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reproachfully, “They’ve promised to introduce Don to their lawyers.”
    â€œAnderson, Lord & James. You must have heard of them, sir.”
    â€œNever did,” barked Fletcher. Having no business in California he needed no lawyers. Cindy tried to impress him by telling him how famous these attorneys were and how much they would, in Nan’s husband’s opinion, welcome a bright young man trained in New York. “And besides, Daddy, you owe it to yourself to have a legal representative in the city you live in.”
    â€œWhy?” croaked Fletcher.
    â€œEverybody does, and especially a man of your standing. I mean . . . in a city like this there are all sorts of fabulous opportunities. I want you to meet Rex Burke, he’s a perfect darling and so successful—”
    â€œNot interested.” Fletcher’s rejection came out like a belch.
    â€œIt’d be food for you. Psychologically, I mean. And if Don went into that law firm and you’d have a member of the family as a contact, you’d know your interests wouldn’t be neglected.”
    â€œCindy!”
    Don Hustings’s nod and frown indicated that he and Cindy had an understanding about this subject. He had asked and she had promised not to bring it up crudely. Don did not want to be looked upon as the son-in-law in search of favors.
    â€œMy husband’s too much of a gentleman for his own good.”
    Cindy’s laughter reminded Fletcher of his first wife, who had somehow believed that an inappropriate or unwelcome remark could be softened by the appearance of levity. Without bothering to excuse himself, he marched out of the room.
    This was by no means the end of Cindy’s efforts to promote Don’s career. Nothing was said about his getting back to his job in New York. Either he had been given an extraordinary holiday or he had been fired. Fletcher became irritable. Behind closed doors he and Elaine discussed their visitors. The air of the house had become conspiratorial. “Please try to be patient,” begged Elaine. “After all, Fletch, she is your daughter. And it’s sort of lonesome here for a young girl without a car of her own.”
    Don went off nearly every day in the Jaguar. He spoke mysteriously of “important contacts.” Cindy sulked. She would have enjoyed driving the Lincoln, but Fletcher did not care tobe left without a car. He did not go out a lot, but did not want to be kept at home if he felt the sudden impulse.
    â€œDaddy, just this once,” she begged on a blistering Thursday morning. “I wouldn’t take your car away from you if it weren’t just too vital. I’ve got to do some shopping before Saturday—”
    â€œYour father’s going to the barber this afternoon. He’ll need the car.”
    They were in the kitchen, Elaine preparing lunch, Cindy pressing a dress. Fletcher answered, but no one heard. Even a normal voice could not compete with the clamor of household machines. Water splashed over rinds and peels of fruit, which were being sucked into the clashing maws of the garbage disposal, the refrigerator grumbled like an upset stomach, the stove’s exhaust roared as if in an airplane engine had been set into the wall.
    â€œWhat did you say, Daddy?”
    â€œHe’s using the car this afternoon,” Elaine said for the second time.
    Fletcher’s throat tightened. Elaine was always too swift and ready to answer for him. Even here at home with only his own daughter to hear his efforts at clear speech. Dependence upon his wife had become for him an abominable need, and for Elaine an important habit, damn her. Of late when she answered for him with her smug tact, he suffered the sense of strangulation.
    Elaine looked at the clock nervously. “Do you think Don will be on time for lunch?”
    â€œDon’s always on time. Unless people keep him waiting.”
    People in California were always keeping