by Gahan Hanmer
The cop turned on his flashers, but Rudy didn't even slow down. Instead I saw him punch some numbers into a mobile phone. What he said into the receiver I couldn't hear, but a minute or two later the cop pulled around in front of us with his lights still flashing and gave us an escort all the way to the Massachusetts line. There he pulled over, touched his helmet in an informal salute, and went about his business.
In the meantime, something had snapped and all the fight had gone out of me. I was on my way to Albert's for a little study break, and what had I really been fighting against anyway? My own embarrassment, mainly. I didn't want to go face someone who knew my whole history, feeling like a failure and a drifter who had forgotten where he was drifting, someone who had had every opportunity in the world, and wound up wasting them all. In my old jeans and sneakers, with no luggage and no toothbrush, I was going on a visit to see a man who had somehow earned such gracious solicitude from the New York State Troopers.
"Rudy," I said, "where are the cocktail fixings in this dream machine?"
A small but well-stocked bar, quite a marvel of engineering and cabinetry, unfolded itself and slid into place. When this graceful transformation had completed itself, I had to laugh with admiration.
You don't even need a toothbrush. "Thank you, Rudy," I said. "Where are my clothes?"
A drawer slid open, and there, beautifully folded without so much as a wrinkle, was a complete outfit, casual but in impeccable taste. Everything fit me perfectly, even the shoes. I put my old clothes and ratty sneakers into the drawer, and it quietly swallowed them and disappeared.
Better prepared in my fashionable clothes for a journey in a Rolls, but also feeling disoriented and somewhat unreal, I poured myself a brandy and gently rocked the liquor in the bottom of the glass, sipping from time to time as I gazed out the window. The idea that I'd made a mess of a perfectly good life kept recurring, and that made me feel sad and blue. On the other hand, sitting in that Rolls with a brandy in my hand, I also had the comforting sensation that life was really just an amusing dream. It made for a kind of balance, and I wasn't suffering as we hummed along through the Massachusetts countryside.
It didn't seem long at all before I began to recognize Albert's neighborhood, the big estates with the rustic names like Oakbridge, Briarthorn, and Overknoll. This was fox hunting country, and Albert and I had ridden to hounds in some of these very same estates. It was quite a wild and nutty sport, all that was left of the noble hunts of ages past. Everyone had booze in their coffee in the morning to get them in the mood, that is reckless as hell, and then you rode until your ass fell off. Someone was always breaking his arm, or almost breaking his neck, and that was one more thing to crack jokes about. When we all finally straggled back out of the woods and fields, exhausted and giddy, there would be a huge dinner, and everyone would get really plastered and finally stagger off to bed. It was very expensive and rowdy fun.
Albert's mother and father did not participate in fox hunting, though they were both accomplished riders, and Mrs. Keane had a jumper she was very proud of. Actually they disapproved slightly of fox hunting. I heard her refer to it once in private as being déclassé; but they didn't mind if Albert and I went occasionally. They understood that since we were locked up in school most of the time, we had to blow off some steam.
When we got back to school, back to the classes and books and endless papers and tests, life at the old homestead seemed like a half-remembered dream. I would go back to pestering people about liberty, justice, and human rights whenever I began to worry that I was starting to blend in too well with my upper-class surroundings. I persuaded myself that my trips to Albert's home were in no way inconsistent with my ideals. There was a time for classes and studying and bandying ideas about, which was most of the time; occasionally there was an opportunity to have fun. When I was having fun, I told myself, I was entitled to make the most of it.
Anyway, the enemies, according to my teenage ideals, were people obsessed with making money, and who made it by exploiting people, that is by lying, cheating, double-dealing, and card-sharping the innocent and helpless. Albert's parents couldn't have cared less about making money; they were not in any way sly or venal. On the contrary, Albert's father was always running off to some meeting about some hospital or library he was founding, and his mother was often busy with charities. And if they occasionally forgot to say thank you to elevator operators and doormen, they were very friendly to their own servants and let them take home all the leftovers.
From our first meeting, the Keanes were very nice to me. When Albert told them that my family was in show business, I saw Mrs. Keane raise one hair on one eyebrow about a tenth of a millimeter. But except for that one moment, I always felt completely accepted and welcomed as though I was a member of the family. In addition to the horse they kept especially for me to ride, I also had my own room with my own closet and bath. I had a particular chair in the dining room where I always sat to eat. And when it was time to head back to school, Mrs. Keane always reminded me that they wanted me to think of the old homestead as my own home.
Mr. and Mrs. Keane were glad to see that Albert had a friend. He was their only living child, and he had been more than a little sheltered. I understood that. They were also a little short on kids. Albert's older brother had died young, and Mrs. Keane, for some medical reason, could not have any more children. I understood that too.
What I did not really understand was that they genuinely liked me just for myself. Like the majority of young people, I hadn't yet learned to like myself very much. And my own family had sent me away. So it puzzled me and made me uncomfortable sometimes to be treated so well by these people.
What I also did not understand at all was what an inestimable blessing it was to have the patronage of such a powerful family. A lot of parents who sent their children to prep schools went down on their knees every night praying that Junior would find a friend with a family as rich as the Keanes. Such parents told their children right up front that they were being sent to school to make friends in influential circles and never to forget it.
I didn't understand any of that at the time. I don't think anybody ever explained to me what I was doing at that school. The first time my parents approached me about going there, I said no way in hell. The second time they talked to me about it I said oh all right. That's all I remember. I was tired of horrible fights and breaking glass keeping me up until all hours of the night, so I let them talk me into going. Whatever they may have said about it being for my own good, I disregarded as typical adult lies and subterfuge and forgot about it. Anyway, I had no clear notion of why I was being sent there, and mostly I felt like they just wanted to get rid of me.
When the Keanes took me in, I was very touched and grateful to have another home. I took what they gave me and thanked them for it. But I didn't know that it would have been normal and acceptable for them to use their influence to help me make my way in the world; and I never would have dreamed of asking them for anything.
I never ever told my parents about Albert and his family. I was afraid they would think worse of me for consorting with the enemy.
Now I recognized the northwest corner of the fieldstone wall that bordered Albert's estate, and about two miles down the road, there was the impressive fieldstone arch, two hundred years old at least, that framed the entrance road. And I was very surprised to see, on one side of the arch, very bright and garish and out of place, a sign that said: AUCTION TODAY.
We started up that familiar road that wound through lovely woods that all belonged to Albert now, and my stomach began to churn with a whole ragbag of emotions: nostalgia and envy and a kind of dread at having to admit to this friend from my past that I had done nothing really worthwhile with all the years since I'd seen him last. Time had passed me by; I didn't have any answers to life's big questions or anything to show off. I'd just wandered from one thing to another and one place to another and let it all slide. I was wishing now that I'd been
more creative about escaping from the Rolls and making my way back to my cottage in the boondocks. Not for the last time!
When we arrived at the mansion, a monument of fieldstone and oak, all gables and dormers and diamond-paned windows, the grounds were so crowded with cars and trucks that several men with orange batons were busy trying to keep them organized. They waved the Rolls by, and we drove across the west lawn to the house.
Rudy came around and opened the door for me. With my new clothes on and a couple of brandies inside me, it seemed like a long time ago that he had knocked me cold and kidnapped me; I hardly felt I could hold it against him. Maybe he had done me a favor. At this point I wasn't sure.
One of the side doors opened, and a woman came over to the car. I guessed she was a year or two into her thirties, and her casual jeans and sweatshirt did nothing to disguise her world-class beauty.
"Welcome, Jack," she said with a smile that brought a lump to my throat. "We're so glad you could come. I'm Jenna Yumans." She gave me a handshake that was both warm and firm. "Everything in the house is bedlam right now, but we're having something to eat in the kitchen. Won't you join us?"
I nodded and followed her into the house. The way her dark brown hair glistened with auburn highlights in the sunshine, the graceful, alluring way she walked . . . Ah, here was trouble.
"So," cried a familiar voice, "it's you!" Hélène Hardricourt, big-bosomed and silver-haired, made for me across the kitchen, folding me up in a hug that made me gasp for air. "Where have you been?" she wanted to know, as though I had just come back from playing outside and was half an hour late for dinner. "You had a fight with Albert, okay, these things happen. But you don't write? You don't call? You don't have anything to do with the people who love you? Oh, Jack," she cried, impatiently wiping the tears out of her eyes, "it's so good to see you, but you should be ashamed of yourself!"
"I'm sorry, Hélène, God's truth I am. But this is America, you know? It's a big country and it's easy to get lost."
Hélène was the Keane's cook, one of the family of servants that went with the house. She was married to Émile, the butler, who took his turn next, shaking my hand and embracing me with tears in his eyes. Then their daughter Maxine, who had been a child when I last saw her, embraced me and kissed me and introduced me to her daughter, who embraced me and kissed me, and then they all cried again. They are French, so they behave that way. I'm a yank, so I hide my feelings; but inside I felt very moved to see them again.
What Hélène had said was true. When Albert and I had parted ways in anger so many years ago, I had pushed the whole household out of my mind, out of my heart. I didn't know any better.
Now Hélène heaped up a plate for me, and I fell upon her delicious cooking just like I had in the old days. Hélène sat and watched me eat, but Émile was antsy and excused himself. With so much activity going on in the house, he was not comfortable unless he was keeping an eye on things.
"What's going on?" I asked Hélène. She replied with a series of emphatic French gestures, but said nothing. So I looked questioningly at beautiful Jenna Yumans, whom I had been pretending to forget about while I was eating.
"We're having a huge auction, Jack, as I'm sure you can see. But I think Albert would like to be the one to tell you what it means."
"Where is Albert?"
"I don't know. The auction upset him. I'd be surprised to see him before tomorrow afternoon when this will all be over. In the meantime," she said, running her fingers back through her hair and shaking it out, "he asked me to make his apologies, and to see to your comfort. Do you like to ride?"
I tried not to swallow, but I couldn't help it. "I love to ride, Jenna."
"Then that's what I think we ought to do after we finish eating."
"You're not auctioning off the horses?"
"Not all of them." The smile was enigmatic, teasing. Oh, Albert, hurry up before I do something I'm going to regret!
An hour later, dressed in borrowed jeans and boots, I swung myself into the saddle of a big brown stallion named Pollux. He was spirited and required quite a tight rein at first. That was all right with me. I would give him his head when the time was right. Jenna had changed into a light blouse, some kind of a cross between shorts and a skirt, and tennis sneakers. She was riding a roan mare named Cassie. We took a trail straight into the woods from behind the stables. Soon the droning of the auctioneer faded away, and we were alone among the whispering trees.
"Are you a good rider?" I asked her.
"Are you?"
"I think the main thing is not to break your neck."
"I heard you used to ride to hounds."
"Albert and I used to do that sometimes on a break from school."
"It's hard to imagine you at one of those schools."
"It was kind of an accident that landed me there."
"I didn't think you looked very comfortable in those clothes you arrived in. You look more relaxed now."
"They weren't my clothes."
"I know. They were in the drawer in the car."
She was still talking to me in that teasing manner that made everything she said seem like a little puzzle to be solved. I was very intrigued by her. I was also making the pessimistic assumption that she was Albert's girlfriend, and that I was a damn fool to be falling for her. "Whose clothes are they?"
She looked at me, and her lower lip made a little pout. She didn't want to talk about clothes. She wanted to flirt. "They're your clothes," she said. "They were bought for you."
"They fit me very nicely."
"Of course. Why would we buy you ill-fitting clothes?"
"But how did you know my size?"
She shrugged. The pout became more pronounced. She seemed a little offended. What had I done? We rode in silence to the edge of a broad meadow.
"Actually I think all clothes are stupid," she said. "Do you mind if I take mine off?" And she did, without bothering to get off the horse. First the blouse went flying. Then, with the sound of ripping Velcro, the skirt went flying after it. And there she was quite irresistibly buck naked in her tennis sneakers.
"Are you a good rider?" she asked.
It took me a moment to find my voice. "I have had a compliment or two in my time."
"Then let's see if you can catch me." Snatching up the reins like some crazed and exquisite Amazon, she whacked her heels into Cassie's flanks, and shot off across the meadow like a vision in a dream.
With a whoop, I gave chase. If anything I had underestimated Pollux's spirit, for he was mad for a gallop. In a few seconds we were bounding across the meadow after Cassie and Jenna, whose flying hair and callipygian rear had suddenly become the focus of all my energies and desires. My mind was blank, the past was gone.
It is very difficult to think while you are galloping, especially over rough terrain. Why was I chasing her? I didn't know. What did I expect to achieve? I didn't care. I was just a crazy centaur chasing another crazy centaur across the crags of the timeless past.
I chased her across the meadow, but she disappeared down another trail. I chased her down the trail and saw her plunge into the trees. I chased her through the trees, and when she splashed across a stream I splashed after her. Now we were back at the meadow, and I chased her in the opposite direction. We were both wet from the stream and whiplashed from the branches. Was she planning to go streaking through the auction?
No, she veered onto the trail toward the waterfall, and suddenly I was gripped with fear. It was not a good place to be reckless. The trail there turned into a twisty and steep dirt road that switchbacked down through a narrow canyon to the bridge in front of the waterfall. I knew it well, for it had made a hair-raising course for a Flexible Flyer when the snow was deep. On a galloping horse it would be suicide.
"Jenna, don't! Jenna, no!" I knew it was too late. At the top of the grade, I reined in sharply and looked down. Her horse was out of control. It was too steep to stop, and she would never make the last turn before the road
curved down to the bridge. Far below were the big boulders of the streambed.
Someone was screaming now. Was it me? No, it was Jenna screaming at her horse, screaming Cassie up to top speed, lashing the animal with her voice. She was lying low on the withers, one hand tangled tight in Cassie's mane, the other arm gripping the horse's neck. Suddenly I saw what she had in mind.
On the other side of the canyon the road jutted out from the hill. Jenna was going to try to make it across the gorge. It was all up to the horse now. I saw Cassie break a quarter stride as she measured the distance. She knew what she had to do to survive.
Please God give that horse wings, please God don't let her fall, please God, oh please God, please! The horse was in midair now, straining every nerve, the forelegs reaching out, the hind legs tucking up, all time compressed into one second, one beat of my heart. Now a rasp of rocks spun out into the gorge as the hooves found a few inches of purchase on the other side. Cassie was stumbling, went almost to her knees, caught herself and stood up straight, stamping in the road. Jenna was still lying flat against the horse's spine, her hand tangled in its mane.
Slowly she sat up, slowly she rolled a leg over and slid to the ground. Dropping to the grass, she wrapped her head up in her arms.
When my heart stopped pounding so desperately, I rode the short way back to the meadow and retrieved Jenna's clothes. Then I picked my way along the road past the bridge, and tied Pollux up near Cassie. Jenna accepted the clothes and pulled them on without comment or coyness.
"I'm sorry if I frightened you," she said finally. She seemed annoyed with herself.
"I'm glad you're all right, Jenna."
"I have to do things like that. I can't help it."
"You did that on purpose?"
"Well, no, of course not. But throwing my clothes off, behaving wildly . . . It's just that life gets so boring sometimes, don't you think? And when you try to liven it up, things often end badly. Why is that?"
"I don't know, Jenna. I don't know anything about life, except that it's easy to get it all screwed up, even with the best intentions."
