Sons of Fortune (7 page)

Tom
didn’t hear if his friend accepted the invitation, because his reply was
drowned by another roar from the Tail supporters as the Bearcats intercepted.

When
the whistle blew at the end of the first quarter, Nat let out the biggest
cheer, having forgotten that his team was trailing. He remained standing in the
hope that the girl with the head of curly fair hair and the most captivating
smile might just notice him. But how could she, as she leaped energetically up
and down, encouraging the Tail supporters to cheer even louder.

The
whistle for the start of the second quarter came all too quickly, and when
A
disappeared back in the bleachers to be replaced by thirty
muscle-bound heavies, Nat reluctantly resumed his place and pretended to
concentrate on the game.

After
gaining painful yard upon painful yard, Tail finally crossed the line and took
the lead.

Dutifully
Diane reappeared on the sidelines to perform her energetic routine.

“You’ve
got it bad,” said Tom, “I guess I’m going to have to introduce you.”

“You
really know her?” said Nat in disbelief.

“Sure
do,” said Tom. “We’ve been going to the same parties since the age of two.”

“I
wonder if she has a boyfriend,” said Nat.

“How
should I know? Why don’t you come and spend a week with us during vacation, and
then you can leave the rest to me.”

“You’d
do that?” “It’ll cost you.” “What do you have in mind?”

“Make
sure you finish the holiday assignments before you turn up-then I won’t have to
bother double-checking all the facts.” “It’s a deal,” said Nat.

After
the game, on the other side of the stadium, Nat and Tom stood outside the
locker rooms, along with a multitude of Tail supporters who, with one
exception, were waiting to greet their heroes. Nat nudged his friend in the
ribs as she came out. Tom stepped quickly forward.

“Hi,
Diane,” he said and, not waiting for a reply, added, “I want you to meet my
friend Nat.

Actually,
the truth is he wanted to meet you.”

Nat
blushed, and not just because he thought Diane was even prettier than her
photo. “Nat lives in Cromwell,” added Tom helpfully, “but he’s coming to spend
a few days with us after Christmas, so you can get to know him better then.”

Nat
only felt confident of one thing; Tom’s chosen career wasn’t destined to be in
the diplomatic corps.

Nat
SAT AT his desk, trying to concentrate on the Great Depression. He managed
about half a page, but he found his mind kept wandering. He went over the short
meeting he’d had with Diane, again and again. This didn’t take long because
she’d hardly said a word before his father had joined them and suggested they
ought to be leaving.

Nat
had cut out her picture from the football program, and carried it around with
him wherever he went. He was beginning to wish he’d picked up at least three
programs, because the little photo was becoming so worn. He’d rung Tom the
following morning on the pretense of discussing the Wall Street crash, and then
casually threw in, “Did Diane say anything about me after I’d left?”

“She
thought you were very nice.”

“Nothing else?”

“What
else could she say? You only had about two minutes together before your father
dragged you off.”

“Did
she like me?”

“She
thought you were very nice, and if I remember correctly, she said something
about James Dean.”

“No,
she didn’t-did she?”

“No,
you’re right-she didn’t.”

“You’re
a rat.”

“True, but a rat with a telephone number.”

“You
have her telephone number?” said Nat in disbelief.

“You
catch on quickly.
”,

“What
is it?”

“Have
you completed that essay on the Great Depression?”

“Not
quite, but I’ll have it finished by the weekend, so hold on while I get a
pencil.”

Nat
wrote the number down on the back of Diane’s photograph. “Do you think she’ll
be surprised if I give her a call?”

“I
think
shell
be surprised if you don’t.”

“Hi,
I’m Nat Cartwright. I don’t suppose you remember me.”

“No,
I don’t. Who are you?”

“I’m
the one you met after the Hotchkiss game and thought looked like James Dean.”

Nat
glanced in the mirror. He’d never thought about his looks before. Did he really
look like James Dean?

It
took another couple of days, and several more rehearsals, before Nat had the
courage to dial her number. Once he’d completed his essay on the Great
Depression he prepared a list of questions, which varied according to who
picked up the phone. If it was her father, he would say, “Good morning, sir, my
name is Nat Cartwright. May I please speak to your daughter,” if it was her
mother he would say, “Good morning, Mrs. Coulter, my name is Nat Cartwright.
May I please speak to your
daughter.
”

If
Diane answered the phone, he had prepared ten questions, in a logical order. He
placed three sheets of paper on the table in front of him, took a deep breath,
and carefully dialed the digits. He was greeted by a busy signal.

Perhaps
she was talking to another boy. Had she already held his hand, even kissed him?
Was he her regular date? Fifteen minutes later he phoned again.

Still busy.
Had
another suitor called in between? This time he only waited ten minutes before
he tried again. The moment he heard the ringing tone he felt his heart thumping
in his chest, and wanted to put the phone right back down. He stared at his
list of questions. The ringing stopped. Someone picked up the phone.

“Hello,”
said a deep voice. He didn’t need to be told it was Dan Coulter.

Nat
dropped the phone on the floor. Surely gods don’t answer phones, and in any
case, he hadn’t prepared any questions for Diane’s brother. Hastily he picked
the receiver up off the floor and placed it back on the phone.

Nat
read through his essay before he dialed a fourth time. At last a girl’s voice
answered.

“Diane?”

“No
it’s her sister Tricia,” said a voice that sounded older, “Diane’s out at the
moment, but I’m expecting her back in about an hour. Who shall I say called?”

“Nat,”
he replied, “would you tell her I’ll phone again in about an hour?”

“Sure,”
said the older voice.

“Thank
you,” said Nat and put the receiver down.

He
hadn’t any questions or answers prepared for an older sister.

Nat
must have looked at his watch sixty times during the next hour, but he still
added another fifteen minutes before he redialed the number. He’d read in Teen
magazine that if you like a girl, don’t appear too keen, it puts them off. The
phone was eventually picked up.

“Hello,”
said a younger voice. Nat glanced down at his watch “Hello, can I speak to
Diane?”

“Hi,
Nat, it’s Diane. Tricia told me you’d called, how are you?” How are you wasn’t
in the script. “I’m fine,” he eventually managed, “how are you?”

“I’m
fine too,” she replied, which was followed by another long silence while Nat
searched for an appropriate question.

Tin
coming over to Simsbury next week to spend a few days with Tom,” he read out in
a monotone.

“That’s
great,” replied Diane, “then let’s hope we bump into each other.” There
certainly wasn’t anything in the script about bumping into each other. He tried
to read all ten questions at once.

“Are
you still there, Nat?” asked Diane.

“Yes.
Any hope of seeing you while I’m in Simsbury?” Question number nine.

“Yes,
of course,” said Diane, “I’d like that very much.” “Goodbye,” said Nat looking
at answer number ten. During the rest of the evening, Nat tried to recall the
conversation in detail, and even wrote it down line by line. He underlined
three times her words-
yes,
of course, I’d like that
very much. As there were still four days before he was due to visit Tom, he
wondered if he should call Diane again-just to confirm. He returned to Teen
magazine to seek their advice, as they seemed to have anticipated all his
previous problems.

Teen
gave no help on calling a second time, but did suggest for a first date he
should dress casually, be relaxed, and whenever he got the chance, talk about
other girls he’d been out with. He’d never been out with another girl, and
worse, he didn’t have any casual clothes, other than a plaid shirt that he had
hidden in a bottom drawer half an hour after he’d bought it. Nat checked to see
how much money he’d saved from his paper route-seven dollars and twenty
cents-and wondered if that was enough to purchase a new shirt and a casual pair
of slacks. If only he had an older brother.

He
put the finishing touches to his essay only hours before his father drove him
across to Simsbury.

As
they traveled north, Nat kept asking himself why he hadn’t called Diane back and
fixed a time and place to meet her. She might have gone away, decided to stay
with a friend-a boyfriend. Would Tom’s parents mind if he asked to use their
phone the moment he arrived?

“Oh,
my God,” said Nat as his father swung his car into a long drive and drove past
a paddock full of horses. Nat’s father would have chastised him for
blaspheming, but was somewhat taken aback himself. The driveway must have
stretched for over a mile before they turned into a gravel courtyard to be
greeted by the most magnificent white pillared colonial home surrounded by
evergreens.

“Oh,
my God,” said Nat a second time.

This
time his father did remonstrate with him.

“Sorry,
Dad, but Tom never mentioned he lived in a palace.”

“Why
should he?” replied his father, “
when
it’s all he’s
ever known. By the way, he’s not your closest friend because of the size of his
house, and if he had felt it was necessary to impress you, he would have
mentioned it some time ago. Do you know what his father does, because one
thing’s for sure, he doesn’t sell life
insurance.
”

“I
think he’s a banker.”

“Tom Russell, of course.
Russell’s Bank,” said his father as they pulled up in front of the house.

Tom
was waiting on the top step to greet them.

“Good
afternoon, sir, how are you?” asked Tom as he opened the door on the driver’s
side.

“I’m
well, thank you, Tom,” replied Michael Cartwright as his son climbed out of the
car, clinging to a small battered suitcase with the initials C. printed next to
the lock.

“Would
you care to join us for a drink, sir?”

“That’s
kind of you,” said Nat’s father, “but my wife will be expecting me back in time
for supper, so I ought to be on my way.”

Nat
waved as his father circled the courtyard and began his return journey to
Cromwell.

Nat
looked up at the house to see a butler standing on the top step. He offered to
take the suitcase, but Nat hung on to it as he was escorted up a magnificent
wide circular staircase to the second floor, where he was shown into a guest
bedroom. In Nat’s home they only had one spare bedroom, which would have passed
as a broom closet in this house. Once the butler had left him, Tom said, “When
you’ve unpacked, come down and meet my mother. We’ll be in the kitchen.”

Nat
sat at the end of one of the twin beds, painfully aware that he would never be
able to invite Tom to stay with him.

It
took Nat about three minutes to unpack as all he had were two shirts, one spare
pair of trousers and a tie. He spent some considerable time checking out the
bathroom before finally bouncing up and down on the bed. It was so springy. He
waited for a couple more minutes before he left the room to stroll back down
the wide staircase, wondering if he would ever be able to find the kitchen. The
butler was waiting on the bottom step and escorted him along the corridor. Nat
stole a quick glance into each room he passed.

“Hi,”
said Tom, “your room OK?”

“Yes,
it’s great,” said Nat, aware that his friend was not being sarcastic.

“Mom,
this is Nat. He’s the cleverest boy in the class, damn him.”

“Please
don’t swear, Tom,” said Mrs. Russell. “Hello, Nat, how nice to meet you.”

“Good
evening, Mrs. Russell, it’s nice to meet you too. What a lovely home you have.”

“Thank
you, Nat, and we were delighted that you were able to join us for a few days.
Can I get you a Coke?”

“Yes,
please.”

A
uniformed maid went straight to the fridge, took out a Coke and added some ice.

“Thank
you,” he repeated, as he watched the maid return to the sink and continue
chopping potatoes. He thought of his mother back in Cromwell. She would also be
chopping up potatoes, but only after a full day’s teaching.