A ruling passion : a novel (42 page)

"Well, let's get you to Washington, first. How long will it take you to pack?"

"Not long; I don't have much. But Rudy... I have to talk to Rudy."

"Call him up."

"Oh, no, you don't mean that. He's been so good to me, as good as he knew how. I'll go there now; I'll cook his dinner, and we'll talk. He wants the best for me; he'll be happy for me."

"He might be jealous."

Lily's eyes widened. "How could you think that? He'll be happy."

"Will you come with me even if he isn't happy?"

There was a long silence. Lily pulled back her hand. "We'll pray together and then he'll be happy."

"But if he isn't," Sybille insisted.

"Sybille," Lily said quietly, "Rudy will be happy for me and then I will come with you. You must believe that."

Her eyes held Sybille's, and for the first time Sybille had a moment of doubt. The little girl who had sighed over hamburgers, and ordered a beer she didn't want, was gone; in her place was the young woman who had so confidently preached, and held an audience, only an hour

before. The possibility occurred to Sybille that Lily Grace might not be as malleable as she seemed. But then Lily's tremulous voice echoed in her memory— Vm so scared —and she dismissed that flicker of doubt. Lily was a child: an instinctive actress in the pulpit, a little girl the rest of the time. And she was hungry for someone to manage her, and let her be as young as she wanted. This time Sybille was the one to put out her hand, and Lily put hers in it.

"I believe you," Sybille said. "You and I are going to do very well together. Do you know something? This is the real beginning of our Hves."

Ted Mcllvain hosted a party for Nick on his last day as president of Omega, and Chad was there, wearing a new sports jacket and a tie. It was June and school was out, so he had more time to think about what his dad was doing and thinking, and he was pretty worried, because his dad was making jokes about looking for a new garage to start a new company in, and Chad was pretty sure he wasn't thinking about starting anything new in San Jose. Ever again.

Chad didn't know how much more he could argue, either. His dad was about the most stubborn man in the world, and he was kind of like a magician too, because lots of times when Chad thought his dad was giving in he was sort of getting his way. Like the time Chad wanted to see some gory movie the guys were talking about at school, and his dad didn't, and something happened between lunch and dinner that made Chad not want to see the gory movie after all. He couldn't remember what made him change his mind; he just knew they'd gone to see something else, and it was great, but still... the gory one had really sounded neat and now it was gone forever and he'd never see it.

And then there was the whole thing of his dad selling his stock in Omega and not being president anymore, not being anything over there after he was such a big wheel and everybody wrote stories about him and he was even on tv a couple times and stuff". They'd talked about it a lot, selling his stock and all that, and then, like overnight almost, Chad thought it was okay for his dad to do it, in fact it was a great idea, but just, like, yesterday he'd been sure the idea stunk. How did his dad get him to think that? He didn't know. It was really weird. Or magic.

There was something else that was weird, and that was all the tv stuff his dad was reading: books and newspaper clippings and reports he got in the mail from finance experts and lawyers and accountants.

When Chad asked what it was all about, he said he was just curious, in case someday he wanted to buy a tv station, maybe more than one, maybe even start his own, and what would Chad think about his doing that? Chad thought it would be great, then he could be on it whenever he wanted, and meet all the other people who were on it, but so far his dad hadn't bought anything at all; he just kept reading and watching a lot more than he used to, and, maybe, thinking about it.

Nobody knew what they were going to do; that was the problem. Elena and Manuel didn't know; Chad didn't know; his dad didn't know. It didn't sound good, Chad thought. They'd probably end up doing something weird in some stupid place with lots of inventors for his dad to talk to but no friends for Chad, and he'd never see his mother 'cause she wouldn't want to come to a place like that, and his dad would be busy making a new company and Chad would be all alone and no one would care.

"How about it, Chad?"

Chad sat up guiltily. They were doing this fancy dinner party for his dad and he wasn't even paying attention. "What?"

"Do you want to make a toast to Nick?" asked Ted. "You said, before dinner, you wanted to."

"Oh, Yeah. I do." His dad was next to him and he saw his look of surprise as he fumbled in his pocket for the small piece of paper on which he'd written his toast. They were sitting at a round table in a private room in a restaurant, with lots of other round tables where all the people who had gotten Omega going in its first couple of years had eaten dinner and had lots of wine and told long stories about now the company used to be, and when Chad stood up he recognized almost all of them from his visits to the company and from the meetings they'd had with his dad at home. They'd been sort of like a bunch of uncles, like they were a family, Chad thought sadly, and now he wasn't going to have them anymore.

He unfolded the piece of paper. Ted had told him what a toast was and he'd decided he ought to do it. Just about everybody else was, and his dad ought to have somebody in his family do it, too. If he had a wife she'd do it, but he didn't, and Chad's mother hadn't come for the party—he thought maybe somebody would have invited her, but he guessed nobody did, because she wasn't there—so there was just him. He didn't like the idea of getting up and talking in front of everybody, but he didn't want his dad to feel like Chad wasn't as proud of him as the rest of them, so okay, he thought, I'll do it, and he'd written it out the night before.

"My dad is great," Chad read loudly, to cover up the shaking in his voice. "He's good at everything, and he listens when you want to talk, and he doesn't yell when you do something stupid. He doesn't laugh at you, either, if you make a mistake, and we do things together and they're fun because we like all the same things. If d be great if we could stay here where he's got all these friends and stuff, but we probably won't, but it was nice that everybody liked us and helped my dad make Omega 'cause that was his favorite thing for a long time, except for me. So I guess I should say good luck to us, like everybody else did, and tell my dad he's great, like everybody else did, only the difference is, he's mine, I mean he's my dad, and he's my friend, too, not the same as the guys at school but a different kind and maybe the best kind and thaf s... I guess that's the best of all."

There was a silence as Chad sat down, as if everyone was holding his breath. Then someone started clapping and in a minute everyone was standing and applauding and grinning at him. And his dad had stood up and pulled him up with him and was hugging him so tight he thought he'd crack in two. But it didn't hurt; it really felt good. It was the best feeling in the world, and whatever they did, wherever they went, as long as his dad kept that up, as long as he kept loving him a lot, they'd be okay, and he wouldn't ever have to worry about being alone. Not ever.

Sybille had invited them for Christmas, and since Chad was absolutely sure he did not want to go alone, the two of them flew to Washington as soon as Christmas vacation began. Before meeting Sybille for dinner, they went first, as they always did, to the Air and Space Museum, on the Mall, so Chad could walk through Skylab, peer inside the Apollo moon-landing module, stand beneath planes suspended from the ceiling, and point in amazement at the samples of rocks from the moon, even tiiough he and Nick both knew they looked just like rocks anyone could find anywhere on earth. They spent the entire afternoon at the museum; it was Chad's day. The next day would be Nick's and they would go to the National Gallery of Art, but Chad was used to that; part of the time he spent with his father, and the rest of the time he wandered around on his own, admiring the huge Calder mobile and riding the people-mover ramps. And the next day they'd go to the Children's Museum. That was the deal they had made: they split their time so nobody would feel bad.

They had quiet dinners with Sybille for the four nights of their visit.

"I have to leave three days after Christmas," she had told Nick when they were planning the trip. "I've been invited to a house party in Virginia. I'd rather be with you and Chad for New Year's, but there's no way I can get out of this. We'll have Christmas; that's better, really."

They exchanged gifts in Sybille's living room and, as usual, Nick was uncomfortable and resdess, pacing, leafing through magazines and newspapers, trying to sit still. He had not found a way to avoid these family occasions that Sybille created, and he knew Chad loved them, so he went along, feeling helpless, and angry at his helplessness, convinced it was really weakness. If he were stronger, he thought, he'd send Chad alone to visit his mother, or at least see Sybille only in restaurants and other neutral places, and put a stop to the whole farce that had gone on ever since they divorced. But he did not know how to do it. He even brought Sybille a Christmas present, because, a few years earlier, Chad had burst into tears when he realized Nick expected the only exchange of gifts to be between him and his mother. This year Nick gave Sybille a small lapel pin, a leaping gold cheetah with diamonds for eyes. Her gift was far more elaborate: an eelskin briefcase fitted with gold pens and pencils, and sterling-silver letter opener, stapler, tape dispenser, clipboard and stamp holder. The stationery had been printed with his name; his initials in gold were on the briefcase.

He was so angry he could barely thank her. But Chad was watching, his eyes round, and so once again he went through his pretenses, and then they went to dinner at the Olympian, where Sybille had reserved one of the black velvet booths at the back. By the time they were drinking coffee and Chad was sipping his third lemon seltzer through a straw, Nick was more relaxed. Sybille had done most of the talking. As if she knew how angry he had been, she was at her most pleasant and entertaining, talking about television, her production company, the actors and actresses with whom she worked. She found ways to bring Chad into her monologue, with questions or little jokes, and it seemed she was choosing anecdotes about entertainers who would most likely be familiar to him. Nick had never seen Chad so delighted with her.

"Dad knows all about all that," Chad said at last. "Thafs just about all he does lately, is read about television. Books and magazines and the works." His eyes widened as a huge wedge of chocolate mousse cake was placed before him. "Wow," he whispered, and he picked up his fork.

Sybille looked at Nick. "Really?"

"A small exaggeration," Nick replied. "I read about a lot of things; television is one of them."

'Tou watch too," said Chad through a mouthful of cake. "Lots more than you used to. You're an expert, too, as much as anybody."

"Maybe he should buy a television network," Sybille said to Chad.

Chad nodded vigorously. "He said we might. Or a tv station, or maybe start a station of our own. A big one, as big as NBC or ABC or whatever. We have lots of time now because Dad's not president of Omega anymore and he says he's looking for another garage, to start a new company in, but he's not; that's just a joke."

"Notpresident ofOme^ia?^^ Sybille repeated.

"Not for a while," Nick said.

"You didn't tell me!"

He looked at her in silence until she colored and looked away. "Of course you're not required to tell me what you do, but you know I'm interested in you... and Chad..."

"It was in the newspapers," Nick said evenly.

"But I only read the news about television. Something as big as that, Nick... I would have thought you'd tell me yourself."

Chad was frowning, looking from one of them to the other.

"Next time," Nick said, keeping his voice light, "you'll be the first to know."

Sybille tightened her lips and Nick remembered her saying / hate it when you^re clever so many times during their marriage, and after. He led the conversation away from television, to films he had seen, and books he had read, and events in California. Chad ate his cake, listening to the comforting sounds of his parents' voices in friendly conversation.

They were friendly for the next two days, sightseeing together around Washington, and then it was the last night of their visit and after dinner Sybille begged to come back to their suite at the Madison Hotel. She wanted to say good night to Chad in his bed, and goodbye, since she wouldn't see them in the morning; she was leaving early for her friend's house in Virginia. Nick, though not hiding his reluctance and annoyance, finally said she could. So Chad kissed his mother in bed, clinging to her and breathing in her perfiime with his eyes shut. "Merry Christmas and Happy New Year," he said. He wanted to tell her he loved her, but every time he thought about saying it he tightened up inside. She didn't seem to like it when he did, and he felt fiinny about his dad; he wasn't sure how he would feel if he knew

Chad was saying it. So he settled for "Happy New Year," and in a minute Sybille moved away

"Happy New Year, Chad. I hope you'll help your father decide what to do next..." She paused, looking at him thoughtfully "I wish you could live in Washington; then we could see each other whenever we wanted."

Chad's eyes widened. She had never said that before. "I wish we could, too," he said.

"Well, we'll have to think of a way. Maybe your father will buy a television station here, or start his own. He might like that, and it would be a good place for you to go to school. But you probably wouldn't want to leave San Jose."

'Well, no, I mean, I didn't, but Dad wants to. He promised he wouldn't until I wanted to, too, and I said no, but... I don't know... maybe..."

Sybille leaned down and touched her lips to his forehead. "We'll have to think about it, won't we? You get to sleep; maybe your dad and I will talk about it for awhile."