They both were dressed in their wet clothes again before Mr. Phipps and his astonished secretary arrived. She was meant to take Lily aside and get the story from a woman’s perspective. Now, you do know what I mean by the word “molestation”? Lily nodded. And how about the word “rape”? Lily nodded again. I know those words, she said. We’re all clear here, Mr. Phipps, his secretary shouted. Going off to the nurse, now, sir.
A week later, Lily began classes at the Little Flower, a tiny international school for girls in South Kensington run by the Ursuline nuns. And she slept in the guest room every night, because she could no longer tolerate the sickly green lights off the army’s courtyard. Only with the curtains drawn and the comforting dip in the mattress holding her body could she fall asleep, signaling to Lawrence through the shortcut back streets to his high bed at the Dorchester that she didn’t blame him at all; she only missed him.
19
He’d just settled at the baccarat table at the Curzon House Club with drunken Oliver Cordier, the director of sales Paris when Kimpton came over and leaned in like a waiter, Sir.
Nick pulled back his chair, waving to Oliver to continue without him. Kimpton said, Mr. Lewis has asked me to convey a message.
But?
Kimpton handed Nick a folded piece of paper and bowed very slightly.
Nick opened the embossed ivory sheet and read: Kiddo, going back tomorrow. Nothing more for me here. Come say good-bye.
Nick looked to Kimpton as if he could explain, but he wore the same mask as when he was dealing blackjack. Okay, thanks, said Nick and shoved the note in his pocket.
They played until about midnight, Nick on a very short but elegant streak, then Nick poured Oliver into a taxi and walked over to the apartment where Harry was crashing. Some Hong Kong–based friend of Lionel’s with a pied-a-terre tucked away in Shepherd Market. Nick had been once before when the lift was out of service and Harry was too drunk to climb the stairs alone. Mostly he remembered the lit vitrines, recessed glass-fronted shelves with tiny pre-Columbian figures that in the eerie bluish lighting seemed to haunt the place. Other than that, several white sofas and in the only bedroom a vast bed raised on a mirrored plinth with a black fur spread.
He rang the buzzer and waited for Harry, but it was Vivienne who answered. She opened the door wide and stepped back in a pose. He could see she was very high by the way she held her head, an exaggerated backward tilt, eyes twinkling and fixed.
Hello, hello.
Surprised? she said and pushed her slim hips against his as she kissed one cheek then the other. He put his hand to her face. Don’t you look—
Marvelous?
Yes, he said. But she didn’t. She looked rickety and gray-faced. She’d cut some jagged new bangs close to the hairline. Tight black curls now fell just to her chin. He’d been putting her off and lately she’d stopped calling.
Maybe you just miss me. She twirled around as if to show him a new outfit. He’d seen it before. A pale-blue knit dress, with black lace stockings and a black velvet choker. Her boots made them nearly the same height. She leaned in to put her nose against his, which took more coordination than she had available. Lover, she whispered and he kissed her with some tenderness. She was a good kid. He’d been stupid here.
She tried to draw him inside the foyer and closer to her. Wait, he said. How did you get here?
Not exactly off the map.
It’s kind of you to give Harry a send-off.
She shrugged, eyes closed. He’s not so bad.
Ah, well, Nick smiled. Let’s head up.
All in good time, she said. Then did what she always did and pressed a hand to his dick and let the satisfaction of the result come into her face. Hello, hello to you, and she pulled him to an alcove on the other side of the lift. A place where people stowed tied bags of trash until morning. He could smell potato as she lifted the hem of her dress and yanked down the lace tights. Wait a minute, he said.
Don’t think so, and she pressed her back into the wall and spread her legs wide. A black lace hammock stretched out at her knees.
He put his hand between her legs and held still, as if covering her up, slowing her down, shielding her from something.
What are you doing?
Nothing.
She looked confused. Her eyes, so dilated the blue was erased, filled with a sudden sorrow.
Harry shouted down from the fourth floor. What the hell’s happening down there? Vivienne, did you swallow him?
When they reached the top landing Harry stood in the doorway to the flat. About time, Nicky. Thought we would die here waiting for you. He nodded toward Vivienne. The party that is.
But there wasn’t much of a party. A slender man with a puff of pink hair and kohl under his eyes bent over a low Moroccan table where a backgammon board was midgame. He sorted out a variety of pills in a blue dish then carefully placed two on his tongue, eyes closed, chased by what looked like a gin and tonic. Yeah, we got very antsy here waiting for you, so we’re playing games to pass the time. This is Chandler Bader. Chandler, Chandler man, open your eyes.
The man stood, carefully, as if assessing each separate limb for stability. This was almost comic and Nick smiled.
Vivienne’s killing us here with her moves, said Harry.
That’s right. I’m crushed. Chandler patted his sleeve as if to indicate where all his resources had once been kept. Yeah, only Harry here’s keeping me alive.
Least I can do, said Harry, before the Vivienne cat takes you down completely. He looked at her thighs, the twist of black lace now askew. He let his eyes trail up her body, land on her small visible nipples floating in and out of the deep loose neckline. He took a slow inhale as though standing in a field of flowers and smiled. But Nick knew this was all a show. Vivienne was far from Harry’s interests. He wasn’t sure why she was here at all, except to irritate him. He should have told Harry he’d moved on, but Harry probably knew that.
Apparently Vivienne was winning. I’ve got them both on their hind legs. So to speak. Yeah, we’re on to objects now, she said.
Objects?
Right, but not talking any bodies, said Chandler, not that kind of object. There’s been a little bit of a drought here on that level. Except darling Vivienne, of course, but she was waiting for you, mate. Yeah. So we’re betting stuff. Cash is boring. Chandler closed his eyes again and tilted down into the sofa as if knocked sideways by boredom and Nick laughed. He was that far gone.
I’d like to crack the glass on that shit, said Harry, pointing to the lit vitrines. There’s some cute bits of gemstone, did you know that, Nick? Take a look. But then, I’d have no place to stay when I come back.
Nick nodded. This was a mild threat. Don’t think you’re done with me.
I don’t like little rocks, said Chandler. Forget it. Vivienne here bet a dog. Some kind of corgi named Eli. Can you see it?
You bet your dog?
Not mine. My mother’s.
She won, she won. Don’t get all perturbed, mate, said Chandler. Anyway, I’m not sure I really wanted a dog. Yeah, she won my guitar, a really good handmade satin jacket, and also a little diversion with my drummer, which will be a snap to arrange.
What happened to the no-bodies rule?
Not really, Nick, said Vivienne. The diversion’s just a laugh.
She sat knock-kneed across from Chandler on the edge of another white sofa and bent close to the doubling cube as if to reorient herself to the game in progress. There was a banked fire going. Nick realized that Harry had filled the grate with American charcoal briquettes. What, are you crazy?
A little atmosphere, Harry said. So Vivienne here. Hidden talents, kiddo.
Nick had never seen her play before. She smiled up and said, I’m really, really excellent, Nicky. Watch me.
He sat next to her and the sink of the sofa, the scent of charcoal, the muffled knock of the rolling dice on felt, all relaxed something as if he’d been walking for miles. He took a long swallow
of the vodka Harry handed him, eyes closed. It tasted like toothpaste. What is this shit?
Peppermint, right? My house specialty.
Give me something human.
Name it.
But Nick didn’t know what he wanted, maybe just sleep. Chandler was shaking the cup hard. You’ve put a hex on these things—he rolled—hell! I knew it.
Vivienne nodded, pleased, as Chandler made awkward use of a bad roll. He was exposed on two points. An easy triumph, she won his gold-studded belt.
Strip backgammon? Nick asked.
Nah, like I said we got sick of money. He slid the thing out of the loops and Vivienne slung it over her shoulder like a bullet belt.
What’s next. See, we’re doing categories. It’s all very organized.
Yeah, we already did furniture and Vivienne here won the sofa you’re sitting on.
Comfy, right?
Nick nodded. They won’t welcome you back, Harry.
Listen to the schoolmarm.
Let’s do boats, said Vivienne, clapping her hands.
Fine by me, Chandler said. Catamaran?
Vivienne purred, Stake me, Harry?
No boats, he tapped his pockets. What about you, Nicky. You must have a boat or two stashed away.
He did. Nick opened his eyes long enough to say, Boston Whaler. But his tongue was sticking to the roof of his mouth and he tried again.
Perfect! said Vivienne and kissed his hand. Nick sat up for a minute and saw Chandler keeping a vigil on Vivienne’s neckline as if waiting for her breast to tumble out of the vee, always a drama. Chandler tracked the movement of her nipples until he took a sip of his drink and that erased the interest. Who goes first? Come on.
Here, Nicky. The glass of champagne in Harry’s hand looked refreshing and he took it and drank it down. The coolness woke him up a bit.
You sure about boats, now. What about jewelry? Harry said.
Love it, said Vivienne. She raised her wrist and flashed a slim diamond bangle. In a burst of guilt, Nick had given it to her. She grinned and he reached over and touched her wrist. The strange claw marks were healing mostly well. Vague white and pink lines in the skin made an awkward star now visible only in good light. Right after Thanksgiving he’d tried to end things. They were eating scrambled eggs in her bedsit and she’d scraped at her wrist so savagely with a fork he had to wake up Cecil Bathrick in the middle of the night so he could stitch her up. Nick bought her the bracelet and said it was a bandage and then stopped returning her calls.
Whatcha got, baby, said Harry, and Chandler looked flummoxed. Don’t sweat. Here you go. Harry jimmied a gold jewel band, Cartier, off a thick wrist. Nick knew this came from Lionel. A joke, but a serious one. If he lost it, Harry would probably have to steal it back. By the time the doubling cube had been turned twice, Nick was lying back into the deep cushions, then he tipped over sideways and wrapped himself around the back of Vivienne’s hips. The charcoal smelled delicious and he dreamed of a sweet summer beach day, the waves high and crashing around him, but he could still stand.
Sometime late in the night the category went to houses. Chandler wrote up a note on crumpled card for a mews house in Kensington. Free and clear, he said. And sweet as a candy ass. Vivienne’s bedsit wouldn’t fly, and Harry couldn’t put up the Shepherd Market flat as much as he wanted to. Nick woke up just long enough to stake her. In the end he had to offer New Jersey in a scribble on Chandler’s folded card because, as Harry pointed out, Grosvenor Square was only a ninety-nine-year lease. Nick dozed off again before Vivienne could kiss him with gratitude. And a little while later, for the first time all night, Chandler found his luck.
The next day Tania was floating on the tops of her toes; Nick could feel her fluttery presence in the doorway to his office and wanted to hurl something. Walk like a human, he said. He needed something for his head, which was remarkably bad. It was already midafternoon and he’d just arrived, barely able to walk here. Maybe Harry had slipped something in his drink. Not beyond him in the least. If only he could figure out the trick to undo it. Maybe not coffee.
What is it, Tania?
A Mr. Richard Howe to see you, sir.
Who?
Richard Howe, of Benson, Howe, and Drury, sir.
What’s it about? Nick looked up from his useless coffee and waited for some recognition. He didn’t know the name.
He said he’s here to organize a title transfer? Mr. Howe estimates approximately twenty minutes initially, provided the documents are readily available. Would you like me to find something for you?
Nick stared for a minute. Oh Christ, he finally said. No, get Mr. Lewis on the line.
Very good.
A minute later, he picked up the phone. Harry, he said, laughing.
I got two minutes, Harry said. More like seconds. The driver here is breaking my luggage. The handle’s right there for godsakes. Just use it. I’m gonna miss my plane fucking with these guys.
Richard Howe.
Who? No! The trunk goes freight. You got to watch every minute here. Every minute.
Harry, who’s this lawyer waiting in my office? Howe.
Ask Lionel. I never heard of the guy before.
I don’t get it. Nick could feel his chest begin to tighten. Lionel’s advising you on title transfers? For what? Chandler didn’t know what the dice were for.
Well, Chandler, idiot that he is, won the last round. Did you doze off? I thought you were just being peaceful. You left on your own steam, believe me. Lionel is just helping out. Put the fucking briefcase down, you moron.
Lionel’s helping Chandler?
You don’t want to screw around with this, Nicky. You don’t need me to tell you that. Just follow the dots. And who’s to say Lionel won’t be open to, I don’t know, a trade or something. Talk to him. You know he’s just trying to get your attention. Ciao, baby. Love to the wifey.
Tania was back in the doorway, waiting for direction. Nick stared at her. This was all very stupid, a stunt. Richard Howe was probably a waiter from Mimmo’s in a rented suit. But why would Lionel go after the house? Even as a feint. An easy puzzle to solve. Take what Jean loves most and watch Nick jump. That Clyde had put the house in Nick’s name had been a mistake. You’re the one pouring in the cash to fix it up Clyde had said. Sounded rational, but very unlike Clyde. Though what wouldn’t Nick give to Jean. Anything that was his she could have and more and Clyde knew that. The only thing Clyde had ever liked about him.
Yeah, Nick said to Tania. The file that has all the Jersey stuff, bring that. And maybe some ice water.
Right away.
He felt the the top of his desk. It was a good choice, a sleek pale wood. When it arrived from Italy, four workmen came with it from Milan just to see the screws properly tightened after shipping. It was simple but extraordinary and he could see these things; he could recognize this kind of beauty.
And call Lionel, he said.
Excuse me, sir?
Place a call to my brother, please. And tell Mr. Howe I’ll be a few minutes.
Soon Tania was on the intercom. Connected, sir, she said, but it was Kitty who was on the line. Oh, Nicky, we’re sleeping. Junior howled like the house was on fire all night long.
She’s psychic.
What’s that, Nicky? She’s gorgeous, even in tears, but we’re all zonked. Lionel walked her up and down Third Avenue until four in the morning!
How are you, Kitty? Isn’t your mother still with you?
Yes, but sometimes only Lionel can settle her. Funny, right? I don’t know if I can wake him. He just fell asleep.
But she tried and in a few minutes Lionel was on the other end sounding like he’d swallowed knives. Christ, he said.
Who’s Richard Howe?
It’s still dark here. You ever think—
It’s ten o’clock. What’s the game here, Lionel? You think I’m going to sign over the house? That’s ridiculous.
I’m not the ridiculous one here. Who’s staking a stoned
-out twat?
Nick smoothed out the wood on the desktop and sighed, changed his tone. It’s Jean’s house, and Lily’s.
Yeah, well. That’s very hard.
Just tell me what you want. Why all this crap with Harry. Why do all this. It’s stupid.
I don’t want anything. What could I possibly want from you. Anyway, nothing you couldn’t do in a coma. Just come and talk to me.
I don’t think so.
Fine. Walk away. But I mean from all of it.
Nick closed his eyes. It felt like his brain was swelling inside his skull. Harry had certainly put some garbage in his drink.
Sign the note, said Lionel. Right now.
That’s not friendly.
Friendly? I tell you what’s friendly. Book a flight. Come be godfather to Junior like you promised. So she can finally be fucking baptized. Maybe then she’ll stop screaming through the night.
Nick sighed.
Mrs. Ivy will make her famous sour cream coffee cake. It’s worth the trip.
Nick didn’t answer.
And I’ll tell Mr. Howe I’ve decided to postpone.
Postpone? You hate the Jersey Shore.
Mrs. Ivy spent a lot of happy times there in her youth. Belmar? Spring Lake? I don’t know. This is the stuff she tells Junior in the middle of the night. It’s like she’s got a vision or something.
Nick could picture the house as he’d first seen it, right after the wedding, a stinking dump and Jean’s deep, surprising joy. The years she’d spent and all she’d done for the one place she’d deemed essential. London was only a holding pattern; she ached to go back. No, there would be no fresh starts on this. He knew that.
Nick called out to Tania. Will you put Mr. Howe on the telephone with Lionel?
Good boy, said Lionel. Nick put down the receiver.
20
They were counting the minutes until Christmas vacation at the Little Flower and no one cared about meeting a new girl. By her third or fourth day, Lily came home and told her mother it was for backward girls, just like the Clury School, for kids with real problems.
Her mother looked at her for a long time. What can I tell you, Lily.
The Loved Ones Page 17