“Well—perhaps I did. But—but I guess it’s because you’ve become such a celebrity. It seems like every time I turn on the television, there you are. I guess I sort of got carried away.”
“What the hell? You wanted it, I wanted it. We both wanted it. So what the hell, teacher baby, what the hell?”
“But I’m just an ordinary little old New York housewife. And you—”
“Me, I’m just an ordinary guy who likes to fuck,” he says.
“It doesn’t bother you, does it, that I’m—well, that I’m one or two years older than you?”
“Hell, no! You’re not about to get all guilty on me, are you, teacher?”
She hesitates. “I guess not,” she says at last. “But I’m the one who should be calling you ‘teacher,’ Billy dear. You’ve taught me things tonight that I never knew before, Billy.”
He stubs out his cigarette. “Oh? What sort of things?”
“Feelings. Depths of feelings I never knew I was capable of before.”
“Say, that’s quite a compliment,” he says.
“I mean it, Billy.”
“You cheat on your husband much?”
She looks away. “Not too much,” she says.
“Just now and then, huh?”
“Yes. Especially when—”
“Especially when he’s out of town. Right?”
“Now, Billy,” she says. “Don’t imply that I’m a—you see, the thing is, Frank trusts me. I couldn’t do this if he didn’t trust me.”
“Yeah, that’s important. That he trusts you.”
“The trouble with Frank is, he’s stupid.”
“Look,” he says, rolling over on his side and propping himself on his left elbow. “Why don’t you come right out and say so? You like a guy’s hot cock pumping into your tight little pussy. And you don’t get all that much from old Frank—right?”
“Well, after eleven—no, ten years …”
“You liked my cock, didn’t you?”
“Oh, yes …”
“So why not come right out and say so?” He grabs her by the shoulder and kisses her a little roughly. “I believe in being honest, don’t you? I believe in honesty.”
“Oh, yes,” she says. “Definitely. So do I. And you’re one of the most honest men I’ve ever known.”
He swings his long legs over the side of the bed. “Let me ask you something, while we’re on the subject,” he says.
“Okay. Ask me.”
“Do you think Noah Liebling’s getting it off with that Melody Richards? His daughter’s friend?”
“Oh, no!” she gasps. “That couldn’t possibly be. What makes you—?”
“She stays with them a lot, doesn’t she?”
“Well, over school vacations, but—”
“Has for several years, right?”
“The last two, maybe three years. But—but what makes you think that anything could possibly be going on between Noah and Melody?”
“I dunno. Intuition, maybe. I’m a very intuitive sort of guy. I sized you up right, didn’t I?”
“Oh, yes …”
“The other night, New Year’s Eve, when I had dinner with them. There were little looks—little looks that passed between them, across the table. Intimate little looks. I’m very sensitive to that sort of thing, you know. As a writer I have to be.”
“Well, I think you’re being a little overly sensitive in this case, Billy. Noah is such a—well, such a straight arrow, I guess you’d call him. I know, because—”
“Because why?”
“Because—well, I guess I might as well tell you this, Billy. You see, Noah is a terribly attractive man. And a couple of years ago—I guess I’d had a little too much to drink—I made a little kind of a pass at Noah. It wasn’t a serious pass. It was just a kidding sort of pass, I was just joking with him, really, just teasing him to see how he’d react. Anyway, he just sort of walked away from me and pretended nothing happened. That’s how I know that Noah would never cheat on Carol.”
“Any man who could resist you would have to have a lot of willpower,” he says.
“That’s what I mean!” she says, a little too quickly.
“So, where is Miss Melody now?”
“Didn’t Carol say she’s in New Haven? With some play that’s trying out?”
“But there’s no play doing tryouts in New Haven now. I know, because I go to school in New Haven. At least I go to classes when I feel like it.”
“You’re sure there’s no play there?”
“Positive. The Shubert’s down the street from where I live. It’s empty.”
“That does seem strange. Why would she lie?”
“Exactly. And she left the same day Noah did. Funny coincidence, don’t you think?”
“No, not really. It just—”
“And why did she leave the building through the basement service door, out through the back alley?”
“She did?”
“I run a lot in this neighborhood. Monday afternoon I happened to be turning the corner from First Avenue into Fifty-third Street, and I saw Miss Melody coming out of the alley, hurrying, carrying a suitcase. She looked as though she was sneaking away. Escaping, didn’t want to be seen. I stepped into a doorway so she wouldn’t see me. But she practically ran to Fifty-second and flagged an eastbound taxi.”
“Well, I can’t explain that unless—oh, my God!”
He lights another cigarette. “Unless what?” he says.
“I just remembered something! I was talking to Frank on the phone Monday night, and he said he’d seen somebody who looked just like Melody in the lobby of that hotel they’re staying at, in Atlantic City. But when he mentioned it to Noah, Noah got—well, got all sort of squirrelly about it. Do you think—?”
“Of course. It’s obvious they’re shacking up there together.”
“Oh, my God! I’ve got to tell Carol! Carol is my best friend! I’ve got to tell Carol now!” She reaches for the phone.
“Now, wait a minute,” he says, holding out his hand. “Let’s think this thing through. Let’s not go off half-cocked.”
“But, my God, this is awful! The girl is—that girl is Anne’s age—even younger!”
“That’s right. It’s what’s called contributing—”
“To the delinquency of a minor! Oh, God … oh, God …”
“Male menopause. Male midlife crisis. It happens to a lot of men Noah’s age. They can’t help it. But that little girl knows what she’s doing. I can tell that little tramp’s been around the block more than once.”
“Oh, and Carol is always going on about what a sweet child Melody is. And, all along, this has been going on. Poor Carol! I really think one of us has got to tell Carol about this at once!”
“No, wait,” he says. “I think we’ve got to be a little more subtle about this. A little more—artistic.”
“Before this goes any further?”
“Ideally, from an artistic standpoint, Carol should be the last person to find out about it. And she should find out about it from a totally unexpected source. Not from someone obvious, like you or me. Georgette Van Degan?”
“Georgette Van Degan? Why her? Why should we tell her? I hardly know her. I just met her for the first time this afternoon.”
“This coming-out party she’s planning for Anne and her daughter. This might make her change her mind about that.”
“And ruin little Anne’s coming-out party? That doesn’t sound very nice, Billy.”
He steeples his fingers. “I’m thinking of the big picture,” he says. “The artistic picture. It’s my creative juices working. I’m thinking of what will make the best story. Carol doesn’t sound too keen on the whole coming-out party idea. If Georgette pulled out, that would give Carol an excuse to pull out, too. In the long run, you’d be doing Carol a big favor. I’m just thinking out loud. I admit it’s not perfect, but it might be worth a try.”
“But I’m thinking of giving Carol a chance to sla
p a separate-maintenance suit on Noah Liebling so fast he won’t know what hit him! That’s the kind of favor I’d like to do for her. There’s a lot of money there, you know. Not just him, perhaps, but his mother. Carol could come out of this a very rich woman.”
He winks at her. “Think she’d split it with you?”
“Why, Billy, I never thought of that. Do you think I should ask her?”
“Only kidding,” he says. “You see, the one I’m trying to nail is Melody. That little tramp needs to be knocked down a peg or two.”
She giggles. “Or knocked up? That would teach Noah a lesson, wouldn’t it?”
“No, she’s too clever to let that happen.”
“But the one I’d like to nail is Noah. One little peck on the cheek was all I gave him. And he pulled away from me as though I’d made a major pass. I was—insulted, is what I was!”
“Of course you were, Beryl baby.”
“Carol should never have married Noah in the first place. Her mother told her so. She told me her mother had an absolute fit when she married Noah!”
“Her mother …”
“An absolute fit!”
He snaps his fingers. “Her mother’s the one!”
“The one for what?”
“To tell Carol what’s going on. Mother would say, ‘I told you so.’ Where is her mother?”
“I have no idea. Some nursing home. Carol doesn’t like to talk about it.”
He strokes his chin thoughtfully. “I might have a way—I might be able to engineer a way—of finding out. Yes. You see, it gives this little scandal we’ve uncovered a certain symmetry. Years go by, but in the end Mother has the last word. Mother knows best. Thank you, Beryl baby!”
She stares at the ceiling. “The more I think about it—one little peck on the cheek was all it was. And he reacted as if—”
He rolls over on his side and drops his cigarette into a half-filled wineglass, where it goes out with a quick sizzle. “Speaking of little pecks,” he says, “and little peckers, look what’s happened to my little pecker. It suddenly got big again.” He rolls onto his back, smiling at her and stroking himself. “Take a look at this. You ready for another little go-around, teacher?”
“Oh, Billy, do you really think we should? After what you’ve told me, it seems sort of—”
“Look at it this way. Why should those two be the only ones who are getting any?” He jumps to his feet and stands in front of her, displaying himself. “You like a little S and M?”
“Well, I don’t know. I’ve never really—”
“Nothing too kinky. But I’ve got a nice pair of police-issue handcuffs.”
She is giggling again. “You mean like—Gerald’s Game?”
He laughs. “I wouldn’t cuff you to the bedposts,” he says. “Just hands behind your back. A lot of women really get off on domination-submission. Anyway, I didn’t bring my cuffs. But maybe next time, okay? Meanwhile, I did bring this.” His jacket lies across a chair, and he fishes in a pocket and produces an inhaler. “Ever try this, teacher?”
“What is it?”
“Just a li’l ole popper. Puts kind of a different spin on things.” He unscrews the cap and places the inhaler first in one nostril, then the other. “Now you take a couple of good whiffs,” he says, and hands her the inhaler.
She inhales, and falls quickly back across the bed. “Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh!” she cries. “My star pupil!”
“Your star pupil is now your star muff-diving instructor,” he says. “I’m going to do to you what Tarzan did to Jane—something he learned from the apes.” And he flings himself on top of her.
“Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh,” Beryl says. “Oh, Billy-Billy-Billy. Oh, Billy, I love you so!”
“Grrrrr!” he says. “Your Billy has a big club. Get ready to go Greek!”
Now it is Thursday afternoon, and Hannah Liebling sits alone in the library of her apartment at 1000 Park Avenue. Once more she lifts his letter from her desk and reads it through again. What a strange, mysterious city New York is, she thinks. It is a city of hiding places. Old lovers lie hidden from each other here for years, successful stowaways in their secret lairs. Her old friend Molly Bernbach once told her that she had spent ten years living in the same building as her ex-husband without realizing it, and when they finally met they didn’t recognize each other. And here, all along, on West Eighth Street, less than a mile and a half away, has been living George Noville, Radioman First Class, when Hannah knew him, but now, from his letterhead, “Captain, U.S.N., Ret.”
Once again, as she has been doing regularly for the past several hours, she picks up the receiver of the telephone to call him, and then quickly replaces it in its cradle in a panic. Why? What is she afraid of? It is not like Hannah Liebling to be terrified of placing a telephone call. Is she afraid that a woman’s voice may answer? His letter does not say whether he ever married, or whether he has a wife living now. He merely says, “I have thought of you often, and fondly, over the years.” That would not indicate a wife at the moment. And if a woman’s voice answers, she could just hang up, though that seems even more cowardly. A woman’s voice could belong to a maid or housekeeper. The thing to say is simply: “Is Captain Noville in?” So that is not what frightens her.
She knows exactly what it is. She is terrified of calling him because she is terrified of seeing him again. And she is terrified of seeing him again because she is terrified of seeing how he has changed, and of him seeing how she has changed. That is the only thing that frightens her.
Through the open doorway, across the entrance foyer, she can see the dining room, where her portrait hangs. When that was painted, Hannah was young and slender and pretty, and soft, and innocent, and poor. Now she is old, and heavy, and far from pretty, and hard, and tough, and rich. She can see the look of disappointment that will fall across his face. And her own look of disappointment will surely match his, because he is older than she is—eighty-eight now. No, eighty-nine. And she remembers too vividly the young sailor who put the gardenia between his teeth and danced a finger-snapping little jig on the sidewalk beneath her window. She thinks she could not bear to see that sailor now. She would probably burst into tears. And how many years has it been since Hannah Liebling did that? More years than she would care to count.
And, then, what would they have to say to each other?
“Hello, George.”
“Hello, Hannah.”
And then what after that? She picks up the receiver, then puts it down again with a shaking hand.
She picks it up once more, but now it is Albert to the rescue! Her majordomo has appeared at the door.
“Excuse me, madam,” he says as she replaces the receiver. “Mrs. Noah Liebling is here to see you.”
“Carol?” She is somewhat surprised, since it is unlike Carol to drop by without telephoning first.
“Yes, madam.”
“Please show her in, Albert,” she says.
The two women exchange pecks on the cheek. “I tried to call you, Nana,” Carol says. “But your line’s been busy-busy-busy.”
“Yes,” Hannah says. “I’ve been on the phone much of the afternoon.”
“Anyway, I was at a museum meeting, so I just decided to walk over.”
“Sit down, dear. Would you like a drink? A cup of tea?”
“Nothing, thanks.” She sits down in Hannah’s visitor’s chair and carefully removes her gloves, finger by finger. “Nana,” she says, “I’ve gotten myself in a bit of a pickle. I need your advice.”
“I see,” her mother-in-law says.
“That’s not even quite true. I haven’t gotten myself into this pickle. Someone else has gotten me into it.”
“I think I know,” Hannah says. “I think I’ve been reading about it in the newspapers. Something about a coming-out party for Anne and this Van Degan girl.”
Carol nods. “Nana, this Georgette Van Degan is like a bulldozer! She came up with this idea, and suddenly she was off and running with it! Ther
e doesn’t seem to be any way to stop her, and now things have gotten completely out of hand. She keeps feeding these items to Roxy Rhinelander!”
“We’ve never given coming-out parties for anyone in this family, Carol. We’ve just never gone in for that sort of thing.”
“I know that, Nana. And it certainly wasn’t my idea. But my question to you is—”
“Old man Van Degan and his wife moved out of this building the same day my husband and I moved in. My husband spent the rest of his life trying to live down that insult, and now here it is again, all over the newspapers. Again.”
“I remember you telling me about that, Nana, but I didn’t realize it was the same family. But Georgette obviously—”
“Tell me something,” Hannah interrupts. “Does Anne want this? This party?”
“Well, I think she thinks it would be a lot of fun. What girl that age wouldn’t? Though I don’t think she and Linda Van Degan were ever all that close. But—”
“It said in one of those stories that we had promised to supply free booze. Who promised that? You? Noah? It was certainly not I.”
“Nobody promised that, Nana! That’s Georgette Van Degan again. I promised nothing of the sort. And Noah doesn’t even—”
“We never supply free booze. Not even for the worthiest of worthy causes. That’s been company policy as long as we’ve been a company, Carol.”
“I may have suggested that perhaps the company could provide the liquor at cost. But I promised her nothing.”
“And we never supply liquor at cost, either. That’s also a company policy.”
“Well, I didn’t know that,” Carol says. “That’s why I said ‘perhaps.’ But she’s taken my ‘perhaps’ to mean—”
“What does Noah think about all this? I telephoned him on Monday, and couldn’t get a straight answer out of him.”
“You did? But Noah doesn’t know a thing about any of this, Nana.”
“He doesn’t? You mean you and the Van Degan woman have been planning this—this spectacle, and you haven’t even discussed it with your husband, who’s going to be paying all the bills?”
Carol bites her lip. “Noah’s been out of town all week, as you know, while all this has been going on. And he’s got so many other, much more important things on his mind. I didn’t want to bother him with this. But now it’s gotten completely out of hand.”
The Wrong Kind of Money Page 31
