Alexandra Waring (60 page)

“Now why would you say that?” Alexandra said.

“Because that girl was always upset about something,” Mrs. Waring said, turning back around in her seat. “And she always ran to you when she was.” She looked out her window. “I used to tell your father that she walked and talked a good game but was too dependent on you—that I didn’t think it was very good for either one of you.”

“I don’t ever remember you saying that,” Mr. Waring told his wife. “And I don’t ever remember Lisa being upset.”

“I do,” Mrs. Waring said. “Oh, look, Paul,” she added, tapping her fingernail against the window, “see what they’ve done there? They took down the wood fence and put up a metal one. Awful.”

Everybody looked at the fence.

“Hideous,” Mr. Waring said, shaking his head, looking back at the road.

“Alexandra
…
” Mrs. Waring said, turning around to look at her again. “You’re not going to forget what we were discussing yesterday, are you? If Lisa’s having problems, you’re not going to listen to her, are you?”

“What were you discussing yesterday?” Mr. Waring asked his wife.

“Oh, we were just talking about Gordon and the wedding,” Mrs. Waring said, turning back around in her seat.

“What about Gordon and the wedding?” Mr. Waring said quickly, glancing over at his wife.

“Alexandra’s just a little nervous, that’s all,” Mrs. Waring said. “Nothing to worry about.”

“This isn’t going to be another Tyler Mandell, is it, Alexandra?” Mr. Waring said to her in the rearview mirror. “We’re not going to have to go through that again, are we?”

“Oh, don’t be silly,” Mrs. Waring said.

“Lexy?” Mr. Waring asked.

“Leave her alone, Paul,” Mrs. Waring said. “She knows it’s time.”

“I know it’s time for what?” Alexandra said.

“To get married,” Mrs. Waring said.

“Daddy always said she’d be the tough one to marry off,” Mr. Waring said, looking over at his wife. “Remember?”

“How could I forget?” Mrs. Waring said, sighing, looking out her window. “He told her that so many times, look what happened.”

Mr. Waring looked in the rearview mirror. “What’s the matter, Alexandra?”

“You make me feel like
…
” Alexandra said, voice trailing off.

“Like what?” Mrs. Waring said, following a tree with her head as it went by.

“Like I’m some sort of social pariah who needs to redeem herself before it’s too late,” Alexandra said.

Mr. Waring laughed.

“You’re not a social pariah,” Mrs. Waring said, “don’t be silly.”

“Thank you,” Alexandra said.

“You sound just like your brother when you’re being sarcastic,” Mrs. Waring told her.

“What is it, Alexandra, what’s the matter?” Mr. Waring said, squinting into the rearview mirror. “Why are you looking like that?”

“Why, what is she looking like?” Mrs. Waring said, turning around to look at her.

“Some parents would be happy to have me as a daughter the way I am,” Alexandra told them.

“We’re very happy with the way you are,” Mrs. Waring said. “We couldn’t be prouder. Could we, Paul?”

“No one’s prouder of you than we are, Alexandra,” Mr. Waring said.

“Then why do I always get the feeling that you won’t be happy until I get married and have children?”

“We never expected you to get married and have children like Elizabeth and the boys did, not right away—did we, Paul? You’ve always been different, Alexandra. Elizabeth would sooner hang herself than live the way you do.”

“We knew it would take time,” Mr. Waring said. “Didn’t Daddy always say—”

“It’s never going to be enough, is it?” Alexandra said.

“What?” Mr. Waring said. “What did she say?” he asked his wife.

She said, “It’s never going to be enough, is it?”, Mrs. Waring said.

“What isn’t going to be enough?” Mr. Waring asked Alexandra in the rearview mirror.

“My life. Me. If I don’t get married and have children, then deep down inside you’ll always think of me as a failure, won’t you? No matter what I do.”

“Alexandra Bonner Waring!” Mrs. Waring said, turning around to look at her. “You are the strangest child who says the strangest things.” Then she turned back around in her seat and looked out the window. “Of course you’ll get married and have children—if you’d just stop analyzing everything. If you’d just stop thinking so much and do it, Alexandra, everything would work out exactly the way it’s supposed to. I’ve told you that.”

“Now why didn’t I think of that?” Alexandra said, turning to her window. “Just stop
thinking
, Alexandra,” she told herself. And then she laughed, letting her forehead fall forward to bang against the glass.

In the front seat, Mr. and Mrs. Waring exchanged looks with each other.

44
The Reunion

Jackson remembered something about everybody in his family staying in the same hotel, but no one except Beau seemed to be suffering from the same delusion. Cordelia usually stayed at the Plaza on her trips to New York, but then Kitty Paine got a last-minute chance to foil a buyout of the PTL by a businessman “not of owah perswayshun” and wasn’t coming to the reunion after all, and so Cordelia decided to join Big El at Belinda’s.

Cordelia’s son, Ezekiel, alias Freaky Zekey, was staying at the Marriott in Times Square because he wanted to be “somewhere near a little action, if you catch my drift.” Little El had some sort of Hilton towel collection going and so he and his wife were staying there, while their son, Kirky, and his wife had taken rooms at the Ritz Carlton and their daughter, Bipper, and her husband—flying in from Paris—were staying uptown at the Westbury.

The twins, Norbert and Noreen, and their respective spouses were staying at the Pierre. Norbert’s son, Knightsbridge Collier, alias “K.G,” had his reservation adamantly refused at the Carlyle and was, with his two women friends, staying at the Parker Meridien. Norbert’s daughter, Jane, was not coming (explaining that the next time she would expose her husband to her father and Aunt Noreen would be to point out their graves). And Noreen’s only child, Poor Luanne—as everyone called her (presumably because of her unfortunate looks)was in the Algonquin, where, her mother said, she hoped Poor Luanne would trip over a half—decent poet looking to marry money.

Jackson’s son, Kevin, was mountain climbing in Tibet and would not be coming. Jackson’s daughter, Lydia—after saying she was coming and then not coming six different times—finally decided, on Friday night, that she was not coming, no explanation given.

Ethel, Randy and Claire kept a running chart in the computer of these hotel arrangements, plus an intricate tracking system of what Darenbrook wished to participate in which of the following organized Saturday activities: shopping, museum tours, horseback riding in Central Park, carriage ride in midtown, helicopter ride around the city, roller—skating at Wollman rink, Mets game at Shea, tea at the Stanhope, hot dogs and roller coaster at Coney Island. Saturday evening, of course, everyone was to come to West End for cocktails, a tour of the facilities and a big cookout in the square, and then Sunday was the board meeting.

Saturday morning Jackson picked up Beau and Tiger at the Darenbrook suite in the Plaza and took them downstairs to the Edwardian Room for breakfast. A few minutes later Cassy left Jackson’s suite and came downstairs, where she was introduced as the future president of DBS who had just run over from West End to meet the brother she had heard so many wonderful things about. (At this, Beau looked at Jackson, as much as to say, “You must have forgotten the part about my gambling away sixty million dollars of your money on the stock market last year.”) And, as everyone did, Cassy said she couldn’t get over the resemblance between the brothers.

Cassy could only stay for a cup of coffee, but it was clear that she and Beau liked one another on sight. When she left the table and the men sat back down, Beau turned to his brother and said, “Don’t let her get away—marry her, Jack.”

“What?” Jackson said. “What are you talking about?”

“Cassy,” Beau said, his own Darenbrook blue eyes twinkling, pointing in the direction of the door. “The woman you’re in love with.” He turned to Tiger. “At first she reminded me a little of Barbara.”

“Me, too, at first,” Tiger said. “But she’s not like Barbara—she just carries herself the same way.”

“But she certainly has the same effect on Jackie,” Beau said. He turned to grin at his brother. “It’s great to see you in love again, Jack. It’s been a long time.”

“You mean you can just tell?” Jackson asked, trying to look concerned, but secretly elated.

“Like chicken feathers on a fox,” Beau told him.

After swearing his brother and Tiger to secrecy, Jackson told them a bit more about Cassy and their situation, to which Beau responded with the advice that he give Cassy all the time she needed to sort things out in her life and career, instead of doing the Darenbrook—like thing of demanding instant gratification and screwing everything up.

And so, while they were on the subject of screwing up, they moved on to Jackson’s presentation to the board tomorrow, about how his personal intervention had saved the magazine group from being compromised in any way by Beau’s stock option debts. And then Beau shared with Jackson what he was going to tell the board: that for the first time in his life he had honestly taken steps to get help for his gambling problem. For ten months now he had been going twice a week to group therapy (a kind of private Gamblers Anonymous meeting for leading L.A. businessmen) and was going to one-on-one therapy twice a week as well. On top of that, he said, Tiger had only moved back with him four months ago, and promised to walk if he so much as bought a lottery ticket. (“You left Beau?” Jackson said in astonishment, having no idea of this. Tiger nodded. “I couldn’t take it anymore. I couldn’t listen to his excuses and promises and have it happen all over again.”)

Jackson said he thought this sounded good, and that he would then read the company comptroller’s report summarizing the excellent performance and financial return on the magazine group,
Field Day
in particular. All of this, they agreed, made Beau’s chances of being forgiven by the board for using
Field Day
as collateral on his personal debts pretty good—to keep him out of court, at any rate.

After breakfast Jackson rode up Fifth Avenue to Belinda and Langley’s to see how everybody up there was doing. He called Cassy at West End on the way. “Hi,” he said on the car phone.

“Hi,” she said, “I’m just listening to Kyle and Denny’s presentations for tonight.”

“I just wanted to tell you that my brother knows I’m in love with you. He said he knew it the second you walked in and he saw my face.”

“Oh,” she said.

“But he won’t tell anybody,” Jackson assured her.

“Oh, I’m sure of that. Actually, I think it’s great you have someone to talk to about it. Don’t you?”

“Uh-huh,” he said. “Listen, I want to ask you something.”

“What?”

“Would you ever consider moving? To a new place, I mean? Here, in New York?”

“This isn’t a good time,” she said.

“But just tell me,” he said. “Would you? You wouldn’t, would you? It’s too soon—”

“And way too complicated,” she said, “even if it wasn’t impossibly too soon for me to know what I’m doing. Wait—hang on. No, don’t go —” he heard her say. ;”I’ll just be a second.” She came back on. “Hello?”

“So you won’t be moving for a while?” he said.

She paused. “How can you expect me—”

“I don’t, I don’t,” he said quickly, smiling to himself. “I just wanted to make sure you’re not moving anywhere for the next year or so. That’s all.”

She laughed, sounding confused. “No, I’m not, silly.”

“Silly loves you, you know,” he said, his smile expanding.

“Thank you,” she said. “I feel exactly the same way this morning. I really do. And I really appreciate your calling to tell me.”

“Hi—ya, hi—ya, hi—ya, hi—ya, guys!” Jackson said, skipping around the Petersons’ dining—room table, where Belinda and Langley and Cordelia and Big El were eating breakfast.

“It was irritating when you were six, Jackie Andy,” Cordelia said, “and it isn’t any less so now.”

“Duck,” Jackson said, touching Belinda on the shoulder as he went past her; “Duck,” he said, patting his father’s shoulder as he went by; “Duck,” patting Langley on the back as he went by; “Goose!” he said, reaching in through the chair to goose Cordelia.

“Ahhh!” Cordelia said, jumping in her chair. “Jackson Andrew Darenbrook!” She turned around, trying to swat her brother as he pulled a chair up to the table to sit between her and Langley.

“It’s good for the circulation, Cordie Lou,” Big El said, laughing in his wheelchair across the table from her. “That’s what Lucille says.”

“Lucille?” Cordelia said, turning to stare at her father. “And what, I’m afraid to ask, does Lucille know about pinching derrieres?”

“From the way she swings her backside,” Belinda said from her end of the table, “I imagine quite a lot. More eggs, Daddy?” She directed the woman who had just come in from the kitchen to take the chafing dish over to her father. “Jackie, have you eaten?”

“I’m fine, Baby B,” he told her, crossing his arms and settling them on the table. “I just ate with Beau and Tiger.”

Cordelia clucked her tongue. “Tiger,” she sighed, shaking her head and buttering her toast. “Whenever I think that I thought that that boy was helping little Beau at school with his football—”

“Little Beau was twenty—two,” Jackson reminded his sister.

“And he did help him with his passin’,” Big El said. “Remember that game, Jackie Andy? Your brother never threw a touchdown pass like that twice in his life till Tiger came around.”

“And Tiger painted the house, remember?” Belinda said to her sister. “You used to like Tiger then.”

“That was before I knew what was going on up there on the third floor,” Cordelia said, sniffing sharply, reaching for the jam.

“Hee-heee!” Belinda said, leaning forward over the table. “Remember the night, Jackie, we told Cordie Lou that it was the ghosts of wounded Confederate soldiers groaning up there? Remember?”

Jackson laughed and Cordelia dropped her knife on her plate. “Enough!” she said.

Belinda and Daddy kept laughing, while Jackson looked over at his brother-in-law. “Well, hi, Langley,” he said.

Langley was watching Belinda at the other end of the table, over the top of his coffee cup. He lowered it, swallowing, eyes still on her.

“Langley,” Cordelia said, “Jackie’s speaking to you.”

Langley looked over. “What?”

“What’s the matter, Lang?”Jackson said.

“Oh, don’t even bother, Jackie,” Belinda said. “We think he’s undergoing a personality change—he’s been acting strange for days.”

“How would you know? You haven’t been here,” Langley said.

“See what I mean?” Belinda said.

“If you didn’t want us to stay with you, Langley,” Cordelia said, swallowing a bit of toast, “then you shouldn’t have told us to come.”

Langley seemed to wake up a little then. “Don’t be foolish, Cordelia,” he said, pushing his glasses up his nose. “We love having you.”

Big El laughed in his coffee.

“Stop it, Daddy,” Belinda scolded her father. “It’s true. We love having you stay with us. You haven’t stayed with us since Barbara died.” Belinda’s eyes quickly went to her brother, looking as though she wished she hadn’t said that. Cordelia stopped chewing and looked at Jackson too.

Jackson looked at both of them. “What?” he asked Belinda. “Daddy and Cordie haven’t stayed with you since Barbara died—so what?”

Cordelia looked past Jackson to Langley.

“Cordie,” Jackson said.

Cordelia looked at him.

“It’s okay,” Jackson said gently. He smiled. “Really. It’s okay. Barbara died—we all know that. You can say that.”

“Jackie, 1—” Belinda started to say.

“No, Baby B, it’s fine,” Jackson said. He looked around the table. “It’s time we talked about her out in the open, don’t you think? Beau and I did this morning. It was fine. Really.”

Cordelia looked to Langley again, whom Jackson caught shrugging. Jackson shrugged back at him, smiling, and then turned to Belinda. “Hey, B? Do you know any good real estate brokers?”

Everybody around the table started exchanging looks.

“Sure,” Belinda finally said.

“What for, Jackie Andy?” Big El said. “You thinkin’ of buying a place?”

“Yeah, Daddy, I am,” he said. To Belinda, “I need somebody who really knows the ins and outs of the West Side. Somebody who knows the buildings.”

“Hey, that’s great, Jack,” Langley said.

“But Jackie,” Belinda said, “I’m sorry, but I don’t think I know anyone who would know anything about the West Side.”

“Why not?” Big El wanted to know.

“Because it’s not the East Side,” Belinda explained.

“That’s okay,” Jackson said. “I just thought I’d ask.” He winked at Cordelia. “So, what are you guys doing today?”

“That big ol’ yellow house over on Rose Hill Road’s going to come up for sale soon, Jackie,” Cordelia told her brother, smiling sweetly. “You used to like that ol’ house when you were a boy.”

“I used to like the girl who was in it, Cordie Lou,” he told her. “Thanks, sweetie pie, but Hilleanderville’s a bit of a commute.” He looked at Belinda. “So what’s up?”

“Cordie wants to do some shopping and then she and the twins are going to the museum,” Belinda said. “Daddy’s going to West End with Langley.”

“And what about you?” Langley said. “What are you going to do?”

“Oh, I’m going to do some errands.” She looked at Cordelia. “If you can believe it, sister, I haven’t been in the city in near a month. But summer in New York is for fools and unfortunates, that’s what I always say—”

“What kind of errands?” Langley asked Belinda.

Belinda looked down the table at him, frowning slightly. “What do you mean, what kind of errands?”