by Belva Plain
“Positively,” replied Eddy, feeling at the same time a jolt of memory. For Richard had come to his office only a month before to make another large investment. “Positively,” he repeated.
“It’s strange how different your two sisters are.”
“Why? They’re both pregnant,” Eddy joked.
“Well, good for them!”
“Not good for you? For us?”
“Sometime, of course. People all do if they can, don’t they? But the time has to be right.”
He agreed. There was too much going on right now; their days were filled with work, social contacts that led to more work, genuine friends, sports, theater, music, and travel; short, quick trips to see a client somewhere in Europe; longer sojourns to see the horse shows in Ireland, or to La Scala to hear a fine voice; and surely, always, to Paris, his first love, where a permanent hotel suite was always waiting. As soon as he could manage to fit it into his schedule, New Zealand and Australia would be next. In such a life there was indeed no room for a baby. Not yet.
Pam mused, repeating herself, “It’s remarkable how different they are. I don’t mean physically, I mean temperamentally. Lara’s so strong, much more so than Connie.”
“I wouldn’t say that.”
“I would.” She nodded. “And you’ll see sometime that I’m right.”
At that moment Lara was not feeling especially strong. Her feet, in the new shoes bought for this occasion, had begun to hurt. And the baby under her skirt’s flounce had been doing some vigorous exercise. So Davey and she had scurried for two vacant seats in the shade of the laurel hedge, while Sue, who had found a boy about her own age, went wandering off with him.
The other two chairs were filled by two men. One was soberly middle aged, while the other, not much older than thirty, was distinguished by a head of copper-colored hair and a freckled face. The two, apparently strangers to each other, were already involved in conversation.
“Things are out of proportion,” the older man was saying. “I read the other day about some tycoon who owns seven houses. One was in Morocco, one in the Fiji Islands—the Fiji Islands, by God! Can you make any sense of that?” The man’s earnest tone almost verged upon anger.
“If I were a left-winger, I wouldn’t. Of course, the right-winger would say that if a man earns it, he’s entitled to spend it as he wishes. But then, I’m not a right-winger either.” And the young man, as if he wanted to lighten the atmosphere, turned toward Davey. “What’s your opinion?”
Davey, never a voluble speaker, especially on abstract subjects, hesitated a moment as if embarrassed before replying, “It’s a matter of proportion, isn’t it? I know I’m not against wealth.” Then he laughed. “I’m even trying to accumulate a little of it for myself.”
The sober one seized on these words. “Good enough. But I wasn’t talking about a little of it. I was talking about hundreds of millions. May I ask what you do?”
“I own a small plant. We manufacture electronic parts for medical uses, arterial surgery and—”
“Well. Then you’re a producer. You make things that people need. You’re earning honorable dollars. What I’m looking at are manipulations, junk bonds, and takeovers that end in debt.” And with a dark frown he warned, “That debt will wreck the economy in the end.”
“I have to agree with much of what you say,” said the redhead, adding with some reluctance, “Unfortunately for me, I have to.”
“Why do you say unfortunately?”
“Because I earn my living from takeovers. I work for Frazier, DeWitt, Berg.”
There was a silence until, after a moment, the first man gave an embarrassed laugh. “I seem to have put my foot in it again. Old as I am, I never seem to learn.” He motioned toward the animated crowd, the spring-green lawn and the house with its spreading terraces and yellow awnings. “This was hardly the place or the time for my remarks, was it?”
“No harm done, I assure you.” The freckled face and the tone were both amiable. “By the way, my name’s McClintock, Allen McClintock.”
“I might as well put both feet in my mouth while I’m at it. My name’s Berg. I’m Martin’s brother.”
The three others looked their astonishment. And Davey, suppressing a laugh, said quietly, “I’d better round out the story. We’re the Davises, Davey and Lara. Lara is Connie’s sister.” But when he saw the two men’s dismay, he added quickly, “Don’t let it bother you. It’s not important. We’ve forgotten it already, Lara and I.”
They all stood up as if to separate, yet waited awkwardly as if not knowing how to do so. It was Allen McClintock who broke the pause.
“It looks as if they might be serving dinner, and I’m starved,” he said.
So the odd-met group dispersed, joining the movement up the rise toward the house.
“Interesting and amusing,” remarked Davey.
“More uncomfortable than amusing,” answered Lara.
By the time they reached the house and had found Pam and Eddy, the bride and groom were already alone on the dance floor. Connie’s pale dress floated, and her pale hair tumbled as they whirled. Frankly exuberant and frankly triumphant, “I could have danced all night,” she sang into the faces of the smiling crowd.
To Eddy, as he watched, came the recollection of the night when those two had met at his house, and he had had a premonition of today. Charming Connie, Consuelo, he thought, their mother’s darling. Well, Martin Berg might not be the Duke of Marlborough, but probably commanded greater wealth than the duke had. And Eddy’s tender heart swelled with pride.
To Lara there came other memories, first of the small, demanding sister, then of the young woman leaving home because “there had to be more to life,” and because “I’m not like you, Lara.”
She took her husband’s hand. “Isn’t she beautiful? I hope she’ll be happy this time, Davey!”
“Oh, Connie gets what Connie wants. But happy? That’s something else,” he replied.
CHAPTER NINE
The week-old baby lay sleeping in a bassinet beside the bed on which Lara rested. Afternoon sunlight touched her little round head and glinted on a soft, red-gold fuzz.
Eddy observed, “She’s going to have Peg’s hair.”
Pam asked, “Are you going to call her Peggy, or will you be formal and stay with Margaret?”
Lara laughed. “Whatever comes naturally, I guess, though we seem to have begun with Peggy.”
Martin Berg had provided his private plane for this visit, and so there had been plenty of room to carry gifts. They had come laden. The bassinet, a froth of white point d’esprit and pink satin rosettes, was Pam’s choice. A handsome British perambulator with a dark blue monogrammed cover came from the Bergs, along with a silver feeding set and an embroidered lace christening dress and, most thoughtfully, presents for Sue as well.
Eddy focused his Polaroid camera on the baby. “Connie said to take some pictures. She was so angry that her doctor doesn’t want her to fly.” He looked at his watch. “What time is that stockholders’ meeting again?”
“Half past three. Davey’s picking Sue up at school, and then you and he can go on to the plant. We’re all off our schedules this week on account of Miss Peggy.” And Lara felt a smiling warmth from head to toe.
Pam wanted to know about Sue. “I don’t know much about child psychology, but I know that a new arrival can cause a lot of trouble in a family.”
“Well, we’ve tried from the very start to prepare her, and so far, so good. But of course, one has to be lucky, I’m aware of that. Oh, there they are. I hear the car.”
A moment later came a clattering on the stairs. Sue and another little girl, followed more quietly by Davey, tore into the bedroom.
“Mom! Mom! I’ve brought my friend to see our baby. She didn’t believe we have one, so I brought her.”
The two children glanced briefly into the bassinet.
“Can we touch her hand?” asked Sue.
“If you’re very g
entle. Babies are very soft. You haven’t told me your friend’s name, Sue. Remember what I said about introductions?”
“Oh, yes. This is Marcy. And this is my mom. And my sister’s name is Peggy. Are there any Popsicles in the freezer?”
“Yes, darling. Daddy will reach up and get them for you.”
When the little group had clattered back downstairs, Lara reached for a handkerchief and blew her nose. “Excuse me, I feel a bit teary.”
“Why, what’s the matter?” asked Pam.
“You didn’t notice, of course. But this was the first time she called me Mom.” Lara looked toward the bassinet. “I’m so happy that I’m in a daze. Nothing seems quite real. How can happiness like this last?”
“Good heavens,” said Pam, “I thought you were an optimist like Eddy.”
“She is,” Eddy said, declaring heartily, “it’s real, and it will last. There’s no reason why it won’t.”
With that he went downstairs to join Davey.
“So you’ve got friendly stockholders,” Eddy said on the way into town. “That’s one of the nice things about a small community. Sometimes I miss it.”
“The hell you do!” Davey laughed. “You couldn’t wait to get away from here, you know that. But it’s a matter of temperament. I happen to be comfortable with smallness. Now, take my stockholders. I’ve told you, I’ve known every one of them practically from the cradle up. Doc Donnelly and Henry Baker, he’s the superintendent of schools, and he was a friend of my father’s, and my best friend Tony—gosh, he and his wife rushed over at two in the morning last week when I had to take Lara to the hospital. They slept on the sofa, got Sue up and ready for school, had Sue and me over for dinner—gosh, you don’t make friends like them on every street corner.”
He’s normally so silent, Eddy thought; today he’s positively euphoric. And why not, with everything finally coming together for them?
“They have total confidence in me. They know that I can run this business. This stockholders’ meeting is just a formality, you might say. No one ever questions a thing I do. It’s a good feeling, Eddy. Sometimes I think I’m the luckiest man in the world.”
“I wonder,” Eddy said, an idea having that very minute occurred to him, “whether after your meeting—incidentally, it’s very nice of you to let me listen in, and I’d just as soon walk around the plant and see all your great new machines—”
“Whatever you want to do, Eddy. I only thought you might get a kick out of hearing the financial report.”
“Oh, I certainly would. What I was thinking was, would you have any objection to my presenting, after the meeting, a few of my ideas about personal finances? Some of your people might be interested. Of course, this is totally apart from your company. It has nothing to do with you.”
“Sure. Go ahead. It’s fine with me if anybody wants to stay late.”
This, Eddy reflected as he watched the proceedings, is unlike any stockholders’ meeting I’ve ever attended. It was not a matter of numbers, but a matter of attitude that made the striking difference. Here were no challenges, no arguments, no hostile questions. This handful of men, and one decorous middle-aged lady, a prosperous widow, he guessed, were all friends. He saw distinctly what Davey had described. He recognized the honest, forthright personalities.
To introduce Eddy, Davey in his plain, frank way had made a little speech.
“This is the man who is really responsible for the birth of the company. Without him I wouldn’t have gotten started. He made me put my ideas to work.”
One wouldn’t find many men willing to give such abundant credit to another for their success. Not in New York, not in my business, Eddy thought, reminded of the inflated egos that he so often encountered.
“And now Mr. Vernon Osborne, whom we all call Eddy, would like to say a few words.”
To begin with, naturally, must come thanks and a few enthusiastic remarks about Davey and the Davis Company. After that he would come quickly to the point.
“I can’t tell you how happy I was just now to learn of your fine big dividend. And I’m sure you were mighty glad to find your money working so successfully for you. However”—and here Eddy made a significant pause—“however, let’s just take a second look, a look at your personal income tax returns. Oh, my! Oh, my, how many of those beautiful dollars will be yours to keep and how many belong to Uncle Sam? Now I would like to explain to you a way in which, by buying a limited partnership, you can keep a larger part of that income, or even keep the whole of it. No tax at all! Oh, yes,” Eddy said in response to some expressions of surprise, “it’s legal, it’s simply a matter of investing in limited partnerships. You are all sophisticated investors, I’m sure, and so you understand how losses generate tax deductions. But possibly you’re not familiar with ten-to-one write-offs and tax deferrals.”
He was about to illustrate further when a hand went up, and the lone woman had a question.
“I’m Carol Robinson. I’ve been a bank vice-president, so I’m familiar with limited partnerships. In fact, I am a limited partner in a garden apartment development. But I never heard of ten-to-one. It’s incredible.”
“It’s incredible, all right. But it’s done all the time.”
“You mean you invest one dollar and deduct ten dollars’ worth of losses?”
Eddy nodded. “I do mean that. The write-offs in some investments can be tremendous, and not just in oil and real estate. Cattle, movies, lithographs—”
He was holding their attention. He was in his usual top form, and it was easy for him because he knew what he was doing; it was what he did every day, and he had never had a failure.
His presentation, to which he had mentally allotted less than half an hour, extended into the second hour. By the end of it he had convinced all ten of his listeners, who agreed to invest sums ranging from fifteen thousand to seventy-five. Addresses and phone numbers were exchanged, hands were shaken, and a very satisfactory meeting came to a close.
“What about you, Davey?” Eddy asked on the way home.
“I don’t think so. I’d rather pay my taxes and sleep nights.”
“Oh, for God’s sake, Davey! Would I steer you wrong? Again I have to ask.”
“It’s not that. It’s just—oh, you know how I am.”
Eddy did not answer. Best to drop the subject instead of using one’s valuable energy trying to move this—this mule. Sometimes Davey could be infuriating.
When Pam and Eddy had gone home that night, Davey sat on the edge of the bed and talked.
“I feel that he’s a little sore at me, although he’s too nice to show it, but I wouldn’t touch that stuff with a ten-foot pole.” He snorted. “Marlboro Capital Formation! Ten-to-one write-offs! Why, it’s not even moral. The losses are fabricated, they’re artificial, it’s just a gimmick, the whole thing!”
Lara spoke mildly. “It’s apparently a legal gimmick, Davey. I don’t see why you’re so upset.”
“I don’t care whether it’s legal or not. It’s indecent. I’m going to advise everybody who was there today not to send his check in, to steer clear of it.”
“You’re not!” Lara, who had been standing beside the bassinet, put her hands on her hips in defiance. “You can’t be going to tell them you don’t trust Eddy!”
“Of course I wouldn’t say that. I’ll say I don’t believe in the deal, and I’m not having any part in it myself. Cattle, lithographs—good Lord!”
“I’m astonished, Davey. How can you do that to Eddy?”
“Because these people are my friends, Lara. My friends.”
“But he’s my brother! How can you go behind his back, how can you? Especially after all he’s done for us, after all his goodness. All right, if you personally don’t want to invest, but to tell other people not to is unconscionable, that’s what it is.”
The argument went on for a long time that night. In the end Davey agreed to keep silent.
“Maybe I am making a mountain out of a molehill,�
� he conceded. “Maybe I am.”
• • •
Connie, too, had a daughter before the year was out. She came into the world with little fuss on a blustering December afternoon shortly after the stock market’s closing bell. Martin rushed uptown to the hospital, tore into Connie’s room, and tore down the hall to see the baby through the nursery window.
When he returned his eyes were wet. “Oh,” he cried, “she’s, lovely! Little Tessie. She’s beautiful!”
Tessie, thought Connie angrily, oh, no. But she spoke calmly. “I know I promised to name her after your mother, and I will, but Tessie is really only short for Thérèse, and I do want her to be called by her full name. Also, I want it to be spelled with accents, Thérèse. That’s what I really want, Martin.”
“All right, all right. Tessie. Thérèse. What’s the difference?”
“Thérèse. That’s the French pronunciation, and it’s much prettier.”
“You,” he teased. “My fancy French lady. And to think that your sister named her child just plain Peggy.” And he chuckled. “Thérèse. What a wonderful baby! She looks a bit like Melissa.”
Good Lord, I hope not, Connie thought.
Martin leaned over the bed to adjust the embroidered pillow that had been brought from home, and kissed his wife lightly as though he feared to hurt her by pressing too hard. He exulted.
“Oh, I’ve had more joy in my short time with you than in all the rest of my years put together!”
PART TWO
1981-1990
CHAPTER TEN
Golden times these were, not the golden years of age, but of youth spent in health and comfort. The sisters, in spite of living so far apart, were closer than ever. If Peg could know, Connie thought, she would be so thankful to see us, and to see another generation growing up. Even the two husbands got along well. Their backgrounds and experiences were surely different enough, yet because both were busy men with many interests, they were compatible. Martin’s charities were on a colossal scale that frequently were front-page news, but Davey, too, could take pride, and did, in his contributions to the life of his town: a Little Theater Group, a day-care plan for his workers, a fund drive to enlarge the town library, and more.
