CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

She arrived at Sam's house with a U-Haul connected to her car. He came out to greet her. They kissed deeply, their embrace fervent.

"God, I couldn't wait until you got here," Sam said.

"And I can't wait to be here."

After a few moments he noticed the U-Haul.

"I'm feeling very industrious today," Grace said. "I've been neglecting my work."

He chuckled with amusement and shook his head, as if it had become a matter of growing indifference to him. She would be killing two birds with one stone: The money, of course, and what could be the biggest bonus of all, getting rid of more reminders of his unfaithful, deceased wife.

"We have to be true to Anne's wishes," Grace said, repressing any hint of sarcasm. "It was beginning to bother me."

"Of course, darling," Sam said, taking her hand and leading her into the house. They didn't allow the heat of passion to interfere with their beach walk and swim, as it had yesterday, and soon they were ambling along the shore, arms around each other's waists.

Today, Grace knew, would mark the first drastic change in their usual routine. Her mind was filled with the logistics of what she had planned. She calculated that with speed and efficiency it would take her at least a week to empty Anne's closet. That was her goal.

She had talked with a number of the store owners, told them the types of clothes that were to be consigned, mentioned the various famous designers involved and, in an uncommon burst of business acumen, insisted on a cash advance.

"Do you mind if Felicia helps me?" Grace asked, still working on the practicalities of the chore.

"Of course not," he replied.

As usual Marilyn chased the sandpipers and ran along the foamy edge of the surf. At intervals they stopped to kiss and embrace on the deserted beach. She loved being close to him, loved the spontaneity of their actions. She was also relieved that she had discovered a method that would take the pressure off, give him time to resolve things in his mind and, hopefully, meet her ultimate objective.

After their walk they had their swim and came back to the house and made love.

"I really like the idea of your wishing to fulfill this commitment to Anne," Sam told her when they were winding down. Normally she loved this time, the talk, the conversational exchange. Sam, she had discovered, was a very verbal man, introspective, with wide-ranging interests.

She loved hearing about his early life, his affection for his parents and his struggles to succeed. He would tell her about the world in which he grew up, so different from her own. He seemed compelled to tell her his story, not only the narrative of his marriage, which she endured stoically, but his life before meeting Anne, which was much more exciting and far less stressful on her. Unlike her own story, Grace knew it was an honest portrayal, embellished more with sentiment than inaccuracy.

He had begun, too, to discuss national and world events, his perspectives on these matters and his opinion about politics, government, foreign affairs and economics.

Even though it pointed up her lack of knowledge on these subjects, she listened carefully, treating his conversation as if it were an educational experience. She marveled at Sam's knowledge and considered herself extraordinarily fortunate to have won the affection and love of such an intelligent man.

It surprised her, too, that she had absorbed enough to make reasonably acceptable comments at appropriate moments, comments that probably indicated to him that she knew more than she did. She was certain that such discussions were a way of life in his marriage with Anne, and she tried to mask her lack of knowledge, which troubled her. It was, after all, another form of lying. Sometimes he would lead her into discussions that referred to events in her own fictitious history.

"The fact is," he told her, "the country is in a compensation phase, swinging now somewhat to the right of center, but not quite like it was in your Washington days."

"Not quite," she replied, frightened by the reference.

"It had to come. It's like a pendulum."

"Absolutely."

"I used to argue with Anne on this point. I never won, of course. She was adamant. Very articulate, too. She believed in her heart that anyone right of center was a hypocrite. She was really down on anything that smacked of hypocrisy."

"Was she?" Grace said, thinking of the letters in her possession.

"Vacillating politicians would drive her up the wall. Anne had this thing about telling it like it is. She could be pretty damned passionate in an argument."

Elsewhere, too, Grace thought, triggered by his mention of passion, remembering Anne's lover's phrase, the "fire of passion."

Now when he referred to Anne she could barely contain her anger and disgust. Why did he continue to extol his late wife's virtues? She was a fucking whore, Sam, she wanted to say, to shout it out, blast it into his mind.

"When she believed in something she refused to accept anyone else's point of view. She considered it a kind of surrender, a compromise of her integrity."

When Sam stressed this quality of integrity in his dead wife he would grow reflective, suggesting that he was again beating himself up because of is own infidelity. Grace tamped down her anger, forcing her silence. The Anne myth was obviously too firmly established in Sam's mind to accept any challenge from her.

Thankfully, he seemed less and less interested in interrogating her about her past, as if, she hoped, he might have finally put his mind to rest as to her suitability as a replacement for Anne.

Before she learned of Anne's betrayal, she had been able to tolerate his endless paeans of praise for Anne's taste, integrity, poise and intellect. Always after these outbursts she would counter in the only way she knew Anne was beatable ... in the sack.

At those times, when she was consciously competing with the "frigid" Anne, she would marvel at the intensity of her sexuality. She would become the aggressor, the director, putting him through a series of physical gyrations that would make a hooker blush.

Often, during these episodes, she would wonder if she had carried things too far. But his expressions of gratification, sometimes loud and vocal, as uninhibited and resonant as her own, put her mind at ease. In this area their compatibility could not be challenged.

Because he respected the idea of fulfilling her so-called commitment to Anne, he didn't object to her spending most of the afternoon carrying out armfuls of Anne's clothes. She sent him off to his den to do his business while she and Felicia took the clothes off the racks, sorted them and laid them carefully in the U-Haul.

"You give all these to charity?" Felicia asked her as they worked. Although Felicia was a woman of few words and normally kept her personal thoughts to herself, Grace knew a broad hint when she heard one. She did not take the bait.

"Yes, Felicia. This was the late Mrs. Goodwin's wish."

"Fur coats for people on the Welfare?"

"The charity people know how best to help the poor. They'll probably sell them and recycle the money for various good purposes."

Grace could sense that the entire operation puzzled Felicia. She was probably even more puzzled by the goings-on between her and Sam. Thankfully, she posed no threat or interference. Grace timed it so that she was able to make stops at the two secondhand clothing stores she had chosen and still return in enough time for them to have their usual candlelight dinner.

The proprietors of both stores were amazed at the treasure trove she had provided, and Grace walked away with advances of a thousand dollars from each store. Grace's deal with them called for an additional commission coming, less the advance, if the clothing was sold.

She deposited the cash into her checking account. Both proprietors agreed that it would not be difficult to find customers for such high-quality clothing.

Neither of them questioned her as to where the clothing had come from. Since all transactions were in cash, they didn't require any confirmation of her real name. She told the proprietors that she would call or visit periodically to check on the progress of the sales. To further cover herself, she had gone through any pockets that might hold clues to the origin of the clothing or additional details of Anne's secret life. She found nothing.

Grace admitted to herself that she didn't feel very good about these transactions, nor did she believe that she was getting more than a fraction of their value. Survival required compromise, she assured herself. But the money was comforting and, surprisingly, ameliorated the effects of the betrayal of her earlier principles. After all, no one was harmed by these activities, and the benefits to herself and Jackie would be significant.

She was pleased to discover that Sam was no longer curious about the various charities to which the clothes were consigned.

"Would you like to know where they went, Sam?" she would ask.

"Darling, I'm sure they were put to good use."

"Yes, Sam. They were."