The Good Life (16 page)

“I don't know what you took as a threat. I simply don't want you to become known as too easy to get. Again, it's a question of your gentlemanly instincts. I know I can count on you.”

Perry looked at him in silence again, waiting for his heart to subside. He finally spoke. “Okay. I've been meaning to call Cole Porter. I will now. You can listen if you want.”

He went to the phone and checked his address book and called a secret number. A man answered, and Perry asked for Mr. Porter.

“Speaking.”

“Cole? Hello. This is Perry Langham. Remember?”

“Of course. I've been hoping to hear from you.”

“I waited to call while I was trying to work things out. It looks impossible. I have only four days left until I sail.”

“I'm crushed, but I know how things are. Clifton has been raving about you. You've quite captured his girlish heart.”

Perry laughed. “That's nice to know. Can I count on dinner when I get back?”

“You sound worth waiting for. I suspected you were even before Clifton took charge of your public relations.”

“I'd like to give you a chance to find out for yourself. If you don't ask me to dinner, I'll ask you.”

“Even better. That makes two dinners. You're a lamb to call. Have a heavenly summer and don't start any wars.” He hung up.

Perry turned to Billy with a shrug. The storm within him had passed. “That's one who won't find me easy to get. May be if you made me feel more that you want to keep me for yourself, I'd stop looking for rich men to replace you.”

“You're quite extraordinary, my dearest boy. I may even have met my match. I have a present for you to show you that I never stop wanting to keep you for myself.”

He rose and went to the desk and handed Perry a familiar black velvet box. It contained a set of black-pearl-and-gold studs and cufflinks.

“My God, Billy. How beautiful. Nobody else gives me things like that. Clifton sent me a toilet case. Very nice but not in the same class.” They both laughed. “I'll wear them for Maxine Elliott tonight. That should impress her.”

He knew that Billy wanted him to make a good impression on Maxine Elliott. He wanted to too. She was a friend of Billy's in the south of France. She was here, like Billy, for only a short visit. Alexander Woollcott had talked about her on the radio. She had been a famous American beauty and an actress. She was said to have been J.P. Morgan's mistress, and he had handled her financial affairs. The story was that she had been touring in some play before the World War when she heard that her fortune had gone over the million-dollar mark. She had closed the play and packed up and gone to Europe, where she had become King Edward VII's mistress.

A fashionable whore. Perry thought they should have something in common, except that she made a million dollars. He hadn't learned this trick yet.

“Maxine's the perfect person to wear them for. She'll know they're real,” Billy said. “Unfortunately, she missed sailing with us by a week. She'll catch up with us in Cannes.”

Their thoughts were increasingly focused on Europe as departure time approached. It was actually going to happen. Nothing could go wrong now, although skirmishes with Billy still exhausted him. He had survived another, and it seemed about time for him to be able to take them in his stride. He knew he was always going to win.

Perry threw his arms around Billy and gave him a kiss to thank him for the gift. “My heart belongs to Daddy,” he exclaimed exuberantly. “We're going to Europe, Billy. How fabulous. Has Bet said anything about me?” He was aware of a note of apprehension in his voice.

“What would she say?” Billy asked with a shrug. “She's looking forward to meeting you. Of course, she's old enough to know that your being with me is a bit special. I don't suppose she expects a summer romance.”

Billy said it with the edge of warning Perry had noticed before when Bet was mentioned, as if he were treading on dangerous territory. It made Perry restless and vaguely annoyed. He didn't like being warned off people. Particularly Bet. He felt he already had an important relationship with her. The best thing he knew about her was that she was going to be there. That and the fact that she was Billy's daughter. Family. She was bound to be tempting unless she was actively unattractive in some way. A yacht in the Mediterranean. It was a good start.

The momentous day of departure came. Laszlo helped them with their last-minute packing, and they had one of Laszlo's light lunches. The weather was less brilliant than it had been, cloudy with a crisp wind. Billy's mother was sending the car to take them to the dock.

“I'm glad it's afternoon sailing,” Billy said. “Midnight sailings can be wonderfully festive, but it takes the rest of the crossing to recover.”

Perry took charge of the tickets. The car arrived. It was an incredible old Lincoln town car that looked more like a two-story house with an uncovered outhouse attached to the front for the uniformed chauffeur.

“Mother and her chauffeur-be-damned car,” Billy said. “Nothing will convince her that she should donate it to a museum.”

Laszlo and the chauffeur loaded the luggage in a rack on the roof. Billy had only one more piece than Perry. He had left things on the yacht. The luggage stowed, Laszlo joined them again. “Don't forget your coat, Mr. Vernon,” he said. “I've checked your room.” He turned to Perry. “I'd better do the same for yours.” They exchanged a look.

“I'll come with you,” Perry said. They ran upstairs together and put their arms around each other in Perry's room. “I wish you were coming. I'm on the payroll too, so I wouldn't feel right about tipping you the way you say I should with the help. I'll bring you a present from France.”

“You do that, love. You're going to have a wonderful summer. Have you forgotten anything?”

“No, I checked. I'll remember everything you've taught me.” They laughed and hugged affectionately, and he returned to Billy.

“Off we go,” Perry said jauntily, putting on his straw boater. They went out and were engulfed by the car and set off across town. Perry felt very strange driving through the familiar neighborhood on an ordinary summer afternoon in New York on his way to Europe. He peered out from the upholstered depths at the ordinary people going about their ordinary business, and he wanted to shout at them, “I'm going to Europe!”

As they approached the docks, they were caught in a great bustle of activity. Cars were drawing to a halt, creating a traffic jam in front of a gloomy warehouse of a building. Luggage was being unloaded amid swarming porters.

The great black wall of the ship towered beside the warehouse. Perry craned his neck. It was enormous. Billy referred to the
Mauretania
as “one of the small liners.” Perry wondered what one of the big ones looked like.

The majestic Lincoln inched toward the curb, and they were jolted by an abrupt application of the brakes as a taxi swerved in front of them. From beside the window Billy lifted something that looked like a listening piece of a telephone and spoke into it. “Don't scratch the heirloom, O'Malley. We've plenty of time.” The chauffeur on the other side of the glass partition touched the visor of his cap.

Billy opened a cabinet in front of him and took out a decanter and two shot glasses. He filled one and handed it to Perry. He filled the other and returned the decanter to the cabinet and sat back. “A restorative brandy,” he said. “Our ancestors had time to think of detail.”

Stationary, they could hear the chaos of sound outside, shouts, tooting horns, bursts of laughter from arriving passengers, impatient blasts from ships' whistles in the harbor. It smelled of the sea. There was an intense, poignant gaiety in the air, the excitement of voyages and departure.

Glass in hand, Perry felt as if he were losing his mind. What was happening to him? How had he managed it? He was disguised as a first-class passenger bound for Europe.

He reminded himself where he was and how he had got there. He glanced around him at the elegant upholstery and woodwork and shook his head. The ghastly trailer that he'd shared with his mother, father, and adoring younger sister would almost fit in this space where he sat with Billy sipping brandy. How had the Langhams managed, the four of them packed into that smelly metal cell? Was that sort of existence really over, or could he find himself back in those unbelievable circumstances once more?

Due to heavy bookings, Perry had been forced to take a first-class cabin instead of a suite for his first trip to Europe.
Poor me
, he thought and snorted at the incongruity of his life. His family had been lucky enough to make it to California from the Dust Bowl of the Midwest only four years ago.

PART TWO

EUROPE, 1939

The great hearse of a car finally reached the curb. Billy dropped the empty glasses into their slots, and they stepped out after the driver had commandeered porters and opened the door. Through a cavernous warehouse, alongside the tall ship now stretching an incredible distance out toward the river, they passed crisply uniformed officers or stewards, who greeted them respectfully, some remembering Billy from past crossings, and bowed them aboard from the covered gangplank marked FIRST CLASS.

They entered a palace. Perry had an impression of overwhelming muted luxury — dark paneling, gleaming mirrors, a sweeping staircase, glittering chandeliers, thick carpets. He didn't see how it could all float. They were escorted along a wide corridor and stopped in front of a door marked D. The steward opened it.

“I'm George, Mr. Vernon. Remember?” Billy nodded and beamed. “I'll be here during the day to take care of you. Herbert will be along in a, little while for the evening. Just give us a buzz whenever you want anything, sir. Now, if Mr. Langham will come along here, I'll get him settled. There are several telegrams waiting for both gentlemen.”

“Come back as soon as you're ready for a drink,” Billy said to Perry. “Which is soon, I hope.”

Perry followed George a few doors along to his cabin. It gleamed with mirrors and paneling. There was a comfortable-looking bed, a mirrored dressing table, a desk where Perry saw a couple of telegrams, a built-in chest of drawers, two armchairs. There was plenty of room to swing a cat. His bags were already there.

“The valet will be along in a minute to help you with your unpacking, sir,” George said. “You won't be dressing tonight, so perhaps you'd like to leave everything to him. I'd say Mr. Vernon is quite ready for that drink. The bathroom's here, sir.”

He opened a door. Gleaming porcelain this time and more gleaming mirrors. The basin and toilet and tub were encased in dark polished wooden fittings. “I hope everything is satisfactory, sir. Those are the bells if you need anything.” He left.

Perry stood in the middle of his cabin, too stupefied to move. George treated him as if he had a right to be here. He thought his heart was going to burst from his chest with joyful wonder. He had been put in this impressive cabin on a luxury liner by magic.

He moved in a daze to the desk and picked up the mysterious telegrams. There were three, one from Clifton, one from Arlene, one — to his touched amazement — from Cole Porter. They all sent good wishes in their various ways. He went to the porthole and looked out at the downtown skyline. His hometown. There were three people there who wanted him to remember them. Pretty good in less than a year. He'd be back. He touched his watch and his ring and his cigarette case. The pieces of him were being assembled. He wanted to go see if Billy was real.

He knocked on his door and was told to come in. Billy was sitting at the desk in his comfortable living room with a drink beside him and some opened telegrams in front of him. He stood to greet him. “Is your cabin all right?” Billy asked.

“I love it. That man George said I wouldn't dress tonight. Is that right?”

“Yes. Nobody dresses for the first night. Do you want a drink here, or shall we go up to the bar? It's one of my favorites.”

“Let's go. What am I supposed to do about tipping? Am I supposed to tip every time I ask for something?”

“No need. We'll leave something at the end for the room steward and the deck steward if the weather's good enough for us to use the deck a lot. I always leave something at the bar, but that's optional. You pay for your drinks, and a service charge is included.”

“You don't pay for the meals?”

“They're included in the ticket, many times over.”

“I got a wire from Arlene.”

“Arlene? Oh, of course. You had that evening with her. How nice. That's very thoughtful of her. Many others?”

“Just Clifton and one from our mother hen.” Little lies were sometimes necessary.

“Laszlo
is
a dear boy. I hear Joan Crawford's on board.”

“Really? Lucky Joan Crawford.”

Billy laughed. “I'm glad you think you're going to like it so much. What time is it?”

“Just after 5:30.”

“We sail at 6. That was good timing. Let's go up. I don't think it's too soon for a drink, do you?” He put down the glass he'd just emptied, and they went out to the stairs and climbed to the deck above. They came out onto a wide landing with a long, open counter marked PURSER in brass letters over it. There were glass-fronted cases on each side with announcements posted in them.

“What's a purser?” Perry asked.

“He handles all the ship's business. He can change money and so forth. If you had any complaints, you'd come to him.”

“I don't.”

Billy laughed delightedly again. They followed a corridor that seemed to be taking them farther out into the river — toward the rear or stern, Perry guessed — and passed what appeared to be a well-stocked library. Dark paneling predominated, with occasional paintings hanging on it. Expensively dressed people were wandering about, mostly middle-aged couples.