by Gore Vidal
Chapter Fourteen
THE NEXT DAY WAS COLD, COLDER THAN THE EARLY MORNING had been.
Robert Holton took a bath, dressed, and went down in the elevator. He said good morning to the man at the desk who gave him a letter from his father. Then he went outside; shivering, he walked to the subway station. Without buying a paper he went down into the ground and at Wall Street he came to the surface again.
Marjorie Ventusa was glad to see him. The movie she had seen the night before had been a successful tragedy and she had wept and had been able to think about herself less tragically afterward.
She watched him as he came into the restaurant. He went to his usual table and sat down. After he was seated she picked up a tray and walked over to him.
“Good morning, Mr. Holton,” she said, and smiled.
“Hello, Marjorie. How’s everything going?”
“Fine, just fine. Weather’s getting cold, though.” She noticed that he had dark circles under his eyes. She tried not to think of what he might have been doing with the dark-haired girl.
“Got anything good for breakfast? I feel pretty worn out today.”
“I guess you were out late last night.”
He nodded. She couldn’t stop asking now; she couldn’t stop thinking about Robert Holton and the dark-haired girl.
“Probably one of those big parties, I guess.”
He nodded and said, “Sure, one of those big parties.”
She was not sorry that he lied. “We got some good sausage today,” she said.
“I’ll take whatever you got...and black coffee.”
“Sure, I’ll go get it.” She walked back to the kitchen. She frowned when she saw Mrs Merrin looking at her. She had to look serious even though she was happy. He had at least not wanted to tell her that he was out with another girl. She had made so many images of Holton and herself that she accepted an imagined closeness as real. He had not really been unfaithful this time.
She called out his order to the cook and then she fixed her snood in the steamy mirror. She had bought a dark snood and she noticed now that it made her hair look darker, look rather mysterious. It felt good to look mysterious.
His breakfast was ready and she took it out to him.
She made herself busy at the next table and she talked to him as she worked.
“You like going out to them big parties?”
“Not so much.”
“Why do you go?”
“Business, I guess. It’s good to see all the big shots.”
“You’re right there; you’re sure right there.”
“What’s that you got on your head?”
She giggled self-consciously and wished that she didn’t get so silly when she was pleased. “Just a snood. I’ve had it such a long time.” This was not true.
“Looks nice,” said Holton seriously, biting into a piece of bread.
“Thank you; I like it.” No, that was wrong, it sounded defiant and she didn’t mean that. She added in a much softer voice, “I’m glad you like it.”
He ate then and she put dirty dishes on her tray. Then he said, “When’re you going to Italy with me?”
She laughed. “I got some previous engagements before. Any other time, though.”
“I’m told it’s nice there,” said Holton and she noticed that he looked sad and she was happy to think that he was a little concerned about her, that he was almost serious when he talked about Italy.
“Maybe we’ll go some other time,” she said.
“Sure,” said Holton, “maybe we’ll go some other time.” He drank his coffee. He looked at his watch. “Lord, I’m late,” he said. He paid her quickly. “See you at lunch.”
“See you at lunch, Mr. Holton.” She watched him go out the door and into the crowded street.
She cleared his table. Then she went gaily back to the kitchen, her hair bobbing mysteriously in its snood. She was glad she hadn’t told him she’d seen him in Times Square.
“Late, aren’t you?” asked Caroline when Holton came into the office. She knew he was late but she was in a mood of violent humor; she was always this way when she was happy and she was happy today because of Trebling.
“Not very,” said Holton and he went to his desk. Mr. Murphy hadn’t come in yet and he was safe. Caroline sat for a moment enjoying the pale white sunlight that shone across her desk. Then she got up and came over to Holton’s desk.
She was awkward now. She wanted to find out things but she didn’t want to be subtle. She tried anyway. “I was out with Jim last night,” she began.
“How do you like him?” Holton wasn’t paying much attention to her and this was irritating. He was busy putting books on his desk. She looked around to see if anyone was watching. Kuppelton was out of the room and no one else appeared interested. She sat down on his desk.
“I like him quite a bit,” she said.
He looked at her. “Good,” he said. “Jim’s a fine fellow. You’ll have fun playing around with him.”
“I suppose I will.”
“Just don’t take him too seriously, though. He’s sort of an expert with girls.” How shallow Holton was, thought Caroline. “Just play with him and you’ll be all right. A lot of girls’ve liked him.”
“I can understand that. He’s really serious about starting something himself. At least he doesn’t want to work for somebody like everybody else wants.” She wanted this to be sharp; she didn’t care if it hurt or not.
“That’s a good thing to want,” said Holton. How dull he is, thought Caroline, comparing him unfavorably with Jim Trebling.
There was nothing she wanted to know from Holton. “How was your society party?” she asked.
“It was O.K.,” said Holton. “It was interesting.”
I’ll bet, thought Caroline. She was impatient of others now that she knew she was appreciated, knew that she was to see Trebling that night. “Well, don’t work too hard,” said Caroline, getting up from the desk. “By the way, I’m going out with Jim tonight.”
“Better be careful,” said Holton seriously.
She laughed. “I’m always careful; didn’t you know that?”
Heywood was feeling well. He had managed to get home early the night before. That was one advantage in going to the theater alone: you didn’t have to go some place afterward and get drunk.
He sat contentedly in the mahogany twilight of his large office, looking at a photograph of himself. There was no particular work to be done. Golden hadn’t bothered him yet and it would be almost an hour before he had his first conference.
A buzz came out of the box on his desk. He pressed a button.
“Mr. Murphy to see you,” said his secretary, concealed in the box.
“Send him in.” There was something he had to tell Murphy. Something to do with the party. The young man, Robert Holton: he was to do something for him.
“Good morning, Murphy.” Mr. Heywood did not bother to rise.
“Morning, Mr. Heywood,” said Murphy and Heywood wished his voice wasn’t so loud. It jarred the twilight mood of the office.
“I’ve got some statistics here, the ones on Steel stocks; the ones showing fluctuation and....”
“Ah, yes, Murphy, that’s very good of you to have them for me so promptly. I have another matter to discuss....” Hey wood paused to make sure that Murphy was listening to him carefully. “This boy, Holton,” he went on, “I think he might do better dealing with the public, don’t you?”
“Yes,” said Murphy judiciously, “yes, I think that might be a good place for him. You saw him last night?”
“What? Oh, yes, I saw him last night. I had a pleasant talk with him. He’s a clever young man, I think.”
“Yes, he’s got a good head on his shoulders,” agreed Murphy.
“You will tell him, won’t you, about his promotion and, ah, transfer?”
“Certainly. He’ll be glad to hear this. I’ll be glad to tell him. And, by the way, there’s another matter in my
section....”
“And what is that?” asked Heywood gently, trying not to yawn.
“Well, we’ve a man named Kuppelton who’s always done a good job and I think he should get the usual promotion in that department. The one we had in mind for Holton.” Heywood sighed. “Certainly, Murphy; I rely, as always, on your recommendation in these cases.”
“Thank you....” They talked then of nothing that interested Mr. Heywood. Finally Murphy left.
Mr. Heywood yawned and stretched. He was rested and almost happy. He would make good decisions today. He sat back in his chair and looked at the photograph of himself. He would divorce his wife and go to South America for a year. Or perhaps he wouldn’t divorce his wife but take her to South America instead. It was strange but he looked younger now than he did when the photograph was taken several years before.
When Kuppelton heard the news his first impulse was to call his mother immediately on the phone and tell her all about it. He decided not to, though, because, after all, it wasn’t completely official. He did talk to Holton about it.
“Congratulations,” he said as he came over to Holton’s desk. Mr. Murphy had already gone to lunch and it was safe to talk.
“Thanks,” said Holton, smiling. He didn’t seem as happy as Kuppelton expected him to be.
“Caroline just told me that Mr. Murphy told you you were going to be a customers’ man and I’m certainly glad to see you’re getting ahead. I always thought that this job would be too small to hold you.” He paused. “When do you think you’ll move out?” he asked, looking away.
“The first of next week probably.” Holton chuckled. “I guess you’ll be sorry to see me leave.”
Kuppelton recognized the sarcasm but he didn’t care. “Sure I’m sorry. Of course, it’s good news, in a way, for me.”
“It is at that.”
“You sure got a good deal. Well, you can’t beat City Hall I always say.”
“You always say that?”
“What? Well, no, but....What I meant was....”
Robert Holton only laughed.
Kuppelton tried to talk some more with him but it was very difficult; they never had liked each other, anyway. Kuppelton left him to go to lunch.
He was jubilant but dignified as he put on his coat and hat and walked down the corridor. He would have a lot of news to tell his mother tonight. Everything had worked out nicely and soon he would be making more money and everyone he knew was happy.
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