　significant　share　of　the　fruited…branflake　breakfast　market　and　quietly　disappeared　forever　from　the　shelves。
　
　Bonnie　and　Max's　long…distance　romance　endured。　She　found　herself　carried　along　by　his　energy；　determination　and　self…confidence；　misplaced　as　it　often　was。　While　Bonnie　was　bothered　by　Max's　tendency　to　judge　humankind　strictly　according　to　age；　race；　sex　and　median　ine；　she　attributed　his　cold　eye　to　indoctrination　by　the　advertising　business。　She　herself　had　bee　cynical　about　the　brain　activity　of　the　average　consumer；　given　Crespo's　worldwide　success　with　such　dubious　food　products　as　salted　doughballs；　whipped　olive　spread　and　shrimp…flavored　popcorn。
　
　In　the　early　months　of　courtship；　Max　invented　a　game　intended　to　impress　Bonnie　Brooks。　He　bet　that　he　could　guess　precisely　what　model　of　automobile　a　person　owned；　based　on　his　or　her　demeanor；　wardrobe　and　physical　appearance。　The　skill　was　intuitive；　Max　told　Bonnie；　a　gift。　He　said　it's　what　made　him　such　a　canny　advertising　pro。　On　dates；　he'd　sometimes　follow　strangers　out　of　restaurants　or　movie　theaters　to　see　what　they　were　driving。　〃Ha！　A　Lumina…what'd　I　tell　ya？　The　guy　had　midsize　written　all　over　him！〃　Max　would　chirp　when　his　guess　was　correct　（which　was；　by　Bonnie's　generous　reckoning；　about　five　percent　of　the　time）。　Before　long；　the　car　game　grew　tiresome　and　Bonnie　Brooks　asked　Max　Lamb　to　stop。　He　didn't　take　it　personally；　he　was　a　hard　man　to　insult。　This；　too；　Bonnie　attributed　to　the　severe　environment　of　Madison　Avenue。
　
　While　Bonnie's　father　was　amiably　indifferent　to　Max；　her　mother　was　openly　unfond　of　him。　She　felt　he　tried　too　hard；　came　on　too　strong；　that　he　was　trying　to　sell　himself　to　Bonnie　the　same　way　he　sold　breakfast　cereal　and　cigarets。　It　wasn't　that　Bonnie's　mother　thought　Max　Lamb　was　a　phony；　just　the　opposite。　She　believed　he　was　exactly　what　he　seemed　to　be…pletely　goal…driven；　every　waking　moment。　He　was　no　different　at　home　than　he　was　at　the　office；　no　less　consumed　with　attaining　success。　There　was；　said　Bonnie's　mother；　a　sneaky　arrogance　in　Max　Lamb's　winning　attitude。　Bonnie　thought　it　was　an　odd　criticism；　ing　from　a　woman　who　had　regarded　Bonnie's　previous　boyfriends　as　timid；　unmotivated　losers。　Still；　her　mother　had　never　used　the　term　〃asshole〃　to　describe　Bonnie's　other　suitors。　That　she　pinned　it　so　quickly　on　Max　Lamb　nagged　painfully　at　Bonnie　until　her　wedding　day。
　
　Now；　with　Max　apparently　abducted　by　a　raving　madman；　Bonnie　fretted　about　something　else　her　mother　had　often　mentioned；　a　trait　of　Max's　so　obvious　that　even　Bonnie　had　acknowledged　it。　Augustine　knew　what　she　was　talking　about。
　
　〃Your　husband　thinks　he　can　outsmart　anybody。〃
　
　〃Unfortunately；〃　Bonnie　said。
　
　〃I　can　tell　from　the　phone　tapes。〃
　
　〃Well；〃　she　said；　fishing　for　encouragement；　〃he's　managed　to　make　it　so　far。〃
　
　〃Maybe　he's　learned　when　to　keep　his　mouth　shut。〃　Augustine　stood　up　and　stretched　his　arms。　〃I'm　tired。　Can　we　do　the　scar　thing　some　other　time？〃
　
　Bonnie　Lamb　laughed　and　said　sure。　She　waited　until　she　heard　the　bedroom　door　shut　before　she　phoned　Pete　Archibald　at　his　home　in　Connecticut。
　
　〃Did　I　wake　you？〃　she　asked。
　
　〃Heck；　no。　Max　said　you　might　be　calling。〃
　
　Bonnie's　words　stuck　in　her　throat。　〃You…Pete；　you　talked　to　him？〃
　
　〃For　about　an　hour。〃
　
　〃When？〃
　
　〃Tonight。　He's　all　frantic　that　Bill　Knapp's　gonna　snake　the　Bronco　cigaret　account。　I　told　him　not　to　worry；　Billy's　tied　up　with　the　smokeless　division　on　some　stupid　rodeo　tour…〃
　
　〃Pete；　never　mind　all　that。　Where　did　Max　call　from？〃
　
　〃I　don't　know；　Bon。　I　assumed　he'd　spoken　to　you。〃
　
　Bonnie　strained　to　keep　the　hurt　from　her　voice。　〃Did　he　tell　you　what　happened？〃
　
　On　the　other　end；　Pete　Archibald　clucked　and　ummmed　nervously。　〃Not　all　the　gory　details；　Bonnie。　Everybody…least　all　the　couples　I　know…go　through　the　occasional　bedroom　drama。　Fights　and　whatnot。　I　don't　blame　you　for　not　giving　me　the　real　story　when　you　called　before。〃
　
　Bonnie　Lamb's　voice　rose。　〃Peter；　Max　and　I　aren't　fighting。　And　I　did　tell　you　the　real　story。〃　She　caught　herself。　〃At　least　it　was　the　story　Max　told　me。〃
　
　After　an　unfortable　pause；　Pete　Archibald　said；　〃Bon；　you　guys　work　it　out；　OK？　I　don't　want　to　get　in　the　middle。〃
　
　〃You're　right；　you're　absolutely　right。〃　She　noticed　that　her　free　hand　was　balled　in　a　fist　and　she　was　rocking　sideways　in　the　chair。　〃Pete；　I　won't　keep　you。　But　maybe　you　could　tell　me　what　else　Max　said。〃
　
　〃Shop　talk；　Bonnie。〃
　
　〃For　a　whole　hour？〃
　
　〃Well；　you　know　your　husband。　He　gets　rolling；　you　know　what　he's　like。〃
　
　Maybe　I　don't；　Bonnie　thought。
　
　She　said　good…bye　to　Pete　Archibald　and　hung　up。　Then　she　went　to　Augustine's　room　and　knocked　on　the　door。　When　he　didn't　answer；　she　slipped　in　and　sat　lightly　on　the　corner　of　the　bed。　She　thought　he　was　asleep；　until　he　rolled　over　and　said：　〃Not　a　good　night　for　the　skull　room；　huh？〃
　
　Bonnie　Lamb　shook　her　head　and　began　to　cry。
　
　Edie　Marsh　gave　it　her　best　shot。　For　a　while；　the　plan　went　smoothly。　The　man　from　Midwest　Casualty　took　meticulous　notes　as　he　followed　her　from　room　to　room　in　the　Torres　house。　Many　of　the　couple's　belongings　had　been　pulverized　beyond　recognition；　so　Edie　began　embellishing　losses　to　inflate　the　claim。　She　lovingly　described　the　splintered　remains　of　a　china　cabinet　as　a　priceless　antique　that　Tony　inherited　from　a　great…grandmother　in　San　Juan。　Pausing　before　a　bare　bedroom　wall；　she　pointed　to　the　nails　upon　which　once　hung　two　original　（and　very　expensive）　watercolors　by　the　legendary　Jean…Claude　Jarou；　a　martyred　Haitian　artist　whom　Edie　invented　off　the　top　of　her　head。　A　splintered　bedroom　bureau　became　the　hand…hewn　mahogany　vault　that　had　yielded　eight　cashmere　sweaters　to　the　merciless　winds　of　the　hurricane。
　
　〃Eight　sweaters；〃　said　Fred　Dove；　glancing　up　from　his　clipboard。　〃In　Miami？〃
　
　〃The　finest　Scottish　cashmeres…can　you　imagine？　Ask　your　wife　if　it　wouldn't　break　her　heart。〃
　
　Fred　Dove　took　a　small　flashlight　from　his　jacket　and　went　outside　to　evaluate　structural　damage。　Soon　Edie　heard　barking　from　the　backyard；　followed　by　emphatic　human　profanities。　By　the　time　she　got　there；　both　dachshunds　had　gotten　a　piece　of　the　insurance　man。　Edie　led　him　inside；　put　him　in　the　BarcaLounger；　rolled　up　his　cuffs　and　tended　his　bloody　ankles　with　Evian　and　Ivory　liquid；　which　she　salvaged　from　the　kitchen。
　
　〃I'm　glad　they're　not　rottweilers；〃　said　Fred　Dove；　soothed　by　Edie's　ministrations　with　a　soft　towel。
　
　Repeatedly　she　apologized　for　the　attack。　〃For　what　it's　worth；　they've　had　all　their　shots；〃　she　said；　with　no　supporting　evidence　whatsoever。
　
　She　instructed　Fred　Dove　to　stay　in　the　recliner　and　keep　his　feet　elevated；　to　slow　the　bleeding。　Leaning　back；　he　spotted　Tony　Torres's　Salesman　of　the　Year　plaque　on　the　wall。　〃Pretty　impressive；〃　Fred　Dove　said。
　
　〃Yes；　it　was　quite　a　big　day　for　us。〃　Edie　beamed；　a　game　simulation　of　spousely　pride。
　
　〃And　where's　Mister　Torres　tonight？〃
　
　Out　of　town；　Edie　replied；　at　a　mobile…home　convention　in　Dallas。　For　the　second　time；　Fred　Dove　looked　doubtful。
　
　〃Even　with　the　hurricane？　Must　be　a　pretty　important　convention。〃
　
　〃It　sure　is；〃　said　Edie　Marsh。　〃He's　getting　another　award。〃
　
　〃Ah。〃
　
　〃So　he　bad　to　go。　I　mean；　it'd　look　bad　if　he　didn't　show　up。　Like　he　wasn't　grateful　or　something。〃
　
　Fred　Dove　said；　〃I　suppose　so。　When　will　Mister　Torres　be　returning　to　Miami？〃
　
　Edie　sighed　theatrically。　〃I　just　don't　know。　Soon；　I　hope。〃
　
　The　insurance　man　attempted　to　lower　the　recliner；　but　it　kept　springing　to　the　sleep　position。　Finally　Edie　Marsh　sat　on　the　footrest；　enabling　Fred　Dove　to　climb　out。　He　said　he　wanted　to　reinspect　the　damage　to　the　master　bedroom。　Edie　said　that　was　fine。
　
　She　was　rinsing　the　bloody　towel　in　a　sink　when　the　insurance　man　called。　She　hurried　to　the　bedroom；　where　Fred　Dove　held　up　a　framed　photograph　that　he'd　dug　from　the　storm　rubble。　It　was　a　picture　of　Tony　Torres　with　a　large　dead　fish。　The　fish　had　a　mouth　the　size　of　a　garbage　pail。
　
　〃That's　Tony　on　the　left；〃　Edie　said　with　a　dry；　edgy　laugh。
　
　〃Nice　grouper。　Where'd　he　catch　it？〃
　
　〃The　ocean。〃　Where　else？　thought　Edie。
　
　〃And　who's　this？〃　The　insurance　man　retrieved　another　frame　off　the　floor。　The　glass　was　cracked；　and　the　picture　was　puckered　from　storm　water。　It　was　a　color　nine…by…twelve　mounted　inside　gold　filigree：　Tony　Torres　with　his　arm　around　the　waist　of　a　petite　but　heavy…breasted　Latin　woman。　Both　of　them　wore　loopy　champagne　smile