Adam's Daughter (19 page)

The next morning, Adam woke Ian early and told him to put on a suit and tie. Sullenly, Ian did as he was told. He didn’t say a word as he rode with Adam to the
Times
building. He didn’t speak as Adam led him up to the newsroom. Ian simply walked by Adam’s side, his bruised face inscrutable. Just inside the newsroom, they paused. Faces looked up at them with intense curiosity.

Adam scanned the busy newsroom. Ian stood, hands in his pockets, staring at the linoleum.

"This is where you’ll start,” Adam said.

Ian looked up in surprise. "Start what?”

“To learn.”

A woman brushed by them and looked back over her shoulder. Ian tried to hide his emba
rrassment.

“Ian, listen to me,” Adam said. “This place is very important to me. I built it. I care about it. It is my...my passion.” He paused, feeling awkward. “I want you to care about it, too. You’re going to run it someday. I’d always hoped you would.”

Ian looked out over the large room. It bustled with seemingly random activity and was filled with strange faces and an odd, dry smell of smoke, dust, ink, and paper. Slowly, from somewhere in his memory, a picture of himself as a boy sitting in a similar office with Adam drifted up to his consciousness. Watching his father shave, a parade at the bridge. He couldn’t remember much else, other than a vague feeling of security.

He turned to Adam. “I’ll try,” he said.

CHAPTER TWENTY-
THREE

Ian worked in the newsroom for the next year as a copy boy. He didn’t like running errands for the people who worked for his father, and the dinginess of the place offended his senses. But there were things he did like. He liked the near-military energy of the city room, and he liked it when the power brokers and politicians came in, kowtowing to his father. For the first time, he began to see Adam in a different light, the reflective light of power. He began to envision himself in the same role.

Encouraged by Ian’s interest, Adam created an editorial aide position for Ian
. When Lilith finally returned from New York, Ian shocked her by announcing he wanted to remain living with Adam.

For the next three years, Ian spent time in advertising, circulation, and other departments
. On his eighteenth birthday, Adam named him associate publisher. It was, everyone in the newsroom knew, a figurehead position. But Ian took his new title seriously, carrying out Adam’s orders with the air of a newly christened lieutenant. Adam’s editors bristled at Ian’s superior air, but they tolerated him as a harmless dilettante.

Ian still had a bad temper, directing it mainly at servants and an occasional low-rung newspaper employee. But to Adam, he seemed to be if not happy, at least occupied.

After Ian graduated from high school, he surprised Adam by declaring that he wanted to go to college to study business administration. Adam pulled every political string to get Ian enrolled in Princeton’s freshman class of 1949.

With Ian gone, the house on Divisadero Street seemed drained of the tension that had gripped it for years. Elizabeth, who had been plagued with sporadic migraines and depression, seemed rejuvenated.

The four Bryant newspapers were flourishing, and for the first time since his marriage to Elizabeth, Adam was beginning to move forward on the impetus of money he generated, not just money Elizabeth gave him. Everything was still in her name and always would be. But Adam allowed himself a feeling of pride. He was finally, truly, a man of means.

“Perhaps you can slow down now and enjoy yourself,” Elizabeth told him one night at dinner.

He heard the hint buried in her voice and felt a stab of guilt for all the nights during the last four years he had come home from the office too late to do more than slip into bed beside his sleeping wife.

He looked at her across the table. He had planned to tell her about a newspaper in Oregon he was thinking about buying. She had always been excited to share in his dreams. But tonight, he saw a loneliness in her eyes that had never been there before and he decided it should wait.

“I think that it’s time for a second honeymoon,” he said. “How about Paris this time?”

Two weeks later, they left for Paris, taking a suite at the Ritz. The weather was cold and drizzly, but the ambiance in the city was
alive with the post-war celebration. The Parisians’ faith in the future seemed to parallel Adam’s confidence in his own. 

Elizabeth’s love for Paris was contagious, and she happily to
ok Adam to her favorite places. They went to the opera and to a club crowded with Parisians who had come to hear “Le Jazz” of Louis Armstrong. When it was too cold to venture out, they stayed in the suite and made love. Elizabeth half joked about how the air was so conducive to conceiving babies. They celebrated Christmas Eve by ordering a dinner from room service.

The day after Christmas, a fog enveloped the city, gently blurring the gray facades of the old buildings. They walked hand i
n hand along the Seine, past the shuttered booths of the bouquinistes. They stopped for coffee at a cafe, where the empty terrace was heated by large coal-filled bracieri. They sat at the table saying nothing, content in each other’s company.

“I love this city in winter. It is like being inside a gray pearl,
” Elizabeth said, looking out at the fog. “My parents brought me here for the first time in winter when I was thirteen. I wanted to live here someday.”

“Why didn’t you?” Adam asked.

“I got married.”

Adam watched the wistful smile fade from her lips. He decid
ed he would not ask her the question that had formed in his mind, if she regretted the turns her life had taken.

“Oh, well. It wasn’t meant to be,” she said suddenly
. “Maybe that’s why I like San Francisco so much. It reminds me of Paris a little.”

“But you could have had the real thing,” Adam said.

She smiled. “I do.” She pulled the collar of her fox coat up around her neck.

“Are you too cold?” Adam
asked. “We could go back to the hotel.”

“No, I’m fine.”

He realized suddenly that she looked tired. He always took her energy for granted, and it was odd seeing her look wan. The skin under her eyes had a slight blue cast. She had been trying so hard to make the city come alive for him, he thought, and she had simply run herself down. He picked up her gloved hand and pressed it to his lips, shutting his eyes. When he opened them, she was looking at him, smiling.

“
I love you,” he said softly.

“And after another twelve years of marriage, when I’m old and fat
, will you still love me as much?”

“Yes.”

She kissed him. Her lips were cold. She laid her head against his shoulder. Her hair was soft on his cheek, and he brought a hand up to cradle her head. She was quiet for a long time.

“This fog reminds me of home,” she said finally.

This time, Adam clearly heard the fatigue in her voice. She began to shiver, and he pulled her tight into his arms.

“Let’s go home,” he said suddenly.

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Tomorrow.”

He stroked her hair and stared out at the bare trees lining the boulevard, standing like gaunt sentries in the fog.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Kellen ran, her legs churning over the grassy hills. She ran up one slope and down another, her hair streaming behind her like a tattered red banner. At the crest of a hill, she stopped. She began to paw the ground like a horse, her breath making clouds in the cold air.

Another girl ran up the hill and drew to a stop at Kellen’s side. The girls made snorting and whinnying noises.

“I’m chestnut colored and my name is Charger,” the other girl said.

“I’m all black with a white mark on my forehead,” Kellen said. “My name is D
iamond, and I’m faster than anything.”

Kellen bolted down the hill, dri
ven by the sea wind and an impatience inside her that she didn’t understand.

She ran until her head throbbed and her sides ached
then fell down on the grass. Her friend caught up and plopped down beside her. They lay there, staring up at the blue sky.

“I hate being ten,” the other girl said.

“You’re not. You’re only nine.”

“Nine and three-quarters.”

Kellen sucked on a blade of grass. “Well, I’m ten. Soon I’ll be thirteen, then sixteen. I can’t wait to be sixteen. Then I can go wherever I want.”

“Where?”

Kellen sat up and gazed out over the green meadow of Golden Gate Park. “I don’t know. Somewhere.” She heard someone calling her name and saw her governess Hildie motioning for her to come back.

“I gotta go
.” She ran to the car, arriving out of breath.

“Look at you. You’re a wild thing,” Hildie said, picking the leaves out of Kellen’s tangled hair.

“Why do we have to go home so early?” Kellen asked.

“You have a date with your father tonight, remember? And it’s going to take hours just to get this hair combed.”

As they rode home, Kellen thought about the party that night. It was the annual father-daughter dinner at the Olympic Club, her first one. She hated the thought of getting into the dress her mother had bought for her, a stiff white organza thing that scratched her neck. But she was looking forward to spending the evening with her father. Finally, one whole night when she could have him all to herself. He hardly ever had much time for her. Oh, he’d hug her, and ask her how school was going, and look at the pictures she drew. But tonight, for one whole night, he was hers.

She took her bath and allowed Hildie to smooth her unruly red curls into a ponytail. She was slipping the white dress over her head when her mother came into the bedroom.

“Oh, you look so pretty,” Elizabeth said softly.

Kellen heaved a sigh. “I look like a baby.”

Elizabeth pulled the satin belt a little tighter, realizing suddenly that her daughter was just beginning to develop a figure. “You know, I think you are right,” Elizabeth said. She undid the ponytail and brushed Kellen’s long hair down over her shoulders. “Maybe you are too old for ponytails, too. What do you think?”

Kellen glanced in the mirror and smiled. “Better,” she said. She hugged her mother, and her body, wrapped in the satin robe, seemed to give. She had lost weight, and Kellen was worried because she seemed sad lately. Kellen was sure it was because she wanted to have a baby boy and couldn’t. She had heard her mother and father talking about it last night. She had stood outside their bedroom door, fascinated by their intimate talk. Her mother had cried.

“I wish I was a boy,” Kellen said.

Elizabeth laughed. “Why?”

“I don’t know. Things would be different.”

“Well, you’re right about that. But you are a girl, a very beautiful one.”

“I’m not beautiful. You are. I’m ugly looking.”

Elizabeth smoothed Kellen’s hair. “No, you’re not. Why don’t you ask your
date? He’s waiting downstairs.”