A Time to Be Born, page 26
“He’s changed this all around, Bemel,” she said slowly. “Where’d he get the idea of having Le Maz come to New York after he left Virginia?”
“Mr. Evans suggested that,” said Miss Bemel. “He thought a chapter or two on the New York of that period would give a little variety, and then it would appeal more to the motion pictures.”
“Mr. Evans might have spoken to me about it,” said Amanda stiffly.
“He didn’t want to disturb you until Emerson had worked it out a little more,” said Miss Bemel. “He did talk it over with the publishers and some picture people and they agreed with him.”
Amanda sat still waiting for her rage to permit her to speak.
“Settle with Emerson when he comes,” she said, finally. “The book is off.”
“Off?” Miss Bemel said blankly, jaw dropping. “Off?”
“That’s right. Write my publishers. I have decided to abandon the Le Maz story. Whatever I do next will be entirely different.”
As soon as she saw Miss Bemel’s horrified expression, a feeling of triumphant exaltation came over Amanda. She saw herself deliberately destroying the figurehead Julian had created and avenging herself by making herself a new Amanda, an Amanda who was none of their doing, none of their business. She wasn’t sure how she was going to do this, but a sense of limitless power surged through her, a high elation. Chains would be cast off, she would be free again as she was when she first conquered Julian; she would be free of Julian, Bemel, Ken, just as she had freed herself once of her family and Lakeville. What had been done, could be done again.
Miss Bemel was staring at her helplessly, as if she sensed the change in the woman she was so certain she knew completely.
“You can’t mean it, Mrs. Evans,” she said weakly. “You can’t mean you’re dropping the book. Do wait till Mr. Evans comes back.”
“This is no one’s concern but mine,” said Amanda coldly, and then she picked up the newspaper with the picture of Andrew Callingham on the front page, just back from Lisbon. It was a sign from heaven. The one person she admired more than anyone else, the great man of the age, the one for whom she was really destined. Not a little Julian Evans, but a genius, a brave man, really worthy of being conquered by an Amanda. Fleetingly Amanda saw the two of them, the two greatest of their kind, sweeping through the world together, enriching each other, fulfilling each other, worthy of each other.
“Call Mr. Callingham at his hotel and tell him we are expecting him for dinner,” said Amanda.
She was calm, again, the way she was when there was a challenge ahead she knew she could meet, and great rewards to be won. A man who could stir her physically as Ken had done, without the afterfeeling of being trapped by an inferior! A man whose very name could swing her to unheard-of glories, so that she would be fulfilled as woman and honored as queen! Amanda took a swift glance at herself in the mirror, examining herself as she always did, not with vanity in her beauty for itself but appraising it for what it could buy. Her blonde hair needed the hairdresser, certainly, for it hung about her shoulders, straight and careless as if she had walked through the woods in the rain. But that was right, thought Amanda, that was exactly right for the man who was supposed to hate civilized women!
“Cancel the hairdresser,” she said briefly.
Miss Bemel looked at her without expression.
“Very well,” she said. “But Mr. Evans won’t be here for dinner, you know.”
“You don’t need to mention that to Mr. Callingham,” said Amanda, realizing that only Julian could make these regal demands on his contributors. To get Callingham she still needed Julian. She ruffled through her papers, knowing Miss Bemel was looking at her strangely.
“What’s this about Mrs. Elroy calling?” she asked.
“Mrs. Beaver Elroy. She’s telephoned several times for an appointment, but would not tell me what it was about,” Miss Bemel said. “It didn’t seem important enough to call to your attention before.”
“Perhaps it was personal,” Amanda said softly. “Something you know nothing about.”
“It was something about Miss Haven, she said,” Miss Bemel said, wincing at the implication of secrets withheld from her.
Amanda frowned. She was glad to have Vicky and her last link with Lakeville off the records, though their last encounter still made her flush. But through this friend she might find something about Ken Saunders. Before she could wholeheartedly set out for Callingham she must clear it up once and for all with Saunders that it was she who was having the final word. She could not leave it that he had been the one to get out. She owed herself that satisfaction.
“Call her and make an appointment,” she said coldly.
2
MRS. BEAVER Elroy had never in her whole fifty-one years been so distraught as she found herself on learning of her brother-in-law’s sinister plans against her happiness. The Elroy home, never a model of contentment, now was a hornet’s nest, with its members in such a dangerous state of hysterics that they might well have been quarantined as victims of the Vicky Haven Disease. It was Nancy’s fault for ever bringing her to the house, it was Mother’s fault for encouraging her, it was Tuffy’s fault for not telling them what Uncle Rocky had confided in her regarding his admiration for Miss Haven. It was all their faults and they blamed each other without reserve, but most of all they blamed the designing, artful way in which the gold digger from Lakeville had wormed herself into their confidence and taken away their only means of support, their father-advisor, their bank, their moral guide, Uncle Rockman. It was a tribute to that gentleman’s foxiness in never permitting them to possess him that they did not allow their indignation to touch him. He was the object of pity and regret for having his innocent affections preyed upon by the Lakeville vixen, he was a poor lost angel whose mind was being poisoned by this interloper so that he neither answered Mrs. Elroy’s letters nor appeared inside their door since the fateful night the truth had been revealed.
Nancy indicated that Vicky’s treachery hastened her resignation from Peabody’s since, she informed Mr. Peabody, it was impossible for her to work for the organization that harbored Miss Haven. It was a wicked interruption to the prewedding festivities, casting as it did a veil of doubt on whether Uncle Rockman would try to use some of his money on his bride-to-be rather than on those worthy and deserving of it. Nancy’s angry voice went on all night in the bedroom with her mother, and was stopped only when her mother, wishing to go to sleep, would tell her it was all her own fault for mixing with girls from offices, and indeed her fault for ever going into Business against her mother’s wishes. Tuffy made things worse by cluttering up the house with her crowd so that free discussion of the family catastrophe was hampered. She did cry a great deal at the idea of being supplanted by a wife as Uncle’s pet, but she was crying also over the stormy path of her own love life which was far from satisfactory. The real sufferer in the case was Mrs. Elroy, for, as she told them, she was first of all a mother and stricken by any danger to her babies’ well-being. Secondly she had given up her entire life to making a home for her brother-in-law, as a sort of monument to Beaver. It was regrettable, but not a diminishing fact, that Rockman had seldom made use of her sacrifice. She had, as she looked back on it, given up very good marriages with reputable widowers, to give Rockman the entire wealth of her heart. Now these years of patient, selfless devotion were proved unappreciated. A Miss Nobody, pretending to be a friend of Amanda Evans instead of a charity, had bemused the innocent man with her youth and wiles. The long cherished hopes of Mrs. Elroy to finally put Rockman into Beaver’s shoes was dashed to bits, and moreover no one, not even Nancy, had ever shared this secret. A mother is above all a mother, but there are times when she is just a woman, and Mrs. Elroy was in that anguished condition.
She consulted her astrologer, a marvelous woman who had actually brought about Nancy’s engagement by her timely advice, but this time the lady failed her by promising a new man, a Taurus with a heart condition. Mrs. Elroy would have no part of a Taurus with a heart condition. She wanted Rockman or nothing. She worked at the planchette with a spiritualistic friend from Columbus, hoping to receive guidance from Beaver. The friend may have done a little pushing, but as Mrs. Elroy said to herself in all fairness, if somebody didn’t push, the thing wouldn’t move. The two ladies worked feverishly over the board all one evening and contacted some of the most exclusive dead, including Edward VII and President Polk, but none offered wisdom to Mrs. Elroy in the problem of saving her brother-in-law. It occurred to her later that Beaver might have deliberately held off out of jealousy. Mrs. Elroy and her friend sat at the ouija board, fingertips meeting, eyes closed, summoning Beaver’s ghost from the Beyond, but Beaver was quite as undependable dead as he had been alive. Mrs. Elroy pictured him with lifelike vividness leaning over the golden bar of heaven, while the telephone rang and rang, his wife’s urgent messages unheeded by the celestial bartender. Mrs. Elroy gave up the little séance with a resigned shrug.
“Beaver always let me down,” she sighed bravely to her friend. “Now Rockman lets us down. Something in the Elroy blood.”
She had counted so completely on this graceful flowering of her connection with Rockman that she now felt as betrayed as if vows had been exchanged, and it was hard to remember that Rockman had never encouraged any such hopes. It had begun almost at Beaver’s funeral. After the children grew up and married, then she would turn to the waiting Rockman and say, “Now, Rockman. Now is our reward.” But no such thing. And since she dared not mention this special blow to her pride, it wounded her that the fitness of the thing had never occurred to the children any more than to Rockman. They prattled on about their own deprivation and their own selfish little lives with no regard for the private anguish of their mother.
In her trying hour Mrs. Elroy had the inspiration of using the calamity as a wedge into Amanda Evans’ home. Her engagements, like her perfumes, furs, and handkerchiefs, were so much family property that it was an exciting adventure to lie about a “fitting” to Nancy, and then make her dignified dash for the Evans’ home. According to Doctor Swick, Amanda had as good as ordered Vicky out of her house, so that she was certain to meet sympathy and support here. Otherwise, indeed, the appointment would not have been granted, since goodness knows all the Elroy previous invitations had been most coldly received.
Mrs. Elroy, gotten up for this tremendous occasion, was quite a job. An hour Pick-Me-Up facial at Rubenstein’s had erased the troubled lines in her broad brow; a saucer of violets in a swirl of blue veiling served as crown for her fine new permanent; blue kid slippers tipped the still handsome slender legs, with “matching accessories” as Peabody’s always said, including an enormous fine bag with silver trimmings large enough to carry the complete file of all the Elroy enemies. Her gray coat was both proper and feminine, allowing a ruffle of chiffon scarf to soften the betraying throat sag. There was not a doubt in the world that here was a lady, one well equipped by birth and appearance to visit the Evans’ mansion. Mrs. Elroy had none of Ethel Carey’s misapprehensions as she entered the marble foyer that afternoon, for she was a Chivers from Columbus and her proud memory had marbleized the entire family tree. But her heart did beat fast, thinking of the years spent in trying to bring about this contact, and it was no less a triumph that tragedy had affected what her social strategy had failed to do. And Amanda’s immediate appearance in the drawing room confused her to a point where she was actually gushing out something about “we have a little friend in common—Victoria—er—er” before she recollected that it was more an enemy in common.
Amanda, never one to waste time on the pretty little amenities, confused Mrs. Elroy even further by conducting the interview on a bald businesslike basis quite different from the suave interchange Mrs. Elroy had dreamed.
“You see we accepted her as your protégèe,” Mrs. Elroy said, with a pained sweet smile. “Naturally anyone would be proud to accept your recommendation, Mrs. Evans. But when she used our house to conduct a campaign on poor brother Rockman! Isn’t there anything you can do, Mrs. Evans, to stop her? Isn’t there someone in her family back home who could talk to her? I assure you, we are all heartbroken. She seemed so simple. And all the time setting out to marry poor Rockman, twice her age, and completely blind so far as women are concerned. There’s no talking to him.”
Amanda listened to her caller attentively, with a little frown.
“But you haven’t said anything about Vicky accepting him,” she interrupted. “How do you know she’s going through with it?”
This question absolutely floored Mrs. Elroy. Her jaw drooped and she stared helplessly at Amanda.
“But of course she will!” she finally stammered. “That’s the whole thing. She wouldn’t have gotten him to that stage without intending to go through with it.”
Amanda looked skeptical, and Mrs. Elroy began to feel foolish and a little angry. A woman of Mrs. Evans’s brains should know that anyone would marry Rockman Elroy who had a chance. Amanda’s next query ruffled her even more.
“What’s your objection to her marrying him?”
For this Mrs. Elroy mustered all her resources, her voice rising to a mildly querulous pitch in spite of her efforts to keep it low and silvery.
“The difference in their ages. And their class. But it’s more than that, Mrs. Evans.” Here Mrs. Elroy looked around to make sure that the dark room concealed no eavesdroppers. “She has a young man on the side, Nancy tells me. Mr. Saunders, who used to be at Peabody’s. Of course she thinks she will get Rockman’s name and his money and then keep up with her lover. It’s plain as the nose on your face. And Mrs. Evans, one can’t sit back and see one’s brother, a fine wonderful man like Rockman, made a monkey of that way! That’s why I came here.”
That’s it, Amanda thought. Ken had dared to leave her for little Vicky. He had made her leave the studio because it reminded him of Amanda. It was Ken’s doing, all of it. Vicky couldn’t know about them, Amanda was certain of that. Girls like Vicky had no flair for sensing undercurrents. She felt color coming into her face, thinking of being left for a little mouse like Vicky. Ken had planned it deliberately to humiliate her, to revenge himself for the years she had teased him. Excitement began burning inside her, knowing that through Vicky she could get back at him, recapture him, and then throw him back, always the sportsman’s privilege. Of course, Vicky had no intention of marrying this old bachelor of Mrs. Elroy’s. It would be a good job if she did. A plan formed in Amanda’s mind swiftly.
“I can’t promise anything will come of my talking to Vicky,” she said carefully, stabbing her cigarette out in the ashtray. “Maybe she has made up her mind. I’ll talk to her, in any case.”
The interview was over, but it took Mrs. Elroy, unused to harsh business manners, a moment or two to realize the fact. She had expected to have a little polite chat to cover up the crude purpose of her call, but Amanda would have none of it. She stood in the doorway, unsmiling, uncivil, really, Mrs. Elroy thought, until the latter had collected her gloves and bag. Amanda rang for someone to see the lady out, and waiting beside the elevator, looked sharply at her guest.
“It’s your brother-in-law, not your brother, isn’t it?” she asked.
Mrs. Elroy nodded.
“About your age, you said,” Amanda pursued, reflectively. “Oh. Now, I see.”
The implications of what she saw made Mrs. Elroy’s susceptible nose assume a delicate heliotrope shade, and shattered for the moment her satisfaction in the interview. Mrs. Elroy shuddered as she felt the heavy doors of Twenty-nine swing shut behind her, thinking of Amanda’s cryptic “Oh, now I see.” She had not said a word to suggest such a thing, but after all her trouble Amanda had merely thought the lady was only anxious to get Rockman for herself. Walking gracefully down Fifth Avenue the liquid spring air revived Mrs. Elroy’s confidence. It didn’t really matter what Amanda Evans thought if she could restore Rockman to his rightful owners. Yes, she really had accomplished something.
12
VERY WHERE PEOPLE WERE whispering to each other, “I’ve just got back from Washington,” with mysterious, significant looks as if now they knew the secrets of all nations. Merely by buying a round trip ticket to the nation’s capital they acquired special powers of divination into the country’s future, which on no account would they reveal. At every gathering a murmur fraught with spy papers, secret missions, dangerous responsibilities, would sweep the room—“He’s leaving for Washington tonight!” heads would turn, everyone would stare eagerly at whatever man had been so honorably mentioned, as if out of the whole world the President himself had decided here is the one most able to advise him. The mere name of the city, hitherto evoking only images of cherry blossoms and grisly state banquets, now invested whoever mentioned it with curious, enviable knowledge, and so trains and planes were packed with citizens rushing to Washington with their letters to someone high up, their queries, their suggestions, their data. Initials of various departments and organizations buzzed up and down train corridors, hotel lobbies, club rooms, bars—OCD, COI, OFF, and anyone confessing bewilderment at these alphabetical symbols was socially as undesirable as any college freshman unable to grasp the fundamental difference between a Deke and a Beta. Briefcases shot back and forth bulging with state secrets, plans for making ploughs out of bent paper clips, paper clips out of bent ploughs, bullets out of iambic pentameters and tea out of poison ivy. Artists knocked each other down in their stampede to the Mayflower with a Functional Canvas, columnists thought up five-word slogans for civilian morale and rushed to headquarters for the proper medals; civilians wore uniforms to denote they were civilians; men in action wore civilian clothes to denote they were in the service, possibly too important for the obscurity of full military trappings. It was a time to be just back, just going, or to know someone who was just back or just going to Washington. Like any other holy city, the mere pilgrimage was in itself enough to insure respect from one’s fellows.
