Echo House (11 page)

Billie had met Axel at one of her parents' dinner parties, an agony of bland food and polite conversation, two ambassadors, an admiral, someone from the National Geographic Society, their mousy wives, and Axel Behl. Her parents always liked to have someone younger to liven the table. In fact the young man was expected to listen and contribute only when asked. The talk that evening was spirited, if you were interested in the midterm congressional elections. Axel spoke only once, to observe that the Republicans would retain control of the Congress but that the young New York governor would win the presidency in two years because the economy would fully collapse. If Frank Roosevelt won the nomination, he would win the election and take the Congress with him, and the twelve-year drought would end. The company listened to him respectfully, and then pounced.

No, no, it was much too early to tell.

Roosevelt was a cripple.

Hoover would see things through.

Her father told a story. The admiral told another story.

Axel listened polite y; then when a lull came turned to Billie and asked her which character she liked best in
The Great Gatsby.

She said Daisy, of course, because with all her faults she was the one who was truly alive. She was not "nice." She used people. But, really, all she wanted was some excitement and affection, someone to care for her.

But she married that oaf, Axel said.

Sometimes people do. Marry oafs.

She could have married Gatsby, Axel said.

Gatsby didn't want a wife, Billie said. He wanted a slave.

He wanted her on a pedestal, Axel said.

It's cold on a pedestal, Billie replied. And it's hard to keep your balance.

I thought all women wanted to be on a pedestal, Axel said.

That would depend on the woman, wouldn't it?

When he laughed, she saw that he was not the cold customer that she had assumed he was. His laugh came from deep in his throat and he was looking at her all the while through the deepest black eyes she had ever seen, or anyway noticed. She could smell his aftershave and the wine on his breath. His hands were huge and when he touched her wrist, she did not pull away but moved closer, intrigued. She was flattered that he had turned to her and asked about Gatsby, not wondering if she had read the novel but assuming that she had and would have opinions about the characters. Conversation rose around them but they occupied a private zone inhabited by Nick Carraway, Gatsby, Daisy, and Tom.

And you, she said at last. Who's your favorite? As if I didn't know.

Not Gatsby, he said.

Surely not Nick—

Nick's a bore, Axel said. Nick Carraway spends too much time wrestling with his conscience and losing. I prefer Jordan Baker.

Billie had to think a minute, trying to recollect Jordan Baker, Daisy's friend. You mean the golfer, she said.

The golfer who was caught cheating, Axel said.

"Some unpleasantness," Billie remembered.

She moved her ball, Axel said.

And what happened to her?

Nothing much. But she's the most unhappy person in that deeply unhappy book.

Because she cheated? Billie asked in surprise.

That, too, Axel said. Everyone has to look out for themselves, you see.

The party broke up at ten-thirty. When Axel asked if she would like to go to his club for a nightcap, she said yes indeed, she thought she would. She had noticed her mother looking at her strangely, and now she remembered the conversation in the living room before everyone arrived, how well-mannered and smart and attractive and potential young Mr. Behl was, and how much she would like him if only she would give him a chance. She had not paid attention, because she and her mother had different definitions of "smart" and "attractive" and what constituted potential and the value of good manners. Axel Behl seemed to be a man who had different speeds for different ages, and for men and women as well. Billie blushed when her mother nodded happily and said she'd leave the light on and not to worry about the hour and thank you ever so much for coming to dinner, Axel.

I'll bet you five dollars that Frank Roosevelt never wins another election, her father said with a huge guffaw, shaking hands with Axel and patting him on the back as if he were already a member of the family.

Remember us to your parents, her mother said.

Billie thought she had made a terrible mistake. But in the car Axel took her hands in his and allowed the silence to gather, looking at her with his black eyes and smiling thoughtfully. Then he gently pulled her toward him, letting her know that if she resisted he would stop at once, no harm done, except for the irretrievably lost moment, and how many were there in a lifetime? She didn't feel like resisting, so they kissed and kissed again, his hands quietly on her back pressing her close until she could feel the beat of her own heart. This was so exotic and unexpected, necking on the street beneath flickering gaslamps within sight of her bedroom. The night was balmy. He took off his coat and unbuttoned her dress and suddenly she was barechested and he kissed her again.

She had never been undressed in an automobile, but she liked the sexy carelessness. This was something Daisy Buchanan would do, not with college boys or the oafish Tom but with Gatsby himself, her true and only love. College boys were all thumbs and urgency and you never felt secure with them. She liked the light of the streetlamps on her breasts while a few yards away the good people of Georgetown were preparing for nighty-night. When he put the car in gear he did not turn in the direction of his club but north to Rock Creek Park, driving very slowly through the deserted streets. In a moment they were swinging into the driveway of the famous Echo House. She was still bare-chested, leaning against him, feeling his soft shirt against her skin. She kissed his neck. Seconds later they were moving hand in hand through the front door and across marble floors into the kitchen and up the back stairs to his big bedroom, where they tumbled to the floor and began to undress each other slowly and then make love more slowly still, until the very end of it when they were flying.

Of course she was swept away. Who wouldn't be?

The affair burned for a summer, and then it didn't burn. Axel was working, Axel was in Cuba, Axel was on business in New York, Axel had an evening meeting, Axel had accepted an embassy dinner, Axel had promised an evening at home with Constance and the senator. Billie heard stories that he had been seen here and there, always with an attractive woman on his arm, older women, younger women, short, tall, blond, brunette women. And wasn't that Axel to a T, never serious about anyone, never faithful to anyone. Axel Behl was absorbed in his work, his whatever-it-was at the State Department, and women were an inconvenience. Axel had too many irons in too many fires. He was one of those organized men who didn't need women, Alice Grendall said.

Billie didn't think she was in love with him, and she couldn't imagine marriage to him. She was mightily attracted to him, the way he looked and moved, and his command of things. He sailed through life with the confidence and élan of a young prince. He had the mystery of one, too, as if Echo House were the capital of some vast and turbulent realm that required constant supervision. When he told her he would be away for a week, New York and then Chicago, she said that as it happened she was going to Chicago also, to see her aunt. He thought a moment and asked her to join him on the Twentieth-Century Limited. She could see her aunt, he could do his business, and they'd rendezvous and complete the round trip together. There's nothing like a fast train, he said.

She did not tell the story for many years, and she and Axel discussed it only once, to no satisfactory conclusion. Axel humiliated her in the most public way, the humiliation greater because he seemed to have no recognition of it and took no responsibility for it. When she reminded him,
You were a bastard to me, Axel, an absolute bastard,
he professed confusion and ignorance; and then he conceded yes, perhaps he had behaved badly but he had no choice, given the situation. From the flustered look on his face she was convinced he was apologizing only to have done with the conversation. If he apologized, he would not have to explain. And this was also true. If she had not known him so well, she would have said, at that moment, that he was frightened of her.

He said he would be late so it was better if they met in the bar car. When she arrived thirty minutes before departure, she was surprised to see his bags already in the compartment, his clothes neatly hung in the tiny closet, his razor and shaving bowl and aftershave and comb laid out on the basin. She tipped the porter and changed into her traveling ensemble, a clingy print dress and the gray cashmere sweater he had given her, no jewelry except for the plain gold bracelet. She lit a cigarette and stood for a moment looking out the window at the platform traffic, men in business suits and fedoras, women in furs, everyone hurrying though there was plenty of time. She was happy and excited, thinking of cocktails in the bar car and dinner later, and returning to the compartment, the bed turned down and welcoming. By then they would be in Ohio. She had bought him a little clock at Peacock's and placed it on the basin next to the aftershave.

When she opened the door to the bar car, she could not see him. There were two men reading newspapers but neither of them was Axel. Then she heard his voice at her elbow. He was out of sight at a table backed up to the barman's pantry. She could see his shoe and his black sock with the narrow ribbing.

You wouldn't like it, he was saying.

How do you know? The voice was a woman's, a low, teasing voice.

It's a haunted house, he said.

Ghosts? she said. Bats? The dead rising from their graves? What?

It sits high on a windswept hill. The wind howls at night. There's a cemetery across the street.

She said, Gosh.

I can't believe you've never been to Washington. Come to Washington; I'll show you the sights.

Tell me about the sights, she said.

Such sights. Washington is like Venice except that we have boulevards instead of canals. They are the widest boulevards in America. We have an obelisk. We have—bell towers. We have grand palaces. We have intrigue. Do you want to visit the White House?

I wouldn't mind, she said. Do I get to see the haunted house, too?

Permit me to give you the guided tour. It has eight rooms on the first floor. The rooms diminish in size until you get to the broom closet. It has an Observatory with a telescope. Like roses? My father cultivates roses. He has a rose named after him.

That's what he does?

When he isn't in the Senate, Axel said.

He's a senator?

That's what he does, Axel said.

Does that mean you'll be a senator, too?

No, it doesn't.

Good, she said.

You don't like senators?

The Senate would not become you, she said.

It's very formal, he agreed. It's tedious. But the vacations are long.

I suppose you work for the government?

I have an office there, yes.

In the White House, I suppose. So you'd be at the center of the intrigue.

The Department of State, he said.

What do you do at your Department of State?

Raise money for Franklin Roosevelt.

Doesn't he have money of his own?

He's running for President.

He is?

Yes, Axel said.

Will he win?

Do you think he should?

I have no idea. I like his wife.

Will you come to Washington then?

Yes, of course.

In the little silence that followed, Billie tried to collect herself. Their voices had lowered until she had to strain to hear. She stood as still as she was able to, listening to their inane conversation. The words bore no relation to their subjects. Axel and this woman were seducing each other, and he had told her things he had never told anyone. She did not know he was raising money for Franklin Roosevelt. She had never heard him compare Washington with Venice, a ludicrous idea. She wondered if he had come on board with this woman or had picked her up in the bar car. Probably he had met her somewhere in Chicago. She recognized his tone of voice because it was the same tone, breathless yet edgy, that he had seduced her with.

I don't know your name, he said.

Sylvia, she said.

Axel Behl, he said. I never met a Sylvia before. You're my first Sylvia.

Billie watched the barman approach.

Axel, Sylvia said, and gave a muffled laugh. What's your sign, Axel Behl?

My sign?

Of the zodiac, she said.

Lion, he said.

Ram, she said, laughing again.

The barman said to Billie, May I seat you, miss?

I belong here, Billie said, looking around the corner of the pantry to the table where the lovers were. The woman was very young, nineteen or twenty, an age that did not go with her voice. She was very pretty in an exotic way, not at all Axel's type. This Sylvia was a recognizable New York type, well-built, with short fair hair and too much jewelry, an aggressive manner. They did not look up when she appeared around the corner, the Lion and the Ram tête-à-tête across the narrow table. Their fingers were touching and they looked as if they had been there together for a century. Axel began to speak again, so softly that Billie could not hear what he was saying. He was talking into her eyes and as he spoke he moved his fingers slowly across her bright red nails. Her head was tilted slightly as she looked at him, her chin in her palm. The barman shifted awkwardly but still the two did not move, absorbed as they were in their own zone of enchantment.

Sylvia was the first to notice that they were no longer alone. She raised her eyes and looked first at the barman and then at Billie, her eyes narrowing when she saw Billie, whose hand rested now on Axel's shoulder. The barman asked if he could serve them a cocktail or a glass of Champagne or perhaps they would prefer to see the list of mixed drinks and he would return to take their orders when they had decided, certainly no hurry, take all the time you need—