The Good Life

by Gordon Merrick

  “My God, Billy,” he exclaimed. “What about Bet? I knew we shouldn’t leave her. What are we going to do?”

  “We can’t very well tell the captain to turn around and go back for her. Until we know more about what’s happening, we have to put the pieces together as best we can.” Billy sighed and sipped his wine. “We’ve been incredibly lucky. I’m particularly happy for your sake. No matter what happens, you’ve had a look at Europe before the wreckers get at it.”

  “It’s the best thing that ever happened to me. The week in Paris was enough to hook me for life. I’ve even picked up a little French during the summer. I’m not a hopeless case.”

  He hadn’t known that you could fall in love with places almost as if they were people. Paris was sexy. He’d been a dedicated sightseer as usual and had spent a couple of mornings at the Louvre, but the streets themselves were sights — the way Notre Dame was anchored in the river like a majestic ship, the sweeping vistas everywhere, the Place de la Concorde, the Champs-Élysées crowned by the Arc de Triomphe, the Esplanade des Invalides, Chaillot facing the fantasy of the Tour Eiffel across the river, the clustering cafes, gay and inviting under the lush chestnut trees. It all made him keep wanting to laugh out loud with delight.

  A voice accompanied it all, the heartbreakingly jaunty voice of the little woman called Piaf that Billy had told him about. They went to a nightclub to see her, and Perry wanted to marry Bet on the spot. Even though he couldn’t understand a lot of the words, when Piaf sang about love, you were ready to forgive your girl anything.

  They gave up expecting to hear from Bet when the purser told them that it was too soon to tell what effect wartime priorities were going to have on services, and by evening the rumor mill seemed to be running out of steam. Their last day was like any other day at sea except that when night came the decks remained unlit. They discussed intermittently their altered plans. It required no discussion for Billy to accept the fact that he would remain in the States for the foreseeable future.

  “What a difference it makes to have you,” he said while they were having drinks before lunch in his favorite bar. “I think I’ll be able to keep my sublet, but of course you’ll want a place of your own. I hope you’ll be nearby, but we won’t make the mistake of living in each other’s pockets. You’ll need a certain amount of independence.”

  “I’m sure you know best. If anything, I feel that you’re often not demanding enough. Don’t ever let me take advantage of your understanding.”

  “I don’t think you will so long as I don’t make you feel tied down. I want us to be together for a long time but not the way married couples are together. They overdo it. I’ve always enjoyed Arlene’s company, except when we were married. Now that I have no choice but to stay with you, I must take care not to get carried away.”

  Perry looked at the imperious jut of his jaw and laughed at the thought of his losing control. “You have a long way to go,” he said.

  “Appearances can be deceptive. To tell the truth, I’ve hated the thought of leaving you, but I was afraid of becoming overpossessive. I don’t have to weigh the pros and cons now. I can let myself look forward to being with you without a shadow of guilt. I want to get back to my picture of you. Knowing that Bet is practically on her way is all I could ask for. War or no, we’ll have a delightful winter.”

  “I’ll feel better when we hear from her.” He’d hoped for a call from her in Paris. The fact that there hadn’t been a call suggested that she had no bad news for him. The threat of pregnancy had undoubtedly passed.

  “There’s nothing to worry about,” Billy reassured him. “I daresay Arlene has heard. We’ll get the news soon. Do you expect to see her?”

  “Arlene? Well, sure, I guess so. I promised her a report on Bet.” He wondered if that was all she would expect from him. Arlene threatened to be one Vernon too many.

  “It’ll help to know that you’re doing the honors for me. I’m more worried about the Belle Époque than anything else. I hope the captain can keep her out of greedy hands. I can’t get used to the possibility that everything we did this summer might have been for the last time. Thank heavens we got to Paris in time.”

  “God yes,” Perry agreed fervently. Thinking of Paris made him feel like a sentimental old man. Its beauty made the eyes misty. As they realized that war had become a fact of life, he felt as deprived as Billy by the probability that he wouldn’t see Europe again for some time.

  It was a thrill to see the New York skyline rising out of the early-morning mist, and a couple of hours later they were back where they had started, waiting to get their baggage through customs while Laszlo waved a welcome from the other side of the barrier.

  After the excitements and alarms of the crossing, it was a bit of a letdown to find New Yorkers acting as if they hadn’t heard of a war. When they had been back a day or two, Perry began to wonder if everybody on the boat had been seized by some sort of hallucination. Armies weren’t flung into action. Nobody was bombed. No front was established. Nothing at all happened. Everybody stayed behind their habitual frontiers and went about their business. It looked as if the French claim of being impregnable behind the Maginot Line might turn out to be true.

  Billy arranged immediately to stay on indefinitely in the 66th Street duplex while Perry, with some trepidation, began to pick up the threads of the life he had begun before leaving. Every call was a test. He was prepared for rebuffs, for politely vague dismissals, or for people’s simply not remembering who he was. He hoped the postcards he had sent from time to time during the summer would help.

  His call to the Wimans was encouraging. Steve asked about Europe and, when he told her he hadn’t had time yet to find a place to live, made him promise to call again as soon as he knew where he was going to be.

  Having broken the ice, he decided to call Arlene and get that over with. She was unexpectedly friendly, if a trifle guarded, when she mentioned Bet.

  “I talked to her day before yesterday,” she told him, much to his relief. “It took hours to get through, but it’s still possible. The school is already arranging to get her home. She should be here in a month or so. I suppose I should’ve listened to her father and let her come with you, but nobody here believed it was coming. Did you?”

  “More or less. I agreed with Billy that she should get out as soon as possible. May I come by for a drink and tell you all about our wonderful summer?”

  He was prepared to have his powers of deception severely tested, but Bet had apparently put her off the scent. She didn’t seem to be probing suspiciously for secrets when she asked if Bet seemed grown-up enough to be attractive to him.

  “Oh, sure. She has a very young side, but she’s much more sophisticated than most American girls her age. She probably didn’t think I was old enough for her.”

  “I’m sure she didn’t meet anybody with a more becoming tan. You’re looking splendid.”

  “Thanks. You should see her tan. Everybody fell for her.”

  Arlene was interested in hearing about the crown prince and the other men she had seen. Perry produced a substantial list and made a lot of Trevor because she knew his name and seemed impressed. He could see her studying him while she served the martinis, and he had the feeling that her verdict was more favorable than before.

  “I think I misjudged you, or perhaps you’ve changed,” she said. “You seem more mature and at ease. Have you any plans?”

  “I hope I will have in a few days. I’m getting in touch with people. First I’ve got to get a job. Lying in the sun in the south of France for two months was very demoralizing.”

  “May be it was just what you needed, a complete change of pace.”

  “Change of pace is putting it mildly. I may never recover. Bet and I decided we both have to marry fortunes to keep us in yachts. We made a bet on who finds fortune first.”

  “I’m glad she finally realizes that yachts are beyond her means for the time being. It was probably good for her to know s
omebody who doesn’t take money for granted. Aside from her tan, you liked her?”

  “Enormously. We had a wonderful time together when she wasn’t busy with crown princes and heirs to millions. I promised to tell you that she’s dying to come to New York. It doesn’t matter whether she wants to or not now. She’s lucky she can. Let me know when you hear more about how she’s getting here and when. I want to give her a big night on the town when she arrives.”

  “Call me when you have your own telephone,” Arlene said as they made their farewells. “I may have news of Bet.”

  “I will,” he said, and he meant it. Arlene obviously assumed that he wouldn’t be in direct touch with Bet, whereas he was counting on Bet’s letters to start arriving in the next day or two. He’d already asked Laszlo to watch for envelopes from Switzerland and not leave them with mail that Billy would see. He was getting to be an expert at getting rid of the evidence. “Thanks again for the drinks.”

  He thanked God there’d be no reference to the sexual encounter he’d had with Arlene. She seemed as anxious to forget it as he was.

  He called Cole Porter and finally made a dinner date. He called George Platt Lynes, who repeated his request for another modeling session. He reported that some of the first pictures had turned out very well and asked Perry for a drink to see them. He called Clifton, who greeted him enthusiastically and invited him for dinner. He called Lucius Beebe, who boomed a grandiloquent welcome and invited him to share “a few bottles of wine.” He felt as if he were actually becoming a New Yorker.

  Drinks with George Platt Lynes confirmed Perry’s earlier impressions that the Lynes-Wescott-Wheeler household was worth knowing. There were several other guests. He met an Italian jeweler who had recently arrived from Europe and was about to open a business in New York. He was a Sicilian duke named Fulco di Verdura, and he made Perry laugh a great deal. They became immediate friends.

  Perry was crazy about a girl from Philadelphia whose name was Madge Constant, pronounced like a French word. She was bawdy and irreverent and had great theatrical style. She was enjoying success in the smaller supper clubs as a “society” singer on the basis of being in the Social Register and having been a debutante. She had a bewitching, husky voice, and laughter erupted from her heartily. She was flatteringly responsive, and Perry asked her to have dinner with him.

  “What a smashing idea,” she said as if nobody had ever invited her to dinner before. “Perry Langham. Somebody’s talked to me about you. You’re almost attractive enough to make me overlook my narrow-minded preference for my own sex.”

  Perry was briefly startled but managed to carry it off smoothly. “You’re almost attractive enough to make me want to be a girl,” he replied.

  “That should help us through dinner. We’re off to a flying start.”

  There was something dashing about her that suggested flying. Her mane of chestnut hair fell to her shoulders, looking naturally scrubbed and combed, as if she didn’t use a hairdresser. Her looks were strikingly aristocratic — her strong straight nose and level brows didn’t belong to an ordinary nightclub singer — but her mouth was seductive, and her eyes sparkled with humor. She was just the sort of girl he wanted to be seen with, and he thought Bet would like her. Bet was a point of reference for everything. He was mapping out New York and populating it for the life they were going to have together.

  He thought it was about time to leave when George led him to the end of the room to show him the pictures. They gave Perry a gratifying shock. The photographer had turned him into an engagingly defenseless hero, an untested, youthful athlete, powerful but vulnerable. George had invented him; Perry was sure he didn’t look like that. He looked like a fruit — but a beautiful fruit.

  While they were looking at the photos, they were joined by a studious-looking bespectacled young man who crowded in beside them to see better.

  “Great,” he declared. “You’re a terrific model.” He and George exchanged some technical comments about the lighting.

  “I knew photographs didn’t just take themselves, but I didn’t know it was so complicated,” Perry said. “You didn’t look as if you were doing anything in particular when you were taking them.”

  “I wasn’t. Once the lights are set up, it’s practically all done. This is Henry Sardou. He’s the best young photographer I know. We’ve worked a lot together, but he’s about to start his own studio. If you’re interested, get him to show you what he’s up to.”

  “With pleasure, if I won’t be a nuisance,” Perry said, shaking hands with the young man.

  “Not at all. Come in any time. I won’t be doing my first job for a week.” He gave Perry an address on Madison Avenue.

  “When can I have you again?” George asked.

  He made a date with George for an afternoon the following week and told Henry he’d come in the next day before rounding Madge up for dinner. They settled on a place called Le Trou Normand that they both had heard was good.

  As the name suggested, it turned out to be French, an intimate room run by a French couple with a menu that he thought Bet would like. It was sort of expensive, and he thought about money for the first time in months. Billy had had liberal deposits made to Perry’s account during the summer, but he couldn’t go on living as if his bills were being picked up for him.

  He didn’t let money worries spoil his evening with Madge, however. He enjoyed her enormously and almost forgot to miss Bet. They obviously suited each other and agreed to have many more dinners together.

  “I’ll take you next time,” Madge promised.

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “You’re not a bonehead about women, are you? What if I feel like seeing you again? Do you expect me to sit by the telephone and hope you’ll call? Talk about ridiculous. I’ll call you and invite you to dinner if I feel like it. I’ll start right now. Do you want to have dinner with me on Thursday?”

  “I’d be delighted. It seems sort of strange, but I suppose it makes very good sense. I wouldn’t mind if it became a general rule. Let women pursue me. An excellent idea.”

  He found Henry Sardou’s embryo studio above a shop near 53rd Street on Madison. It was little more than a big bare room with some spotlights standing around it. Henry was getting his darkroom installed and explained to Perry some of the tricks he used on his negatives for special effects.

  “George thinks I cheat, but he’s a serious photographer. I’m a fashion photographer. There’s a big difference. Have you done much photography?”

  “None, but I’m interested. I’d like to try.”

  “Have you got a camera?”

  “I don’t know one camera from another.”

  “If you feel like spending money, get a Hasselblad and start taking pictures. I’ll show you how to develop them.”

  “Wonderful. What can I do for you in return?”

  “Stick around if you have the time. There’s plenty to do here.”

  Henry had a restrained, unadorned manner that made Perry feel that he wouldn’t let anybody get in his way, so Perry stayed almost two hours, making himself useful and picking up pointers about the work. When it was time for him to go, he offered to come the next morning and stay all day.

  Henry accepted gratefully. “With your help I might even be ready to go to work next week. Thanks a lot. There’s a good shop in the next block if you want to look at cameras.”

  Perry was horrified by the price of cameras — the Hasselblad the shop had was over $300 — but he was excited by the opportunity he hoped Henry might offer and decided to take a gamble on it.

  He had it with him when he went to lend a hand the next morning. They spent an hour playing with it, and Henry showed him how to adjust the various knobs and buttons to change the exposure.

  When Perry had used up a roll of film, mostly on portrait shots of Henry, they shut themselves up in the darkroom and developed them. Perry felt like a magician. He realized that he liked creating things with his hands. Guided by H
enry, he transformed an ordinary picture into something riveting simply by trimming the negative and leaving it longer in the chemical bath.

  “This is fascinating, but it’s not getting you any closer to being ready for work,” Perry said reluctantly. He would have been happy to take pictures and develop them for the rest of the day.

  “It’s good having somebody here. It helps me see better what has to be done. All this stuff has to be put away.”

  There were stacks of photographs to be filed and bundles of newly printed stationery and billing forms with the Sardou Studio letterhead that had to be arranged in closets. “Are you going to have a secretary?” he asked when he went to work to create some order in the room.

  “Yes. She’s starting next week. After that I’ll pray for customers so I can pay her wages. If you hear of anybody who wants their picture taken, send them along. I’ll do anything.”

  Perry put in an afternoon’s work, taking a break for a quick lunch with Henry at a drugstore around the corner. He was doing something he could take an interest in for the first time since he’d been in New York, and he promised to come back the next day.

  When he got home to Billy’s he found the first letter from Bet waiting in his room. He ripped it open, grinning delightedly, and took it in at a glance before reading it carefully.

  It was just what he wanted from Bet — a scandalously unorthodox love letter, funny and high-spirited and full of her impatience to get to New York. He could feel her presence and wanted her with him more than ever. She’d written it the day she had arrived back at school, just before war had been declared. The letter had taken a day or two longer than Billy had told him was normal, but they were in touch again.

  He had started a letter to her that he had been holding back to avoid their letters’ crossing; he could finish it first thing in the morning. Everything was all right. Knowing the mail hadn’t been disrupted made him feel that he could expect her in no time.

  When he went down to have a drink with Billy, a glass was waiting for him. “I’ve had a letter from Bet,” Billy announced. “I’ve been dying to tell you.”