Aces (39 page)

Gold guided the Marmon through the wrought-iron gates. The full-time handyman gardener who lived above the garage was pruning
the hedges that lined the crushed gravel drive. He tipped his hat as Gold drove by.

Gold parked in front of the house, next to Erica’s lemon-yellow Bugatti roadster. As he trudged up the front steps the oak
double-doors swung open, spilling soft warm light against the gathering twilight.

“Daddy’s home!” Susan called out as she swung on the doorknob. His eleven-year-old daughter was dressed in blue jeans and
a dirty sweatshirt. Her shoulder-length blond hair was in pigtails.

“Pop! Look what I can do—” Nine-year-old Steven, wearing chino shorts and a red and black striped polo shirt, was sliding
down the polished wooden banister that lined the broad curved staircase.

Gold watched as his fireplug of a son rocketed off the end of the banister. Gold made a lunging dive and caught the kid before
he cracked his skull on the hallway’s polished stone floor.

“I taught him how, Daddy,” Suzy self-importantly announced.

His kids had inherited Erica’s features and coloring. Susan was tall for her age. She was boisterous and sassy, long-legged
and lean, a tomboy just like her mother. Like Erica, lately Suzie had been showing hints of the femme fatale she was destined
to become. Steven was built short and wide. He was an earnest and steady boy, but no match for his older, bossy, athletic
sister. Just about anything poor Arnie tried to do, Suzy did better.

Steve liked airplanes, so Gold often took the boy flying. Gold would let his son sit on his lap. Once they were aloft, he
would let Steve work the stick. Gold had promised to teach his son how to fly as soon as Steve’s feet could reach the rudder
pedals. Flying was something Steve could eventually claim for his own. Suzy would not step foot in an airplane. Somehow, somewhere,
before she was barely beyond her toddler stage, she had developed a fear of heights.

Erica came into the hall. She was wearing pleated, gray wool trousers, and a man-tailored, white blouse, the sleeves rolled
up to her elbows. She was smiling, but her eyes were grim.

“I guess you saw today’s papers, right?” Gold asked. When she nodded, he said, “We’ll talk after dinner.”

Whenever possible, Gold liked to have the family together for the evening meal, even if it meant that the kids had to have
a snack to tide them over. Gold didn’t mind the kids’ tumult at the table. He felt that he had endured his share of dining
alone in his life. He was glad that Erica didn’t mind the admittedly unfashionable arrangement, but then she’d grown up in
a close-knit farm family.

The family had dinner in the big dining room. Gold got a kick out of the fact that Erica had begun collecting china, lining
the walls with her collection so that the room began to resemble her mother’s dining room back in Doreen. As usual, the conversation
was commandeered by the kids as the servants served the meal. Ramona was still with them, but now there was also another Mexican
girl to help with the cooking and cleaning. Ramona bossed her around like a drill sergeant.

After dinner the kids went into the solarium to listen to the radio. Gold and Erica went out to the patio beside the swimming
pool. The submerged pool lights transformed the water into a shimmering, turquoise rectangle. Snowy moths fluttered around
the glowing Chinese lanterns strung through the branches of the eucalyptus trees arching above.

Gold put his arm around Erica, who leaned against him. “The pool is beautiful tonight,” he said.

“Yes.” Erica sounded amused. “Strange thing for you to notice…”

“We’ve got so much. We have a luxurious home. We travel, we have all the money we’ll ever need…” He paused. “I feel—satisfied.”
He looked at Erica. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“I think so,” Erica replied.

“Good! Would you explain it to me, because I’m pretty confused…”

Erica laughed. “For starters, has this got to do with Tim Campbell?”

Gold nodded. “I guess.”

“Care to elaborate?”

“I’ve been trying to get riled up over what he’s doing. I mean, I
should
feel indignant, but mostly what I feel is hurt. You know what’s been really getting me down? The fact that no matter what
happens, it appears that I’ve lost both Hull Stiles and Tim as friends.”

“Have you tried to talk to Hull?” Erica asked.

Gold nodded. “I tried telephoning, but he wouldn’t take the call, so I drove over to the airport to confront him. We talked;
I told him that there were no hard feelings on my part. That he was his own man, and had to do what he had to do.” Gold grimaced.
“It was like talking to a stranger.”

“He’s ashamed, that’s what it is,” Erica said confidently.

“Hull’s just doing what Tim tells him to do. And I don’t think Tim means to do me harm. He merely wants to do well for himself.
It somehow seems petty to me to try and stop him. It goes back to what I was saying before. If Campbell wins, I’ll still have
GAT. If I win, Tim and Hull will be ruined. They’ve both sunk everything into this. For them it’s do or die. I don’t want
to win that way… On the other hand, I don’t want Tim to get away with this scott-free,” Gold added. “It’s a competition, and
I don’t want to be seen as a loser.” He smiled. “Does that sound petty?”

“I think you
are
feeling indignation,” Erica said. “You just don’t know it. I can tell you that for as long as I’ve known you, you have never
been a petty man. The question becomes, can you beat Tim at what we both know is his game?”

“Campbell seems pretty confident that I can’t,” Gold replied. He looked at his wife. “If I didn’t win, how would you feel
about it? I mean, you wouldn’t look down at me on account of it?…”

Erica groaned, hugging him. “You are
so
dumb, sometimes. Why do you have to keep learning the same lesson? I’m proud of your accomplishments, but I
love
you. You’ve made it possible for me and the children to enjoy a wonderful life—”

“You’ve made your own life wonderful,” Gold interrupted. “You’re the racer in the family, not me—”

“Herman, I’m under no illusions about my racing career. I’m good, but I’m not the best.”

“Hey, come on…” Gold chided her. “You do very well.”

“But I’m not the best,” Erica firmly repeated. “And by now I think we both know that I’m not going to be. It’s the fact that
GAT donates money and equipment to the racers that gets me invitations to participate in the more exclusive events, like the
Schneider Trophy seaplane competitions, or the National Air Races. Anyway, do
you
love
me
any less because I don’t bring home first-place trophies?”

“Of course not,” Gold said. “It doesn’t even occur to me to think that way.”

“Well, that’s how I feel about you. I’ve told you that before.”

Gold hugged her. “I guess your reassurance is the only thing I can’t get enough of.”

“I know,” Erica said. “But have no worries about that, darling. I’ll never get tired of telling you.”

Gold smiled. “Why don’t we go upstairs, and you can explain all this to me at length, and in intricate detail?”

“Actions do speak louder than words, darling. Shall we go?”

As they walked back to the house, Erica said, “It’s too bad there isn’t a way for everyone to win.”

Gold stopped. “Maybe there is,” he said slowly. “You know, Teddy said the same thing to me today that you just said: that
I can’t hope to compete with Tim at his own game. I guess I have been trying to do that. I’ve been so busy reacting to what
Tim’s been doing that I haven’t really thought about what I might want out of this, and how I should go about getting it.”

“Does this mean we’re not going to bed?” Erica sighed good-naturedly.

Gold glanced at his watch. “I have to make a few telephone calls first.”

“Telephone calls, hmmm?” Erica nibbled at his ear. “My, aren’t we a big man…”

“You wait for me in bed. When I’m done telephoning, I’ll come up and tell you what I’m planning, and then I’ll show you just
how big.”

Tim Campbell, in pajamas and robe, was in his study. The walls were lined with hand-tooled leather volumes that Campbell had
purchased for their luxurious bindings rather than their precious contents. On his mahogany desk a brass lamp with a green
glass shade cast a golden pool of light. Campbell had his cigarettes and a tall scotch on the rocks to keep him company. He
was going over his personal brokerage accounts when the telephone rang, startling him.

As he lifted the receiver he glanced at the antique, black marble clock on the fireplace mantel. It was almost midnight. The
house had been quiet. The kids were asleep and Aggie had long since gone to bed. Even the servants had retired for the night.

“Tim? It’s Layton Saunders. Sorry to disturb you at this hour.”

“No problem, Layton,” Campbell said jovially. Saunders had a large holding of Skyworld, and sat on the board of directors
as chairman of finance. Campbell wasn’t sure which way Saunders was going to vote come next week’s stockholders’ meeting.
“What can I do for you?”

“I received a call from Herman. I guess he asked me to contact you because I’m still a neutral party in all this. Anyway,
he asked me to inform you that as chairman he’s invoking his authority under the company’s by-laws to call an unscheduled
meeting of the board.”

“A meeting?” Campbell repeated sharply. “When?”

“On the fifteenth, at ten
A.M.
”

“Four days before the stockholders’ meeting!” Campbell exclaimed. “What kind of rabbit does he think he can pull out of his
hat at that late date! I won’t attend, Layton, and I tell you now, Hull won’t attend either. And there’s a few other board
members backing me who’ll boycott that meeting when I tell them to—”

“Perhaps there are, Tim,” Saunders replied evenly. “But I beg you to reconsider. I’ve made some other calls this evening.
I can assure you there are enough board members who will attend for Herman to have a quorum.”

“Well, I guess
now
I know whose side you’re on,” Campbell said stiffly.

“You do not,” Saunders said. “Because I don’t yet know. This much I
do
know. Herman has the right to call this meeting, considering all he’s done for the company—”

“All
he’s
done?” Campbell blurted in disbelief.

“—I think the least we can do is pay him the courtesy of hearing what he’s got to say.”

Saunders had a point, Campbell realized. And the more he thought about it, the more it seemed as if Saunders were sounding
as if he too believed that Herman was licked. If everybody believed that Tim Campbell was a winner, why not act like one?

“You’re absolutely right, Layton. I hold a winning hand. I can afford to be magnanimous to the
outgoing
chairman. I’ll be at the meeting. But I insist that it be held someplace neutral.”

“Herman anticipated your feelings,” Saunders said. “He asked me if the meeting might be held in my downtown offices. I agreed.
I assume that is acceptable to you?”

“That will be fine.”

“See you at the meeting,” Saunders said.

“Good-bye, Layton.” Campbell hung up the telephone. An instant later it rang again. He snatched at the receiver. “Yes?”

“I’ve been trying to call, but the line was busy,” Hull said.

“I was talking to Saunders.”

“So you know about the meeting,” Hull said nervously. “What are we going to do?”

“Nothing!” Campbell heard the latent panic in his tone, and forced himself to calm down. “There’s nothing we have to do, because
we’ve got it made. All that’s going to happen on the fifteenth is that Herman is going to humiliate himself in front of the
board by making some sort of last-ditch plea to be allowed to keep his company. The board isn’t going to buy it. Even if they
wanted to, they can’t. I went over the stock tallies you gave me this afternoon. Are your figures accurate?”

“Of course they’re accurate,” Hull said, sounding offended. “When you put me in charge of keeping our Sky-world stock accounts
I promised you I’d do the job right…”

“Yeah, you did,” Campbell said. “I’m sorry, Hull. I’m tired, and I guess I’m a little high-strung these days.”

“We both are,” Hull muttered. “Don’t forget that you’re not the only one in this. I’ve got every dime of my own locked up
in this scheme.”

“I know that,” Campbell said. “And I know I couldn’t pull this off without your help,” he added truthfully. “And I promise
you, we will pull this off.”

“I hope you’re right. Just don’t underestimate Herman,” Hull warned. “We
both
know what he’s capable of when his back is up against the wall.”

Campbell laughed uneasily. “A shotgun and a can of gasoline won’t do him any good this time around.”

“Just don’t underestimate him,” Hull repeated firmly. “Tim, we’ve both been poor, and we’ve been rich, and we know rich is
a lot better.” He hung up.

Campbell downed what remained of his scotch, and went to the drink tray on the sideboard. He picked up the decanter in which
he kept his scotch, intending to pour himself another drink, but he paused. The decanter was crystal and gold. It was about
150 years old. It had been manufactured by a guy named Johann Mildner, who specialized in creating two layers of glass and
fitting them together with engraved gold leaf sandwiched in between.

Mildner had been Austrian. Was that the same as a German, like Herman? Campbell decided that it was close enough—

To all clever Germans
, he thought, taking a long swig of scotch straight from the decanter.

His ranch house was perched on a cliff above the Pacific. He took the decanter with him as he stepped out through the French
doors of his study, onto one of the house’s terraces overlooking the ocean. The warm wind blowing off the sea carried a tang
of salt. The breeze rippled his robe. It was a cloudy, moonless night, but Campbell could make out the white spume as the
waves raged against the rocks.