Authors: Nelson DeMille
The Gold Coast (42 page)
Anyway, we also talked about local happenings and about summer plans. Edward, on his third glass of wine, loosened up a bit more. Carolyn is always tightly wrapped, drunk or sober, and you don’t get much out of her until she’s ready to talk. Carolyn is also the perceptive one, like her mother, and she asked me, “Is everything here all right?”
Rather than pretend that it was, or be evasive, I replied, “We’ve had some problems here. You both know about our new neighbors?”
Edward sat up and took notice. “Yeah! Frank the Bishop Bellarosa. He threatening you? We’ll go knock him off.’’ He laughed.
Susan replied, “Actually, it’s quite the opposite problem. He’s very nice and his wife is a darling.”
I wasn’t sure about any of that, but I added, “He’s taken a liking to us, and we aren’t sure how to react to that. Nor do other people. So you may hear a few things about that while you’re here.”
Edward didn’t respond directly because when he has his own agenda, he doesn’t want to be sidetracked. He said enthusiastically, “What’s he like? Can I meet him? I want to say I met him. Okay?”
Edward is an informal boy, despite all his private schooling and despite the fact that most of his family on both sides are pompous asses. He’s sort of a scrawny kid with reddish hair that always needs combing. Also, his shirttails always need tucking in, his school tie and blazer are usually spotted with something, and his Docksides look as if they were chewed on. Some of this is affected, of course: the homeless preppie look, which was the fashion even when I was up at St. Paul’s. But basically, Edward is an undirected though good-hearted boy with a devil-may-care attitude. I said to him, “If you want to meet your new neighbor, just knock on his door.”
“What if his goons come after me?”
Carolyn rolled her eyes. She always thought her younger brother was a bit of a jerkoff, without actually saying so. All in all though, they get along well in spite of, or perhaps because of, the fact they have been separated so much. I replied to the question about goons. “You can handle them, Skipper.”
He smiled at his old nickname.
Carolyn said to me and to her mother, “I wouldn’t let other people tell me whom to associate with.”
Susan replied, “We certainly don’t. But some of our old friends are disappointed. Actually, there was an incident at The Creek a few weeks ago.’’ Susan related, in general terms, our evening with the Bellarosas. She concluded, “Your father got a call from someone about it, and I got two calls.”
Carolyn mulled this over. She is, as I indicated, a serious young woman, self-assured, directed, and ambitious. She will do well in law school. She is attractive in a well-kempt sort of way, and I can picture her with glasses though she doesn’t wear them, dressed in a dark suit, high heels, and carrying a briefcase. A lady lawyer, as we old legal beagles say. She gave us her considered opinion. “You have a constitutional right to associate with whomever you please.”
I replied, “We know that, Carolyn.’’ College kids sometimes think they are learning new things. For years I thought I was getting new information at Yale. I added, “And our friends have that right, too, and some of them are exercising that right by choosing not to associate with us.”
“Yes,’’ Carolyn agreed, “within the right to free association is the implied right not to associate.”
“And likewise, my club has the right to discriminate.”
She hesitated there, because Carolyn is what we call a liberal. She asked, “Why don’t you both just leave here? This place is anachronistic and discriminatory.”
“That’s why we like it,’’ I said, and got a frown. Carolyn reminds me in many respects of my mother, whom she admires for her social activism. Carolyn is a member of several campus organizations that I find suspect, but I won’t argue politics with anyone under forty. I asked her, “Where do you think we should go?”
“Go to Galveston and live on the beach with Aunt Emily.”
“Not a bad idea.’’ Carolyn also likes Emily because Emily broke the bonds of corporate wifedom and is now a beachcomber. Carolyn, though, would not do that. Her generation of iconoclasts are a bit less wild than mine, better dressed for sure, and won’t leave home without their credit cards. Still, I think she is sincere. I said, “Maybe we’ll go to Cuba with you and see about world peace.”
“Why don’t we order?’’ asked Susan, who always suspects me of baiting her daughter.
Carolyn said to me, “I don’t think Cuba is a good place, if that’s what you’re thinking. But I think by going there I can understand it better.”
Edward said, “Who cares about Cuba, Cari? Come to Cocoa Beach and I’ll introduce you to my friends.’’ He grinned at her.
She said icily, “I wouldn’t be caught
dead
with your twerpy friends.”
dead
with your twerpy friends.”
“Yeah? How come when I brought Geoffrey home for Christmas, you hung around us all week?”
“I did
not
.”
not
.”
“You
did
.”
did
.”
I looked at Susan, who looked at me and smiled. I said to Susan, “And how come you can’t remember to get your car serviced?”
“And why can’t you learn to pick up your socks?”
Carolyn and Edward got the message, the way they always did, smiled, and shut up.
We chatted about George and Ethel Allard, about Yankee and Zanzibar and the relocation of the stables, and other changes in our lives since Christmas. We ordered dinner and another bottle of wine, though I won’t drink more than two glasses before I sail.
As we ate, Carolyn brought up the subject of Frank Bellarosa again. She asked me, “Does he know what you do for a living, Dad? Has he asked for tax advice?”
“On the contrary, I’ve asked him for tax advice. It’s a long story. But now he wants me to represent him if he is indicted for murder.”
Again, it was Edward who failed to see any problem there. “Murder? Wow! No kidding? Did he kill somebody? Are you going to get him off?”
“I don’t actually think he did kill the person that he may be charged with killing.”
Carolyn asked me, “Why does he want you to defend him, Dad? You don’t do criminal work.”
“I think he trusts me. I think he believes that I would make a good appearance on his behalf. I don’t think he would ask me to defend him if he were guilty. He thinks that if I believe in his innocence, then a jury would believe me.”
Carolyn nodded. “He sounds like a smart man.”
“So am I.”
She smiled at me. “We all know that, Dad.”
Edward grinned, too. “Take the case. Beat the rap. You’ll be famous. Are you going to do it?”
“I don’t know.”
Susan said unexpectedly, “I never get involved with your father’s business, but if he does take this case, I’m behind him.”
Susan rarely makes public statements about standing by her man, so I had to wonder about this one.
Anyway, we had dinner, we all loosened up a bit more, and it did almost seem like old times, but this was the last time it would.
In truth, whatever relationship I have with Carolyn and Edward is based on a time when I could tease them, scold them, and hold them. They are older now, and so am I and so is Susan, and we all have other problems, other cares. I drifted away from my own father at about the age Carolyn and Edward are now, and we never came together again. But I do remember his holding my hand that evening on the boat.
I suppose this separation is a natural biological thing. And perhaps one day, Susan and I will have good adult relationships with our children. I always believed that animals in the wild who leave their nests someday find their parents again and recognize them, and perhaps even signal that recognition. Maybe they even say, “Thank you.”
As Edward was shoveling pie into his mouth, he announced, “I want to go out to East Hampton with you guys in August. Maybe for a couple weeks till school starts.”
I glanced at Susan, then informed Edward and Carolyn, “We may be selling the East Hampton house, and it may be gone before August.”
Edward looked up from his pie as though he hadn’t heard me correctly. “Selling it? Selling the summer house? Why?”
“Tax problems,’’ I explained.
“Oh . . . I was sort of looking forward to going out there.”
“Well, you sort of have to make other plans, Skipper.”
“Oh.”
Edward seemed vaguely concerned, the way children are when adults announce money problems. Carolyn, I noticed, was eyeing Susan and me as if she were trying to find the real meaning in this. For all her interest in the disadvantaged, she could barely fathom money problems. Perhaps she thought her parents were getting divorced.
We finished dinner, and Carolyn and I walked down toward the pier where the
Paumanok
was berthed. Susan and Edward went to the parking field to bring the Bronco closer to the pier.
Paumanok
was berthed. Susan and Edward went to the parking field to bring the Bronco closer to the pier.
I put my arm around Carolyn as we walked and she put her arm around me. She said, “We don’t talk much anymore, Dad.”
“You’re not around much.”
“We can talk on the phone.”
“We can. We will.”
After a few seconds she said, “There’s been a lot of things going on around here.”
“Yes, but nothing to be concerned about.”
After a few seconds, she asked, “Are things all right between you and Mom?”
I saw that coming and replied without hesitation, “The relationship between a husband and wife is no one’s business, Cari, not even their children’s. Remember that when you marry.”
“I’m not sure that’s true. I have a direct interest in your happiness and well-being. I love you both.”
Carolyn, being the good Stanhope and Sutter that she is, does not say things such as that easily. I replied, “And we love you and Skipper. But our happiness and well-being are not necessarily tied to our marriage.”
“Then you
are
having problems?”
are
having problems?”
“Yes, but not with each other. We already told you about the other thing. Subject closed.”
We reached the pier and stood looking at each other. Carolyn said, “Mom is not herself. I can tell.”
I didn’t reply.
She added, “And neither are you.”
“I’m myself tonight.’’ I kissed her on the cheek.
The Bronco came around, and we all unloaded our provisions onto the dock. Susan parked the Bronco again while Carolyn passed things to Edward, who handed them to me on the boat. We did all this without my having to say anything because this was my crew, and we’d done this hundreds of times over the years.
Susan hopped aboard and began putting things where they belonged in the galley, on the deck, and in the cabin. The kids jumped aboard and helped me as I went about the business of making ready to sail.
With about an hour of sunlight left, we cast off and I used the engine to get us away from the piers and the moored boats, then I shut off the engine and we set sail. Edward hoisted the mainsail, Carolyn the staysail, and Susan set the spinnaker.
There was a nice southerly blowing, and once we cleared Plum Point, it took us north toward the open waters of the Sound.
The Morgan is ideal for the Long Island Sound, perfect for trips up to Nantucket, Martha’s Vineyard, Block Island, and out to Provincetown. The Morgan’s major drawback in the bays and coves is its deep keel, but that’s what makes it a safe family boat on the open seas. In fact, the original Morgan was developed by J. P. Morgan for his children, and he designed it with safety in mind. It’s sort of an ideal club boat; good-looking and prestigious without being pretentious.
It would actually be possible for me to make a trans-Atlantic crossing with this boat, but not advisable. And now that my children are older, the plodding Morgan may not be what I need. What I need, really need, is a sleek Allied fifty-five footer that will take me anywhere in the world. I would also need a crew, of course, as few as two people, preferably three or four.
I imagined myself at the helm of the Allied, heading east toward Europe, a rising sun on the horizon, the high bow cutting through the waves. I saw my crew at their tasks: Sally Grace mopping the deck, Beryl Carlisle holding my coffee mug, and the delicious Terri massaging my neck. Down in the galley is Sally Ann of the Stardust Diner making breakfast, and impaled on the bowsprit is the stuffed head of Zanzibar.
I took the Morgan west, past Bayville, where I could make out the lights of the infamous Rusty Hawsehole. I continued west into the setting sun, around Matinecoc Point and then south, tacking into the wind toward Hempstead Harbor.
I skirted the west shore of the harbor, sailing past Castle Gould and Falaise, then turned in toward the center of the harbor where I ordered the sails lowered. Carolyn and Edward let out the anchor, and we grabbed fast, the boat drifting around its mooring with the wind and the incoming tide.
In the distance, on the eastern shore, the village of Sea Cliff clung to tall bluffs, its Victorian houses barely visible in the fading light. A few hundred yards north of Sea Cliff was Garvie’s Point, where Susan and I had made love on the beach.
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