Treasures (11 page)

Little more than a year ago he had predicted how long it would take him to double his income. He had expected it to take a few years, but it had already happened. He positively astonished himself! Business was big now, really, really big; it swelled like a balloon. One client, more than satisfied, recommended another. From real estate czars came theater people, a big-time boxer, a rock-and-roll singer, rich Park Avenue widows—anybody and everybody. He kept their money growing and his own with it.

Heading into the spring sunshine and filled with such thoughts, he almost bumped into Connie on Fifty-seventh Street.

“Whatever are you doing here in the middle of the afternoon?” she demanded. “And with that twinkle on your face? You look like the cat who swallowed a canary.”

“Shopping. You don’t think women are the only ones who can take an hour off to go shopping, do you?”

“What are you buying?”

“Silver. I’m collecting.”

“For investment, I take it.”

“Well, it is an investment, but I’m doing it for pleasure too. I’m also collecting ivory carvings.”

“And where do you plan to put all this stuff?”

“Come on with me and I’ll tell you. I’ll take you to tea at the Plaza. I worked right through lunch, and I’m starved.”

Having settled himself into the restful shelter of the Palm Court, from which the hectic streets seemed to be miles removed, he explained, “I’m still waiting for the right co-op to come along, but in the meantime my new place isn’t all bad.”

“I should think not.” Connie sounded almost indignant, he thought.

“But I’ll need more money than I want to spend now if I want the perfect place on Fifth with a view of Central Park.”

“Very wise of you, as always.”

Eddy squeezed lemon into his cup, raised it, and studied his sister over the rim. Then, aware that, for some inexplicable reason, she was angry, he gave her his most appealing smile and set the cup down.

“There’s something wrong with you. You’re either mad, or sad, or both.”

“Nothing’s wrong.”

“I’m inclined to say sad.”

“No, I said.”

“Yes. I’ve sensed something different these last few weeks. You’ve lost your glow. I’m used to seeing you glow.”

“Glow!” she mocked.

“Maybe,” he said gently, “you need a job. You’re too smart to be doing nothing.”

“Shall I go back to selling dresses? No thanks! I want to qualify for something in the art world, a gallery or auction room. That’s why I’m taking art courses. But that’ll take time, a lot of time, and even then I’ll need to be lucky.”

She fell into silence, a silence all the more glum because of the surrounding low-voiced chatter, the pleasant animation, of the teatime gathering. He could not know that she was regretting the caustic tone she had taken and was ashamed to be envious of her beloved brother. He had succeeded at everything he had ever tried. If there were pleasures to be had anywhere, Eddy would have them. If there were things to be known, he would know them. Yet nothing could have induced her to reveal herself to him, and this was the first time in her life that she had been unable to ask Eddy about anything at all. But he could not know that.

Still very gently, he ventured a tentative question. “Is there anything wrong between Richard and you?”

“No, no, what makes you think that?”

“I only asked. I like Richard. He’s bright and interesting and certainly seems to be kind.”

“He is kind.” And then she blurted her complaint. “It’s so expensive living here! I didn’t expect it to be like this.”

“It surely is. But it also depends on the way you want to live. Who your friends are has a lot to do with what you expect.”

“Well, I want a decent apartment, that’s all. I hate being cooped up in that cramped little box. You should understand. You got something better for yourself, didn’t you?”

“Don’t forget I’m making money, not living on a fixed salary. Even a good one like Richard’s doesn’t go far after taxes. The thing is, you have to know how to manage your money and make it grow.”

“And just how am I to do anything about that?” she asked impatiently.

“You know,” he said, “I’ve been doing great things for strangers. Tax shelters, arbitrage, futures, whatever. So why shouldn’t I be doing something for Richard too? I’ve suggested it, but he’s not interested, which doesn’t make any sense.”

“He’s keeping his grandmother’s trust with the same bank that the family’s been with for three generations, that’s why. You’d think they were married to the bank.”

“One can be too conservative, letting the money lie there doing next to nothing. I never can get over how you have to prod people to do things for their own good. Take Davey. Now, thanks to me, he’s got his patent approved, and I’ve made him a loan so he can establish credit for a mortgage. He tells me he’s found a neat little building in good condition and he’s begun to hire help to get started. They should be in production by fall. If I hadn’t pushed, he’d be just where he’s always been, doing absolutely nothing with his great idea. And Lara would be wasting a very good business head, which I’ve always told her to use. But I had to push, literally push. The two of them always think they have enough. And somehow, they do! You know,” he mused, “when I think back to the way we lived at home, the way Peg managed, I don’t understand how she did it. It’s funny how fast you get used to having more and then how the more never seems to be enough either. Almost, but not quite, enough. Funny.”

“Yes,” Connie said soberly. “Funny.” And she looked
down at the skirt of her violet wool suit and at the spring-green silk cuffs of her blouse.

Eddy followed her glance. “That’s a good-looking outfit.”

“Thank you. Richard saw it in a window and brought it home.”

“He has good taste. Listen. I’m going to call him. There’s no sense in his creeping along when it’s possible to fly.”

“You’re a good soul, Eddy. With all your faults you’re a good soul.”

Connie patted his hand, and he knew that her anger had vented itself.

“Well, I try. I’ll have my little talk with Richard next week.”

“This is a nice office you’ve got here,” Richard said.

“But it’s getting way too small. Look out there.” Eddy indicated the rooms beyond his private office. “We’re falling all over each other.”

“Out there” was a vista of four rooms packed with desks edge to edge and piled with a jumble of telephones and computer terminals, all under the care of various young men and women in a harried hurry.

“Not that I’m complaining, by any means,” Eddy assured Richard. “We’ll just have to move. But between ourselves, I sometimes marvel at the growth. Where does it all come from?”

“You’re a likable person, Eddy. You’re open and frank. People have confidence in you.”

“Thank you, brother-in-law.”

“You and Connie—you’re the same. Full of energy. Full of life.”

“Well, life’s exciting, isn’t it? I never think I’ll live long enough to see everything I want to see or do everything I want to do, especially in this business. Sometimes I think I actually feel the adrenaline pouring.” Eddy riffled through the documents that lay before him. “Let’s see, have you signed all these? Yes, you have. I’m glad you’ve finally cut your ties to that stuffy bank. Steady growth, my foot! Eight percent, and what’s left after taxes? Wait till you see your tax bill at this year’s end! You won’t recognize yourself, Richard.”

“I was wondering whether you might do something like this for some cousins of mine. There’s one in particular in Florida. He’s got five children, and it’s a struggle. I don’t believe he’s ever invested in a limited partnership. It might be just what he needs.”

“By all means. Call him up. Want to use the phone now? I’ll leave the room.”

“No, no, Eddy. I’ll do it at home tonight. Come to think of it, I could get up a whole list of people, friends in Texas and people in my office too. You’d be helping them, and I guess they’d be helping you. That’s the way it works, isn’t it?”

“The way it works.” Eddy was pleased. “And I’ll appreciate the new business very much. It’s awfully generous of you to go to so much trouble.”

“What trouble? Anyway, people in families are supposed to do for each other, aren’t they? At least in Texas they are.”

“In Ohio too,” Eddy said cheerfully.

Richard stood up. “Well, it’s been a good day. I feel I’ve made a good start. Now I’m off for home.”

“And I’m off to the country. Spending the week at the club. I give myself a week’s vacation twice a year. I need it.”

“Great. Have fun. You deserve it.” The men shook hands, and Richard left.

“What a decent guy,” Eddy thought. “There’s something innocent about him. You wouldn’t think he came from Houston. You’d think he came from a two-horse town like mine.”

The club had quickly assumed the feel of home. When a young man, a not bad-looking young man, has a sense of humor, plays excellent tennis, is a good dancer, is friendly, and has some money, he can be at home anywhere, Eddy reflected as he lay alongside the pool.

On his left the golf course, a glaze of summer green, undulated toward some distant bushy hills. On his right below the terrace stood the line of umbrella tables, brightly orange. A lively chatter surrounded him.

“Gosh, it’s beautiful!” he exclaimed.

His friend and favorite tennis partner answered with a deprecation.

“You think this place is? I can show you a club that makes this look like a dump.”

“Not possible!”

“Oh, yes, it is. This place is vulgar, if you want to know. Nouveau riche, and it shows.”

Eddy set his cold beer aside and came to attention. “If it’s that bad, how come you’re a member?”

“Frankly, because they wouldn’t take me into Buttonwood. I’m nouveau riche.” Terry laughed. “And not all that ‘riche’ either.”

Now Eddy wanted to know more. “What are the differences between the two? Give me an example.”

“Oh, I don’t know. It’s the people, I guess, the way they look, who they are.”

“How do you know all this?”

“My sister married a member of Buttonwood.” Terry laughed again. “She married up. I’ll tell you what, I’ll ask her to get two girls for us and invite us to their Saturday dinner dance. It’ll be a change, it’ll be fun, and you’ll see for yourself what I mean. All right with you?”

“It’s fine with me,” said Eddy.

Buttonwood really was different. Age and elegance, a slightly sober elegance, registered their immediate impression upon Eddy’s sharp eyes. The house had very likely been the summer mansion of some railroad, oil, or banking tycoon back in the 1890s. No contemporary decorator had had anything to do with this dark, carved paneling or these gently faded English chintzes.

Apparently, no contemporary fashion dictator had had contact with the women either. They looked, he thought at once as he followed Terry through the crowd on the porch, they looked—well, underdressed, might one say? At his club on Saturday night the women glittered in jewels and dresses fit for an opera ball, jewels and dresses such as one saw in the Sunday papers’ society photographs.

Terry, having found their party, was making introductions.

“And this is my good friend, Eddy Osborne.”

The sister was a cordial older feminine copy of Terry. Her husband, whose name Eddy had not quite caught—it sounded like “Truscott”—was thin and bald; he had a lordly manner and cold eyes. He dislikes me, Eddy thought at once. To hell with him.

The two young ladies, Marjorie Somebody and Pamela Somebody, were both tall; they had attractive faces and straight hair fastened with barrettes. Preppie types; one saw their photographs shining in the newspapers and glossy magazines, taken at garden weddings, dog shows, and gymkhanas. One wore white linen, and the other yellow.

Since Terry, who was after all entitled to first choice, had immediately opened conversation with the yellow one, Eddy was left with the white one.

“I’m Pamela,” she said, giving him a quick smile, “in case you’ve gotten the names mixed, for which I wouldn’t blame you.”

That was nice of her. He had indeed thought that the other one was Pamela.

“You have no drink,” she said.

Truscott—or was Truscott the last name?—overheard. “There’s not much time for drinks. You’re late as usual, Terry.”

“I know. I’m sorry, but I come here so seldom that I forget the way.”

Touché! There’s no love lost between those two, Eddy thought. Unexpectedly, he met Pam’s eyes. They were
laughing.
Old prude. Icicle.
Her lips formed the words silently. He winked, she winked back, and he went in to dinner feeling rather happy.

An older couple, almost certainly the Truscotts’ original guests before Terry had invited himself, was at the table. This other gentleman, whose name mumbled by Truscott sounded like “Ripley” or “Brearley,” was apparently a stockbroker, because Truscott and he launched at once into an informed discussion of the market. Eddy was torn between the attractions of Pamela and the attractions of that discussion. “Federal Reserve,” “gross national product,” and “earnings ratio” kept crossing the table to meet his ears.

Finally, he had to express an opinion. There had been a moment’s pause between the two men, and he took advantage of it.

“I couldn’t help but hear,” he said. “You’re right, there’s no doubt about hotel stocks or limited partnerships in hotels. This is the new age of travel.”

Truscott’s cold eyes stared at Eddy’s striped tie. “It’s good to know you agree with us,” he said.

“Are you in the market these days?” asked Ripley, or Brearley. His tone was kindly, as if, Eddy sensed, he wanted to atone for the other man’s sarcasm.

Terry gave a boom of a laugh. “Oh, slightly, just slightly!” Shaking with his delight, he turned to his brother-in-law. “Osborne and Company? You’ve never heard of Osborne and Company?”

“Certainly I have,” Truscott answered stiffly. “Is—”

“He is. Vernon Edward Osborne himself.”

Truscott flushed. “You didn’t say—”

“I know. I introduced him as Eddy, which is what he’s called.”

“Well, I’m certainly happy to know you,” said Truscott, recovering. “I had no idea—”