Institute (23 page)

Hortense just stared.

“Isn’t he beautiful?” And then as she had said twenty times: “He’s the spitting image of Richard.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, Mother,” Hortense snapped, “he’s not Richard’s child; he’s Lloyd’s. Be your age, will you?”

Mrs. Mendenhall shot a look at the nurse and then said quickly: “Horty, in this hospital, he’s Richard’s—or he’d better be, if you know what’s good for you and for him. He’s registered as Richard’s, and any move on your part to change that is going to raise a stink that will last
his
whole life. So, unless you want to ruin it—”

“All right.”

Our surprise was a bit of a flop.

When we got back to the room, Sam Dent was there. At first Hortense seemed glad to see him, smiling a bit when she told him to turn his back as I lifted her back in bed. But after some friendly moments, while he asked how she was and she told him, “well as can be expected,” it all exploded once more when he half-cleared his throat and began: “Hortense, as soon as you’re able, I’d like for you to read some papers and stuff like that. One or two things have come up—”

That was as far as he got. She didn’t even let him finish, screaming at him in a weak voice that sounded all the worse for being so ghostly.

“Do you have to pester me now? Do I have to beg for consideration? Do you know what it means to be shot by a lunatic, to have a child taken out of you, to lie at death’s door for five days—”

“Three weeks,” Mrs. Mendenhall said.

“To have a foot in the grave the better part of a month? Do you think I can turn around then and begin reading stuff you bring me? So you can get on with some job?” There was more, but Mrs. Mendenhall and the nurse kept trying to calm her down, and Sam kept saying, “I’m sorry, Hortense; forget it. I didn’t mean to upset you.” When he and I were out in the hall, he tried to explain why he was bothering her about business at a time like this.

“Lloyd,” he said, “I had to. Legally, she’s it. She’s the only one who can say what goes on this stuff that keeps coming up, that’s going to keep
on
coming up. Since Mr. Garrett didn’t leave any will—”

“He
didn’t
? I thought he did.”

“He kept talking as though he had, and he certainly meant to, but as far as he got with it was one of those clipboard jobs that he was so fond of—a memo to me about what he meant to put in it. And it leaves her in complete control. There’s things we don’t dare do without an O.K. from her. Like the debentures on the motorbikes. It’s a way to get working capital, but they can’t put them out until she signs the order.”

“Does she know about the notes?”

“I gave her a copy of them. It was a memo to me, so I had to keep the original. That’s part of what’s bugging her, maybe. I’ve thought since then that perhaps I shouldn’t have done it. But I had to if she wanted to do what he wanted—I mean, carry out his wishes.”

“What’s the rest of it?”

“You mean, why I shouldn’t have given it to her?”

“Yeah, I’d be curious to know.”

“Does the name Teddy Rodriguez mean anything to you?”

“Yes. Teddy’s a very close friend.”

“He meant to leave her a million.”

“Ouch.”

“But I had to show it to her—if she wanted to carry out his intentions, as she kept saying she did, whether he made a will or not.”

“What other bequests were called for?”

“Million to me, million to you, million to Mrs. Mendenhall, million to the child if, as, and when born, five million trust fund for Inga, to cease upon her death. But without any will to go by, it’s Hortense—and she has to make decisions, or else some of these companies that ARMALCO is made up of are behind the eight ball.”

“I get the picture.”

“He slung millions around like popcorn.”

“He
meant
to sling millions around.”

“Yeah, sure—correction noted.”

N
EXT DAY SAM WAS
back with another nut for her to crack. It seemed that Sol Novak, of Novak Bros., a subsidiary in Akron, wanted to incorporate, but had to have her O.K.

“It’s important for ARMALCO protection,” Sam told her, “because the partnership, as it stands, is a two-for-one thing, two shares to Sol for every share for his brother, Al. Maybe it’s for straight, on the up and up; but maybe Sol’s gypping Al. We can’t leave things to chance. On our end, we can’t have anything out of line or we’re wide open if we get sued. So, much as I hate to bother you, Hortense—”

She didn’t answer, at least in words. All she did was scream. Just open her mouth and let out ghastly bleats, one after the other. But they got fainter and fainter until she was gasping them out. Then she subsided a bit.

“I see it now,” she said. “It’s all clear. It means I have to die. Whom the gods would destroy, they don’t make mad any more. They let them dream and then make the dream come true. I had that dream every night. I got so I knew it by heart, knew what was coming each time. He was dead; my husband was dead. And I was the richest woman on earth. I had a yacht like Jackie Onassis’s, a mansion like Jane Du Pont’s, a coat like Frances Vanderbilt’s. I could have whatever I wanted just by waving my hand,
anything
I wanted, anything at all. Then, pretty soon, I would wake up and he would be in the other bed, snoring. But during the dream I was happy, so happy I wanted to fly!”

“Horty, stop talking like that!” Mrs. Mendenhall cut in. “You know that’s not true at all. You never dreamed things like that !”

“I know what I dreamed!”

“Let her talk!” I snapped, “if she’s to have peace with herself, she has to.”

“Debentures—what are they? And
corporation.
I don’t even know what
that
is!”

“
In
corporation,” Sam corrected.

“Incarceration—of me, why don’t you say? Well, why don’t you? I’m the prisoner of my dream, and it’s going to kill me. Oh yes; I know what’s in store for me.”

It went on and on but at last ran down from her getting exhausted and shutting up. Then Sam and I once more walked out in the hall. A bench was there and we sat down, he mopping his brow which was wet. Then he broke out: “So she dreamed he was dead, so what? We knew that, and it didn’t bother her then. She just thought it was funny.”

“How do you know what she thought?” In spite of myself, in spite of liking Sam, I sounded a little peevish.

“All I know is what she said.”

“To you? She discussed her dream?”

“No, not to me. To her mother. And Mrs. Mendenhall, at a certain stage in her day, talks. She kept dreaming Mr. Garrett was dead, and that made her filthy rich.”

“There’s no law against it that I know of.”

“And there’s no reason for it—except one.” I didn’t ask him what reason. I was afraid to. But he saved me the trouble. “She wanted him dead,” he growled.

That kind of put an end to the discussion, at least of Hortense’s dream. Perhaps to change the subject, Sam asked me: “When are you coming to work?”

“Work?” I said. “What do you mean,
work?”

“For the Institute. Well, you started it, didn’t you? And you picked Davis who’s making a God-awful mess of it. He’s got the while place in an uproar. All he knows is one scheme after the other. He’s a born troublemaker, not fit to run anything. So, when are you coming to work?”

“I haven’t been asked yet.”

“I’m
asking you.”

“And you’re in charge? That’s news to me.”

“O.K., you win. The one person in charge, I’m afraid to ask, God help me. It’s come to that. She’s the only one who can say, and saying something might kill her.”

“Listen, she’s still desperately ill.”

“That’s not all she is.”

He sat shaking his head, but we both knew we weren’t telling it like it was, or any part of what it was. The whole story, the reason she’d popped out with the dream and all the rest of it, was told by the line, “to Teddy Rodriguez, one million.” We sat there for some time, not talking about it. Then I popped out with what was bugging me, sort of crying on his shoulder, as he had been crying on mine. “Sam,” I said, “what’s got into her? All right, she’s ill. She’s weak from what happened to her. She’s not herself. That we know. But it started before that. It started the night he told her, the night Mr. Garrett let her know where she got off, that she couldn’t have a divorce and told her why. That night she disappeared. I fell asleep with her beside me, and when I woke up she was gone. Since then, things haven’t been the same. She doesn’t even know me, not the way she did. Something’s gnawing at her more than the dream she would have—in Wilmington, remember. Once she met me, she didn’t have any such dream, that I promise you.”

“It was handled wrong—the child.”

“How do you mean, handled wrong?”

“Keeping the news from her. That was Mrs. Mendenhall’s idea. At a certain time of day, Mrs. M. isn’t very bright. She should have been told right away.”

“It was handled O.K.”

“Oh? You think so?”

“She shouldn’t have been told.”

“You mean, her condition wouldn’t have permitted it?”

“She was barely conscious, Sam.”

“Then, I take it back.”

“Something’s griping her.”

“By the name of Teddy Rodriguez.”

“Yes.”

This went on for several days, her talking about the dream, how it gave her no peace, how it was going to kill her. Then all of a sudden, she harpooned me with it.

“So they want you back!” she screamed. “Why don’t you
go
back, then? What’s stopping you? They’ll pay you enough, won’t they?”

“O.K.,” I said after a moment. “Since you put it that way, I have to think about it. I did start it; that’s true. I did persuade Mr. Garrett to name it for you. I’ll let you know.”

“Name it for me? I’m talking about ARMALCO!”

“ARMALCO? I don’t get it.”

“You could be president of it! You could take him off my back—that Sam Dent. He’s sitting right there. You could tell me what I think, and then I could tell
him.
You could, if you had any consideration.”

“Who says I could be president of ARMALCO?”

“My husband did—Mr. Garrett.”

“He
told you? That I am fit to be president of—?”

“Do I have to shout? Are you deaf? He did nothing but talk about how smart you were and how he had ‘plans for you’ and—”

“I have to think about it.”

“There’s one condition, though.”

Sam looked at me. I said: “No conditions, Hortense. If I’m to be president of ARMALCO and tell you what you think, I’ll make the conditions, not you.”

“I’ll make them!
I’ll make them.”

“We’re back to Teddy Rodriguez,” growled Sam, in the hall as we walked to the elevator.”

“You think she’s the condition?”

“You’re to knuckle under after accepting the presidency of ARMALCO and refuse to pay that million. It’ll be her way of handling Teddy—and of handling
you.”

“I don’t hold still too well for handling.”

“For
your
million and that job, you might.”

A
FEW DAYS LATER
I got a call at the apartment from Mrs. Mendenhall, telling me: “We bailed out of the hospital. We thought, if we paid for both beds in the room or at least were willing to pay, she could have it to herself, but for some reasons that was impossible, and when they moved another woman in, we decided we’d better get out. So we did. And here we are back in Watergate.”

“I’ll be in—that is, if I’m invited.”

“But, Lloyd, of course.”

I drove down, parked in the basement, and went up. Letting me in, making knicks, was a girl who looked familiar! I realized it was Karen, the one who let me in on my first call to Mr. Garrett in Wilmington. Mrs. Mendenhall was there, as was a girl named Winifred whom I’d never seen but who turned out to be Hortense’s Wilmington secretary. And the baby was there with a nurse, a different one from the one who’d been with Hortense, in the hospital. She sat next to the baby’s crib. Next to it was a small table with nursing bottles on it and next to that was a refrigerator. And, of course, Hortense was there. She didn’t look up when I went in, but instead lay on a lounge chair while everyone sat around watching her, not speaking. She didn’t speak or respond in any way when I gave her a pat. No one asked me to sit, but I sat anyway—and waited. Nothing happened. Sam Dent came in. After she ignored him, he tiptoed to a place near me and sat down. Still, nothing happened. They all just sat there, and so did she. Suddenly I began getting annoyed. I got up, planted myself in front of her, and said: “It’s customary among people with manners for the hostess to speak, to make some kind of gracious remark, so people can relax, talk, and act natural.”

“Are you instructing me in manners?”

“I’m batting you one in the jaw if you don’t say something.”

“Like what, for instance?”

“ ‘Nice weather we’re having,’ will do.”

“Do? For whom?”

“Spit it out, goddamn it, or—”

I stepped in and meant to let her have it whether she was weak or not, whether or not Sam tried to stop me—which he seemed about to do as he jumped up and stepped in between. But she whimpered: “Please, please, please!”

“That’ll do,” I heard myself growl. “I wouldn’t quite call it friendly, but at least we could call it speech—of a human kind.”

“Sam! You’re not going to let him—”

“I’m stronger than Sam. Remember my thick neck.”

“Oh, they called you the Brisket, didn’t they?” Mrs. Mendenhall said. “Someone was telling me.
Horty
was telling me. It
was
you, Horty, wasn’t it?”

“Mother, that’ll do.”

For some moments, then, conversation languished. Then Sam Dent cleared his throat and, perhaps to change the subject, got to what he had come about: the naming of cabin cruisers, at the yards up by the Delaware Water Gap. “If you have any ideas about it, Hortense,” he said, “I’d certainly be glad to—”

But she exploded once more; “You’re trying to kill me, that’s what! And you may very well succeed.”

“Hortense, nobody’s trying to do anything but what has to be done by law. Now if you want someone else to take over, if you’ll give him power of attorney—”