Second Love

by Gould, Judith

  The furnishings were in keeping with the masculine air—worn leather armchairs, such as one would expect to see in an Edwardian club. A giant billiard lamp casting two pools of light over a round mahogany table six feet in diameter. There was an enormous desk, and framed drawings on tilt-topped mahogany architect's tables, and a pair of big terrestrial and celestial globes.

  They sat on leather-upholstered Regency chairs by the fire.

  'Fetch the humidor, Withams, would you?' said Althea, with a lift of her well-bred chin. 'Some of the gentlemen will want to enjoy an after- dinner cigar.'

  The cigars were offered from a Faberge humidor of birchwood and blue enamel. The lid was inset with a round, gilt-edged picture frame containing an original sepia photograph of Tsar Nicholas holding the czarevitch Alexi. The cigars it contained were real Havanas, Flor de E Farach Extras.

  Governor Randle and Eli Drucker lit up and Withams busied himself preparing the cognacs. It was a ritual nearly as reverential and dogmatic as a religious ceremony. First, he heated five huge snifters, after which he dribbled a mere teaspoon of cognac into each. Then he energetically swirled that around to coat the inside of every glass. And finally, he poured a small portion of cognac into each snifter, loaded up a tray, and served.

  Gloria took hers, gestured for Withams to wait a moment, and downed hers in a single gulp. It slid down her throat like velvet and exploded in her stomach.

  There, that's better, she thought, and held the snifter out for a refill.

  Althea cleared her throat noisily. If it was a warning intended for Gloria, she completely ignored it. Withams glanced at Althea, who hesitated, then gave a slight nod. When it was replenished, she took a tiny sip, then glanced over at her mother-in-law with a look of smug satisfaction.

  Althea chose to ignore Gloria's self-indulgence and obvious lack of obeisance, and quickly became engrossed in conversation with Governor Randle, occasionally favoring Violetta with delicate strokes of her hand.

  Hunt was discussing something with Eli Drucker, which Gloria could not overhear, not that she cared to anyway.

  No. This after-dinner babble held no interest for her whatsoever.

  She saw Governor Randle gently take Althea's hand in his and pat it.

  Sweet, she thought hatefully.

  Gloria wanted to scream. Instead, she endured.

  She took a gulp of her brandy and felt it go down her throat to her stomach, exploding again as before. Only this time it seemed to detonate in bilious, nauseating waves. Perspiration suddenly popped out on her forehead and upper lip, and a tremor ran through her.

  Oh, God, she thought. I've got to get out of this hellhole. She sat for a moment, considering her options, and decided to leave.

  'I'm really not feeling well,' Gloria finally blurted out. 'I think I'll have an early night.'

  Althea looked over at her and smiled. 'What were you saying, my dear?' she asked.

  The room was suddenly quiet, and the fire popping in the grate and the sound of cigar puffing became loud in Gloria's ears.

  She looked at her mother-in-law and repeated herself. 'I'm not feeling very well, and I think I'll call it a night.'

  'I do hope you're feeling better this Saturday,' Althea said.

  'This Saturday?' Gloria asked. What was the woman talking about?

  'Don't tell me you've forgotten, Gloria,' Althea said, as if she were addressing a wayward child.

  Gloria stared at her. 'Forgotten what, Mother Winslow?'

  'There's a fund-raiser for the De Young Museum Saturday evening in Golden Gate Park,' Althea said brightly. 'I'm the chairperson, remember? And Hunt's giving a speech. So it is imperative that you be there, my dear.'

  Oh, God, Gloria thought miserably. Does it never stop? She said: 'I really don't see -

  'Gloria,' Althea broke in, using her most commanding tone of voice, 'you are still Hunt's wife and my daughter-in-law. It is vital that you be there for the sake of appearances, if nothing else.'

  She paused and smiled, gently stroking Violetta. 'It will probably be your last public commitment to us.'

  'Yo, babe,' Christos greeted her as he opened the door to the house on Russian Hill. He kicked the door shut and grinned lecherously, his taut cheekbones two elongated, raised bony slashes.

  'Am I glad to see you,' Gloria said, without looking at him. She felt flushed and out of breath and was so self-absorbed she didn't notice the leer on his face. 'Let's have a drink,' she said. 'Quick.'

  Christos wrapped his strong arms around her and started to kiss her deeply.

  He wasn't quite prepared for her reaction. She jerked back and stared up at him.

  'Christos,' she protested. 'Later. We have to talk. But first, I really need a drink. Vodka. Straight.'

  He dropped his arms to his side. 'Sure, babe,' he said. 'Jeez. Just chill. I'll get us some drinks.' He went into the tiny kitchen, where he poured vodka into two glasses and put in a few ice cubes. He came back out and handed Gloria hers, and she quickly slung it back, drinking nearly half of it in one gulp.

  'Heeeeey,' Christos said. 'You're hittin' it pretty hard tonight.' He smiled.

  'I need it.' Gloria finished off the drink and held it out for a refill. He took the glass back into the kitchen and poured more vodka in, then brought the bottle back out with him.

  'Let's go spread out. Then you tell me what's goin' on, babe.' Christos handed her the drink and took her arm and led her to the bedroom.

  Gloria threw down her handbag and kicked off her heels. Then she shrugged out of her suit jacket and spread out on the bed, propping up the pillows behind her just so.

  Christos sat down beside her. 'Come on, Gloria,' he said. 'Talk to me.' He pulled a marijuana joint out of a shirt pocket and lit it, then inhaled and held the smoke in his lungs before blowing out a plume of blue-gray smoke. He expected her to bitch and moan about the smell, but she surprised him again.

  'We've got a problem,' she said. 'Not only does Hunt want a divorcé, but now my mother-in-law is engaged to be married.'

  'The old broad?' Christos looked surprised. 'Engaged?'

  'Yes,' Gloria said. 'And to make matters worse, she's engaged to Governor Randle.'

  'Governor Randle?' Christos choked on smoke. 'Whoa, babe. Shit. We're dealin' with some heavy hitters here.'

  'You bet we are,' Gloria said. She took a sip of her drink. The vodka seemed to be clearing her head, straightening her out, and making her feel better now. 'Even with Hunt out of the way, we'll have Althea and her new husband to deal with.' She looked at him. 'Which means,' she finally said, 'I'm just that much further away from the Winslow billions.'

  Christos moaned. 'Ah, shit.'

  Gloria turned to him. 'But I've figured out a solution,' she said.

  Christos stared at her quizzically, wondering what the crazy bitch had on her mind now. 'If you're thinkin' about offin' the governor—' he began.

  'No,' Gloria said firmly. 'Not the governor.' She stirred her drink with a finger, then licked it off. 'Althea,' she finally said and looked over at him. 'My mother-in-law.'

  'Hey, wait a fuckin' minute, Gloria,' He bounced to his feet and began pacing the floor, toking on the joint furiously. 'Ya changin' the rules on me, Gloria,' he said.

  'Christos,' she said calmly. 'Come here. Sit down and listen.' She patted the bed next to her and set her drink down.

  He slowly walked over and sat down facing her. She put her arms around his neck and looked into his eyes. 'Billions,' she said. 'Think of it, Christos. Billions of dollars. And it's going to be much simpler than I thought.'

  Christos pinched the marijuana joint between his fingers, putting it out, then put the roach in his shirt pocket. 'Why ya say that?'

  Gloria took her arms from around his neck and picked her drink up again. 'Because Saturday night there is a party in Golden Gate Park.' Gloria smiled, then continued. 'There'll be a thousand people there, at least. All of them wandering around outdoors and in tents. And Althea and Hunt are both go
ing to be there.'

  'That means a lotta security, Gloria,' Christos said.

  'It also means easy to disappear. It means chaos. It means both of them in the same place at the same time.' She paused and took a sip of her vodka, then began slowly unbuttoning her blouse. 'And it means there is nothing left between me and the Winslow billions. For me and you, Christos.' She smiled up at him.

  Christos was listening and watching her unbutton her blouse at the same time. He reached out and started running a hand over the tops of her smooth, pink breasts. 'We gotta talk about this, Gloria. We gotta have a plan, you know?'

  'I've got it all figured out,' she said. She put a hand on his crotch, stroking the evident swelling she saw there. 'It's going to be easy, and I'll even be there to watch.'

  He slid a hand up her skirt, working it between her thighs. 'Saturday night, huh?' he said.

  'That's right,' Gloria gasped. 'They'll both be there. Together.'

  'Whaddaya say we talk about this later, babe?' Christos said, pushing her skirt up and moving atop her.

  'Yes,' Gloria moaned. 'Later.'

  56

  'Oy vey,' Bernie Appledorf rasped. 'Golf! She's pinnin' everything on this goy and his golf!'

  'Great going, Owen!' Dorothy-Anne said enthusiastically, pointedly ignoring Bernie's sarcastic jibes. 'Now keep up the good work.'

  'I'm off to Ponte Vedra this weekend,' Owen said in his rich, plummy voice. 'And I believe you can count on me to play to win. Golf and the contracts.'

  He was on his way out the office door, a smile on his perpetually boyish face.

  'That's the spirit,' Dorothy-Anne said. 'Have fun in Florida.'

  'Will do,' he answered, and was gone.

  'A few games of golf,' Dorothy-Anne said, shooting daggers at Bernie, 'and Owen's convinced nearly all our airline catering clients not to defect.'

  'Golf smolf,' Bernie Appledorf growled.

  Dorothy-Anne eyed her comptroller critically. 'Bernie Ever the Optimist Appledorf,' she said sardonically. 'What's on your bean-counting mind?'

  He turned his sad, bloodhoundy, Walter Matthau eyes to her. They were half hidden by their Coke-bottle lenses and huge black frames. 'Ya wanna know what's on my mind?' he rasped.

  'Shoot,' Dorothy-Anne said.

  'Owen's piddlin' little victories with his golf buddies that use our airline catering is all just fine. But—'

  'But what?' Arne Markoff, chief counsel, broke in.

  'It's a drop in the proverbial bucket,' Bernie said. 'That's what.'

  'You're right, Bernie,' Dorothy-Anne said. 'There's no denying it. But all these 'piddlin' little victories,' as you call them, add up.'

  He ran a hand over the few thin strands of hair trained over his bald pate, then trained his thick-lensed glasses on her again.

  'These Pan Pacific guys play rough,' he said. An' ya can't expect any good news from 'em.'

  'I'm not a fool, Bernie, Dorothy-Anne replied. 'I certainly don't expect any.'

  'I never said ya were a fool. Far from it,' Bernie rasped. 'But ya won't cancel cruises. Ya won't lay off employees. Ya won't shut down Eden Isle. And I'm tellin' ya, ya gotta do something. My advice,' he continued, 'is sell something. Too bad ya can't dump Eden Isle. Ya kill two birds with one stone. That big suckin' sound is gone and that loan's paid off too.'

  Dorothy-Anne's eyes blazed. 'No way,' she said, her voice full of determination. 'I wouldn't if I could. There has got to be another way.'

  'Eden Isle,' Arne Markoff said, 'is one of the properties held as collateral against the loan, so we might as well forget that. Even with our reorganizing, setting up umbrella companies, there is no legal way to make Eden Isle separate.'

  Dorothy-Anne stared at him, a light bulb suddenly going off in her head. She abruptly jumped to her feet and began pacing the office, an animal on the prowl. She stopped and turned to Arne Markoff.

  'Arne,' she asked tentatively, 'back up just a minute. FLASH is still separate, isn't it?'

  'Yes, as of now,' Arne said.

  Dorothy-Anne continued pacing, then stopped again. 'And FLASH hasn't been put under one of the umbrella companies yet?'

  'Nothing's been finalized yet,' Arne replied. 'It's going to be weeks, maybe even longer, to iron out all the details and get all the paperwork done.'

  'Good,' Dorothy-Anne said with mounting excitement in her voice. She whipped around to Arne again. 'Don't do one single thing with FLASH,' she said forcefully. 'Leave it exactly like it is. On its own.'

  Bernie Appledorf was studying her, the semblance of a grin on his lips. 'FLASH isn't part of the collateral for the loan, is it.' It was a statement, not a question.

  Dorothy-Anne looked at him, smiling now, 'You got it, Bernie.' There was triumph in her voice and fire in her eyes. For she knew deep down inside that the Hale Companies were going to be saved, and she knew how.

  FLASH, the airline and hotel reservations system, was the chief rival of SABRE, the system owned by American Airlines. It was highly profitable, and she'd had several offers for it in the past. As of today, she knew it was worth at least a cool billion, possibly more.

  'Arne,' she said, staring at him, 'I want FLASH put on the market. Yesterday. And I want the sale completed this summer. Got that?'

  'I'll get right on it,' Arne replied, jotting some notes on a pad.

  'Now you're cookin' with gas,' Bernie rasped.

  'Okay,' Dorothy-Anne said, looking at the two men seated in front of her. 'Get busy. Time is awastin', as they say.'

  ' 'Lo.'

  It was ten-thirty in the evening and Dorothy-Anne had started to doze when her private line chirruped her out of her slumber. The television set was on but she had the sound muted; she hadn't really been watching it, but studying some FLASH reports, which were now fanned out all around her on the bed. She brushed the hair out of her eyes and squinted at the Cartier Baignoir clock.

  'Hey, beautiful, it's me.'

  Hunt's voice jolted her awake. Despite herself, she was excited to hear from him.

  'Hunt,' she said.

  'Did I wake you?' he asked.

  'It's okay,' she yawned.

  'I'm sorry,' he said. 'Hard as I try, I'm always forgetting the time difference.'

  'I'd just dozed off,' Dorothy-Anne said. 'Early for me, but I've been so busy since I got back, I practically passed out.' She started gathering up the FLASH reports and making them into a stack.

  'What's up?' he asked. 'Is everything okay?'

  'As a matter of fact,' Dorothy-Anne said, 'things couldn't be much better. The most incredible thing happened, Hunt.'

  'I'm all ears,' he said.

  She told him briefly about discovering Freddie's investment account and paying off the loan interest.

  'You know,' he said, 'it's exactly the kind of luck you deserve. The best there is.'

  'Thanks, Hunt,' she said. She glanced at the television and saw Joan Crawford's spooky face, all eyebrows, spidery lashes, and lipstick, silently screaming at her.

  'Freddie must have been one helluva guy to do something like that,' he said.

  'He was,' Dorothy-Anne said, and fell silent. She was reluctant to pursue this line of conversation any further. It was treading on ground that, right now, she felt was too personal and too painful.

  'You okay?' Hunt asked. He had immediately sensed the hesitation in her voice and didn't want to risk upsetting her.

  'Today,' Dorothy-Anne said, quickly and adroitly changing the subject, 'I decided to put FLASH on the market.' All the while she was still sorting through the FLASH reports, trying to put them in some sort of order.

  'You want to do that?' Hunt asked. 'It's a real cash cow, isn't it?'

  'It's not part of Great-Granny's legacy, so I don't mind so much,' she answered. 'Besides, it's not part of my loan collateral, so . . . '

  'You are one brilliant lady,' he said.

  'Yeah?' Dorothy-Anne was pleased. She looked up and saw that Crawford, scarier than ever, was screaming at a c
hild now.

  'Yeah,' he said. 'Listen. I wanted to fill you in on what's up at this end.'

  'Oh?' Dorothy-Anne wasn't sure if she wanted to hear it.

  'I've started divorce proceedings,' Hunt confided. 'It's all very quiet right now, but it's a beginning.'

  Dorothy-Anne's pulse seemed to quicken. She didn't know how to reply. Finally, she said, 'I hope it works out for you, Hunt.' She rubbed her temples with the fingers of one hand.

  'It will, but it's not going to be easy,' he said.

  'How's your mother taking all this?' she asked.

  'We discussed it with her,' he said, 'and I think she realizes our marriage is unsalvageable. But she insists that Gloria and I attend a fundraiser that's coming up.' He sighed. 'Together.' He paused a beat. 'She's always thinking of appearances.'

  'That must be very difficult for both of you,' Dorothy-Anne said. Blue-gray light from the television flickered around the room as Joan Crawford started hitting the child. A little girl, Dorothy-Anne noticed.

  'Yes,' he said. He paused a moment. 'Dorothy-Anne, I had to tell you. And no matter what you hear or see in the press, just remember. We're definitely splitting.'

  'Okay,' she said, noncommittally. She got up, telephone nestled between ear and shoulder, and made a neat stack of the FLASH reports on the bedside table.

  'I miss you,' he said.

  Dorothy-Anne resettled herself on the bed. 'I miss you, too,' she murmured.

  'I don't want to sound pushy or come on too strong,' Hunt continued, 'but it was the best time I've had in years.'

  'I . . . I really enjoyed it, too, Hunt,' Dorothy-Anne said.

  'I'm glad you can say that, Dorothy-Anne,' Hunt said. 'Because I know you need time.'

  'Yes,' she said. 'Yes, I do.'