The Americans

by John Jakes

  “I must say I was surprised when you wrote to tell me you’d dumped the other girl. The one with the pedigree who was going to make Ward McAllister forget you were Gideon Kent’s son—”

  They started out of the Grill Room. Carter added, “I assume the social standing of Jo’s family is equally good.”

  “They have no social standing. They’re shopkeepers in Hartford, Connecticut.”

  “Oh.” For a moment Carter seemed intensely interested in the glowing end of his cigar. A passing woman distracted him. “Althea! What a treat to run into you again.”

  “It’s been too long, my dear,” the woman said, her tone faintly reproving. She was an attractive woman, buxom, expensively dressed, and obviously older than Carter.

  He kissed the hand on which she wore her wedding ring. Then, as she moved on, he returned his attention to Will, and said in a low voice, “That woman has the most incredible body I’ve ever seen—and vast experience in using it. Otherwise, she’s a stupid creature. Bitchy temper, too. I overlook it because of her—ah—professional expertise.”

  Will forced a smile, but it was uneasy. “You make her sound like a—like a thing, not a person.”

  Carter gave him a puzzled stare. “She’s a woman. She has servants to cook and keep her eighteen-room house. With those feminine functions taken care of, what else is she good for except lying flat on her back? I was enjoying her a couple of times a week till her husband got back from a European business trip. It was doubly pleasant to cuckold him because he’s a Republican.”

  They left the restaurant and made their way to the marble-floored promenade. The promenade overlooked a large ulterior court protected from the weather by a glass dome. Hacks and private carriages came and went through an arched portal leading to the street. The place had a lush smell. Plants grew in tubs, and there were trellises heavy with tropical flowers. In the distance, a string ensemble played a frothy waltz.

  Will said nothing. He was assimilating his stepbrother’s last remarks, and finding that he didn’t like them. Carter’s unfeeling cynicism angered him, hurt him, too, somehow. Of course his stepbrother was showing off a little. But it was sadly evident that he’d changed.

  “You said Jo’s family isn’t socially prominent,” Carter resumed. “If that’s the case, I assume they’re at least respectably wealthy. It won’t hurt to have one fortune added to another.”

  Will turned to face his stepbrother. “I didn’t marry her for money. She doesn’t have any.”

  “Contacts in Hartford, then?” Carter responded with another smile. “That’s it, isn’t it? She has the sort of contacts that enable you to practice successfully right away.”

  Slowly, Will rubbed a palm across his mouth. He didn’t want to provoke an argument. And yet he couldn’t remain silent. “Carter,” he said softly, “try to understand something. I didn’t marry Jo to use her. I married her because I love her. She’s the most important thing in my life now.”

  It was Carter’s turn to look sadly puzzled. “Surely not, little brother. A man’s ambition comes ahead of everything. Or should. That’s a fundamental lesson I learned long ago. Beyond that, if you care too much for a woman, you’ll find it will distract you from your ambition.”

  A sour, quirky smile spoiled his good looks for a. second. “You’ll also find you’ve been a fool. Women should never be worshiped, or trusted. Just used.”

  Will drew a long breath. “I don’t agree.”

  “I see.” Carter’s repertoire of smiles was a large one; this variation was icily dismissive. “Well, it’s not my affair any longer.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It is your affair.”

  “How so?”

  “I made you a promise once.”

  Carter responded with a slow, thoughtful nod. “That’s right. A promise that you’d be somebody and make sure everybody knew it.”

  He drew smoke from the cigar, turned away, and sat down in one of the deep upholstered chairs with which the promenade was furnished. He crossed his legs, gazed up at his stepbrother, and finished his thought. “I’ve never forgotten. But I was beginning to think you had.”

  ii

  “This is very difficult for me—” Will began.

  “Don’t feel that way, little brother. I suspected something was on your mind. Whatever you came to say, say it. Let’s not spoil our reunion any longer than absolutely necessary.”

  The bitter note was unmistakable. What hurts had Carter suffered in all those years since Will had last seen him? What wounds was he trying to cover with the scar tissue of cynicism, mockery, indifference?

  Noting Will’s hesitation, Carter continued. “Perhaps I can make it easier. I gather from what you’ve said about Jo that you don’t think as you did at the time I left Boston. You don’t think it’s important to be successful—or recognized as successful.”

  “It isn’t important to me.”

  “Then we no longer think the same way.”

  Sadness overwhelmed Will when he saw the contempt in Carter’s eyes. A moment later, though, he found himself growing annoyed with his stepbrother.

  “No,” he said, “I don’t believe we do.”

  Carter studied him. “What happened, may I ask?”

  A truthful answer would have been, I started listening to my conscience instead of you. But he couldn’t say that.

  The string ensemble was playing “Tales from the Vienna Woods.” Further down the promenade, a woman laughed. With a ring of hooves and a rattle of traces, a splendid victoria arrived in the court. He could only hear his stepbrother’s voice prompting him, “What happened, Will?”

  “I went my own way, that’s all. Circumstances change as you grow up. You encounter new people. New ways of looking at things—”

  “Granted. But only a fool loses sight of his goal. On my first night in San Francisco, I wandered the street. I was sick, feeling low, and wondering how the hell I’d ever get anywhere in life. But I never forgot where I wanted to go. That night I met a man who put me to work in politics, greased me into the local Democratic machine, and made it possible for me to hobnob with Willie on an equal footing again. The point is this: a chance meeting opened a door I hadn’t seen before. But if it hadn’t been the right kind of door, I’d have stepped back. No one’s committed to poverty or obscurity except by his own choice.”

  “I recall some letters you wrote when times were hard. You sounded a lot less positive then.”

  Anger flickered on Carter’s face before he looked away.

  “Anyway, I disagree with you,” Will went on. “I know people who will struggle all their lives, but they’ll never be able to escape poverty and obscurity.”

  With a scornful shrug, Carter said, “Who are you talking about? People in the slums?”

  “Exactly. I’m going to practice in a slum—as a matter of fact, possibly the worst slum in New York.”

  iii

  So there it was. Out at last. Carter couldn’t maintain his derisive smile. His stunned disbelief was too strong. “For your own good, I refuse to take you seriously.”

  “Ask Jo. It’s her brother’s practice that I’m joining.”

  “Good God. I can’t believe this. Not after the promise you made me.”

  “Carter, please—understand. It was the wrong kind of promise. Wrong for me, anyway.” He hated to say that. He saw the glacial look it brought to his stepbrother’s face.

  “You really have changed,” Carter said.

  “We all do.”

  “Not I!” Carter blustered, as if he weren’t quite sure of that statement. He stabbed his smoldering cigar into a sand urn near his chair, then rose. “I still want what I wanted the day I left Boston. To give orders instead of taking them. I’ve found the way. I’ve learned a lot in a year’s time. I’ve learned how to buy votes, and when and how to force others to do what I want. I’ve watched Willie use a newspaper to turn the public against the Southern Pacific
or any other person or institution he dislikes. I’ve taken every one of those lessons to heart—and a lot of others that might shock you. And I’ll tell you this. I won’t be buried in a political grave in this town. The reformers are yapping after Buckley like hunting dogs, but they won’t catch me.”

  With uneasy admiration, Will said, “You have it all planned, eh?”

  “Indeed I do, little brother. Obviously you don’t.”

  Will thought of his wife, and his voice grew stronger. “To the contrary. I know how I’m going to spend my life. I’m afraid it’s a much less impressive plan than yours.”

  “I agree.” Then the mockery was quickly replaced by an intense concern. “Will, you had every chance—chances I never had—and you’ve thrown them all away. The slums, for Christ’s sake!” He shook his head, starting to pace. “Who’s responsible? Is it your wife’s doing? Apparently she’s not as bright as I first thought— ”

  Will stiffened. “Carter, please don’t say any more.”

  He didn’t seem to hear. “I’m afraid something must have beclouded your mind—”

  “Carter.”

  “—when you decided she was the person you should marry. You were certainly wrong about—ah!”

  Afterward, Will could recall little about the moment except his sudden surge of rage. He’d lunged out of his chair, run at his stepbrother, and driven a clumsy punch into the green waistcoat.

  Carter’s midsection was solid. But Will had taken him by surprise. After his outcry, he doubled, dropping his stick. It rolled on the marble, clattering as he staggered away.

  He braced himself against a pillar to keep from falling. Heads turned. A hotel bellman rushed toward them. Carter’s slashing left hand ordered him back. The bellman hesitated, then walked off.

  Will was still trembling. “You can say anything you want about me. But never say a single word against Jo. Never.”

  Carter straightened, composing his face. He dusted his waistcoat and retrieved his stick. Only then did he speak.

  “If it were anyone else but you, little brother, I’d probably send a couple of rockrollers to break your head for what you just did. This meeting has been a terrible disappointment. I always thought you’d amount to something. Obviously someone’s filled your head with that pious garbage the Kent family has been purveying for several generations.”

  A word about your duties—

  “Yes, that’s partly it.”

  “Well”—the cynical smile crept back—“it’s very nice stuff for newspaper editorials. Unfortunately it has damn little relevance in the real world. If you’ve swallowed it, I’m sorry for you.”

  Silence for a moment.

  “Carter—”

  “What is it?” he said without looking up. His gaze was fixed on his right sleeve, which he was carefully brushing with his other hand.

  “I was feeling apologetic in the Grill Room. I don’t feel that way any longer. What you say is wrong. I don’t know what’s made you so hard—”

  Carter raised his stick as if it were a pointer. “Practical, my boy. Practical!”

  “—but I think you should be on notice.”

  “About what?”

  “If you ever do go to Washington—”

  “You can count on it.”

  “—and if I have anything to say about the policies of the Union, you’d better not expect automatic support from me, or the family. America has enough exploiters and manipulators already. We don’t need more—especially not in the government.”

  Carter snickered. “My God, how naïve you are. What do you think a government is—a city government, a county government, any government—except a pack of manipulators and exploiters? The game is to get all you can from the trough while convincing the rest of the hogs to be highminded instead of hungry.”

  Disgusted, Will turned away. He saw Jo watching from the entrance of the promenade. How long had she been there? Had she seen him strike his stepbrother?

  The sight of her eradicated his anger. A weary sorrow overcame him again. “I think we’d better call a halt to this.”

  “I agree.”

  “Look, I’m sorry I hit you. If we can’t be friends, at least we needn’t be enemies.”

  Carter’s hostile expression softened slightly. “That isn’t how you sounded a minute ago. Obviously the past no longer means much to you.”

  “It means a great deal. It always will. You helped me stand on my own feet. I couldn’t have done it alone. I can’t begin to repay that debt—”

  “You could by amounting to something. By refusing to swallow all that rot about Kent family responsibility—Kent family idealism. It’s bullshit, Will. Pure sentimental bullshit. I tell you again—it has no application to the real world.”

  Will shook his head. “I think it’s the only thing that makes the real world bearable. And maybe a little better year by year.”

  “You’re wrong. Forget it, I tell you!”

  “I can’t.” He drew another breath. “And if that’s the price you put on friendship—”

  “Yes?”

  “The price is too high.”

  With a grieving look at his stepbrother, Carter said, “You poor damn fool.”

  “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” Will managed to say. With great effort, he held out his right hand. “Friends anyway?”

  Carter looked at him and seemed on the point of shaking hands but then used his stick to tap Will’s outstretched palm.

  “I’m afraid not, little brother. Friendly enemies is the best I can do. Goodbye.”

  Will watched him go. In the court, Carter approached a liveried doorman, his old, charming smile in place. As Will walked down the promenade to rejoin Jo, he heard his stepbrother call out cheerily, “Whistle up my rig, will you, Trevor? I’m late for a meeting of the county committee, and someone’s got to tell the simpletons how to vote.”

  iv

  With an anxious look on her face, Jo came rushing to meet him. “I stayed away because I saw you and Carter quarrelling. What went wrong? You were looking forward to this reunion so much—”

  “Not as much as I pretended. I’ll try to explain what happened, but I’m not sure I can.”

  How do you explain that to live with yourself, you had to break a promise?

  “Will we see him again while we’re here?”

  “No.” He realized he was immensely relieved.

  “But you always thought so much of him—”

  “That was a long time ago. We all grow up.”

  He flexed the fingers of his right hand. He would feel a lasting regret about hitting his stepbrother. But Carter had, after all, invited it with his churlish remarks about Jo.

  Well, they had served warning on each other. If there was friction in the future, so be it. The Carter Kent of yesterday was not the Carter Kent of today and, sad though that was, Will would accept it.

  Jo would make it much easier. Looking into her eyes with boundless affection, he leaned forward and scandalized two elderly ladies by kissing her on the mouth. “We all grow up,” he said again. “Thank God.”

  v

  The following weekend, William Randolph Hearst’s yacht Aquila left San Francisco harbor and steamed south toward Senator Hearst’s 48,000-acre Piedra Blanca ranch. The ranch was an old Spanish grant in San Luis Obispo county; it had been raw land when the Senator purchased it, but now there was a spacious ranch house on a slope above the sea, and even a sturdy wharf jutting into San Simeon Bay.

  Since the run down the coast was just about two hundred miles, Willie frequently took excursion parties there for long weekends. It could not be said that his guests were his friends. He had few; Carter was one of the chosen. Mostly—as on this occasion—those traveling aboard the superbly appointed yacht were associates and employees from the paper.

  They had weighed anchor at eight in the morning. As the yacht steamed south in the light Pacific chop, a splendid breakfast including broiled trout, chicken in
wine, and rum omelets was served to the ladies and gentlemen in the main saloon. Competitors, and even the Senator, often called the free-spending young publisher Wasteful Willie, but when it came to generosity to his employees, their permanent mistresses, or temporary female friends, no one minded that he was extravagant.

  After consuming a third glass of champagne, Carter rose from the table. Willie had told him earlier that he wanted to speak privately. As they left the saloon, the waspish Mr. Bierce was explaining his employer’s theories of journalism to a reporter from Seattle.

  “—you see, Templeton, the difference between your indifferently successful paper and ours is Mr. Hearst’s understanding that stupefying news events do not happen every day. Yet what we wish to publish—every day—is stupefying news. We therefore create it.”

  The guest looked skeptical, while a pretty, genteel and well-dressed girl seated near Bierce watched admiringly. She and Willie exchanged glances as the young publisher went out with Carter. Willie had found Tessie Powers waiting tables in a Cambridge restaurant. He had kept her during his undergraduate days. Following his dismissal from Harvard, he had brought her West and installed her in his fine house on a Sausalito hillside.

  On deck, Willie swung his walking stick in a relaxed way. He had a whole collection of them, including a trick one which whistled. Carter had adopted the fashion for himself. Two elegant young gentlemen, they strolled forward to Aquila’s bow. Willie looked little different than he had at Harvard. More prosperous, perhaps, but physically, he had hardly changed.

  Carter felt nervous. What was this all about? The flawless morning, the spectacularly beautiful California coast slipping by, the sense of being surrounded by fine, influential friends—all these paled because he knew something was on Willie’s mind.

  At last Willie said, “I don’t want to spoil the trip with an endless discussion of the city we left behind, so let’s conclude our business now and enjoy ourselves.”

  Frowning, Carter said, “I didn’t know we had business to conduct.”