thestretchofbroken-pavedroadfromthehighwaytothecurveofthehillwasdancinginthenoonheatandthescrubthatdottedtheparchedlandonbothsidesofitwasflour-whitewithgranitedustbythistime.theweedysmellwasalmostnauseating.athinhotacridbreezewasblowing.ihadmycoatoffandmysleevesrolledup,butthedoorwastoohottorestanarmon.atetheredhorsedozedwearilyunderaclumpofliveoaks.abrownmexicansatonthegroundandatesomethingoutofanewspaper.atumbleweedrolledlazilyacrosstheroadandcametorestagainstapieceofgraniteoutcrop,andalizardthathadbeenthereaninstantbeforedisappearedwithoutseemingtomoveatall.

theniwasaroundthehillontheblacktopandinanothercountry.infiveminutesiturnedintothedrivewayofthewades’house,parkedandwalkedacrosstheflagstonesandrangthebell.wadeansweredthedoorhimself,inabrownandwhitecheckedshirtwithshortsleeves,palebluedenimslacks,andhouseslippers.helookedtannedandhelookedgood.therewasaninkstainonhishandandasmearofcigaretteashononesideofhisnose.

heledthewayintohisstudyandparkedhimselfbehindhisdesk.onittherewasathickpileofyellowtypescript.iputmycoatonachairandsatonthecouch.

“thanksforcoming,marlowe.drink?”

igotthatlookonmyfaceyougetwhenadrunkasksyoutohaveadrink.icouldfeelit.hegrinned.

“i’llhaveacoke,”hesaid.

“youpickupfast,”isaid.“idon’tthinkiwantadrinkrightnow.i’lltakeacokewithyou.”

hepressedsomethingwithhisfootandafterawhilecandycame.helookedsurly.hehadablueshirtonandanorangescarfandnowhitecoat.two-toneblackandwhiteshoes,eleganthigh-wastedgabardinepants.

wadeorderedthecokes.candygavemeahardstareandwentaway.

“book?”isaid,pointingtothestackofpaper.

“yeah.stinks.”

“idon’tbelieveit.howfaralong?”

“abouttwothirdsoftheway—forwhatit’sworth.whichisdamnlittle.youknowhowawritercantellwhenhe’swashedup?”

“don’tknowanythingaboutwriters.”ifilledmypipe.

“whenhestartsreadinghisoldstuffforinspiration.that’sabsolute.i’vegotfivehundredpagesoftypescripthere,welloverahundredthousandwords.mybooksrunlong.thepubliclikeslongbooks.thedamnfoolpublicthinksifthere’salotofpagestheremustbealotofgold.idon’tdarereaditover.andican’trememberhalfofwhat’sinit.i’mjustplainscaredtolookatmyownwork.”

“youlookgoodyourself,”isaid.“fromtheothernightiwouldn’thavebelievedit.you’vegotmoregutsthanyouthinkyouhave.”

“whatineedrightnowismorethanguts.somethingyoudon’tgetbywishingforit.abeliefinyourself.i’maspoiledwriterwhodoesn’tbelieveanymore.ihaveabeautifulhome,abeautifulwife,andabeautifulsalesrecord.butallireallywantistogetdrunkandforget.”

heleanedhischininhiscuppedhandsandstaredacrossthedesk.

“eileensaiditriedtoshootmyself.wasitthatbad?”

“youdon’tremember?”

heshookhishead.“notadamnthingexceptthatifelldownandcutmyhead.andafterawhileiwasinbed.andyouwerethere.dideileencallyou?”

“yeah.didn’tshesay?”

“shehasn’tbeentalkingtomeverymuchthisweek.iguessshe’shadit.uptohere.”heputtheedgeofonehandagainsthisneckjustunderhischin.“thatshowloringputonheredidn’thelpany.”

“mrs.wadesaiditmeantnothing.”

“well,shewould,wouldn’tshe?ithappenedtobethetruth,butidon’tsupposeshebelieveditwhenshesaidit.theguyisjustabnormallyjealous.youhaveadrinkortwowithhiswifeinthecornerandlaughalittleandkisshergoodbyeandrightoffheassumesyouaresleepingwithher.onereasonbeingthatheisn’t.”

“whatilikeaboutidlevalley,”isaid,“isthateverybodyislivingjustacomfortablenormallife.”

hefrownedandthenthedooropenedandcandycameinwithtwocokesandglassesandpouredthecokes.hesetoneinfrontofmewithoutlookingatme.

“lunchinhalfanhour,”wadesaid,“andwhere’sthewhitecoat?”

“thismydayoff,”candysaid,deadpan.“iain’tthecook,boss.”

“coldcutsorsandwichesandbeerwilldo,”wadesaid.“thecook’sofftoday,candy.i’vegotafriendtolunch.”

“youthinkheisyourfriend?”candysneered.“betteraskyourwife.”

wadeleanedbackinhischairandsmiledathim.“watchyourlip,littleman.you’vegotitsofthere.idon’toftenaskafavorofyou,doi?”

candylookeddownatthefloor.afteramomenthelookedupandgrinned.,“okay,boss.iputthewhitecoaton.igetthelunch,iguess.”

heturnedsoftlyandwentout.wadewatchedthedoorclose.thenheshruggedandlookedatme.

“weusedtocallthemservants.nowwecallthemdomestichelp.iwonderhowlongitwillbebeforewehavetogivethembreakfastinbed.i’mpayingtheguytoomuchmoney.he’sspoiled.”

“wages—orsomethingontheside?”

“suchaswhat?”heaskedsharply.

igotupandhandedhimsomefoldedyellowsheets.“you’dbetterreadit.evidentlyyoudon’trememberaskingmetotearitup.itwasinyourtypewriter,underthecover.”

heunfoldedtheyellowpagesandleanedbacktoreadthem.theglassofcokefizzedunnoticedonthedeskinfrontofhim.hereadslowly,frowning.whenhecametotheendherefoldedthesheetsandranafingeralongtheedge.

“dideileenseethis?”heaskedcarefully.

“iwouldn’tknow.shemighthave.”

“prettywild,isn’tit?”

“ilikedit.especiallythepartaboutagoodmandyingforyou.”