Treasures

by Belva Plain

  He was worth, he calculated, not quite nineteen million dollars, and this after just seven years. His income had reached eleven million a year. The firm’s securities portfolio now topped six billion. And he mused over the old cliché: Nothing succeeds like success. How true it was! His feel for the market had not failed him yet. Even in a rising market there were plenty of investors who, snaillike, got almost nowhere; even in such a market you had to know when and where to move. But the firm’s chief business was still tax shelters, in real estate, oil, cattle, anything to produce losses that would reduce one’s taxable income. That was where the real money lay, in the ability to keep hold of what one had. And that was why people were flocking to Osborne and Company.

  He had done quite right, he thought now, to go it alone. Who needed partners with their inevitable disagreements, repetitious consultations, and compromises to slow the action, and drag at you, when you were so able to soar by yourself? What he did need and what he now possessed were quick brains to feed him the information he required, to comprehend his instructions, and to carry them out. He paid high salaries to attract the brightest MBAs out of Harvard or Wharton. When they did well, he gave a huge bonus, and when they did poorly, they were dismissed. He was demanding, but he was respected for being so.

  It still surprised him to be so easily accepted everywhere. To be sure, there were in the world of finance plenty of successful young newcomers with whom the social establishment was ever willing to do business if need be. But it was definitely not willing to accept them in its homes and clubs, while Eddy was invited everywhere.

  As if to bear witness to his thought the phone rang.

  “Eddy, are you in town tonight? A couple of the fellows are getting together for dinner and backgammon at the Yale Club. Want to join us?”

  “Sorry, Doug, I’d like to, but I’m going out to the country. Thanks for thinking of me, though.”

  “Then how about Tuesday?”

  “Tuesday’s great. I’ll see you around six. Okay?”

  Once or twice a week he met with a group at the Yale Club. Swinging into Vanderbilt Avenue, he’d look back at the view up Park; sometimes he’d stand on the corner for a minute, just gazing, feeling the thrill before going on to the game.

  Being adept at games, he often came away with a few thousand dollars in winnings, but he was wise enough not to win too often. It was better to be known as a man who lost casually and gave easily. By now he was on the boards of half a dozen philanthropies, all important, all entailing lavish donations, but Eddy, far from begrudging these, actually welcomed making grand gestures. Even making loans to friends, which he frequently did, made him content with himself. It made him feel in charge.

  The tall clock chimed. Calculating swiftly, he allotted his time: an hour to go home, shower, and throw some clothes into a bag, then two hours, if he was lucky, out to Pam’s place. But first came the Friday call to Lara that he never missed. And he reached for the telephone.

  When Sue’s treble voice answered, he played the expected game with her.

  “Hi. This is Uncle Eddy. Is this you, Davey? No, let me guess. You’re the boy next door.”

  There came a giggle and a protest. “Uncle Eddy! You know who it is!”

  “Oh, of course. You’re Sue. I should have recognized you by your pink shirt, anyway.”

  “Not today! I’m wearing my Snoopy shirt. Can’t you see?”

  “I can’t see so well. I left my glasses somewhere.”

  Lara’s voice cut in. “My turn, Susie. Uncle Eddy’s probably in a hurry. Hang up, dear.”

  “I can’t get over the way that child can kid me right back. She’s got real wit.”

  “I know it. And she’s such a joy! To think that in the beginning we were worried that she’d never be happy again!”

  “Where are you this minute?”

  “Where am I? What do you mean?”

  “What room are you in?”

  “In the kitchen, getting dinner. Why?”

  “Because. I just like to imagine you in the house, cooking up a storm in that picture-book kitchen or having a crowd in the den on Saturday night.”

  He had an instant picture of her standing at the island where the copper pots hung; the last time he had been there, she had a row of African violets up on the windowsill.

  “I’m using the barbecue right now. It’s marvelous.”

  “Aren’t you glad I made you buy that house?” he demanded. “Don’t you love it?”

  “Of course I do. Who wouldn’t?”

  And again he felt that glow of pure pleasure, a physical glow that spread, tingling as it rose up into his throat, to end with a chuckle of laughter. Here again he had been “in charge”; because of him Lara and her little family were in the home they deserved, modest as it was. It was not that he had paid for the house; he had not; he had only lent Davey enough for the down payment, a sum that Davey, in the healthy growth of his new prosperity, had already repaid. But the impetus had come from, and the seed had been sown by, Eddy Osborne.

  “Is Davey home yet?” he asked now.

  “He just came in. He’s upstairs getting the grease from his hands.”

  “A new invention in the offing?”

  “An instrument for bone surgery. He just came back from seeing an orthopedic man in Cleveland. Here he is. Davey, it’s Eddy.”

  “Hi.”

  “Hi, Davey! Lara says there’s a new gadget in the works.”

  “Well, I hope so. It looks promising, but I can’t tell yet.” That was Davey, prudent and cautious.

  “I looked over that copy of your accountant’s report yesterday, and it looks mighty good.”

  “Yes, things are going well. The orders keep coming in, and I took in five new men just last week. Even at that we can barely keep up with the work.”

  “Do you still not want to talk about investments with me? I can make you rich, Davey, if you let me.”

  “Eddy, again I tell you, we’re not interested in what you call ‘being rich.’ ”

  “Okay, okay. Some other time. I’m in the usual rush. Kiss Lara and the kid for me. How’s the kid doing?”

  “We’ve got ups and downs, but mostly ups, happy ups. We’re all pretty well used to each other by now.”

  “That’s great! Give Sue an extra hug from Uncle Eddy.”

  When he hung up, he felt good. He always felt good after his call to Ohio, anyway, knowing that Lara was solidly placed for the first time in her life. She would always be secure, with a tidy interest in a steady, flourishing business. Davey could be a typical nineteenth-century small-town manufacturer, he reflected, and thought again: If he would only let me invest for him, I could make him rich. He’s the finest guy in the world, but he’s got a stubborn puritanical streak, and Lara’s the same. Not to want, actually not to want to have money, real money, with all the liberty and power and delight it gave! And Eddy shrugged, smiling to himself at the thought.

  A short time later he was in his car, heading toward the Queens Midtown Tunnel. Halfway there, he changed his mind abruptly and turned up Madison Avenue instead. He hadn’t seen Connie in at least two weeks. It wasn’t five o’clock yet, so he would probably just catch her before closing time.

  The little shop took up a narrow slice of space between a large corner store and an art gallery. Its single window contained a mannequin wearing a smart black-and-white knitted suit and a red hat. A life-sized stuffed Dalmatian pulled on a red leash.

  “Very clever,” Eddy said as he entered.

  Connie was alone in the shop. “What is?”

  “The window. Did you design it yourself?”

  “Of course not. One hires a window designer.”

  “I didn’t know. What does he charge? An arm and a leg, I suppose.”

  “Just about. Between the rent here, which will undoubtedly be raised next time around, and the wages for the two salesgirls, I just about break even. You need to sell a lot of handknits to make the expenses. It’s a
worry.” Connie sighed.

  “Fortunately, you don’t depend on this for a living. And you look wonderful, so the work must agree with you.”

  Connie shrugged. He didn’t like to see her like this, disgruntled and abrupt. Besides, since he himself was in a cheerful mood, he wanted her to match him.

  “I guess I didn’t tell you that I flew out to Lara’s over the Fourth. She’s got a really nice little kid. Really nice. Or did I tell you?”

  “No, you didn’t, Eddy,” she answered, a trifle sharply, he thought.

  And he said, “Well, if I didn’t, it was because I didn’t know whether you wanted to hear.”

  “Why shouldn’t I want to hear about a child? What can I have against a child?”

  “What can you have against Lara for so long?” he countered.

  “It seems to me that it’s the other way around.”

  “I’m stumped by each of you! She thinks you should have called her to congratulate them on getting Sue. You think—”

  “I think that after she accused me of murder and stormed out of my house, the burden is on her. That’s what I think.”

  “Oh, I give up,” Eddy said. “It’s beyond me.”

  Connie’s expression softened. “Dear Eddy! You do mean well. You always want to straighten things out, don’t you? But some things just won’t be straightened. You don’t think I’m happy about Lara and myself, do you? My only sister … Do you?”

  At the break in her voice and the sight of springing tears, he shook his head.

  “I shouldn’t have mentioned it again. God knows I never mean to upset you. Lara breaks up, too, whenever I say anything to her, so I’ve stopped. I’m sorry, Con-me.

  She kissed his cheek. “It’s okay, Eddy. I’m closing up. Want to have some dinner with me?”

  “Thanks, I’m on my way to the country. But I’ll see you on Monday, if you’re free.”

  “I’m free. Have a good time, dear.”

  It was a fair, cool evening, and the air rushed softly through the open windows of the new gray Mercedes two-seater; he had considered buying a red car, but then had decided that a bright red toy was inconsistent with dignity. Anyway, the car was superb. It responded like a living thing, like a fine horse. As he drove, maneuvering fleetly through the traffic, his mind kept clicking; his mental processes were as finely tuned as was the piece of machinery beneath him.

  If only those two would get together again! It wasn’t in his nature to comprehend how pain could be nurtured for so long. They were both anguished, he knew, anguished and angry. The words they had spoken to each other had apparently cut as harshly as knives. It was a pity, a sad, sad pity.

  At least, though, he had seen Connie out of a profound slump. At least, now with that sorry divorce out of the way—poor Richard!—she had the boutique to keep her busy. It puzzled him that she wasn’t married yet. She was the marrying kind if any woman ever was. He seemed to remember betting Richard that she would be married within two years at least, but it was already two years, with no one in sight. Connie was critical, of course, and having been burned once, would be more so than ever. Moreover, she had a right to be highly selective; she was a stunning young woman, and she had a brain, a pair of qualities that didn’t always, or even frequently, go together.

  Now further thought slid naturally to Eddy’s own most private affair, the Pamela affair. For the last few weeks he had sensed a growing impatience within himself, a feeling that things had been drifting for too long. What the reason was, or whose fault it might be, if fault there was, was difficult to know, probably because both of them, Pam and he alike, were responsible. Neither had been in a hurry to marry.

  Undoubtedly, there was substance in what she always said, that she wanted some years of independence before making a commitment. Good enough. But there were too many attractive men hanging around her.… He both knew it and didn’t want to know it.

  He had very quick perceptions. Too often he saw men’s glances at her quickly turned away when Eddy intercepted them. And then there were all those casual invitations, like the one last Sunday when they were coming from the movies.

  “Hi, Pam! Can you make a fourth at tennis tomorrow?”

  The man had had a supercilious look on his dark, vivid face. He’d had a swagger, and his arrogant eyes would appeal to women. Mean men attracted some women, absurd as it seemed. Eddy recognized the type. He probably crawled out of one soft bed into another, a different one every night. A man like him wouldn’t stop at tennis.…

  To think that on first meeting her he had thought she was “cool”! Under the correct, the “preppie,” exterior, she smoldered. How Pam loved sex! Sex, the imponderable and unexplainable. Who could say what she might do or might not do during the long week while he was working in the city? Suddenly, he was furious.

  The sight of a police car pulling a motorist over to the side of the road sobered him, and he slowed down. Ah, but I am probably making a mountain out of a molehill, he began to assure himself. I’m imagining. I’m exaggerating. Pam cares about me. There can’t be any mistake about that, about the way we are together, and not only in bed.…

  As he turned into the long gravel drive, past shaggy bushes that brushed his fenders, he thought with a secret smile how Pam’s mother was dying for him to marry Pam. Oh, in the beginning it had been different! He wasn’t in the Social Register; he might well have been just another Wall Street fly-by-night, spending everything he made and as likely as not to lose his job with the toss of a coin. By now, she knew otherwise.

  He parked the car and got out, reaching for a magazine on the seat. It was a popular business weekly. This issue, which had come out only yesterday, contained the long-anticipated article about himself, the “Young Prince of Wall Street.” A few years ago he would have bounded into this house waving it in his hand, but now he thought carefully before acting. Yes, he decided, there would be far greater impact if people were to discover the article for themselves, as they were sure to do. He walked up the porch steps without it and knocked on the screen door.

  When Mrs. Granger’s cool voice called, “Come in,” he followed it to the dining room, where he found her on a step-stool changing bulbs in the chandelier.

  “Oh, Eddy! It’s good to see you, Pam’s upstairs showering, and I’m struggling here. If only I were three inches taller, it wouldn’t be so impossible—”

  “Here, let me.” He took off his jacket, revealing smartly striped braces and a shirt pocket with a small, tasteful monogram.

  “What three extra inches can do!” he said gaily as Mrs. Granger handed up the bulbs.

  “A good deal more than three. Oh, I don’t care what women’s lib people say, a woman needs to have a man around. A husband.” The tone was wistful.

  Deciding to keep the talk light, he answered with a laugh, “What for? To change light bulbs?”

  She was shrewd. At once her retort became equally light. “Oh, to mix drinks and cope with the plumber. All that sort of thing.”

  They were onto each other. Yet he liked the woman. Her prattle, while it was so obvious, was both amusing and interesting to him.

  “It must seem foolish to you that two women live alone surrounded by so much empty space. But my great-grandfather built this house, and the best parts of my life were lived here. The house was always filled with cousins and guests; we used every inch of it. It would crush me to walk away from it. Besides, Pam loves it as much as I do. She’s got her horses just down the road and, well, you know.”

  He knew. He could imagine the house in its heyday. The wicker chairs on the porch would have been newly cushioned and the greenhouse, now fallen into neglect, would have provided flowers enough to fill every nook and bay window. Even now the place had its charm and dignity.

  He looked over to the sideboard—original Sheraton, he was pretty sure. On it stood a George II tea service. Old silver acquired a special soft gleam, and it felt like silk in the hands. These pieces must have been in the family for f
ive generations. It would feel nice to be part of such a family, he was thinking while he screwed in the last of the bulbs. It would make you feel solid, rooted, as if you really belonged somewhere.

  “Hey!” Pam came clattering down the stairs and into the dining room, waving a magazine. “You there with your secrets! Mom, look what they’ve written about Eddy!”

  The two women leaned over the magazine, reading the double-page spread. Evening light sifted through the screen and passed through Pam’s pink silk housecoat, outlining her long legs to the hips, and giving rise in Eddy to certain very warm anticipations and recollections. He stood waiting modestly until they had finished reading and then modestly listened to their astonished praise.

  “Eddy!” Pam cried. “I never dreamed what really big things you were doing. You never talk about yourself.”

  “Because Eddy is a gentleman,” said her mother.

  “All these articles exaggerate,” he said. “Writers have to make them startling, sensational. It’s their livelihood, after all, so I suppose one can’t fault them. Anyway, everybody has a talent for something and should try to live up to it. And that’s all I do, for whatever it’s worth, and it’s the whole story,” he concluded with an easy smile.

  Mrs. Granger complained, “If I’d only known, I’d have had a celebration for you. Now we’re just having hamburgers and salad.”

  “Sounds great enough to me, Mrs. Granger.”

  “I think you two had better eat without me. I’m invited to my cousin Mona’s, and I’m not dressed yet. I’m running late.” At the foot of the stairs she turned around. “As a matter of fact, I’m going to spend the night there. It’s too far to be driving home by myself. Just don’t forget to turn on the burglar alarm, Pam.”

  “I’ll be staying at the club,” Eddy said, “but I’ll make sure to see that she does before I leave her.”

  So, he had just been handed a nice little present, a welcome comfort for the night instead of the porch swing or the blankets in the rear of Pam’s station wagon, which were their only choices in between her infrequent stays in the city.