The Good Life (31 page)

“Thank you. You're a good guy, Billy.”

As always Billy knew how to disarm him. Billy was right. It was time for him to take for granted that they were together on a long-term basis.

Perry threw an arm around his shoulders and gave him a hug. Did his doing so mean that he shouldn't be able to touch his daughter? It might be insensitive of him, but he didn't get it. He could understand Bet's not wanting to have anything to do with a guy her father had had, but that was her business. Arlene, Billy, Bet — they were separate people, and the fact that they were related didn't affect the way he felt about them physically.

He gave Billy an extra little hug, glad to feel peace restored. He was still getting used to it, but they were going to be all right.

“I'll go wash the salt off and meet you on deck,” he said with an affectionate smile.

Billy reserved a table at a restaurant that Bet knew and liked. She was wearing a simple full skirt and a low-cut blouse. The few jewels she was wearing were all she needed to look as if she were in full evening dress. She had adopted her grown-up manner for the evening, and the kiddish, teasing give-and-take of the afternoon was in suspension. He was glad to play it her way; he didn't want Billy to think that he was moving in on her.

She made a lovely adult, chic and clever, her obvious youth adding an intriguing twist to her charm. It wasn't surprising that Billy seemed proud of her.

She had a drink with them — something with gin, like Billy — and kept them amused. The port was full again, and the air throbbed with music, summoning them to a celebration.

“What fun to be back,” she exclaimed, managing not to sound like a gushing schoolgirl. She put a hand on Billy's. “My friends don't understand why we're not in Cannes or Cap Ferrat. They don't have clever papas like mine.”

“We'll go just to check on the upper crust,” Billy said. “I want to see Maxine, and there are some parties we'll probably want to go to. We'll go over it all tomorrow. You must tell me if there's anything in particular you want to do.”

“Everybody's after me. You know that. You'll have to send to New York for your secretary.” She looked at Perry for a moment, and her eyes sparkled with promise. It was the most openly flirtatious look she had yet given him. His heart thudded with delight.

They went ashore and strolled around the port, Bet in the middle, her hands tucked under their arms. Her fingers stirred on Perry's biceps, letting him know that she liked the feel of him. He was glad to be out of his binding trunks.

They stayed on the level, turning off onto cramped streets. They crossed a square and passed through an archway, coming out onto a tiny port. Small boats were tied up in it. Tall, narrow houses surrounded it. Brightly lit tables, poised precariously over the water, filled one side of it. The French could turn anything into a restaurant. An accordion flooded the night with cascades of twinkling music.

“It's the old fishing port,” Billy said. “The fish must've been smaller in those days.”

The tables were full, but a conspicuously placed table for three was waiting for them. Billy and Bet were greeted effusively, and many hands were shaken. A carelessly dressed but somehow theatrical-looking woman waved from a nearby table, and Billy waved back.

“Marlene,” he said as he sat. “She's speaking this season.”

“Marlene
Dietrich?”
Perry asked incredulously, trying not to stare. The woman bore no resemblance to the movie star he'd met at Clifton's party.

“You should see her made up. The transformation is extraordinary. I suppose I should go speak to her. Would you children like me to ask her for a drink one day soon?”

“Oh, yes, Daddy. Do. I'm fascinated.” She turned to Perry. He saw her hand move toward his and come to rest on the table. “Wouldn't you like to meet her?”

“I have, as a matter of fact, but there were a lot of people around.” He loved her for not pretending that she was too blase to be interested in a celebrity. Their eyes met and took them another step closer to each other.

“I doubt if she'll have to be coaxed,” Billy said. “She's always taken a healthy interest in good-looking men. Bet, love, if the waiter comes, help Perry with the French. If I'm not mistaken, they don't have a written menu here. You have to pluck it out of the air. I've been dreaming of those rather heavenly
moule
they do with cream. I suppose I could nibble on a
langouste
after. I leave the wine to you. At least I've given you a gentleman's education. Carry on.” He rose and left them.

Bet and Perry looked at each other and shared an unguarded smile. She winked, and he winked back, and they burst out laughing. The music whirled and soared around them. He'd never heard such light-hearted music. The accordion player was sitting outside against the wall of the restaurant, his fingers flying nimbly over the keys while he smiled at them.

“I didn't know an accordion could sound like that,” Perry said.

“Only the French can do it. It always makes me want to stay in France forever.”

“We'll get this guy to come to New York. Are we going to go dancing after dinner?”

“How lovely. I'm frightfully old-fashioned. They teach us how to waltz at school. You can show me what they do at the Stork.”

The waiter arrived, and she translated what was being offered, but Perry had already decided to follow Billy's lead. She ordered briskly for the three of them and was handed a voluminous wine list.

“Do you want anything in particular?” she asked as she flipped knowledgeably through the list.

“I know a little more about wine than about French, but not much. I have to confess a peculiar taste for red with lobster. Is that allowed?”

She smiled approvingly. “What a clever man. Me too. I know just the thing.” She spoke rapidly in French and handed the list back. He was awed by her poise and authority. “I may've been to the Stork, but I'm going to learn things from you if you'll teach me,” he said.

She looked at him searchingly, and her eyes softened with tenderness. “I
do
like you. I didn't know a man ever admitted that a woman could teach him something.”

“Well, there isn't much. Just a few little things, May be.” His smile teased her.

“I give up,” she moaned despairingly.

“Do I have to admit that I think you're the most beautiful girl in the world as well as the brightest?”

“It helps. Is that all?”

“I've hardly got started.”

They were laughing when Billy returned, followed by the waiter with wine. Bottles were presented to Bet.

Billy reported on his encounter with the celebrity. “She's in fine form. That's Gabin with her, but he hasn't subdued her intense interest in young men. She was relieved to hear that Perry isn't my son-in-law or anybody else's as far as I know. She'll undoubtedly be along. I suggested tomorrow evening.”

“There goes my escort,” Bet said, making a reproachful face. “May be we'll have time for a dance before she takes him away. Where shall we go, Daddy?”

“Back to Boldoni's, I should think, whatever it's called now. I took you there last year, didn't I?” He turned to Perry. “It's nothing special now, but it was outrageous fun in the old days. Everybody went — local families, tarts, sailors from Toulon. Old Boldoni and his family did everything, including food that was even better than Didine's. There was a fabulous barrel organ that they played for the Saturday night dances. They were rowdy but harmless, the way things were when people still had a good time together. Now it's just another nightclub.

“Something's gone wrong everywhere. Everybody wants to be rich. The poor are too poor. The Depression has been a greater disaster than most of us realize. If there's a war, it won't be just because of Hitler. People are beginning to want to kill each other. Quite frightening.”

“Really, Daddy. What a way to talk when we're supposed to be having a gay evening.”

“Oh, I don't imagine it'll amount to much. Hitler can't take on Europe
and
the States. I don't like his getting chummy with the Russians, but that's probably just bluff too. That's a very good wine you've found to face the end of the world with.”

“I thought you'd like it,” Bet said. “It's a Loire I heard about recently. I didn't expect to see it on the list.”

“What a brilliant daughter I have.”

The accordion music cascaded over them, washing away wars and Depressions. Good food and wine were the immediate lilting reality.

Perry continued to be impressed by the girl. She looked so impeccably right. Everything she did and said was right. He didn't know why she didn't reduce him to a state of awestruck helplessness. If he allowed himself a moment of rational caution, he wouldn't dare aim so high, but she seemed to like him. They were just two people enjoying each other. What was there to be cautious about? They weren't doing anything to attract attention; otherwise, Billy would make his displeasure felt. He looked as if he were having a good time.

They left the tiny port by way of what was little more than a crevice between walls that didn't permit two to walk abreast. They mounted steps and came to a wider stepped street and turned up it, continuing to climb.

“Marvelous for the heart, they say, if it doesn't kill you,” Billy remarked, breathing as easily as Bet. An occasional drink was probably good for the heart too.

They came to a low vine-covered door with a sign over it buried in foliage and entered a big room filled with tables and chairs in vaguely rustic decor. There was nobody in it. They went through it into a garden where they were greeted by a small jazz band on a stand beating out “Bye Bye Blackbird” against the lively chatter of a sizable crowd of merrymakers.

They were led to one of a number of tables surrounding a cement dance floor. Trees and flowering shrubs were brightly lit. A slice of the port was visible below them, and beyond, across the bay, the lights of Saint-Maxime. It was May be just another nightclub, but, looking up at the stars in the luminous sky, Perry thought it very glamorous.

“What are we going to have?” he asked when they were seated. He addressed Bet. “Shall we have more wine? Champagne?”

“I'd love some if they have some brut,” she agreed.

“As I remember, this place is quite dependable,” Billy said.

The list was handed to Perry. He was grateful to Billy for not offering additional guidance. He wanted to be treated as if he knew what he was doing in front of Bet. He found a familiar name and ordered, then handed back the card. Laszlo would have approved.

“There's Mado,” Bet exclaimed. She and Billy looked across the floor toward a big table where six or eight people were seated. Waves were exchanged.

They sampled the champagne, and Bet and Billy nodded with approval. Perry felt as if he'd made the champagne himself.

He and Bet smiled an unspoken agreement, and they rose together to dance. His arms were already reaching for her. He wondered why the idea of holding her now seemed so much more exciting than it had when they'd been practically naked together on the beach.

A lot had happened between them in the last couple of hours. She was opening herself more to him, accepting his approaches, making physical contact part of their habitual communication. He had to remind himself that a “nice” girl could show an interest in a guy, May be even flirt with him, without being ready for the things he might be thinking of. Any sort of impropriety with her was unthinkable. She was so fresh and immaculate and gleaming.

They walked onto the floor and moved in against each other. He had been prepared for stiffness or schoolgirl awkwardness, but she was supple and yielding, folding herself in against him and moving lightly to his rhythm. His body responded predictably to the feel of her in his arms, but it didn't worry him. The Vachon clothes were loose and unrevealing. A nice girl probably wouldn't even recognize it for what it was if she inadvertently brushed against it.

Billy danced by with a marvelously chic, remarkably unattractive middle-aged woman, and they stopped, marking time. Bet greeted her, and Perry was introduced to Mado Fourcade.

When they returned to the table, Billy was seated, drinking champagne. “I'm afraid you children won't think much of our jazz,” he said. “They do their best, but they're not American Negroes. The accordion is more their style. I mourn Boldoni's barrel organ.

“A year or two ago, they had a tiny woman called Piaf here. She's about so high” — he lifted his hand a few inches off the table — “with a voice that could knock the walls down. Extraordinary. She has a song about an accordionist. Electrifying. It's a java, naturally. She's becoming a big star. If we're lucky, we can catch her in Paris on the way back.”

“I could just spit when you talk about being in Paris without me,” Bet said.

“I told you you'd be sorry.”

“Monique's so bossy. I may just write and tell her that I've changed my plans.”

“We can't allow Monique to break up our party,” Perry said, adding, “What's a java?”

“It's that waltz they do very fast, going around and around in circles,” Bet answered. “If you're not French, you collapse in a heap after a few minutes. I can do it.”

“Something else you can teach me,” Perry said, smiling.

It was after 1:30 when they got back to the boat, but Sylvain was still waiting on deck to serve them.

“I know what you're going to do,” Bet said, hugging her father. “You're going to have a nightcap. If I sit down, I'll never move again. It must be the sea, sir. I'm dead. Thank you both for a lovely evening.”

“I'm sure we both agree that it's entirely thanks to you,” Billy said gallantly. “We're going out in the morning. The captain wants to show me everything's working. Don't be surprised if you feel us moving.”