Adam's Daughter (6 page)

“No problem,
Adam. We understand,” Bickford said. “I think Catherine and I are ready to call it a night anyway.”

He rose and held out his wife’s chair.
Adam noticed Lilith made no move to leave.

“You should go, too,” he said, touching her arm.

“I’m not ready to leave.”

“Lilith, I really have a lot to do. I
still have to interview the manager and the chef.”

“I’ll help.”

“Lilith, let him do his job,” Bickford said. “Come on home with us.”

She sighed. “All right. The evening’s been a bore anyway.”

He walked the family out to the lobby. Then he went quickly back to the Peacock Court, making his way to the Ingrams’ table. Elizabeth was not there but her father rose when Adam approached and coolly invited him to sit down. Adam took a chair and waited. If the icy gazes of the women were meant to intimidate him he was not going to allow it.

“You are not from this area, are you, sir?” Adam began politely.

Ingram was surprised. “No, my wife, daughter, and I are from Atlanta. We are visiting Elizabeth’s aunt,” he said, nodding to the elderly woman. He paused. “How did you know that? Surely our accents are not that pronounced.”

“No, sir. But I know this city’s best families.”

“Oh?” said Mrs. Ingram with a slight smile.

“I’m a reporter,” Adam said.

The woman’s smile faded. There was a long silence. “Interesting line of work,” Ingram said finally. Another long pause. “Where did you meet Elizabeth?”

“On the dance floor,” Adam said.

The aunt let out a sigh. Mrs. Ingram closed her eyes.

Ingram cleared his throat. “Young man,” he began, “I hope you don’t take offense at what I am about to say. It is no reflection on you. In fact, it is more a reflection, I fear, on my inadequacies as a father.” He paused. “Elizabeth is a.
..very impetuous child. She has a habit of...” He looked toward his wife, who looked pained. “A habit of inappropriate behavior, and taking up with strangers.”

“Sir, I have no intention of
—-”

“Yes, I know,” Ingram
said. “No one ever does.”

Adam saw Elizabeth making her way back to the table.

“She is only sixteen,” Ingram said.

Adam did not have time to reply. Elizabeth sat down next to him and smiled. He stared
at her, stunned.

Good lord, a child.
No, a woman. She’s a woman. I felt it.

Elizabeth’s gaze traveled from Adam to her father. She
grabbed Adam’s hand. “Let’s dance,” she said, pulling him onto the dance floor.

“What was my father saying to you?” she asked.

“That you are only sixteen,” Adam said.

“Warning you, in other words.”

“Just being protective of you, I suspect.”

“Of me! Oh, no. Of my money. You see, Mr. Bryant, my family is worth ten million dollars. And someday it will be mine.” Adam stopped in mid
-step. Her eyes bored into his. “When I tell a man that,” she said, “he always does one of two things. Runs like hell or tries to seduce me. Which will it be, Mr. Bryant?”

Adam was still struggling to regain his composure. “I think you are spoiled and should be spanked.”

“And what if I liked that?”

Adam stared at her then laughed. She laughed, too, and they began to dance again. When the song ended, she looked at him. “Let’s go,” she said.

“Where?”

“Anywhere.”

She took his hand and led him to the entrance. Outside, she stood for a moment in the courtyard amid the bustle of livery men helping departing guests into sedans. The evening air was chilled and misty but she stood bare-armed, breathing deeply, her silver gown floating around her ankles.

“Oh, the cold! It feels so good! It’s always so damn hot in Atlanta.” She turned to Adam. “Show me San Francisco.”

Adam knew he had only about three dollars on him. How in the world was he going to dazzle a pampered heiress?

“I’ve never been on one of those,” she said, pointing to a cable car on California Street.

She started toward it and Adam had to run to keep up. She climbed onto the sideboard. The two other male passengers stared; a woman riding the sideboard was prohibited but the brakeman took one look at Elizabeth and, with a wink at Adam, let her stay where she was. Adam followed, fishing in his pocket for the nickel fare. The car started down a steep hill.

“Your parents,” Adam began, “
won’t they —-”

“They’re used to it,” she
said.

The wind was charging up from the bay. “It’s cold. Let’s ride inside
,” Adam said.

“No, no! This is lovely!” Elizabeth clung to the rail
, her gown fanning out behind her and her red hair spilling from its chignon.

Below them, a fog was advancing over the waterfront, slowly snuffing out the glimmering lights of the bay.

“It’s so beautiful,” she said.

“Yes,
it is,” he said.

At the line’s end, she wanted to ride again. They boarded another car that took them to Chinatown, and rode another down to the North Beach Wharf and back up again, through the neighborhoods of Russian and Telegraph Hills. Standing behind Elizabeth, Adam saw that she was shivering. He folded her into his arms and she leaned back against him. He closed his eyes, losing himself in her flowing hair.

When he finally looked at his watch, it was one a.m. Somehow, he had to finish his work. They got off the cable car on Market. He explained that he was a reporter and had to complete his story on the hotel opening.

“You don’t seem surprised,” Adam said.

“That you work for a living? I may be spoiled, Mr. Bryant, but unlike my parents I’m not a snob.” She smiled. “Can I see where you work?”

Her question
brought him back to earth. This woman in a dirty newspaper office? The thought was absurd, this silvery creature entering his life where the reality was smudged newsprint, rented suits, and a bare apartment South of the Slot? Suddenly he saw the folly of the whole evening. He was a fool.

For the first time in his life,
he was feeling doubt, a wavering in his one true faith —- himself. It was rising like a foul taste in his throat. He grabbed Elizabeth’s hand.

“Come with me,” he said.

In the city room, the men on the desk gawked at Elizabeth as she sat waiting for Adam to finish his story. Then, Adam led Elizabeth on a tour of the newspaper. They waited until the first edition came off the press, and Adam gave one to Elizabeth. His account of the hotel opening was the lead story. She read it carefully.

Outside, she paused. “Your story is very good,” she said. “Why isn’t your name on it?”

“None of the stories have names. That’s just the way it’s done,” he said.

“Well,
your name should be all over this paper. Adam Bryant. In letters as big as...” she pointed up at the gilt letters on the Times building. “As big as that.”

He laughed
but then quickly sobered. He looked at his watch. It was nearly four.

“The gala’s over now,” he said. “Where do I take you?”

She sighed. “To my aunt’s, I guess.”

Adam found a taxi and Elizabeth gave the driver directions to an address on Broadway in Pacific Heights. Elizabeth sat quietly in the crook of Adam’s arm.

“Tired?”

“No,” she said. “I don’t want the night to end.”

“It’s almost sunrise.”

She smiled. “Then let’s watch it.”

Adam gave the driver new directions to go to the Palace of Fine Arts. The taxi left them in a small park on the eastern edge of the Presidio. In the foggy predawn light, an imposing colonnade loomed over a duck pond. The palace was the remaining structure from the 1915 International Exposition. It was Adam’s favorite place in the city, a place where the cacophony of modern life was drowned out by the echoes of the past.

They sat on the grass, saying nothing. They stared up at the
colonnade, watching the architectural details emerge as the sky lightened from gray to rose. 

“You come here often, don’t you,” she said finally.

“How did you know?”

“Your face. It’s like you’re in church,” she said.

He looked up at the columns. “I came here for the exposition. I was only fifteen, but it left a big impression on me. The whole bay front was filled with these wonderful buildings and sights. The city had come back from the earthquake. Everyone was so optimistic about the future. It made me think that anything was possible.”

“And you still think that?”

He looked at her. “Yes, I do.”

She laughed softly. “You’re a dreamer.”

“I guess so.”

“
What do you dream of?”

It seemed suddenly strange to be sitting in the park with a girl he barely knew, talking of things as misty as dreams. He felt vulnerable. It was a long time before he answered.

“I dream of having power and money,” he said slowly. He paused. “And a family.”

He waited for her to laugh
but she didn’t. "How do you plan to make your dreams real?” she asked.

“Newspapers,” he said. “I’ll run one someday. Then own one. Then two
, then three. I’m saving money. I have ideas.”

He began to talk faster now, and she watched his face. “There’s so much opportunity now,” he went on. “This state is growing so fast. And I could open a newspaper in every city. I see a whole chain of them, strung out across California. And maybe more in other states. Powerful newspapers. But good and fair newspapers. Not like they’re run now. Not newspapers controlled by politicians or criminals or rich bast
ards out to screw the poor. Newspapers controlled only by me.”

H
is eyes came back to her. “And my sons after me.”

He had to look away.
He didn’t know what it was about her that made him to talk this way. He had never expressed such thoughts before. But then his thoughts had never been so crystallized as they now were.

“You are so sure of yourself,” she
said.

She la
y back on the grass, staring up at the colonnade. It was nearly light and the figures atop the columns were now visible. They were Grecian women, standing with their backs outward, seeming to stare down into the tops of the columns.

“What
do you think they are doing?” Elizabeth asked, pointing.

“Some people say they are crying.”

“Why?”

“They are supposed to represent
art weeping at the impossibility of achieving dreams.”

Elizabeth glanced at him. “A lesson in humility, perhaps, for us mere humans, Mr. Bryant?”

Adam smiled. “I like to think of them simply as beautiful women who have some wonderful secret that I don’t get. Maybe if I keep coming here someday I’ll get it.”

“Do you always get what you want?” she asked.

He leaned over and looked at her. Her hair was a tangle of red against the green grass and the pearly morning light made her skin look translucent. He kissed her gently.

“Yes,” he said. “I’m a lucky man.”

CHAPTER FIVE

Adam stood outside the Tudor mansion, staring up at the windows. It was raining lightly, and his coat and hat were damp from the walk up the hill. He had been standing outside the house for several minutes, working up his courage to ring the bell, thinking about last night.

He had stayed with Elizabeth in the park until nearly seven. They had talked about many things, yet nothing in particular that he could now recall. They had laughed...he had laughed, as he never had before, the feeling of lightness foreign to him. And he had kissed her, again and again and again.

When he had walked Elizabeth back up the hill to the mansion on Broadway, the streets of Pacific Heights had been empty except for a few domestic workers slipping into back doors. Adam and Elizabeth had lingered on the porch, holding each other. She asked him to come back that afternoon. Then with a weary smile, she went inside.