alow-swungjaguarsweptaroundthehillinfrontofmeandsloweddownsoasnottobathemeinthegranitedustfromthehalfmileofneglectedpavingattheentrancetoidlevalley.itseemedtheywanteditleftthatwaytodiscouragethesundaydriversspoiledbydriftingalongonsuperhighways.icaughtaglimpseofabrightscarfandapairofsungoggles.ahandwavedatmecasually,neighbortoneighbor.thenthedustslidacrosstheroadandaddeditselftothewhitefilmalreadywellspreadoverthescrubandthesunbakedgrass.theniwasaroundtheoutcropandthepavingstartedupinpropershapeandeverythingwassmoothandcaredfor.liveoaksclusteredtowardstheroad,asiftheywerecurioustoseewhowentby,andsparrowswithrosyheadshoppedaboutpeckingatthingsonlyasparrowwouldthinkworthpeckingat.

thentherewereafewcottonwoodsbutnoeucalyptus.thenathickgrowthofcarolinapoplarsscreeningawhitehouse.thenagirlwalkingahorsealongtheshoulderoftheroad.shehadlevisonandaloudshirtandshewaschewingonatwig.thehorselookedhotbutnotlatheredandthegirlwascrooningtohimgently.beyondafieldstonewallagardenerwasguidingapowerlawnmoweroverahugeundulatinglawnthatendedfarbackintheporticoofawilliamsburgcolonialmansion,thelargedeluxesize.somewheresomeonewasplayingleft-handedexercisesonagrandpiano.

thenallthiswheeledawayandtheglistenofthelakeshowedhotandbrightandibegantowatchnumbersongateposts.ihadseenthewades’houseonlyonceandinthedark.itwasn’tasbigasithadlookedbynight.thedrivewaywasfullofcars,soiparkedonthesideoftheroadandwalkedin.amexicanbutlerinawhitecoatopenedthedoorforme.hewasaslenderneatgood-lookingmexicanandhiscoatfittedhimelegantlyandhelookedlikeamexicanwhowasgettingfiftyaweekandnotkillinghimselfwithhardwork.

hesaid:“buenastardes,señor,”andgrinnedasifhehadputoneover.“sunombredeusted,porfavor?”

“marlowe,”isaid,“andwhoareyoutryingtoupstage,candy?wetalkedonthephone,remember?”

hegrinnedandiwentin.itwasthesameoldcocktailparty,everybodytalkingtooloud,nobodylistening,everybodyhangingonfordearlifetoamugofthejuice,eyesverybright,cheeksflushedorpaleandsweatyaccordingtotheamountofalcoholconsumedandthecapacityoftheinpidualtohandleit.theneileenwadematerializedbesidemeinapalebluesomethingwhichdidhernoharm.shehadaglassinherhandbutitdidn’tlookasifitwasmorethanaprop.

“i’msogladyoucouldcome,”shesaidgravely.“rogerwantstoseeyouinhisstudy.hehatescocktailparties.he’sworking.”

“withthisracketgoingon?”

“itneverseemstobotherhim.candywillgetyouadrink—orifyou’drathergotothebar—”

“i’lldothat,”isaid.“sorryabouttheothernight.”

shesmiled.“ithinkyouapologizedalready.itwasnothing.”

“thehellitwasnothing.”

shekeptthesmilelongenoughtonodandturnandwalkaway.ispottedthebaroverinthecornerbysomeverylargefrenchwindows.itwasoneofthosethingsyoupusharound.iwashalfwayacrosstheroom,tryingnottobumpanybody,whenavoicesaid:“oh,mr.marlowe.”

iturnedandsawmrs.loringonacouchbesideaprissy-lookingmaninrimlesscheaterswithasmearonhischinthatmighthavebeenagoatee.shehadadrinkinherhandandlookedbored.hesatstillwithhisarmsfoldedandscowled.

iwentoverthere.shesmiledatmeandgavemeherhand.“thisismyhusband,dr.loring.mr.philipmarlowe,edward.”

theguywiththegoateegavemeabrieflookandastillbriefernod.hedidn’tmoveotherwise.heseemedtobesavinghisenergyforbetterthings.

“edwardisverytired,”lindaloringsaid.“edwardisalwaysverytired.”

“doctorsoftenare,”isaid.“canigetyouadrink,mrs.loring?oryou,doctor?”

“she’shadenough,”themansaidwithoutlookingateitherofus.“idon’tdrink.themoreiseeofpeoplewhodo,themoregladiamthatidon’t.”

“comeback,littlesheba,”mrs.loringsaiddreamily.

heswungaroundanddidatake.igotawayfromthereandmadeittothebar.inthecompanyofherhusbandlindaloringseemedlikeadifferentperson.therewasanedgetohervoiceandasneerinherexpressionwhichshehadn’tusedonmeevenwhenshewasangry.

candywasbehindthebar.heaskedmewhatiwoulddrink.

“nothingrightnow,thanks.mr.wadewantstoseeme.”

“esmuyoccupado,señor.verybusy.”

ididn’tthinkiwasgoingtolikecandy.whenijustlookedathimheadded:“butigosee.depronto,señor.”

hethreadedhiswaydelicatelythroughthemobandwasbackinnotimeatall.“okay,chum,let’sgo,”hesaidcheerfully.

ifollowedhimacrosstheroomthelongwayofthehouse.heopenedadoor,iwentthrough,heshutitbehindme,andalotofthenoisewasdimmed.itwasacornerroom,bigandcoolandquiet,withfrenchwindowsandrosesoutsideandanairconditionersetinawindowtooneside.icouldseethelake,andicouldseewadelyingflatoutonalongblondleathercouch.abigbleachedwooddeskhadatypewriteronitandtherewasapileofyellowpaperbesidethetypewriter.

“goodofyoutocome,marlowe,”hesaidlazily.“parkyourself.didyouhaveadrinkortwo?”

“notyet.”isatdownandlookedathim.hestilllookedabitpaleandpinched.“how’stheworkgoing?”

“fine,exceptthatigettiredtooquick.pityafour-daydrunkissopainfultogetover.ioftendomybestworkafterone.inmyracketit’ssoeasytotightenupandgetallstiffandwooden.thenthestuffisnogood.whenit’sgooditcomeseasy.anythingyouhavereadorheardtothecontraryisalotofmishmash?”

“dependswhothewriteris,maybe,”isaid.“itdidn’tcomeeasytoflaubert,andhisstuffisgood.”

“okay,”wadesaid,sittingup.“soyouhavereadflaubert,sothatmakesyouanintellectual,acritic,asavantoftheliteraryworld.”herubbedhisforehead.“i’monthewagonandihateit.ihateeverybodywithadrinkinhishand.i’vegottogooutthereandsmileatthosecreeps.everydamnoneofthemknowsi’manalcoholic.sotheywonderwhati’mrunningawayfrom.somefreudianbastardhasmadethatacommonplace.everyten-year-oldkidknowsitbynow.ifihadaten-year-oldkid,whichgodforbid,thebratwouldbeaskingme,‘whatareyourunningawayfromwhenyougetdrunk,daddy?’”

“thewayigotit,allthiswasratherrecent,”isaid.