Pot of Gold

by Judith Michael

  "Oh, Ina, that's so cynical," said Lorraine. "Why not beheve in fairy godmothers? I'll bet you'd be a lot happier if you did."

  "Easier to live with, too, no doubt," said Zeke. He was an enormous man with a hooked nose, bushy eyebrows, and a paunch that hung over his hand-tooled leather belt. He put an arm around his wife. "You should give it a try. Claire, how did you come by a fairy godmother to guide you through the minefields and pitfalls and so forth of life.'^"

  "She came to me," Claire said evenly, "and I'm sorrv^ there aren't enough of them to go around."

  "What does she do, other than organize.'^" Lorraine asked.

  "Organize.^" Ina echoed. "You mean, like closets.^"

  "Bad joke, Ina," Ozzie said.

  "Oh, Lorraine, that reminds me," Ina said. 'Dolly wants you and Ozzie at her birthday thing at Cap Ferrat; she rented a villa. She said she sent you an invitation but it came back with 'Unknown' stamped on it."

  "Wrong address, probably," Lorraine said.

  "Well, of course. She's really not all there."

  "Did you ever try to have a real conversation with her.^" Zeke asked. "She mostly talks about money, which let me tell you is very boring after a while, but all the time she's coming at you with her significant boobs out in front like an advancing tank. And I'm backing up, you know, just to keep a little distance, space, air, and so forth, but she keeps coming until I'm in a corner and she's still moving. I mean, we're at a party with two hundred people; what does she want me to do, start fondling.-^"

  "How about the time she talked for an hour about why she likes giraffes.'^" Ozzie asked.

  "Well, you men were all listening," Lorraine said. "Ears erect, and I'll bet other parts, too."

  "I was watching Earl," Ozzie said. "The husband sitting there with a weird smile on his face while his wife performs."

  "He bragged about it when she did that nude series for Lord Snowden," Ina said.

  "That was a performance, too," said Zeke. "Some people just have to be in the spotlight all the time. And he gets it through her."

  "People with money don't usually do that," Lorraine said.

  Zeke shrugged. "We do whatever makes us feel good. Dolly and Earl like to act the fool. They're tiresome, but unimportant."

  "So we'll see you at their party at Cap Ferrat next week.^" Ina asked.

  "Why not.'"' Lorraine said. "Ozzie, just this one party, and then we'll go home, I promise."

  "She's always promising me we can go home," Ozzie said, "And then another party comes along. Ina, you're a bad influence."

  "Not bad, just powerful," said Zeke. "Like that goddess who makes the wind blow or whatever. Tough to live with, let me tell you."

  "Oh, Zeke, lighten up," said Lorraine.

  "That was a god," Ina said.

  "W'ho was.'"' Zeke asked.

  "Aeolus, king of the wind. A god, not a goddess. You can't blame the wind on women."

  Zeke shrugged.

  "Anyway," Lorraine said to Ozzie, "you like these parties, too."

  Ozzie nodded. "You're right; I confess. Most of them are okay; I like having people to talk to. The best are Quentin's, though. Those I wouldn't miss."

  "Because Quentin gives people what they want," Ina said. "Or talks them into wanting what he wants to give." She put a casual, faintly possessive hand on Quentin's arm. "Isn't that what you do with your cosmetics.^' Convince all of us they're what we want.?"

  "Exactly," Quentin said lazily.

  Ina looked beyond Quentin, to Claire. "You'll have to watch him; he's a magician. He mesmerizes all his friends and we become his happy little camp followers; no will of our own at all."

  "Oh, Ina," said Lorraine, exasperated. "(>laire, don't listen to her. She's not in a good mood tonight."

  "It's my fault," Zeke said. "I dragged her out here before she was ready. I was anxious to meet Claire. And we've barely talked to her."

  "You're right," said Lorraine. "Wc'c been terribly rude. Claire, I'm sorry'; you're not seeing us at our best. I think we get a little snappish when we travel; mavbc it's something in the

  water. You'll see the difference when we're home and we're all close by."

  "Close.'"' Ina looked at Claire again. "I don't remember seeing you."

  "We haven't been at the same parties," Claire said.

  "But you would have read about her if you ever picked up a newspaper," said Lorraine. "Claire won the lottery a little while back; she's a celebrity."

  "The lottery," Ina said, as if it were a foreign word. "The lottery. But how sweet. So now you have a little extra money; how nice for you."

  "I heard about that," Zeke said. "There was a lot of hoopla, TV, newspapers, and so on and so forth. Sorry, Claire, I didn't make the connection. But it wasn't little, I remember that; it was megabucks."

  "Was it," Ina said. There was a silence. "Well, how big was it.?"

  The silence went on. "Isn't that like asking somebody's salary.'"' Ozzie asked.

  "It's hardly private information if it was in the newspapers and on television," Ina retorted.

  "But I'd rather not talk about it," Claire said.

  "Well, I know how much it was, because I remember what I read," said Lorraine, "but I won't give it away. Let's just say it was more than a pound of caviar and less than the national debt."

  "But it's part of the storv', isn't it.?" Ina asked. "Not just winning, but how much you won. I'd really like to know how much you won."

  "But Claire doesn't want to talk about it," Quentin said flatly.

  There was another silence. "Well, but how exciting for you," Ina said to Claire, leaning forward to speak across Quentin. "Did you go on a shopping spree.?" Her glance swept Claire's white suit. "But of course you did; that's from Simone's, isn't it.? I come up from New York sometimes to shop there; such a dear little collection." She stole a quick glance at Quentin, to see if she was redeeming herself in his eyes. "And then you came to Alaska; isn't it an amazing place.? So different from Europe and Africa."

  "Well, we can't argue with that," Zeke said.

  "Aren't you enjoying it.?" Lorraine asked.

  "There are a few too many icebergs," Ina said. "And forests.

  And not a single Bergdorf's. Oh, what the hell, I'm sorry." She put out her hands. "You're right; I'm just not in a good mood. I think it must be the altitude."

  "We're at sea level," Zeke said.

  "It's just that we had one of our fights." Ina looked at the others. "But you knew that, didn't you.'' So I'm a little wound up." She looked at Claire. "Anyway, congratulations. I'm sorry you thought I was rude; I was curious, and why wouldn't you be proud of winning a lot of money.'' I would be. I'd tell everyone. So we should propose a toast, shouldn't we.^ To Claire."

  "To Claire," said Ozzie.

  They all raised their glasses. "Thank you," Claire said. She was uncomfortable. It was the kind of occasion she would share with Gina and a few other friends in Danbury, but not with these strangers, caught up in their own relationships and not really interested in her.

  "And if you need investment advice," Ina said, "you should come to Zeke; he's really the best."

  "Lighten up, Ina," Zeke said. "This is dinner, this is a cruise. But I certainly do humbly offer my services and advice and guidance, Claire." He handed her a card. "I'm in New York and I have an office in Norwalk. Call on me anytime. That's my home phone number there, in the right-hand corner."

  "This is dinner, this is a cruise," muttered Ozzie. "Come on, Zeke, you're doing business here, for Christ's sake."

  "Just getting acquainted," said Zeke.

  "Not really," Lorraine said. "We've been talking about ourselves and people Claire doesn't even know."

  "Who.^" Zeke asked. "Oh, you mean Dolly and Earl. Well, but she wouldn't want to be acquainted with them."

  "But I don't know why you're going to their party," Claire said,

  "Damned if I know," Ozzie sighed. "Ask my social secre-tar\"

  Lorraine shrugged. "People ju
st go. What arc parties for, if not to go to, is what I always say. It doesn't seem to matter whether you like someone or not; you go to their parties and you invite them to yours. You know what it's like, it's like those pinball machines where the little ball bounces around in a maze.

  but instead of rolling out, it just keeps going around in the maze, forever. That's us; we don't know the way out."

  "That's clever," Ozzie said with surprise in his voice. "A maze. You don't usually say things like that."

  "It must be Claire," Lorraine said. "She makes me think of new things."

  Claire looked up and met Quentin's eyes. These were his friends, and she could see he was amused by them, but there was also a flicker of boredom in his eyes, and she wondered if he made a point of surrounding himself with people he considered inferior to him; people who thought him superior. Happy little camp followers; no will of our own at all. Certainly, tonight, he dominated their table; he had hardly spoken at all, but the others were always aware of him and often spoke to him even when someone else had asked a question. There was a quality to his stillness—watchful, coiled, implacable—that sent a message of power, and Claire could see that many would be drawn to it, even as others would stiffen in opposition. Like the land they had come to, she thought, Quentin Eiger was a man of exaggeration, nothing subdued or pale about him. And when he turned to her, to hear what she had to say, or to watch her with approval or admiration, and she felt herself respond, sitting straighter, proud that she had impressed him, she felt she had become someone else, someone she did not yet understand.

  Later, when the others had gone to the theater for a movie, the two of them went out to the deck and he asked her what she thought of his friends. They were standing at the railing in the long, fading twilight that cast a pale glow over the ship and the narrow passage through which they sailed. Claire had wrapped a black and silver cashmere shawl around her, and Quentin was looking at her while she gazed at the dense forests that opened up now and then to reveal sudden glints of waterfalls and small villages tucked among the inlets and bays. A breeze blew steadily, the birds had fallen silent as twilight deepened, only a few passengers were on deck, and Claire felt happy and keyed up because Quentin wanted to be with her alone.

  "I liked Lorraine and Ozzie, as you thought I would," she said. "And I wasn't fond of Ina and Zeke, just as you expected."

  He contemplated her. "How did you know what I expected.^"

  "The way you introduced them, the way you looked at them when they were talking, the way you said goodnight after din-ner.

  "You make me sound transparent."

  Claire shook her head. "You give away much less than most people; I think you're very guarded. But I couldn't be a good designer if I weren't a good observer. I'd think I'd lost my touch if I hadn't seen something as simple as how you felt about your friends."

  He smiled slightly. "When do you relax and stop being a good observer.'"'

  "I don't. Why would I.^"

  "Perhaps so the rest of us can relax." He was still smiling, but Claire saw that he was serious. "What was it about Ina and Zeke that you didn't like.^"

  "They take themselves too seriously and they don't take other people seriously enough."

  "And do you take people seriously.'^"

  She looked at him in surprise. "I hope so. I like people, and I usually believe what they say, and I don't make fun of them or the way they feel about the world."

  "But you don't have many friends."

  "What an odd thing to say. I have one very close friend and a few friends I see now and then. Emma and I are quiet people; we don't look for crowds."

  "And your husband.'' Did he feel the same way.''"

  Claire sighed. "Why does everyone ask about my husband.^ Isn't it enough that I obviously don't have one.''"

  He smiled. "Evidently not. Most people want the whole stor'; don't you.''"

  "As much as anyone wants to tell; I don't pry." Claire looked away from him, at the shadows on the shore. It was after eleven, and finally, the twilight was melting into darkness. The moon skimmed the tops of the trees, a crescent that grew brighter with the coming of night. She thought of the night before, when she had believed Quentin was being completely open about his marriages and about Brix. But of course he had not been completely open; she had watched him tonight, sitting coiled and watchful, and she had wondered if he was ever completely honest with anyone. But, still, she felt she owed him an answer. "Mv

  husband liked lots of people around him, all the time. He liked to believe that something more exciting was always about to happen."

  "And was it.?"

  "I guess so." She hesitated. "He followed it, whatever it was, and I never saw him again."

  Quentin took her hands and held them in both of his. "That was hard for you to say." Claire was silent. "He didn't stay in touch.? He just—"

  "He just wasn't there anymore."

  "And he didn't leave you any money. Or send any."

  "No."

  "Or try to see his daughter."

  "I don't think he gave her a thought. She wasn't a person when he left."

  "This was before she was born.?"

  "Yes."

  "How old were you.?"

  "Seventeen. Almost eighteen."

  "You were in high school.?"

  "I'd just started college, but I had to drop out and go to work when he left. We were married the day after we graduated from high school. He left when I was four months pregnant with Emma."

  "Because you were pregnant.?"

  She shook her head slightly. "I'm sure he didn't want to be a father, but I think he just couldn't stay very long with one woman, and having a baby on the way made him face the fact that that's the basic definition of marriage. My friends had warned me about him, but I didn't believe them, and anyway, I thought I could change him. Of course I was wrong; it isn't easy to change anyone, and love isn't enough to do it."

  Quentin put his arms around her and kissed her. It was a strange kiss, without passion or excitement. As cool as a handshake, Claire thought; or testing the waters. "You're very lovely, and very wise," he said, his lips close to hers, and Claire pulled back. She was confused and vaguely disappointed, as if they had taken a wrong turn in a journey she had been enjoying.

  "Good night," she said, and because she could not think of anything else to say, she turned and walked away, through the

  door into the lounge and up the stairs to the boat deck and her stateroom. She took with her the memory of Quentin's face as she walked off: thoughtful, but also amused, as it had been when he watched his friends at dinner. Maybe he thinks I'm inferior, she thought, just like his other friends.

  "It wasn't a pleasant evening.^" Hannah asked the next day. She and Claire were walking slowly down Creek Street in Ketchikan, waiting for Emma, who was browsing in the shops. Once, in the early part of the century, the street had been the town's red-light district, but now the tiny houses, perched on stilts over the creek, had been converted to boutiques, craft shops, and art galleries. The town was nestled at the edge of a mountainous island, its climate so rainy the forests were emerald green. But today the sun shone, and passengers from two cruise ships crowded the streets. Claire and Hannah had visited the totem parks early, before Emma was awake, and now, walking through the town, Claire suggested they climb Deer Mountain.

  "It's three thousand feet high, and the trail is three miles long," Hannah said mildly. "I read about it last night. If you want to go, I'll find a tearoom and wait. Are you looking for something strenuous to work off last night.^ It wasn't a pleasant evening.^"'

  "It was very strange. I didn't like a lot of it, but I can't stop thinking about it." She paused, waiting for Hannah to say something, but Hannah was silent, and finally Claire added, "Or Quen-tin. I can't stop thinking about him, either."

  "Why not.?"

  "Because he's the kind of man people like to impress, and please; they feel good about themselves when they've done it.
"

  "And did you please him.'"'

  "I think so. He made me think I did."

  "Well then.?"

  "I don't know." Claire stopped walking. "He makes me feel . . . young. Inexperienced. As if I'm on my first date. Something like that, anyway. I've been through all this; I've gone out with men and had affairs and I ought to be used to it and at least know what I'm doing. But I don't, with Quentin, and I hate it and it's exciting, all at the same time. He's scary, in an odd way: I can't tell whether he's really honest or what he thinks of me or what he expects of mc. He seems to get his power over people partly by keeping them at a distance, so maybe ril never really get to know

  him. And what difference does it make? I gave such good advice to Emma; I ought to follow it myself. It's crazy: I'm on my first trip ever, the first time I've been more than a few miles from Connecticut, and all I'm thinking about is a man I met two days ago."

  "And what is wrong with that.'"' Hannah asked gently.

  'i just told you. Everything in my life has changed and I ought to be paying attention to all the new things I'm doing, all the things I'm able to do."

  "Well, I don't know about that. I used to think about men all the time; I thought they were more interesting and fun, and more important, than schoolwork or my job or all my women friends put together."

  Diverted, Claire said, "When did you think about men all the time.?"

  "Oh, when I was young and ignorant. Because I was wrong, of course, as I soon found out; generally speaking, women are a lot more interesting and important in our lives than men, and much more reliable. But that doesn't mean we shouldn't think about men, even when we're traveling to new places. Just keep everything in balance and you'll be fine."

  "It's hard to keep everything in balance." Claire stopped and made a gesture of annoyance. "That's what I mean about sounding young. I worry about Emma keeping things balanced, but I sound like I'm about her age."