An Idol for Others (27 page)

“Goddamn you. Why didn’t you say any of this two days ago?” he raged, stunned that she would bring David into it to mitigate her own guilt.

“Because I’m not a blackmailer,” she cried, her head lifting. “The baby’s gone. You can suit yourself. I’m not going to try the usual female tricks on you.” She let her body slump and turned from him, but not before he had had time to see the tears coaxed from her eyes.

He looked at her back and wondered what she thought she was accomplishing. She had taken from him the one gift she alone was capable of offering him, the promise of which had filled his love for her with more warmth and joy than he had ever known with her. Were they so completely out of touch? He could make another child, but the sterility of her attitude repelled him. She was prepared to barter for something so precious as parenthood. She would give him a child if he would get rid of David. If he stayed here another minute, he would begin to hate her. Perhaps her father could tell how she had been brought to commit this outrage. “I suppose you should be taking it easy,” he said with such indifference that it sounded almost contemptuous. “Give me ten minutes in the bathroom, and you’ll have the place to yourself till this evening.”

She waited until he was out of the room and then dropped into a chair. She knew she was bleeding again. The pain was intense, but she couldn’t let him know. She must treat what she’d done as trivial, not worth serious attention. When she had allowed time enough for him to dress, she pulled herself to her feet and adopted her most serene manner and forced herself to move across the room, plumping a pillow, adjusting a flower in a vase. He would see there was nothing the matter with her.

He emerged looking stunning in a shirt he had designed for himself with a softly rolled Byronic collar and a dark suit of cashmere so fine that it molded to every line of his splendid body. The effect was elegant but somehow theatrical, as if he wished to mark his distance from the Washburns.

“Heavens, dearest,” she said. “You still look much too young to be able to be a father. I’ve been thinking about your little bombshell. Gerald. I think I’ve taken it very well, but remember what I told you once before. I don’t believe in the double standard. If that’s the way you want it, I could let myself be interested in other men.”

“Don’t be cheap, Clara,” he snapped. He hadn’t begun to punish her. She remained peculiarly invulnerable. What did she think she had up her sleeve? “Anyway, I didn’t mention Gerald. That’s your idea.”

She watched him leave. The door clicked behind him, and she dropped into a chair and released a sob and beat on its upholstered arms with her fists. Real tears streamed down her cheeks. It was fine for women like Fay, leading utterly empty and meaningless lives, to take their pleasures where they found them without worrying about the consequences. She was married to a genius, and she was responsible for guiding him around the pitfalls into which his weaknesses would lead him. Why did he suppose she had let her insides be torn up? For fun? He must know she wanted children as much as he did. But she wanted other things too. She had bet her life on him. So far she was a winner, but she had the right to see that the return matched the outlay. She hadn’t intended to go so far about David, but she felt circumstances finally permitted it. Walter was just climbing back from his failure, launching the project that would take the definitive measure of his genius. She had the right to a full partnership in the endeavor. David had outlived his usefulness, if he had ever had any beyond catering to Walter’s soft, ambiguous side.

She took a deep breath and shook her hair back and pulled herself to her feet. She dragged herself into the bedroom and began to get out of her clothes, preparing herself to cope with the bloody swab she was supposed to replace.

Walter pushed the bell beside his in-laws’ familiar front door, hoping that behind it he would learn the truth and find it possible for him to forgive Clara. Driving uptown in the taxi, he had tried to pin down her motives but had remained at a loss. Apparently her old jealousy of David had been revived during his absence, but would she risk wrecking their marriage to vie with David for power? Her father must have encouraged her for some reason. It was inexplicable, but he had to know.

The door was opened by an aged but surprisingly affable butler. “Good morning, Peters,” Walter said and entered the massive dimness of the Washburn apartment.

“Welcome, Mr. Walter. Nobody told me to expect you, sir.”

Since Walter rarely bothered with a coat or hat and wore neither now, there was nothing to detain him at the door. “I just dropped in for a minute. Is Mr. Washburn in his study?”

“Let’s see.”

Walter followed the butler down the corridor to a partly open door. Peters knocked and opened it farther. “It’s Mr. Walter to see you, sir.”

“Oh, yes, of course,” a voice called from within. “Come in, my boy.”

Peters stepped back, and Walter entered a heavily furnished room with books lining the walls. His father-in-law was seated beside an empty fireplace with a book in his hand. He looked up and settled his glasses on his nose. “Good morning. I don’t suppose I have to get up for a young sprout like you. Sit down. Some sherry?”

Walter sat on the other side of the fireplace while Mr. Washburn gave the butler instructions. Walter looked him over, settling on his line of attack. He was a tall man and looked it even sitting down. In spite of his conservatively expensive clothes, he had a weathered look that Walter thought of as Western. He was bald, but his fringe of hair was spikey and untamed, suggesting the cowlick that Walter had seen in old photographs of him. Unlike the East Coast elite, he had no urbane aristocratic stamp. Walter would have cast him as a rich rancher rather than one of the city’s cultural leaders. They exchanged a look that made Mr. Washburn close his book and put it on a table beside him. They were served sherry. “That’s all, Peters. Close the door behind you.”

“Well, Aleck, I guess you know why I’m here,” Walter began.

“I wasn’t surprised to see you. I’m told everything went very well.”

“There’s just one thing I want to know. Did Clara make it clear that she was acting without my permission?”

“She made it clear she didn’t want you to know anything about it till it was done.”

“Then why did you help her arrange it?”

“I don’t think I follow you, Walter. Clara’s my daughter. She’s headstrong. I know she was capable of going ahead, with or without my help. I didn’t want her to fall into the hands of some quack. That seems a natural reaction.”

“But you don’t agree I had the right to have a say in the matter?”

Aleck Washburn shifted his big body and looked at the ceiling. “I don’t meddle in marriages, Walter. How was I to know the child was yours? Just because she said so? Have you thought about that?”

“No.” He was so taken aback by the suggestion that for a moment he couldn’t think of anything to say. “Did you have any reason to doubt it?”

“Frankly, no. Why should she lie to me about it? I just want you to see my position. Your manner is bordering on the offensive. I’m not accustomed to being called to account for my actions. You think I should have consulted with you rather than help Clara carry out a decision she’d already made?”

“That’s exactly my point.”

“It might be a point worth considering if this were an ordinary marriage, but it isn’t. Since you’ve raised the question, I’m sure you want me to speak frankly. You must know that we’ve never entirely approved of you as Clara’s husband. You came from nowhere, but because you were a talented young man and you were both of age, we were obliged to close our eyes to your obvious disadvantages. For the time being, that is. We aren’t obliged to keep them closed forever.”

Walter’s shock was so great that he didn’t know whether to get up and walk out or burst into tears of wounded pride. He did neither. He sat briefly numbed by outrage. He had come from nowhere? It was the view he took of himself; but when a Washburn said it, it didn’t sound the same. He thought of his parents. His mother had refused to come to his wedding (“We’ve never known people like that, and we don’t want to start now”), and he had been grateful for her tact. He suddenly hated himself for having given way so readily. He should have insisted on their coming and forced the Washburns to acknowledge the Makins as their peers. He wasn’t a snob. He had simply never felt that his background was relevant.

He sat back carefully as if sudden movement might break some balance in him. He wanted to hear everything his father-in-law had to say. “Would you like to tell me about my obvious disadvantages?” His voice was dark with intimations of a gathering storm.

“I don’t think we need to belabor it. Your attitude to life is dangerously individualistic. I value the restraints of tradition. There are things about you that are–shall we say?–suspect. I don’t suppose you’ll deny that your partner is a … what we used to call a ‘nelly boy.’ It’s an unsavory association for a man with a wife, especially now that it’s getting into the papers.”

His anger was given a simple focus. “My partner is my oldest friend. He’s also a close friend of Clara’s. I haven’t seen his name in the paper except in connection with our professional activities.”

“His name. Exactly. Friends of mine who know Broadway better than I do have explained the innuendoes that have been appearing about him recently.”

“Very helpful of them, I’m sure. There’s still something I don’t understand. He was my best man at the wedding. He’s been around ever since. Now all of a sudden he seems to have something to do with Clara’s having an abortion. Can you explain that?”

Washburn removed his glasses and held them to the light. He replaced them and turned them on Walter. “I’m a man of the world, my boy. I’m afraid one runs into this sort of thing more often than one used to. Not long ago my cousin Myrtle had the wool pulled over her eyes by one of these fellows. She married him, and less than a week after the wedding she caught him–maybe I should say, ‘it’–in bed with the chauffeur. He got out of town in short order, I can tell you that. And we didn’t have any trouble recovering the settlement Myrtle had been damn fool enough to make on him. I don’t know many reasons why a healthy woman would want to get rid of a legitimate child–insanity in the family, maybe? Or if she finds out her husband is a pervert? Wouldn’t you say that could be a reason?”

Walter’s fists were clenched. This was a day for hitting Washburns. The muscles of his jaws clamped his teeth together. A sick woman and an old man. He forced himself to relax. “By God, Aleck, I know you’re an older man and all that, but watch it. I’m beginning to want to knock those glasses off your self-satisfied face.”

“I’d be glad to waive the age difference. I think I can still take care of you, young fellow. You’re cocky for a man who hasn’t got much more than a dime to his name. I guess it must make you feel good to know that Clara’s the sole heiress to one of the country’s great fortunes. We take a keen interest in who
her
heir is going to be. So far, I’m not completely comfortable with the thought of your being in a position of such privilege and responsibility.”

“Goddamn you, Aleck! Have you forgotten who I am? I’ve accomplished more in five years than you ever will, even if you live to be 100, which I sincerely doubt.”

Washburn favored him with a forbidding smile. “You’re in no position to judge my accomplishments, Walter, however meager they may be. You’re still on the fringes. You’re getting ready to move into areas of real power, and you’re counting on the backing of some of the most influential men in the country–Ben Williams, Herb Altenthrope, Chris Morgenham–I know them all, and I know their attitude toward lilies. That sort is getting to be as much of a threat to this country as the commies. They’re all in cahoots, if you ask me. Now these men aren’t going to let the closest thing this country’s ever had to a national theater fall into the wrong hands. I admire your ambition, but if you turn out to be a flash in the pan, Clara’s apt to get disenchanted quickly. There’s when the differences in your background will begin to count. If your marriage breaks up, I wouldn’t want children to give you a hold on the family. Of course, when we got through with you, your rights would be nil, but why ask for complications? You understand my thinking?”

His anger grew and became exultant. He no longer had to keep up pretenses of courtesy or respect. “Thanks for making it so clear. You don’t give a damn about people. You actually see yourself as the head of a goddamned dynasty. You wanted Clara to have an abortion.”

“She wanted it, and it certainly seemed the sensible thing to do at this time.”

Walter leaped up, hoping that his father-in-law wouldn’t see that he was trembling. His movements were awkward with stress. He shoved his hands into his pockets to brace himself. “I ought to make a charge against you and that doctor for conspiracy. You’ve committed a crime. How would you like to go to jail, Aleck?” His voice was louder than he had intended and was rough with anger. He tried to match his adversary’s composure. “I’ll make allowances for you this time. Just don’t forget that my lack of background makes me quite indifferent to the traditions you probably think count more than decent feelings.”

“You’ll learn eventually that feelings don’t stand much chance against tradition. For one thing, Washburns don’t go to jail.”

“That worries you, does it?” Walter managed his most devilish smile, feeling that he had finally scored. “It should. But I won’t give you a chance to make any more dangerous mistakes. I’m going to forbid Clara to see you again. Has she known how you feel about me?”

“We’re no barbarians. We’ve tried to put a good face on it. I made it clear that I approved her decision yesterday.” Washburn rose, and Walter poised himself in case the older man had decided to “take care” of him. He longed for an attack. His lust to counterattack was almost obscene. He wanted to snatch the glasses off and beat his face to a pulp. Clara’s husband was a pervert, a lily? He wanted to make her father grovel at his feet and retract his words. He backed away from his enemy, the thoughts of revenge too sweet to trust himself within reach of him.