The Wrong Kind of Money (11 page)

“I believe they went out to answer a call of nature,” Cyril says with a tight smile.

“I see,” she says. And then, “Well, shall we have our coffee in the living room?”

“I'd like to see you for a minute in the library, Noah,” his mother says. “A little family business.”

And now the little group, reduced to six—Carol, Bill, Cyril, and the three younger girls—has gathered in the living room, as Carol pours coffee. “The Van Degan collection is really fabulous,” she is saying. “There are some eleventh-century bowls from the Sung period, for instance. Wouldn't it be great if the Met could get it all?”

“This is a beautiful room,” Bill Luckman says, “and such a wonderful building. I understand that Noah is president of the building's board. That's quite an honor.”

Carol makes a face. “I think he's finding it more of a headache than he bargained for,” she says. “I think he's grateful that it's only for a year.”

“The architects were Bottomly, Wagner, and White,” he says. “And do you know that after they did River House, they never designed another important building in New York? River House was their
Arbeit,
and their swan song.”

“What interesting tidbits of information you have at your fingertips, Bill,” Carol says.

But despite the attempt at light chitchat, the atmosphere in the room is strained and tense. Becka, Ruth's daughter, still looks uncomfortable. She would like to ask Carol who, after all, has known her mother longer and better than anyone else in the room, to tell her more about her mother. But somehow, in the presence of non-family members, this doesn't seem appropriate.

Perhaps, Carol thinks, Melody senses this. Melody suddenly turns to Bill and says, “Would you like me to show you the rest of the apartment? It's really awfully pretty.”

“I'd love that,” he says matter-of-factly, setting down his cup.

As soon as they have left the room, Becka leans forward and says, “Aunt Carol, can you explain my mother to me?”

Carol hesitates. Then she says, “I've been wondering why you decided to come here, Becka.”

“I didn't decide to come. She sent for me.”

“This is the door to the library,” Melody says, leading him across the long central gallery. “We can't go in there right now, because Anne's father and her grandmother are having a meeting in there. So. What did you think of them?”

“Who?”

“The Lieblings.”

He shrugs. “Pretty ordinary. Nothing sensational.”

“Not sensational enough for this new book you're writing?”

“Well, you know what Proust said—happy families are all alike.”

“It wasn't Proust. It was Tolstoy.”

“No, it was Proust.”

“Have it your way,” she says. “And this is what they call the blue guest room,” she says, holding open a door. “You didn't tell me you wanted to meet the Lieblings because you were thinking of putting them into a book.”

He smiles. “I guess I forgot to mention that.”

“Do you think that was quite fair?”

“All's fair in love and war,” he says with a little wink.

She gives him a sideways look. “Really? You disappoint me, Bill. I'd have expected a more original comment than that from the great writer.”

His smile fades briefly, then returns. He says nothing.

“You see, it puts me in kind of an awkward position,” she says. “After all, I asked if I could bring you tonight. The Lieblings are like a second family to me, and I've probably already told you certain things about them that I wouldn't want to see in a book.”

“I think they're a little more to you than a second family,” he says. “I think you're hoping they'll be your passport to a different sort of life.”

She ignores this, opening another door. “And this is Anne's bedroom …”

“Tell me more about the countess.”

“Poor Aunt Ruth. She's had a lot of problems. I'm sorry she ran out like that tonight. She can be quite sweet. But Nana Hannah tends to criticize her.”

“Does she always wear that thick pearl choker?”

“Quite often, yes.”

“She tilted her head at one point tonight, and I could see why. I saw the scars. The countess tried to slit her throat once, didn't she? See how observant I am?”

“Her romance with the count was pretty unhappy, I guess,” she says. “It's funny to hear you call her the countess. She's always been plain Aunt Ruth to me.”

“But I think she likes being called a countess, doesn't she?”

“I suppose so. But if you're looking for family scandals, there's sort of one there. When she married the count, he already had another wife.”

“I know all about that. That's not good enough. Too ordinary. Too long ago. I'm looking for real family fireworks. Current fireworks. Current fireworks that have never been written about before. That's what'll sell a book.”

“And I suppose if you can't find real family fireworks, you'll simply make some up.”

He grabs her wrist. “What do you mean by that crack?” he says.

She twists her wrist free. “Nothing. But I've noticed you get very touchy whenever anyone suggests that everything in
Blighted Elms
isn't based on fact.”

“It
is
fact. Anyway, with the Lieblings I've just scratched the surface. I'll be doing a lot more digging.”

“Noah didn't like you. I guess you noticed that.”

“Who cares? He's a cipher. It's obvious the old lady runs the show.”

“I don't think Nana Hannah liked you, either. Watch out, Billy boy.”

He stares at her.
“You
watch out,” he says. “Don't start playing any games with me.”

She opens another door. “And this is Noah and Carol's room,” she says. “They each have their own separate dressing rooms and bathrooms. Pretty, don't you think?”

“You know, I usually like girls your age, Melody.”

“Really? Why?”

“Because most girls your age have no history.”

“You think I have no history?”

“Maybe you do. But I also think you're busy writing a new kind of history for yourself right now.”

“Really? And this is the yellow guest room. It's the one I use. It has a small terrace with a river view. But it's too cold to go out there tonight.” She starts to turn away.

“I observed something else tonight,” he says.

“Oh? What's that?”

“You're in love with Noah Liebling.”

“What?
Don't be ridiculous.”

“Oh, yes. I can tell. You didn't say much, but you couldn't keep your eyes off
mein
host. Think you'd like to be the next Mrs. Noah Liebling? Is that it?”

“Nonsense. Noah is Anne's father, and Anne is my best friend. And I happen to be devoted to Carol.” She feigns a yawn. “You bore me.”

“What's that got to do with it? It's lucky for you that Anne has popcorn for brains. I observed that, too. You know what? I'll bet you do Anne's homework for her at college. I'll bet Anne would have flunked out of Bennington long before this if it weren't for you. Am I right? But Anne is too useful to you for you to let her do that—
right?”

“Wrong! You're so off base, Billy boy, that it's—”

“Listen. I know why you invited me here tonight.”

“I invited you because you said you wanted to meet the Lieblings! Now please—”

“But you had a little different agenda—right? You know that Noah has a little bit of an itch for you. You invited me here to make him jealous. Is there a better way to whip up a man's interest than to make him a little jealous? You like to use people—don't you?”

“Really
! You think I want to make Noah jealous of
you?”

“Sure. I'm a hell of a lot younger and better-looking than he is, aren't I? Aren't I being called one of New York's most eligible bachelors? Aren't I getting more column mentions than that asshole John Kennedy, Junior?”

“Your craziness is only exceeded by your vanity, Billy boy.”

“Sure, you invited me here tonight to build a little bonfire under Noah Liebling. And it worked. Of course he didn't like me. So this little dinner invitation was a little bit of a quid pro quo, wasn't it? Something for me, something for you.”

She turns toward the door. “I'm not enjoying this conversation,” she says. “Let's go back and join the others.”

“Not yet,” he says, and closes the guest room door behind them and turns the bolt. “Lucky for us, these old buildings are pretty soundproof.”

“Soundproof?” She steps away from him.

He seizes her hand and plunges it against his crotch. “I promised you a nice, big fat reward if you introduced me to the Lieblings. This is it, sweetheart.”

She pulls away from him. “That's not the kind of reward I had in mind,” she says.

“What do you mean? You as much as said so. ‘I expect a nice, big fat reward,' you said.”

“I never said that!”

“Liar!”

“Well, if I said that, I've changed my mind,” she says.

“This is what you've been wanting from the minute we met. You never fooled me once. You've been asking for this since you came over to me in the book department at Bloomingdale's. I read you like a book that afternoon. This is what you've been asking for, and now you're going to get it.”

“No!”

“What about all those phone calls when you were trailing me around the country? What was that all about? What about Cleveland and all that dirty talk? Almost every night on my tour.”

“I told you, I've changed my mind.”

“Don't hand me that. You got me here. You got what you wanted, and now I'm gonna get what I want. I want my quid pro quo.”

“You've gotten everything you're going to get from me!”

“Or are you just pissed off because I figured out what you're up to? Caught on to your little game with Noah Liebling?”

“Stop this! Stay away from me!”

“Not before I fuck you, sweetheart.”

“Let me out of this room!”

“Oh, you want to play a little hard to get? Okay, I can play that game, too. Let's have some fun.”

“I'll—”

He advances steadily toward her as she backs away. “You'll scream? Nobody'll hear you. Go ahead—scream. I'd like to hear you scream.” With one hand he seizes her wrist again, then her other wrist in his other hand.

“No! Stop!”

“I like a little—resistance.” Now he has both wrists grasped behind her in one solid grip, and with his free hand he is dipping deep into the front of her dress, pinching her breast hard, and at the same time forcing her with the weight of his body backward against the bed. “Give me a little more fight,” he says.

“Stop! You're hurting me!”

“Good. It's better if it hurts a little.…”

“No! Stop! Oh, help!” she cries at the top of her voice.
“Noah
—
help me
!”

But now he has her pressed against the bed with the full weight of his six-foot-two, one-hundred-eighty-pound frame. One elbow is jammed forcefully across her throat, and with his other hand he snatches up the front of her dress and seizes her panties and roughly grabs her pubic hair. “Finger-fuck you first,” he mutters in her face. “Warm you up.”

“No! Oh, help! Someone help!” she screams again.
“Noah
!”

But now he takes his left hand and covers her mouth, while the right hand gropes and twists her panties, pulling them down across her knees, and there is the sound of fabric ripping. His own knee comes up hard between her legs, spreading them apart, and his finger penetrates her, first one finger, then two, then three, and she twists her head to one side and bites down, hard, on the fleshy part of the palm of his hand. There is a gush of blood, and he pulls sharply away from her and looks down at his bleeding hand. “You bit me, you little bitch!” he whispers. He says this in a tone almost of wonder and bewilderment.

“I told you to stop. I meant it,” she says. Blood trickles from her mouth, and she spits it out.

He reaches into his jacket pocket for a handkerchief, and quickly wraps his bleeding hand in this. Then, in almost the same movement, he reaches into another pocket for a cigarette, and lights it with the gold lighter. Lighting his cigarette, his hand trembles, and he glares down at her with a look of purest hatred. “What did you want me to do?” he demands. “Did you want me to rape you? Is that what you wanted?”

“That's what you tried to do.”

“Liar! That's one thing I've never had to do, thank God. But you wanted it. You know you wanted it. Why'd you ask me into your bedroom if you didn't want it? Why'd you make your bedroom the last room on the little house tour?”

“I told you. I changed my mind. Woman's prerogative. But this is a real first for you—right?”

“What do you mean by that?”

“It's the first time a girl has said no to the great Bill Luckman—and his big, fat cock. Well, frankly, it didn't feel so big and fat to me.”

He steps toward her, and his right hand, still holding the cigarette, swings suddenly in a wide arc, and he strikes Melody hard and sharply across the face. Hot ashes from the cigarette fly into her eyes, and she cries out again. “Take that, you little cock tease!” he says. “I'll get even with you for this, you know.”

“And I'll see to it that you never write anything about the Lieblings,” she says.

He turns toward the door, unbolts it. “You're going to pay for this,” he says. “I'm going to see to it that you keep paying for this. Writers work with words. I'm going to have the last one.”

“And it was
Tolstoy,
asshole!”

He lets himself out of the room, closing the door behind him, leaving Melody sprawled, dry-eyed, across the bed.