“Where do you want to be in five years?” Ione asked.
Karen closed her eyes and looked into the future. But there was nothing to see because, she realized with dismay, she didn’t have the faintest idea where she wanted to be in five days, much less five years.
PART FOUR
1971
Evil is easy, and has infinite forms.
—Blaise Pascal
one
May could be the most glorious month in San Francisco, once the winter rains had tapered off and before the summer fog rolled in, when the thermometer reached up into the seventies and the air smelled freshly scrubbed and the sun sparkled off the bay, and people went around with smiles on their faces. It was a month often overlooked by tourists, much to the delight of those who lived there and kept the splendor a closely guarded secret.
On one such perfect Tuesday in early May, Elizabeth Will-mont was indulging in her favorite pastime—shopping. It was a rare occasion when a committee meeting was canceled at the last minute and Elizabeth found herself with a free day. She had promptly persuaded her husband to take her to lunch and then she made a beeline for Union Square.
It was no secret to anyone that Elizabeth loved to shop, and with her Modigliani-like figure and substantial bank account, that was understandable. The product of a Colorado millionaire and a French beauty, few things delighted the young socialite more than going from one store to the next, trying on item after item, selecting what pleased her and discarding what didn’t.
By mid-afternoon, she had purchased three dresses, two suits, and a whole host of accessories. Ordinarily, this would have put an enormous smile on her face, but as she came out of Maison Mendessolle, the elite salon in the St. Francis Hotel, and turned onto Post Street, it was an uneasy frown that creased her lovely features.
Halfway down the block, Elizabeth stopped as though something in a display window had caught her eye and caught instead a glimpse of the reflection behind her. The girl in the red coat was still there.
Elizabeth sighed. She had first noticed the girl in the fine-china department at Macy’s, just a slip of a thing with straggly hair and big brown eyes and blotches on her skin, who showed no interest whatever in Lenox or Minton and surely must have been roasting, all bundled up in that heavy coat.
Next, she turned up in the shoe department at Magnin’s, when Elizabeth was buying the silk pumps. And then there she was in Maison Mendessolle, looking terribly out of place but standing her ground, while Elizabeth chose a gown for a charity ball she was helping to organize.
The girl never came close enough for conversation, although it was clear she had something on her mind. But she never let Elizabeth out of sight, either. And in that absurd red coat, she was anything but inconspicuous. Even the saleslady noticed.
“That person over there, Mrs. Willmont,” she whispered, “do you know her?”
Elizabeth glanced casually over her shoulder. “No, I’m afraid I don’t.”
“Well, she certainly isn’t one of our customers, and she’s been staring at you for the longest time.”
Elizabeth shrugged it off. It didn’t do to tell help any more than they needed to know. Gossip that was started by a careless remark could spread like a brushfire and devastate the select social circle in which the Willmonts traveled. But the girl was making her very uncomfortable. If she had something to say, Elizabeth wished she would say it and get it over with.
Not that she wasn’t used to being stared at. As one of San Francisco’s most beautiful and stylish young matrons, Eliza- beth had been photographed, interviewed, emulated and envied from the moment Robert had brought her to California as his wife three and a half years ago.
Even before that, she had often found herself in the public eye. After all, she was the only daughter of Archer and Denise Avery of Denver, where her father owned Avery Industries, and where her family was every bit as influential as the Draytons were in San Francisco.
Having inherited her elegant French mother’s flaming red hair, slanting green eyes, chiseled features and graceful ways, Elizabeth was indisputably the outstanding debutante of 1963, setting a standard for every Denver debutante to follow. By the time it was over, she had received no less than half a dozen marriage proposals. She declined them all, however, choosing instead four years at Vassar and then a handsome young attorney from California whom she met at Aspen.
It was, as far as Elizabeth was concerned, love at first sight. She had lost one of her ski poles and was having considerable difficulty trying to negotiate the slope without it when he came to her rescue.
“I believe this belongs to you,” he said with a poker face, presenting her with the wayward bamboo stick.
“My goodness,” she exclaimed with a toss of her Raggedy Ann hair, “I never even noticed it was gone.”
“Well done,” he declared with a hearty laugh and a broad wink of approval.
One look deep into his incredible aquamarine eyes was all it took. After returning to Vassar, she spent several anxious weeks—replaying every moment of their days together, recalling how well his ski outfit fit him, how wind-tanned he had been, what a decidedly sexy mouth he had, and how she had felt when he held her hand—until he finally telephoned.
Theirs was a long-distance romance that consisted of flowery letters and exorbitant telephone bills and three very closely chaperoned visits at the Averys’ gingerbread mansion in the heart of old Denver.
“My family’s horribly old-fashioned,” she had said, giggling on the occasion of Robert’s third stay, during the spring break of her senior year at Vassar, when they were unable to escape from watchful eyes for so much as two minutes. “I hope you don’t mind.”
“Of course I mind,” he grumbled, unused to this cat-and-mouse game he was being forced to play. “I suppose I’m going to have to marry you, just so I can get you alone.”
It was not exactly the proposal that Elizabeth had spent her girlhood dreaming of, but she hardly noticed. Her feet didn’t quite touch the ground for the rest of his stay.
“I think I’d better know something about your prospects, young man,” Archer Avery declared, when his daughter came seeking his blessing.
Elizabeth would never forget it. Robert sat in her father’s study, with just the right mixture of self-assurance and deference, and looked the intimidating patriarch directly in the eye, something that few of the boys who courted her had ever been brave enough, or foolish enough, to do.
“I’m a senior associate with Sutton, Wells, Willmont and Spaulding, sir,” he said with confidence. “I believe that you’re acquainted with Jonah Spaulding.”
The older man nodded.
“It was my father’s firm, before he died,” Robert continued, “and I have every reason to believe that I will be asked to join the partnership when the time comes.”
“I assume that means you plan on taking Elizabeth to San Francisco to live?”
“Yes, of course,” Robert replied. “I’m sure she’ll love it there. It’s a lot like Denver. But we won’t necessarily live there forever. You see, sir, once I’ve established my reputation at the bar, I’m planning on going into politics.”
Elizabeth’s ears perked up. Robert had never said anything to her about having political aspirations.
“Politics?” Archer echoed, stiffening slightly.
“I’m a Drayton,” Robert explained. “It’s a matter of tradition that Draytons give something back. My ancestors have donated parks, established museums, and endowed schools. One set up the Drayton Foundation, which provides scholarships and does other philanthropic work. Several served as judges. Others built bridges and railroads. One even sponsored soup kitchens during the Depression. Each chooses his own way. I’ve chosen politics.”
Archer grunted and scowled and shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He was a bull of a man and not one who bothered to keep his feelings hidden, but then he had never been able to deny his daughter anything.
“Well, I just don
’t mind telling you, young man,” he rumbled, “I don’t like the sound of that. I don’t like the sound of that at all.”
“I know that politics has always been a dirty word in some circles,” Robert said quickly. “I can tell you that it certainly has been in mine. But times are changing, and I believe that government thinking has to change, too, if we expect to maintain the proper balance of interests in this country. And that means that some of us, no matter how reluctant we may be, have to do our bit.”
Archer clasped his fingers across his chest and squinted at the lawyer seated in front of him. “Just how far do you intend to go with your bit, may I ask?”
For a moment, Robert allowed himself to look slightly surprised at the question. Then he grinned.
“Why, all the way to the White House, of course,” he replied.
Their engagement was announced the following week, and three months to the day after Elizabeth’s graduation from Vassar, she and Robert were married at St. John’s Cathedral, and then feted at a lavish reception for twelve hundred at the Denver Country Club, which the Post later described as one of the major social events of the decade.
The new Mr. and Mrs. Willmont honeymooned in the south of France, at a villa that belonged to one of Elizabeth’s French cousins. They spent some of their time swimming in the Mediterranean and browsing around the quaint little towns along the Côte d’Azur, but most of their time was spent between the sheets of the huge wrought-iron bed provided for their pleasure. The staff at the villa was kept busy changing the sheets several times each day.
Elizabeth delighted in every moment of it. Right from the start, Robert was able to generate such a feverish level of desire in her that their mutual climaxes left her laughing and crying and begging for more—far more than even her forthright French mother had led her to expect. She was prepared for an adjustment period, a time during which they would learn each other’s bodies and each other’s likes and dislikes, but there seemed to be no need for that. Somehow, he knew exactly how to please her.
“Now that you’ve had a chance to sample the goods, so to speak,” Elizabeth teased her husband one morning, “I hope I was worth putting up with all that horrid chaperoning.”
But he only grunted and reached for her again. Robert was insatiable when it came to sex, openly fondling her at a restaurant, murmuring seductive suggestions in the middle of a concert, whisking her away from a cocktail party given in their honor by some distant relatives. He thought nothing of cutting short any activity in which they were engaged the moment the urge overcame him.
Elizabeth never objected. On the contrary, she found herself as eager as he. But Robert was a big man who could be somewhat rough in the throes of passion and she was unprepared for the intensity of it all. It wasn’t long before she was black and blue on the outside and more than a little tender on the inside.
“Sweetheart, do you think we could maybe not do it for a day or so?” she asked one afternoon when Robert attempted to cut short a shopping expedition to Saint-Tropez.
“What do you mean?” he replied.
“Well, as you have reason to know, I’m not exactly used to all this … activity”—she giggled timidly—”and I guess I must be extra-sensitive inside because, well, it’s really kind of painful now, everytime we … well, you know.”
“Shit,” her husband exploded. “We’re on our honeymoon, for Christ’s sake. And what the fuck is it that people are supposed to do on their honeymoon?”
“I’m sure it’ll be all right again in a day or two,” she protested, wincing at his outburst.
He stamped his foot petulantly. “And to think I got married just so I could have it whenever I wanted it.”
“Well, I certainly hope that wasn’t the only reason,” she replied with a toss of her red hair.
“All those months I waited for you,” he grumbled. “I never had to wait that long for anyone, but I waited for you. Now we’re hardly married a week and already you’re pulling the old headache routine.”
“It’s not a headache and it’s not forever,” she said. “And the sooner we stop, the sooner we can start again.” She batted her eyelashes at him. “In the meantime, maybe there’s something I can do to make up for it.”
Robert looked at her in surprise. “Now you’re talking,” he said, taking her firmly by the arm. “Let’s go. I can’t wait to see what you have in mind.”
What she had in mind—dinner on the terrace, a bottle of champagne, a long leisurely bath and a back rub—didn’t turn out to be exactly what he had in mind.
“That sounds awful,” she protested when he described what he wanted to do.
“I don’t see how you can dismiss something until you try it,” he replied, nuzzling her. “Most of the women I know really get off on it.”
Most of the women in Robert’s circle were no doubt chic and sophisticated and older, and despite the fact that he had chosen her over the rest, Elizabeth didn’t particularly care to come out on the wrong side of a comparison.
“All right,” she said with a reluctant sigh. After all, he was her husband now and anything between married people was supposed to be acceptable. Besides, she had promised to obey.
Elizabeth had to admit that what he proceeded to do to her was rather thrilling and she achieved three orgasms in rapid succession and was beginning to think she might agree with all those other women of his when he rolled over onto his back and pulled her down on top of him. The ecstasy quickly turned to revulsion.
“I don’t know how to do it,” she mumbled, hoping he would suggest an alternative.
Instead, he gave her explicit instructions and held her head firmly so she couldn’t pull away.
“I didn’t hear you complaining when I brought you off three times,” he reminded her. “Now let’s see what you can do for me.”
Gagging and sputtering, she managed to make the best of it, but the experience was so distasteful to her that the very next morning she slipped down into town and bought some salve.
“That’s too bad,” he murmured when she grit her teeth and told him she was no longer sore. “I rather like it the other way.”
They came home after a month to the house on Jackson Street where Robert had been born. Amanda Willmont insisted that it was much too big a place for her now that she was alone.
“I rattle around in here and there’s just no point to it,” she said. “I want you and Elizabeth to have the house, and I can take a small apartment nearby.”
But Robert wouldn’t hear of it.
“This house has been your home for more than thirty years,” he insisted, “and no one’s going to put you out of it. I think we should all live here together.”
“Don’t you think you ought to consult with Elizabeth before you make a decision like that?” Amanda asked, trying not to look too pleased.
“Elizabeth will do what I say,” he replied. “Besides, she’s an old-fashioned girl and family means a lot to her. She’ll love the idea.”
Elizabeth hated the idea.
“It’s not that I’m not fond of your mother,” she said. “It’s just that I’d like us to have a place of our own.”
“But it’ll be almost like having that,” he assured her. “She’s an old lady and she rarely comes out of her room. Besides, it really is a terrific house and I wouldn’t be able to afford to give you anything nearly so grand.”
“I don’t mind starting small,” his new wife replied.
“Well, sure,” he agreed with an irritable sigh. “I wouldn’t either, if we didn’t have a choice. But we do, so why don’t we take advantage of it?”
“I know I’m being foolish,” Elizabeth said stubbornly. “But I think couples should be on their own when they get married.”
“Well, I wouldn’t want this to be part of our decision,” he said, changing tactics, “but the truth is, I’m worried about Mother. She’s not well and she’s getting weaker all the time. I don’t think she’s going to last much longer and I
don’t want her to be alone. I just wouldn’t feel right if we were off having a grand time on our own and something awful happened to her and I wasn’t there. I’m her only child, you know. I’m all she has in the world.”
Elizabeth’s green eyes filled with sympathy and she covered his hand with her own.
“Of course you are,” she cried. “And forgive me for being so selfish. I didn’t realize she was that bad off. You certainly can’t leave her alone, I understand that now, and I love you for being such a devoted son. Of course we’ll move in with her. The most important thing is to help make her last days happy ones.”
Robert beamed. “You’ll see,” he promised. “Everything is going to work out just fine.”
Within a month of taking up residence at her new home on the crown of Pacific Heights, Elizabeth learned two things. The first was that San Francisco was nothing at all like Denver. The second was that Amanda Drayton Willmont would probably outlive them all.
The city had taken a bit of getting used to. For someone who had grown up with crunchy white winters, rain was a poor substitute. For someone used to towering mountains, the endless stretch of the Pacific Ocean was disconcerting. For someone raised on the flat Denver plateau, the peaks and valleys of San Francisco’s streets were a shock.
Once she had married a Drayton, her place in the city’s inner social circle was ensured—but not her popularity. That she had to earn on her own. She was asked to join all the right clubs, serve on all the right committees, and sponsor all the right causes. It was an endless round of luncheons and parties and fund-raisers that left her head spinning and her calendar filled.
She said yes to everything, because she didn’t realize she could have said no. Very soon, the Jackson Street parlor had been transformed into the principal gathering place for the “planners of good deeds,” as Robert jokingly referred to them, and San Francisco’s social matrons bustled in and out from morning to midnight.
Amanda was furious.
Guilt by Association Page 17
