Contrary Pleasure (17 page)

She was beside him, laughing. “The
winnah
! Now
we try the high hurdles.”

“High hurdles. I can’t even climb out of the pool.”

She
eeled
her way out and bent over and offered
her hand. He took her hand, braced himself, and flipped her over his head into
the pool behind him. He scrambled out quickly as she came up, sputtering. He
took his towel over and stretched it out beside hers and lay down. She made a
face at him and swam by herself for a time, varying her stroke with each length
of the pool. He lay with his cheek on the towel, watching her, enjoying the way
she looked, the slim, tanned arms reaching up out of the dancing, green water,
flashing droplets in the sun. The sun was drying him, hot on his shoulders.

At last she climbed out of the pool and came over and sat on one of the
shabby rubberized pads and dried her hair vigorously with her big, yellow
towel. She offered him one of her cigarettes and he took it, leaning forward
for the light.

“You’re pretty white, Brock. This sun will cook you.”

“I tan easy.”

“Do you work inside or something?”

“I’m not working. I’m loafing. I… got out of school a while back.”

“You graduated? You don’t look old enough to—”

“Sophomore year. Where are you in school?”

“Southern Cal. I was in my freshman year. But I dropped out in February.”

“Going to go back?”

She seemed uneasy. “Nothing’s very definite right now, Brock.”

“I think I’ll try a different school in the fall. What have you been
doing since February?”

“Traveling, mostly. Daddy died four years ago. We were in Mexico for a
while.” Her uneasiness was quite pronounced. She was pouring lotion into the
palm of her right hand, unselfconsciously greasing her long legs.

“Hope you’ll be around awhile.”

“I hope so too. Mother gets restless. Here, you better use some of this
goo.”

He took the bottle. “Thanks.” The sun had warmed the bottle. The lotion
had a sleek texture. He greased his arms and legs and chest and shoulders and
began trying to spread it on his back.

She held her hand out for the bottle. “Roll over. Let me.”

He lay on his stomach, cheek on his forearm. She poured lotion on his back,
spread it, and rubbed it in vigorously. Her hand felt capable and good. It made
him sleepy. He heard the small sound as she recapped the bottle. He sighed. He
felt as if he were drifting. There was sun glare off the pool water, bright
against his closed eyelids. He moved his hand so that it shaded his eyes.

When Betty Yost awakened him, he didn’t know where he was for a few
moments and then realized that he was peering stupidly at her, dazed by sun and
sleep.

“That,” she said firmly, “is quite enough sun for you for one day, Brock.
A quick swim and then you go get dressed.”

“I must have been exciting company. Why didn’t you roll me into the
pool?”

“A kind heart. The others wanted to. Clyde especially. I wouldn’t let
him.”

“You’re not sore at me?”

“Why should I be? I guess it was… sort of restful.”

He still felt sheepish. After they took a quick swim and climbed out of
the pool, he said, “Have you got a date or anything tonight?”

She looked at him speculatively. “Mother may have something planned. I
don’t know. What sort of thing did you want to do?”

“I don’t know. Outdoor movie. Ride around. Eat something at a drive-in.
I’m not too money-heavy.” She had kept her hair out of the water on this last
swim. He liked the reddish glint of it in the sun.

“Could we make it Dutch?”

“We don’t have to do that. I asked you.”

“I’d rather. Come over to the cottage after you change and I’ll ask
Mother. We’re in the second one.”

“I was going to go home like this. The clothes I wore are all damp, and I
haven’t fixed up a locker yet this year.”

“Okay, why don’t you walk on over with me right now.”

They walked to the cottage. There was a deck chair in the late afternoon
sun. Mrs. Yost took off her sunglasses and smiled in a formal way. She was a
long, thin, brown woman with a simian face and black hair cut unbecomingly
short. There was only a vague resemblance between mother and daughter.

“Mother, this is Brock Delevan and he’s asked me to go out with him.”
Brock was astonished. Her words had come out in a confused rush. She acted ill
at ease and years younger. All her quiet poise was gone.

“How nice, dear,” Mrs. Yost said. Her voice was practically a baritone.
“I’ve met your sister, Brock. Lovely child. It’s so comforting for Betty to
meet some nice young people.” There was a subtle accent on the “young.”

“Mother, I just wondered if—”

“Don’t just stand there dithering, child. Run in the cottage and bring
out more chairs.”

“No, thanks, Mrs. Yost. I want to go back to the house and change. Is it
okay if I take Betty out?”

“If you don’t, she is certainly going to have a dull evening. I’m going
out to a dinner party. Can’t you see she’s happy as a clam that you asked her?”

“Mother, please!”

“Have I said something wrong again, dear? I want you to have a nice date,
dear. A nice gay young uncomplicated date with this nice boy.”

Betty was looking down at her toes. “Please,” she said in a barely
audible tone. The tension between them was almost frightening. There were
undercurrents of things he did not understand. It made him feel awkward.

He used a voice that was too loud and too cheery. “Well, suppose I stop
back in about an hour, Betty. Will that be okay?”

“That will be fine,” she said, glancing at him, her eyes suddenly warm
and grateful.

“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Yost.”

“Delighted to meet
you,
young man. More than I can say.”

He left them there. The anticipation of the date with Betty was partly
spoiled by the odd scene. He couldn’t understand what had happened. There was
something between them that was not right. And it was tied up, somehow, with
Betty’s uneasy manner when he had been asking her about school. He wondered if
Ellen would know anything about it.

It was three o’clock on Thursday
afternoon when Benjamin Delevan sent word that he wanted to see Mr. Quinn
Delevan in his office immediately. Ben knew once word was sent that he would
have to follow through with it. It was something he did not want to do. Yet
there was information he would have to have. Important decisions must be made
only when all relevant and obtainable information is in hand. An old rule and a
good one.

Irritably, impatiently, he got up from his chair and stood at the window,
looking down into the yard. He could see an edge of the loading platform where
finished bolts were being hand-trucked into a red express-truck trailer. He
remembered mechanically that it would be the rush order for Rochester, going
out on time.

“You wanted to see me, Ben?” The voice was hesitant.

“Shut the door and sit down, Quinn.” His voice was heavier than he had
intended it to be. When he turned around, he saw a look of nervous alarm fade
quickly from his half-brother’s face. He wondered what Quinn had been up to,
then decided that it was probably just the urgency of the summons.

“What’s on your mind, Ben?”

Ben sat behind the desk. “I want to talk honestly to you, Quinn. Maybe I
never have before. Something totally unexpected has come up.”

“Yes?” The voice and question were guarded.

“This is under your hat. Don’t tell anybody. Bess or anybody. I’ll do any
telling that has to be done. One of the big firms in the industry wants this
mill, A merger arrangement. A stock exchange, share for share.”

Ben saw the flicker of relief and wondered at it. Quinn rubbed his chin,
his eyes puzzled. “I realize that you have to think of all the angles of a
thing like this, Ben. I mean it might be advantageous or something, but after
all, this place has been in the family for three generations, and we are making
a profit. I’d say we were pretty healthy right now. What are the details?”

Ben waited a moment. Then he said softly, “I don’t want to hurt your
feelings, Quinn. If I do, it isn’t without reason. I see no reason for giving
you any details. You wouldn’t understand them. I don’t need any help in coming
to a decision. I’ll make the decision myself. I didn’t call you in here for
advice.”

“I resent that, Ben! I resent being told that—”

Ben went on remorselessly. “I’ll give you some more things to resent,
Quinn. If you want to resent them. I’ve never talked this way to you before. I
should have, I guess. A long time ago. You’ve been in the place for sixteen…
nearly seventeen years, now. You still don’t know what the hell it’s all about.
There’s no responsible job I can trust you in. Oh, you know all the technical
words and you can use them the way a parrot would use them. You have routine
duties that should take you not more than an hour a day. You make them last all
day. About once a month you come to me with what you call an idea. Most of
those ideas of yours give away the fact that you don’t know the first thing
about our operations. I don’t know what you would have been suited for. It
certainly wasn’t this business. This business seems to bore you. You’re lazy.
Family firms always seem to have one or two around like you. You put on the
big-executive act. Outside the gates you’re a big wheel. Maybe you even believe
it yourself. I doubt that you do, somehow. Yes, we’re making some money.
Because I’ve been carrying this place on my back. You are dead weight. If you’d
been able to share the load, we might be making more. You are one of the
luxuries the firm supports. Your salary comes right off the top of the net. But
useless as you are, you are a factor I have to consider because you are my
brother. Without me carrying you, what will become of you? That’s what I have
to know.”

Ben paused, realizing that tension had made him go too far, had made him
state the truth with a finality that was too ruthless. Quinn was one of the
weak ones. There were a lot of them. They were like those little men in parades
who carry big banners. Until the banner with its brave paint becomes confused
with the man himself. And because the banner is top-heavy, it is very easy to
knock it out of unsteady hands.

Quinn stood up and wavered and caught his balance. “You can’t… say things
like…” His face was moist chalk.

“Please sit down,” Ben said gently.

Quinn sat down. His color was a little better. “You always had to run
everything. I know that. Nobody else could do anything right.”

“You may be right, Quinn. It might be my fault. But that doesn’t change
anything. If I let the mill go, we’ll both be out.”

“You too? But—”

“I’m not a team man. They’ll bring in nice, orderly team men, with big
books about policy and methods, and when there’s any doubt, they look it up in
the book. They won’t run this place the way I would. I want to know about you,
Quinn. You’ll have a house and two cars and no savings and a hundred and
something thousand worth of stock. You’re thirty-six. If it wasn’t for the
responsibility of David, maybe you and Bess could pull your horns in far enough
to get by. But I doubt that. You have a well-developed taste for luxury,
Quinn.”

Quinn leaned forward. “I don’t see why you even think of giving it up.”

Ben felt the return of anger. “You don’t! You don’t! My God, just because
it’s gone along so far, you think it goes on forever or something. Three
fair-sized bad guesses in any fiscal year and this thing comes down out of the
sky like a bucket of boiled rice. Because you can’t kick the buildings down
with your bare foot, you think it’s here for eternity. Does the big sign on top
of the plant comfort you or something? Damn it, man! You think I wanted to come
in here in the first place? I had to, because there wasn’t anybody else. Wilma
and I had other plans for my life. I’ve spent a lot of nights lying awake,
sweating about this place. I’ve got jangled nerves and bad digestion—Oh, the
hell with it!”

Quinn was looking down at his clasped hands. “Maybe, Ben, you…
underestimate my contribution. I mean, I think the contact work I do helps us
quite a bit. The trips…”

“Do you know why you haven’t been down to New York lately? Because
Delahay
risked his job to write me a personal letter
begging me to keep you away from there. He said he had to spend too much time
patching up the damage. He said you treated his big accounts as if Stockton
Knit was doing them a favor dealing with them. Stop kidding yourself, Quinn. Go
play golf all you want, but at least have the honesty to stop implying that
you’re being a big help to me out there on the fairway. I didn’t mean this to
turn into a squabble like this, but you act so damn blind.”

“Why are you doing this, then? Why are you doing this?”

“Because you’ve got to make some kind of a plan for yourself and tell me
what it is. Because I don’t like the idea of being retired for five years and
then suddenly finding out I have to support the three of you. Because it’s a
factor in my decision.”

“So… I’m some sort of a joke around here. A big joke.”

“Don’t go off on that tangent. All that phony tragedy, Quinn. Let’s not
get melodramatic.”

“The most constructive thing I could do would be drop dead.”

“What kind of a remark is that?” Ben said, feeling very weary.

“There’s the insurance, isn’t there? The business insurance.”

Ben leaned forward and banged his fist lightly on the desk top. “Will you
please, please stop looking so noble and blighted and get off this self-pity
angle. I’m trying to wake you up.”

“Thanks. Thanks a lot, Ben.”

“I give up. Probably things will go on the way they always have.”

Quinn stood up. “That’s where you’re wrong, Ben. They can’t ever go on
the way they always have, no matter what you decide.”