by Belva Plain
“You didn’t exactly marry a pauper, did you?”
“You know better than to say that. But why should truth ever stand in your way? Sly and cruel and cold as a snake, you are. Money is all it was about, and nothing else.”
“You know there was much more to it than that. You were what they call a catch, and you still are. Good-looking, decent, intelligent—you can have all the women you want.”
“Thanks for the compliments, but it happens that I don’t want any women except the one I have.”
“Yes, and don’t you love to tell how you fell in love with her the first time you saw her sitting on the step? Or something like that? So why couldn’t it happen to me?” Now, as her eyes filled, she burst into a tirade. “Oh, how I’ve hated her! Not hated exactly, because she never did anything to me, but because of what she had. Rich parents, rich aunt, Paris, London, Rome, God knows where else, universities, husband, children—all dumped into her lap.”
So this is it, or part of it. Perhaps if another man had taken Emma away and I had been living alongside of them all this time, I might feel the same?
He was profoundly uncomfortable and filled with a sense of futility. Her face in its frame of black curls repelled him, and yet at the same time he could feel pity. He wished she would disappear so that he would never have to look at her again.
“I’m truly sorry about Jonathan,” she said, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “I never dreamed that he would take it so hard. Thousands of men got letters like that, not as thoughtful as mine was, either, and they didn’t kill themselves.”
Thousands of men were not like Jonathan, Adam thought.
“What are you going to do?” he asked.
“Are you asking me whether I plan to stay? You don’t think I’d want to stay after this?”
“Well, then, how soon do you plan to leave?”
“I’d leave today if I could. If you think this will be an unbearable hurt for me, you’re making a mistake. For a long time, I’ve been getting tired of this place, sick of these flat prairies and this boring little city. And this whole country, if you want to know. So if you think I’m crushed, you’re wrong.”
What was the use? Why go on with this useless bickering?
“You can make your arrangements with the company’s lawyers and with your own,” he said quietly. “I’m sure that the terms will be fair all around.”
He stood up, prepared to go, but Blanche, also standing, had one more thing to tell him.
“Be careful of Leo.”
“Careful? What do you mean? I hardly ever see him except when he comes now and then to visit my boys. He doesn’t even seem to like being with them as much as he used to.”
“He’s your enemy. Other than that, I’ll say good-bye to you and good luck.”
“Good-bye, Blanche,” he replied.
Behind him the door closed with a soft thud, a finality that reminded him of the curtain going down on the third act of a solemn drama. Passing the street where Leo lived, he knew he ought to go and give him the news, but admitting to dread and cowardice, he decided to postpone the task until tomorrow.
When he reached home, he found to his surprise that the fateful letter was in his hand; without thinking, he must have picked it up from the little table where Blanche had discarded it. Wordlessly, he handed it to Emma.
When she had read it and read it again, she only shook her head as if there could be no suitable comment. And then she said that somebody had to tell Leo.
“Let me do it, Adam. It will be better that way for you and for him, too. I’ll go now and be back soon. You go rest.”
For some reason Leo liked her, or perhaps it might be more accurate to say that he disliked her less than he disliked other people.
Adam was still sitting with an unread book when Emma returned and reported that it hadn’t been as hard as one would expect.
“I simply told him the fact. He wanted to see her letter, but I hadn’t brought it with me, and anyway, it’s just as well. Frankly, I think it would be best to destroy the sad thing. I was surprised that he let me kiss his cheek. That’s when I got close enough to see that his eyes were wet. I asked him to come back here and stay in Pa’s room as long as he liked, asked him to come back with his brother, but he said no, that he is all right where he is. He has a long table covered with books and papers, so I guess he’s doing something or other that is meaningful to him. He said he was going to take a sleeping pill tonight so that he could get through till morning and go back to work. So that’s it. Now tell me about Blanche.”
Then he told her what he could, omitting along with much else the fact that Blanche had spared their children from hearing some ugly things about life that children should not hear. After that they spent some little time in reminiscences of Blanche and analyses of her character; then, reaching no conclusions, they went upstairs to bed.
Early the next day one of the secretaries reported that Madame Blanche was not feeling well and would be staying home for a few days. Not surprising, Adam thought. Then, wondering when and where she was going to go, he decided that she would probably go to New York, that being the logical place for anyone with her reputation. It would be easy for her to open a shop for custom-made clothes, or to design for some major house. In either case, she would be far enough away from him.
Two of the dressmakers, believing that she must be quite ill, went to visit her, and reported, surprisingly, that she was quite well. Then, quite naturally, rumors spread: that she was secretly married, or that she had a lover somewhere, or that some other company had offered her more money.
By the end of the month, during which time she did not appear at the shop, it was reported by some who had thought themselves her friends that she had emptied the apartment and left without saying good-bye or where she was going. For another month or two, the tantalizing puzzle remained. But then, since it was unsolved, it ceased to be so tantalizing.
The designer salon was as busy as ever. Adam hired two excellent buyers, customers seemed to be well satisfied, and business, even now as the country fell into depression, still flourished.
“She made an enormous fortune in the stock market, you know. Sold out two weeks before the crash,” a man said one evening when they were at a gathering of friends.
“She was a strange person,” a woman remarked. “Very talented, very polite, but cold underneath, I thought, not that it was any business of mine. I never could decide whether I liked her or not.”
“Oh, I liked her,” Emma said. “Even though I never got to know her very well. As time went on, especially during the last couple of years, we hardly ever saw her. She was so successful, and yet I always felt a little sorry for her. I wonder where she is now.”
Blanche has come home just in time to miss the rain. Now, as she stands at the window, the singular fragrance of wet leafage rises to meet her, making her feel almost happy.
“I am Blanche,” she says aloud, “and I live here.”
Here is one of the oldest streets in Paris. A well-dressed couple passes below, sharing an expensive umbrella, an elderly gentleman walks a pair of expensive dogs, and a tourist shields his expensive camera under his raincoat. No doubt he is on his way to Notre Dame or to the Louvre. Years ago in Vienna, the tourists used to follow the same path, from the cathedral to the museums and the shops.
Wouldn’t it be quite an experience to go back there for a few days now and find out how it feels to be well off in Vienna? Rich, with all these dollars in one’s pocket, dollars enough to dine at the best restaurants and to buy things in shops one had never even dared to enter?
And then after that, to walk past the tenements, those gloomy prisons where life either shrivels or else erupts into rage, as when a hideous man, the husband of one’s mother, does terrible, dirty things to a girl, while the mother pretends not to know because he is the one who pays the rent. How would it be to walk past those places and know that one will never suffer like that again?
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No, not quite like that. Yet this much is true: A child who has never been properly loved will grow up without knowing how to love. And is that not a kind of torment?
First there was Jonathan, a good man. And then there was Adam, a better one. It wouldn’t have been too hard to take him away from Emma, even after they were married. Proximity, novelty, and a few tricks, that’s all it needs. And it happens all the time.
But to take him from his children is something else. One would have to have a heart of stone, and no memory . . . Still, it might be a blessing to have no memory and so not care about Adam’s children, or about his poor brother, or anyone.
Ah well, enough of that. Turn around and look at this room, at the landscapes, very fine ones, that hang on the eighteenth-century paneled walls. A charming, modern touch was the octagonal glass table next to the Louis XVI chair. Everything is in perfect taste, perfect for formal entertaining or for an intimate evening with that interesting gentleman on the floor below.
It is a home, a nest, a permanent refuge, the first you’ve ever had. It is “upper class,” poor old Sabine would say, and did say when she gave away those gold-framed articles on the desk.
Even on a rainy day, they had a soft, rich gleam. From inside the gold picture frame, Blanche smiles back at Blanche. Below the gold rim of the calendar, the date stands out in beautiful Gothic letters: April 1932.
Chapter 21
Whenever Adam looked up from his desk in the office, the picture met his eyes. It never failed to brighten a dull day, to increase the pleasure of a pleasant one, to make him laugh with the joy of the scene, or in a more serious mood, to remind him that this is what life is all about.
There they stood, he at one end of the row and Emma at the other, with their children between them and palm trees behind them, all together on a beach in southern California.
They had just returned from a sail that day, and strangers, amused by the sight of three strong boys, one ready for high school, being trailed by a bossy two-year-old sister, had taken this picture.
They had attracted attention in many places during that vacation. There was a night when, at a country inn, the pianist in a quartet fell ill, and Emma, to great applause, replaced him. There was the restaurant where Eileen casually walked out onto the floor and danced a solo. There were the endless shops, where the boys squabbled over souvenirs for their favorite people, for Rudy and Rea, for Mr. Reilly and Mr. Archer, along with certain teachers, certain friends, and surely the basketball coach . . .
But now the outgoing basket as well as the incoming basket of mail were both full. He had just put down the telephone and was about to make another call when Miss Fitz, the secretary, appeared at the door and whispered, “There’s a man here who says he’s your brother. He wants to see you.”
Brother? Leo? What could he possibly be doing here?
“He doesn’t look at all like you, Mr. Arnring, so I wasn’t sure. You never know.”
Poor guy, he didn’t look very much like most people. “Tell him to come in, please.”
“Leo! How’re you doing? We’ve hardly seen you in months. Three months, at least,” Adam said cheerfully. “The boys miss you and ask for you. Don’t be such a stranger!”
There Leo stood, a little man with the lined forehead of a person years older than he, along with the uncertain, wavering glance and stare of someone less than half his age. A familiar wave of sympathy mixed with distaste passed through Adam.
“What brings you here this morning?” he asked, still cheerfully.
“Personal business,” Leo said, with a slight, anxious frown.
“Personal? So why not visit me at home? We could talk more comfortably over breakfast, lunch, or dinner. You choose.”
“You don’t have to cajole me, Adam. I know perfectly well that you’re a busy man and that I’m wasting your valuable time here at work.”
Here we go again, the same old sarcasm, the same old hostility. Sighing, Adam suggested that Leo sit down and explain his problem.
“It’s a simple problem. I’ll give it to you in three words. I need money.”
“Really? I thought you were nicely fixed with the rent from the store. They’ve been paying so much more than I ever thought you’d get.”
“How much of an income do you think that is? I need a real income.”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t follow you at all,” Adam said.
Leo gave his small, crooked smile. “Come, come, Adam. By now you’ve found out what real money is. That’s what I’m talking about, real money.”
“It seems to me you might get a job,” Adam said, patiently hiding his annoyance. “People do. I did.”
“Listen, Adam. It’s time for you to be taken down a peg. You know perfectly well I can’t do what you’ve done. Look at me! You didn’t offer me any job in Cace Arnring, did you? No. Maybe if I had had some education, I wouldn’t be sitting here asking for money. I never went to college; I worked in a grocery store hauling vegetables—”
“So did I, and I worked my way out of it.”
“Look at me! What the hell are you talking about? Take another look at me, and spare me your pompous answers.”
Huddled in the big leather chair near the desk, Leo looked like a wicked imp in a book of fairy tales. And Adam, putting himself for one painful instant in his place, said gently, “I’ll help you out, Leo. What do you need?”
“Well, let’s talk. Tell me, didn’t this company of yours issue stock sometime ago at twenty-six dollars a share? And you as vice president, didn’t you get many thousands of shares of preferred stock? You must have. I read and I know what you fellas earn.”
Now Adam frowned. “You have no right to delve into my personal affairs, Leo.”
“Well, maybe yes and maybe no. But when a man needs money, he can get desperate. And I need money. Here it is, short and sweet: I want to get married and set myself up in comfort. The lady comes of a distinguished old family; she’s accustomed to a good home, nothing ostentatious or nouveau riche, just simple and refined. She happens also to be a beautiful woman, and I can’t come to her with empty hands. That’s my story.”
A beautiful woman. Was she the reason for the well-tailored suit, the neat shirt, and the cuff links, when Leo had never looked like that before? It made no sense.
Adam stared at his brother. He makes no sense; it’s some sickness, he thought, and in some alarm, was at a loss to deal with it. So they confronted each other in a tense and wary silence.
Then, with a sudden recall of Jonathan’s calm methods, he thought of something else. “All right, I’ll make you a handsome wedding gift: I’ll furnish your house and send you on a splendid honeymoon. I’ll tell you what, come tomorrow to dinner. Emma, you, and I will sit around afterward and we’ll give our advice. After all, we’re old hands at weddings and houses by now. All right?”
Leo, with a vigorous shake of his bald head, indicating that it was far from being all right, continued. “Half a million dollars, and not a cent less, Adam.”
“You’re being ridiculous! Stop making a fool of yourself.”
“You’ll be surprised to find who’s the fool if you don’t give me what I want. The tables are turned, Adam. I’ve been at the wrong table all my life, and I’m sick of it.” Accusing, complaining, the shrill voice rose. “Look at me! Well, don’t look. You’ve all spent your lives trying not to look at me. Five feet one—”
“That’s not fair, surely not fair to Pa. He was good to you. He stayed with you till the end—”
“He stayed because he didn’t know what else to do with me. And I stayed because it was safe, a sure thing. But now I’ve waked up, you see?”
“You’ve let your feeling about your height ruin your life,” Adam said, attempting to soothe. “But think, Napoleon was short, and—”
“Yes, and he vented his rage on the world.”
“All right, so that’s a poor example. But instead of venting rage, try to get rid of it. Rage can de
stroy a person.”
“Easy for you to talk! Even though you had a father who never got over his guilt about not marrying your mother.”
“That’s a nasty, cruel thing to say to me. You always like to bring that up, don’t you?”
“And as for Jonathan, he was going to be a doctor—doesn’t every poor, blue-collar immigrant want his son to be a doctor? Poor kind fellow, Jon was a fool to kill himself over a fancy slut—yes, a slut, and you know it.”
“I don’t know anything about it, Leo.”
“Oh, I think you know a great deal about it, Adam.”
“Listen here, I have work to do. I have no time for this drivel. I have to ask you to leave.”
“So let’s get back to the subject, and I’ll be only too glad to leave. Just give me what I’m asking for.”
How to get this man—my brother, this impossible brother—out of my office? Call one of the salesmen? No, the ruckus will be all over the place if I do. Try again.
“Leo, be reasonable. I’m inviting you to my house. We’ll talk in privacy about your affairs. Emma likes you, and she’s the most understanding woman you could want. She’ll listen to you and make practical suggestions—”
“But she won’t like what I have to say if you don’t give me what I want. How many times must I tell you? Give me what I want, Adam, or I’ll open my mouth. I’ll break Emma’s heart, which I don’t want to do because she’s never harmed me and she has good kids—”
“What the hell do you mean, you’ll break Emma’s heart? What the hell are you talking about?”
“About Blanche, Adam. About the wife you love and would humiliate with a dirty affair in your office.”
Just as one feels the hot flash of anger, one feels the white chill of terror as the blood drains, or seems to drain, out of the heart.
Adam sat down, two pairs of eyes met, and no one spoke. Out in the corridor, some women were laughing, their voices tinkling through the stillness; a horn blew in the street below, and a dog yapped.
