Mitla Pass, page 34
"You know how it goes. When you're young and sitting around the campfire and life is just beginning and this question comes up, everyone says they would kill, they would break bones, they would walk away. Today? If she still loved me, I'd probably forgive her. It would kill her inside if I didn't forgive her. You don't kill the woman you love because she makes a normal, human mistake. Hell, anybody can get hot pants. The trouble with you Americans is you're always playing Jesus, Joseph, and Mary."
"I didn't forgive Val," Gideon said, as though he were speaking to himself, "and it's bugging the hell out of me. I wish I could shout out to her so she'd hear me in Rome . . . Val, I forgive you."
"What's with Val? She worships you. She does not love anybody else. I don't believe it."
"It happened a long time ago, years ago."
"Then forget it. She'll be waiting for you at the Leonardo da Vinci Airport and she'll kiss your feet with love."
"I can't forget it. Maybe I'll never forget it."
"Then stick it away in a little closet in your head and close the door and lock it and throw away the key. Every day people have to make the decision to live with infidelity."
"Maybe it would be dead and buried if I hadn't run
into Natasha." And then Gideon's voice quivered. "I need it as an excuse for what I've been doing. I started up with the women as soon as I became a published author. Up till now, I blamed Val for holding me back as a writer . . . the old lady doesn't understand me at home, sweetheart, so let's you and me get it on for the weekend. It was my justification for a lot of crap I pulled. All Val's fault. I didn't realize it then, but I was giving away pieces of my soul."
"Hey, don't talk about it. Jumping from airplanes, morphine, the desert. Everything makes you crazy out here."
"I never talked to anyone about it, because I was Mr. Macho Man. I wouldn't admit my wife could or would do that to the great Gideon Zadok."
"You know, we may be dead tomorrow at this time. What do you need to punish yourself for?"
"That's right. Maybe we'll be up in the stars looking down. I have to square it before the trip starts."
Shlomo shook his head that he understood.
"It happened a few years ago," Gideon continued.
"You're still married, aren't you?"
"Yeah, but I handled it very badly. When I learned what Val had done, I went ape shit."
Sherman Oaks, 1954
Gideon had come home from the studio early, aching all over, running a fever, and it was growing worse. He groaned and crawled his way into bed. After getting him settled in, Val left for the afternoon to pick up Roxy and Penny and deliver them to Girl Scouts and a piano lesson, respectively.
Within the hour, there was a frantic call from Gideon's secretary, Belle Prentice.
"They're having a hemorrhage over here, Gideon," Belle said. "They rehearsed the garden scene today and it didn't play. They're shooting it tomorrow and
there's no cover set. The colonel wants to go back to your original idea."
"Belle, you've got to be kidding. I'm sicker than a dog. I'm going to start upchucking any minute."
"They want to send me over with the studio doctor."
"Isn't there some kind of state labor law against this sort of thing?"
"Honey, be a big Marine. It's only three or four pages."
"All right. Look, I'll sketch it out and phone it in to you, so they can set up the lights and sound. I'll have the dialogue in, sometime tonight. You going to be home?"
"I'll stand by here at the studio."
"Later." Gideon moaned and rolled out of bed and dug the screenplay out of his attache case. His legs were wobbly. God damn it, no foolscap pad! His office was in an outside building, so he began to fish around in Val's desk, which occupied an alcove in the room.
"Ragpickers' ball!" he mumbled as he waded through the nests of papers and God knows what in the desk drawers. Come on, Val, he thought, give me a break. Where's a note pad?
What's this! Gideon pulled out a key with a large black tag reading "King's Court Motel—Santa Monica Blvd & La Cienega St. Room 357."
He blinked in disbelief. He had used that motel on several occasions. Oh my God, he thought, his heart racing, Val has found the key! No, wait a minute. Gideon always asked for a certain corner room on the second floor. He'd never been on the third floor. What the hell was this all about?
Johnny Brookes had told him about the motel when he needed a hot sheet joint for a matinee. In fact, Johnny even registered him in on one occasion and brought the key over to him.
Johnny Brookes! Hold the phone!
Johnny and Cindy Brookes were part of "their" crowd, close buddies. John was an ex-Marine and was now a minor but promising director. He and Val and the
Brookeses had been together a few dozen times, anyhow. Lots of nice, clean, grab-ass late barbecues and skinny dips at the Zadok pool and an equal number of trips to Johnny and Cindy's place on the beach.
The Brookeses didn't have any children. Cindy preferred poodles. John was a good sort, but he had become very unhappy and the marriage was floundering. He and Gideon bowled on the same team, played tennis as doubles partners by day and occasionally bummed around together in the evenings, particularly after a late working day. John didn't monkey around too much, but he needed a quickie more often as the marriage soured and he had a yard-long list of available ladies.
Gideon began thinking back. Six months ago, Johnny was doing a film at Goldwyn and Gideon ran over for lunch from Pacific Studios. That's when the King's Court Motel first came up.
VAL AND JOHNNY IN THAT CRUMMY MOTEL! Val naked in front of him! Johnny going down on her. Sixty-nining in front of those lousy headboard mirrors! Had he fed her pot or some of his goofballs? Did she wear the black lace garter belts? What about the filthy music and the oil baths and the water beds!
Gideon reeled into the bathroom and threw up. He tore back into the bedroom and took the pistol down from its high shelf and staggered about like a water buffalo who had taken an arrow in the chest.
God damn! There's honor among thieves. A man doesn't go screwing around with his buddy's wife! They balling the shit out of each other at that sleaze joint— and then she comes home and makes love to me. Next day, a little doubles at the club and good old partner John. Holy Jesus!
Two and a half hours ticked by torturously until Gideon heard the front door being opened and the girls ran in jabbering.
"Hon, I'm home," Val called.
In a moment she entered the bedroom to find Gideon sitting on her chaise longue by the fireplace, with a
lap robe over him and his head wavering from rage, weariness, and fever.
"You shouldn't be out of bed," she said.
"Close the door," he rasped, "and lock it."
Val smiled. Oftentimes, the sicker Gideon was, the more passionate he became. He looked terrible. She'd try to talk him out of it. She stood over him and reached to feel his forehead. He took the motel key from his robe pocket and flipped it down at her feet.
Val stared at it a moment, then sagged into the easy chair opposite him. "Thank God it's over with," she croaked, "it's been a nightmare."
"You and our old pal Johnny been making a little bang-bang. Funny, John came over to my studio for lunch yesterday. He never mentioned a word about it. We had a lot of laughs about a couple of hookers he'd been seeing. Now pick up the phone and call him. Invite him over tonight, without Cindy. Tell him I'm out of town and you're hurting. Don't take no for an answer."
"Hadn't we better talk about this first?"
"No, ma'am," Gideon answered as his hand came from under the blanket and he leveled a pistol at her. "Do as I say. Maybe you guys will put on a little dog and pony show for me . . . if I don't blow his head off first."
Val tried to dial but was unable. The receiver fell from her trembling hand.
"Leave it for now," Gideon commanded, "and start
"Can I get a glass of water?"
Val staggered into the bathroom and fought for composure. Half the water spilled down her front and she gagged as she drank. She returned and sat, hands folded, rocking back and forth in misery, eyes cast down.
"What do you want to know?"
"Everything. Every God-damned last thing!"
She tried to look at him, but it was not possible. "Maybe you want to know where my head was at that time, maybe not."
"Just start talking."
"You were writing The Tenderloin and you were very unhappy. You kept going up to San Francisco alone, as often as you could. You didn't want me with you to clutter up your prowling."
"Our daughters were in school!" Gideon snapped.
"Mom always came up to take care of them before that. You didn't want me."
"It was too filthy a job for you, Snow White. You didn't want to come, so don't give me that shit."
"All right, but you let me know you were taking off for parts unknown without us, just as soon as you could . . . Israel . . . China . . . always trying to run away. I felt, so ... so unwanted. And then there was that visit to Dr. Murray. No more children, he said. It meant we couldn't try for a son. I was depressed as hell and you were gone. Then I came to realize that my going back to art school was just a sham. I had to face the fact I didn't have the talent. So, I was alone and low and terrified of losing you. Oh, baby, let me take your temp. You look terrible."
"Keep talking."
"You went up to San Francisco over the Fourth of July and we were angry. You missed Penny's birthday. . . ."
"So it's my fault and Penny's."
"It was my fault! Mine! There were lies I had to tell myself in order to do it. I had to justify it! I even pretended that if you knew about Johnny, it would turn you on."
"Oh God!"
"You and I ... we . . . we had been talking about swinging. I'm not making it as an excuse. If I've learned one thing out of this, it's that we all have to take the responsibility for our deeds. But I needed excuses because there was some kind of bile starting to come out of me and I couldn't stop it. So, I turned on the one man I loved to justify failing him."
"What happened?"
"Johnny popped over one afternoon looking for
you. He was about to start shooting that Western at Fox and he wanted you to clean up a scene for him. You had just left for the airport and I was really down. He told me things were very bad between him and Cindy. He ... he said they hadn't made love in almost three months . . . and that started it going. ... I was . . . more aggressive than he was . . . and we did it!"
"Where?"
Val shook her head.
"Where!"
She pointed to the bed.
"In our bed?"
"Yes . . . we slept together in our bed."
"You mean fucked, don't you?"
"Yes!" Val screamed. "I fucked him!"
"Did he go for rubbing his face around where the black stockings end and your soft white thighs begin? Did he bury his face in your muff!"
"Come on, Gideon, stop torturing yourself."
"We've seen that son of a bitch bare-assed. He's got a shvantz on him like a horse. How'd you like giving head to that great big salami? Did you soap him down in the shower and give him a super-deluxe job?"
"I did it. We did it like people do it. I swear to God, I don't remember half of it."
"Bullshit. He had you up on speed."
"Yes . . ."
"And you kept fucking him in our bed?"
"No, just that once."
"How many times, where?"
"Out at their beach house a few times. And . . . three . . . four times at the motel."
"You came, didn't you? Screams and flailing and sweating and moaning. You had one orgasm after another! You enjoyed every minute of it, didn't you? Especially when he had you put on a show. You put on a show with your fingers up your pussy and he came all over you!"
"No ... I don't remember, I tell you. Neither of
us knew why we kept coining back. He's . . . he's a fair lover. But, Gideon, he wasn't you. Nobody is you."
"Sure, that's right, baby. Let's establish the fact that he was a lousy lover. That makes me feel real good. Oh, he was just terrible, a real bum in the sack."
"I wasn't doing this to hurt you. I was messed up, baby, just messed up. At the end of a few months, it was over with. We both became just . . . disgusted with ourselves."
"But he came back to our dinner table. We all went skinny-dipping together, didn't we? God damn, what a laugh you two must have had behind my back."
"We thought it best to go on like nothing had happened. And nothing did happen after we quit. Only the God-damned lie. It has been like a cancer in my soul and it wouldn't stop growing."
"Take a look in the mirror!"
"I can't."
"You'll see a slut, a whore, a tramp, a pig, scum. The Admiral's daughter and all her Protestant bullshit. The only thing you're sorry for is that you got caught."
"Sometimes I swore you wanted me to be a whore. We've played at it a hundred times. It's no excuse. I got mixed up between fantasy and reality. Look, honey, it's no excuse. I could've always said no to the games you and I played . . . but I loved playing them with you. Honey, honey, I just want to live long enough for you to trust me again. I love you, man. . . ."
"How about Penny and Roxy? You love them too?"
"Please don't. I beg you. Please don't"
"What are you going to tell them when it comes time to let them know they've got to learn to keep their legs crossed? You going to tell them what a sweetheart Momma was to their daddy? You junky whore, going down for a toot of speed, just like the two-bit pigs in the shooting galleries. Give me a sniff and I'll give you a fuck."
"Kill me!"
"Why don't you be quiet. Our daughters will hear you."
Val became hysterical, and after a time she took her hands down from her face. It was wet with tears, and her eyes screamed silently in pain. Val clenched her trembling fists and pulled herself together once again. "I'll tell them their mother is a human being and human beings make mistakes. I'll tell them to try not to make mistakes as a woman, because there is no free lunch in that game. I'll tell them, if they make mistakes, there's no escaping having to pay the price. I'll tell them their own consciences will drive them crazy. I hate myself, Gideon, almost as much as I love you."
Gideon's face became wet with perspiration, and his eyes fluttered and his head rolled. "Get out of here. Pack your shit and go visit your mother. I'll take care of the girls."
"I'm not leaving them," Val said. "If you want me out, we'll take a place nearby, so they can finish their school term."
Gideon picked the pistol up from his lap, stared at it, then tossed it on the coffee table. He dialed the studio.
"Good afternoon, Pacific Studios."
"Gideon Zadok's office. Hello, Belle, Gideon. What the hell's the name of the hospital near the studio?"
"You mean St. Joseph's? Say, you sound terrible."
"Get me a private room and have the studio doctor come see me later. Get a typewriter and whatever we'll need to write over there. Then, come pick me up."
"What the devil is going on?"
"Will you do what the fuck I say!"
"Let me speak to Val."
"Just do what I say, Belle." He hung up and he wept.
"Oh God, baby," Val cried, "forgive me. Gideon, you've got to forgive me."
"In a pig's ass I'll forgive you."
(chap)
Mitla Pass
October 31, 1956—0800 Hours, D Day plus two
The first kiss of daylight began to melt away the darkness and the stars blinked themselves off. There was the soldiers' anger at morning, stretches, groans, bitching all along the Lion's foxhole. The paras took their morning piss, brushed their teeth, and dug into their rations. The night had gone fairly well. An Egyptian patrol had come out of the Pass after midnight to probe, but was easily beaten back. Word from Para 202 was that the attack on Nakhl had already taken place, or was about to begin. It wasn't clear. The next few hours would tell the story.
A distant sound of bombing was heard coming from the other side of the Pass and the Canal. Someone might have been hitting the Egyptian airfields.
"So, you never forgave her?" Shlomo asked Gideon.
"No, how could I? I was playing around all over the place and now I had an excuse. If I had forgiven her, she would have had to forgive me. I wanted to keep on doing what I was doing . . . balling starlets . . . going out on pot at my agent's house in Malibu . . . gang bangs . . . fun and games. I never forgave her, but I know from how much she hurt me, how much I have hurt her. I never knew about that kind of pain until
then. Fd give anything . . . anything if I could tell her now."
"And Natasha?"
"I suppose we deserve each other. I was smug. There wasn't a woman in the world I couldn't walk away from. I had my fortress home. I had a guilty wife, well fixed inside the moat, and the castle walls. I was safe . . . until I got messed up with Natasha." Gideon squinted out to the endless sea of rocks and sand. "Come on, Para 202, where are you, you bastards? Come on, Zechariah, stop farting around."
"That's the worst thing two people can do to each other," Shlomo said. "If you live together, have children, share the same bed, if there is a morsel of love left, you have no right to withhold forgiveness. You have no right to hold it over her head."
"Tell me about it," Gideon snapped sarcastically,
"There's an evil streak in all of us," Shlomo went on, "which we must control. When it takes over, we become the devil's advocates on earth."
"Yeah ... I know and Val knows."
"Do you trust Val?"
"Yes, but not all the way. Not like it once was."
"Do you trust any woman?"
A sudden smile lit Gideon's eyes. They were no longer sad. "There are two women in my life . . . yeah ... I trusted them all the way."
"Your mother and ..."
"No, not my mother. One, Miss Abigail Winters, a teacher. She thought I would become a writer one day. The other woman? Molly, my sister. I wouldn't have made it without her. I love Molly. When I knock this book, I'm going to bring her to Israel and show her around ..."
