“My word,” Baird said when she was gone. The two men looked at each other and laughed. “She seems to have a rather peculiar idea of the way young gentlemen behave with girls.”
“She’s an extraordinary woman. I think Will bit off more than he could chew when he tackled her.”
“Nice clean-cut looking kid, the Mills boy. What’s it all about?”
“Randy young devil. Have you noticed him? Hung like a horse, to put it plainly. From what Pringle said, my guess is that the girl had hot pants for him and then balked when he produced it for her. He should’ve let her have it anyway. Serve her right.”
“What’s the next move?”
“Let’s tackle him together. He doesn’t want to start a lot of gossip about his own daughter.”
“I know his partner well. As a matter of fact, the bank is holding some of their paper.”
“I don’t think he’ll give us any trouble. Not when he understands just who he’s dealing with. Armina Collinge is not one to accept halfway measures. She’d blow the whole club apart if it suited her purposes.”
“I’ve always been fascinated by her, but I’ve never seen her under quite such full sail, if you know what I mean. My wife’s from the South, you know. She says there was some mystery about her husband’s death. There’s supposed to be a bit of the tarbrush there, too.”
“That’s pretty generally true of those old Southern families, isn’t it? I might as well call Pringle.”
CHARLIE and Peter, dressed again after their swim, found C. B. on the veranda reading the Sunday papers. She lowered her lorgnette as they joined her and gazed up at them.
“My bronze gods. I’ve been waiting for you. Let’s have a drink. I need one. I’ve had a rather harrowing morning.”
“Well, come on, tell us about it,” Charlie demanded, with the same almost imperceptible apprehension. “Where’ve you been?”
She laid papers aside and rose and went to her bar. “I didn’t want to go into it until I’d straightened it out. It doesn’t matter now. As a mater of fact, the phone call I had this morning was from a deplorable man called Pringle.”
“Oh, for God’s sake,” Charlie flushed. He felt Peter’s eyes on him. After the first contraction of his heart, he recovered himself. She had said she’d straightened it out. “What in the world did he want?” he asked almost casually.
“He was quite incoherent—common men always are when they let themselves go—but the gist of it was that you’d upset his daughter in some way.” She turned and held out glasses to them.
“But what did he say? Upset her how?” He had to know what Pringle had told her; he couldn’t allow her to think that he’d actually done any of those things. He took the glasses and carried one to Peter without meeting his eye.
“Oh, my dearest, you don’t suppose I’d allow such a man to go into particulars.” Her laughter tinkled disdainfully. “I know, just as Peter does, that you’re incapable of doing anything low or questionable in any way.”
“It’s ridiculous,” Peter joined in. “He was being very nice to her. We were together the entire evening.”
“I knew you would have been, my darling.” She carried a drink back to her chair. “I quite understand it. Charlie was nice to the poor little thing, and she went quite out of her mind with fantasies about him. I suppose one mustn’t be too hard on her. We’ve both seen how irresistibly charming Charlie can be. It’s unthinkable that he could ever be guilty of grossness or cruelty.”
“I did take her home,” Charlie pointed out. He was sufficiently experienced in deception to know that it’s wise to keep outright lies to a minimum. “You weren’t with me then.”
“Oh, that,” Peter agreed hastily. “That was nothing. Ten minutes at the most. Just time to take her to her house and come back.” Charlie noted the falsehood; Peter was apparently determined to provide him with an alibi.
“That would be useful to know if anything were to come of this,” C. B. approved, “but it’s all taken care of already. I simply went to Bruce Munger and told him that if I didn’t have an apology from the person by tomorrow morning, I would insist on a full hearing before the club Board. I knew I could count on Peter as a witness.”
“What did Mr. Munger say?” Charlie asked.
“He agreed that an apology was quite necessary and correct. I put it into his hands. I think I can let the matter rest there. But I do think you’d better avoid the poor girl in the future.”
“I should hope so. The whole thing is absolutely nuts.” He looked at her with gratitude, knowing that he needn’t have worried. He could always count on her, no matter what difficulties might arise. Still, he’d feel better when she actually had the apology in her hands.
As far as C. B. was concerned, the subject was apparently disposed of and she didn’t refer to it again, but Charlie could see that Peter was still brooding about it. When he and Peter returned to their room after lunch, they didn’t pull their clothes off as they might normally have done but wandered about restlessly, ill at ease and constrained.
“All right, champ,” Peter said finally. The use of the public name in private marked a distance between them. “You might as well tell me. Did you—well, did you fuck her?”
“Oh, for God’s sake. I might have known it. Now you’re going to grill me. No, I didn’t.”
“Then what’s it all about?”
“We were just fooling around the way kids do and she started screaming and I told her to shut up and took her home.”
“I see. Then you would’ve fucked her if she’d let you?”
“Sure. Why not? It happens between guys and girls.”
“I suppose it does.” He knew that there must be more to the story than Charlie was telling, but he didn’t particularly care about details; he believed Charlie’s account of the basic facts. The experience of love was so new to him that he had no fixed convictions about fidelity and related questions. He knew he shouldn’t even think about competing with girls, and yet he was determined to do so; he fiercely wanted Charlie for himself. He had no firmer grasp on the future than Charlie had. He knew simply that as long as life continued as he knew it, he would have to be with Charlie. His own fidelity was an imperative, regardless of what Charlie did, even though in the last few weeks he had become aware of the attractions of other young men.
“Thanks for lying for me,” Charlie said grudgingly, after a silence.
“Oh, that.” Peter shrugged. “I loved doing it. If you ever need to be rescued from a sinking ship or anything, just let me know. That’s the sort of thing I dream about.”
“Crazy. Then what’s the matter, baby?” He came and perched on the arm of the chair where Peter was sprawled and ran a hand over his hair and gave his shoulder an impatient little shake. Now that it was sorting itself out, he wasn’t sorry to have been the subject of a small scandal with a girl; it was the best advertisement of his masculinity. If C. B. had gone to Mr. Munger, there would be gossip—about him and the girl, not about some other thing. He tugged Peter’s hair. “The whole thing with Betty was just stupid.”
Charlie’s tentative satisfaction came through as smugness; Peter felt helpless against it. “I think it was. I guess it’s obvious I wish it hadn’t happened, not that that matters to anyone.”
Charlie put his hands on his shoulders and squeezed them. “That shows how much you know about it. I wish it hadn’t, too.”
Peter looked up quickly. “Do you?” He looked at length, amazed at having won this much of an apology, and then smiled slowly and lifted his hands to Charlie’s. “Then that makes it all right.”
The events of the night before and this aftermath were solidifying and defining their relationship. To Peter, Betty was a warning. If his idol was flawed, it was all the more important for him to be at his side, to defend him from danger; he sensed instinctively that Charlie’s refusal to accept the nature of their relationship could lead to serious trouble. He hadn’t attempted to analyze his own wholehear
ted acceptance, but if he had, he would have encountered special circumstances: the taboo on sex in any form at home, so that guilt would have been apportioned equally to all acts he might have committed, an intolerable burden, which in effect mitigated guilt; and his deep angry antagonism to his father, the General. He knew his father would be appalled by the road he had chosen, and this confirmed him in it. He already looked forward to his finding out, but not until he was twenty-one, so there could be no legal complications. He could imagine himself being slapped into some sort of reformatory school.
He gripped Charlie’s hands for safety and was aware that needs and demands of his own were emerging. All their talk about going to New York together had remained singularly amorphous because of Charlie’s edict against discussing it with C. B. He was suddenly determined to take practical steps.
“I’m going to write Columbia this afternoon. Right now.” He pulled himself up in the chair and propped his elbow on Charlie’s thighs. “We’ve got to find out about night courses and fees and all that stuff. Even if I don’t actually do anything about it, we’ve got to know what we’re talking about when we talk to C. B.”
“Well, I’ve been thinking more about that, too, of course. I don’t see why we necessarily have to tell her. You have to go home first, anyway. I don’t see why you can’t just come back to New York and move in, and we’ll see how things work out.”
“But you say it has to be all right with her because of the allowance and everything.”
“Well, sure.”
“Then we have to tell her. I know damn well she wouldn’t like it if she found out we’d planned it all behind her back.”
“Well, we can’t do anything till you get the stuff from Columbia, anyway.”
“No, of course not. But then we’ll tell her.” Peter was aware that Charlie had made no effort to get him to write. At such moments he had only to look up at the level, slightly upswept, somehow devilish brows, the deep-blue eyes, the mouth, which seemed always to be slightly smiling, for all doubts to be suspended. Charlie was all the joy and beauty a human being could be. He leaned down and kissed the strong hand resting on his arm.
THE next day, the apology arrived, routine was restored, and Sapphire returned in the evening. On the following morning, after breakfast, Peter was delegated to collect their swimming trunks from the line in the kitchen yard while Charlie went upstairs. Peter was gone a long time. He entered Charlie’s room twirling the trunks in his hands.
“Where’ve you been all this time?”
“Did you miss me, beautiful?”
“I did. What were you doing?”
“Talking to Sapphire about her audition. She really had one. She told me all about it. She’s nice. She’s so simple about it. It was at the Metropolitan, but not for the Metropolitan. It’s some show in the fall Otto Kahn’s putting money into. The joke will really be on C. B. if she turns out to be a star. You’ll be a star, too. You and Sapphire starring on Broadway. How about that? And me? Well, stars have to have secretaries. That’s two job possibilities right there. Except Sapphire has Henry, so I guess I’ll have to settle for you.”
Charlie laughed at his nonsense and pulled him close. “You’ll have to settle for me, all right. Tell Sapphire to lay off.” He studied the face before him, aware of the change in Peter just since the fight the other night. He was growing less sensitive, less solicitous, tougher, brighter, the sweet docility was fading. On the whole, Charlie approved; he felt more air around them.
An anxious little frown creased Peter’s brow. “She said something peculiar. You won’t like it, but I’d better tell you. She said to tell Mister Charlie if he did anything he didn’t want his Granny to know about, be careful of Rosie. She says she’s a spy.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Charlie smiled and shrugged. “C. B.’s right. Negroes are crazy. Didn’t you ask her what she was talking about?”
“No. I didn’t think I’d better.”
Charlie’s smile vanished and his eyes stared with alarm. “You mean—good God. Spying on us here?” He released Peter and looked distractedly around the room. “I’m always careful about the towels and all that. You haven’t been forgetting to muss your bed?”
“No. Always.”
“Well, there’s nothing here to make anybody suspect anything. If she wants to stand outside the door and listen, let her. C. B. wouldn’t believe her.”
“I don’t guess anybody would. All that whooping and hollering and squealing.”
Charlie turned and hurried to the bathroom. He came back with a little shake of his head. “Everything’s in order. It always is.” He stopped and looked at Peter. He approached him slowly and stood close to him and lifted his hand to his face, running a finger lightly over it. His eyes had grown intent and searching.
“Uh-oh. Now what?” Peter asked. “Why’re you looking at me like that?”
Charlie continued his scrutiny. Then he stepped back and to one side, still looking. “I’m going to do your portrait. I get so excited looking at you that I wasn’t sure I could, but I’m beginning to see you now. Let Rosie spy on that.”
“Golly, what a fabulous idea. I can’t wait to see how you work.”
“I haven’t got oils here, but I’ve got all my drawing stuff. That should settle it if anybody’s wondering why we spend so much time up here. I’ll do a portrait, and we’ll give it to C. B. from both of us.”
“From both of us. That sounds good. Darling, why is C. B. called C. B.? I’ve never known.”
“Oh, it’s an old joke. Her maiden name was Barton. Armina Barton Collinge. A. B. C. Some friends of hers were kidding about it and she said, ‘I’d rather be C. B. than B. C.’ It stuck.”
Peter laughed. “That sounds like her.”
“Come on. Let’s have a swim. We’re going to be busy.”
They were out of their clothes and into their trunks in a moment. As they were leaving the room, Charlie said, “Listen, don’t tell C. B. you spoke to Sapphire about the audition and everything.”
“Why not?”
“She wouldn’t want us being pally with the servants. She prefers to handle them herself.”
“Well, I hope she’s nice to Sapphire about it. It’s so important to her, even if she is an animal.”
“Of course she will be, silly. She’s wonderful with them.”
“I know. I was just talking.” He hugged Charlie’s arm in his, but Charlie shook him off.
“Look out. Somebody might see us.”
Charlie started on the portrait that afternoon. As a preliminary, he confined himself to rough sketches, and Peter reveled in the bliss of being the focus of his probing eyes for hours at a time. He had never felt so totally possessed. Charlie continued with his sketches in the days that followed. When he felt that he was ready, he worked all one afternoon on the finished drawing. At last, he let Peter see it.
“Holy mackerel,” Peter said with awe after studying it in silence for some minutes. “I’m beautiful. Why hasn’t anybody told me?”
“I have,” Charlie said briefly, holding the portrait up.
Peter looked at him and back at the drawing. He studied it line by line and saw love in it more explicit than anything he had ever dared hope Charlie would express in words. The muscles of his jaw tensed. “Yes, you have. I’m trying not to bawl like a baby.” He slammed his clenched fists onto his knees and stood up. “What do you expect after this? I’d crawl all the way to New York on my stomach to be with you.”
They carried the portrait down to C. B. before dinner. Charlie made the presentation. “It’s from both of us. We thought you’d like to have it.”
She studied it through her lorgnette. “How absolutely superb! So that’s what you’ve been up to. What a glorious surprise.” She rose and went from one to the other and embraced and kissed them. She held it out and looked from it to Peter. “It’s so absolutely you. You really are a beautiful creature, my darling.”
“Don’t you th
ink it’s good?” Peter demanded, bursting with admiration. “I think he’s fantastic. To be able to do that in a few hours.”
“He has great talent. I discovered that years ago.”
“He has. He did some sketches before he did this final one. They’re all marvelous.”
“This is superlative. It has such feeling and understanding. You should be a proud subject.”
“Don’t worry, I am. I had no idea I looked like that. You should let him do you.”
“Never,” she said with a smile and a tilt of her head. “I’m afraid he took to drawing too late for me to be committed to posterity.”
“That’s ridiculous. It would be beautiful. We should make him work. He ought to be doing something with it.”
“He will. It will always be a fascinating hobby, a source of interest all his life. Winston Churchill paints.”
“But why just a hobby?” Peter insisted.
“What else could it be?”
“Well, he could really work at it. You know, be a painter.”
“Oh my darling,” she said with a tinkle of laughter. “I’m afraid you haven’t acquired much worldly knowledge. Can you see Charlie starving in a garret in Paris? That’s not really his style.”
“No, I guess not. But you wouldn’t let him starve.”
“I dare say I wouldn’t, but that really isn’t the point. Surely you understand. Charlie would never accept being helped on a course he knew I disapproved of.”
Her expression didn’t alter, her rich dramatic voice rang smoothly, but Peter felt the ice in her admonition. It froze him. “Oh, well, I suppose it’s because I don’t do anything in particular very well,” he said, in retreat. “When I can do something, I never want to stop doing it.” His eyes flicked to Charlie, and he suppressed a giggle.
“A talent can so easily become a burden. Unless one has genius. Everything, of course, must be sacrificed to genius. But genius makes it own rules. A talent is simply a little specialty that cuts one off from a full experience of life.” She turned to Charlie, who had watched the subtle clash with alarm for his friend. One didn’t cross C. B. She held out the drawing. “You must tell me how you want it framed. If it can’t be done properly here, I’ll have to wait till New York, but I do so want it now.”
The Peter & Charlie Trilogy Page 8
