Language in the Blood

by Angela Lockwood

  ***

  Charley stayed in America for two months. When he came back, he looked older and tired.

  ‘Did you get me anything?’ I asked, cheerfully.

  ‘Screw you! Did you get me anything more like?’ he asked, smiling.

  ‘I could make Hope disappear in return for that Fabergé egg if you asked me nicely.’

  Charley gave me a quizzical look. Perhaps I had spoken with too much gusto. I quickly went on. ‘Anyway. How was America?’

  ‘Of course Mummy wanted me to stay, help my older brother run the business. But Mummy knows I’m no good at running a business and my brother is a serious bore!’ He headed straight for the drinks cabinet. Prohibition time America must have been hard for Champagne Charley.

  ‘Did Hope come back with you?’ I asked him.

  ‘She insisted. I think the silly girl is actually in love with me,’ he said, leaning back in his chair with a large whisky in his hand.

  ‘She’s not bad looking. Very dainty and sweet,’ I commented.

  ‘Dainty and sweet! A minute ago you were offering to kill her!’ he cried in mock horror.

  ‘I said disappear not kill. There is a difference,’ I said defensively.

  ‘Explain, Cameron. How were you going to make Hope disappear without killing her? I’d like to hear that option,’ he said, raising his eyebrows questioningly.

  ‘I could rent a basement and keep her locked up, using her for my own perverted pleasures,’ I told him with great glee.

  ‘Good God! The idea of you rogering my wife is almost as revolting as me rogering my wife, so no, we can’t do that, Cameron. As you said, she is rather sweet, but somehow I just can’t stand being with her.’ He helped himself to another glass of whisky.

  ‘That’s sad, Charley. Could you not get a divorce now your dad has kicked the bucket?’

  ‘No. Not until Mummy dies too and I think the old dear has a few years left in her yet. Her mother lived till she was 98 and her father made it to a 100. Divorce is really not the done thing in our family. Mind you, neither is drinking, smoking or having any fun.’ He downed his drink and we got ready to go out.

  We picked up where we had left off with our partying, but I soon became frustrated. Charley never wanted any of the girls to come back to our place. He was the heart and soul of a party, but always remained the perfect gentleman despite getting blind drunk at times. He was happy to go dancing with girls, and buy them champagne all night, but that was it. I was starting to resent him. He had everything – he was alive, married and rich – and he was stopping me getting what I needed.

  ‘I’m a married man and have a reputation to uphold,’ he explained one night. ‘The American expats talk to each other! You know if my wife caught me sleeping with another woman she’d have grounds for divorce. That can be expensive, and my family would be mortified.’

  ‘I think, if she wanted, she’d have grounds for divorce already,’ I replied.

  ‘Well I’m not taking any risks!’

  I didn’t appreciate until later that Charley desperately wanted just to be himself, but that even from across the Atlantic his powerful family had an iron grip on him. He knew exactly what he could get away with and what he couldn’t.

  For the moment, he chose to divert the conversation to a different subject: me. ‘Tell me Cameron. How do you stay so young-looking?’ He looked me over with great interest. ‘I mean, I spotted my first grey hair this morning and I’m sure I’m younger than you. You fought in the Great War, that must make you at least 27, but you look about 20.’

  ‘I lied about my age when I signed up, so I’ve just turned 26. But not going out in sunlight does keep your skin looking younger,’ I quipped.

  Soon my frustration boiled over and I started to take it out on Charley. I blamed him squarely for keeping me off my new favourite food and away from adult fun. Of course, there was always adult fun to be had out there, but I preferred not to pay for it. If Charley went to the bathroom while we were out, I would tell the girls that he was married and only after one thing. Mostly, this resulted in Charley getting slapped on his return, or in a glass being emptied over his head.

  One night, astonished as he wiped the dripping champagne from his face, he asked ‘What on earth did you tell them?’

  ‘Charley, you frightful bore. You never have any fun with these girls, anyway. I might as well create a bit of entertainment for myself,’ I grinned mischievously, but it grew nastier. On another night, while we were out in a bar, I went over to a big guy and told him that Charley had said some rude things about the shape of his girlfriend’s bottom. The man was quite drunk and didn’t need much of an excuse to start a fight. Foppish dandy that Charley was, the fight didn’t last long and I soon carried him, his nose bleeding heavily, back to the apartment. I cleaned him up and couldn’t help myself from licking my fingers.

  ‘Cameron! Eew! Did you just lick my blood off your fingers?’ he cried, in disgust.

  ‘Eh? No! Em, I think it was mine,’ I flustered, ‘I’ve got a cut too.’ I disappeared into the kitchen to wash my hands. His blood had tasted disturbingly good.

  A few nights later, Charley invited me over to the house. I didn’t often go there now he had a wife to avoid, but according to Charley there was a dinner party he couldn’t get out of. Hope had invited some dull, important people and he’d decided he simply had to have his drinking buddy there to survive the evening. Hope opened the door. She was wearing a long evening dress of pink taffeta and I had to admit that she looked radiant. My eyes were drawn immediately to the small diamond and pearl tiara she wore with its matching necklace.

  ‘Hope darling! You look wonderful,’ I said as I stuck out my hand. ‘It’s so rare one has the occasion to wear a tiara these days, but you, dear, should wear one every day!’

  ‘Cameron! So nice to finally get to know you a little better,’ she said, politely but without a hint of a smile.

  Frankly, I wasn’t surprised at her frosty reception. She must’ve hated me for leading her husband astray and keeping him out partying all night. She was a very polite and well-mannered wee girl, though, so she wasn’t going to create a scene or make me uncomfortable. Maybe if Charley had liked her more we could all have been friends. I didn’t understand why he didn’t try harder.

  She held out her hand reluctantly and I took it. There was something different about her. She looked at me worriedly when I didn’t let go of her hand. I could feel and smell her blood, but there was a faint hint of something else.

  ‘Hope… there are two of you,’ I said finally, letting go of her hand. Charley had now come into the hallway too and had heard the last words.

  ‘What do you mean, there are two of you?’ he asked, looking puzzled.

  Hope turned her gaze downwards and softly said that she wasn’t sure yet, but she thought that she was with child. She asked us not to tell anyone, as she hadn’t been to see a doctor.

  The dinner party was indeed full of terribly dull people and I couldn’t wait to leave. Charley seemed unusually chipper and was very attentive to Hope. Later, in his study, he told me it was because he was relieved. Mummy was apparently still threatening to withhold the inheritance if there weren’t any babies – he had done his duty and now he could concentrate on fully ignoring his wife.

  ‘You never used to be so cruel,’ I told him.

  ‘Neither were you, but life and love do terrible things to a man,’ he said quietly. I left him to his dull party and went out looking for some stray dogs, but my body was screaming out for champagne-infused human.

  Charley really was spoiling my dinners. We didn’t go out together all the time, but when we did he poured champagne into the girls, getting them ready for a perfect meal, and then deprived me of taking them home as he was too drunk to find his way back to the apartment alone. I often had to carry him up the stairs when we got there too.

  I began to get more and more inventive in finding ways to hurt him and I think Charley was b
eginning to realise my mischief had become dark, but he pretended not to notice. I had recently broken into a pharmacy and had come across a large supply of sleeping pills. Crushing a tablet and mixing it in with the champagne helped things along nicely. The girls didn’t feel a thing and it only made me a tad groggy.

  Charley had drunk rather a lot one night and could barely stand. We had to say goodbye to two nice girls who looked particularly tasty and I was not best pleased. I led Charley to a park bench in the Jardin du Luxembourg and left him there to sleep it off. He came home the next morning missing his jacket, wallet and everything else of value he’d had on him. Someone had robbed him blind while he was sound asleep.

  ‘Why did you leave me there, Cameron?’ he asked, hurt. ‘That was a horrible thing to do.’

  ‘Maybe it’ll teach you not to drink so much,’ I snapped at him.

  ‘What’s going on with you? I thought we were friends?’ He looked very down and I realised that I had to stop this behaviour and find a solution. As much as I lusted after women and craved blood, Charley was great company and a generous host. I wanted him around.

  ‘I’m sorry Charley,’ I sighed. ‘It won’t happen again.’

  He looked at me, unconvinced. He didn’t understood why I was being so horrible to him.

  ‘It’s just that sometimes I need to bring a girl back here and have my way with her. And you’re always... such a gentleman.’

  ‘There is nothing wrong with being a gentleman, Cameron.’

  ‘You have a wife, but I am young and single and I have needs!’ I finally burst out. ‘I’m sorry I’ve taken my frustration out on you but things have to change!’

  Charley remained in a terrible strop with me and didn’t talk to me for a good few days, but then the tedium of his home life drove him back to my doorstep again.

  On our next night out, he let me bring the car so I could drop him off at home and do as I pleased with the girls. Having that big car at my disposal would help things along nicely! Girls loved being in a flash car and would hardly refuse a lift and a nightcap at the apartment.

  ‘Hope isn’t happy about my coming home drunk, but she’s happier with me home at night, no matter in what state, now she’s pregnant. No, things are definitely better. She has even agreed to separate bedrooms,’ Charley told me jovially one night. Maybe the woman snores, I thought innocently.

  When it finally happened, Charley took well to fatherhood, spending a lot more time at home with Hope and little Joseph. Maybe there was hope for their marriage yet. I began to miss him. Chasing women is a lot less fun without a wingman, but I managed. Charley had taught me about fashion and how to dress and a new, more dashing and confident Cameron started to emerge. I became quite the debonair man about town and women fell for it. I thought I was becoming like Charley, but I totally lacked his compassion or generosity.

  Then, in October 1929, everything changed. The roaring twenties ended with a big ugly crash. Charley had to sell up and get back to America; the family business was in serious trouble and his mother demanded he come home. Charley was inconsolable and cried uncontrollably when the new owner drove his prized Packard away.

  Hope seemed to take it all quite well, busying herself with packing and keeping a lively toddler in check. She’d never really settled in Paris and was pleased to be going back to the States. I felt somewhat tearful too when I went over to their house about a week before they were due to leave, and saw her packing away the beautiful pink Fabergé egg. Charley took me into the study and sat me down.

  ‘We do have to sell a lot of our things but I would like you to have this,’ he said, handing me some documents.

  ‘You don’t have to give me anything, old boy. I’ll take care of myself,’ I said, surprised. He had already given me so much.

  ‘I don’t want you to end up on the streets again,’ he said and he looked concerned. He had given me the deeds to the apartment. His lawyer had signed it into my name. I was stunned. My own apartment! This was very generous indeed.

  ‘Christ, Charley! I’ll never be able to repay you,’ I said, shaking his hand.

  ‘I’ll be happy just to think of you living the high life, while I’m stuck behind a desk,’ he said, with a big sigh.

  ‘Have they ended prohibition yet?’ I asked.

  ‘No, but with bootleggers running rampant they might change their minds soon.’ He raised his glass. ‘Here’s hoping!’

  Soon, all the crates where packed and ready to be shipped. Charley and Hope came to see me the night before their departure. Charley didn’t say much and seemed depressed. Hope was excited and told me she was looking forward to seeing all her friends and family again. Later, I walked them down to their taxi. Charley couldn’t bring himself to say goodbye to me and sat in the taxi sulking. Hope lingered on the pavement, and then suddenly she hugged me and whispered in my ear, ‘You know he loves you.’

  I pulled back surprised, but she quickly got in the taxi and then they were gone for good. Of course! How could I have been so naïve? Everything suddenly made sense and I felt desperately sad for him. We’d both been hiding a secret that we couldn’t tell the world.

  I never saw Charley again, but we wrote to each other occasionally. Reading between the lines I could sense he was very unhappy, but his family needed him so he took up the job in the family firm and worked there every day until his death. We lost touch during the Second World War and it wasn’t until much later that I found out he had died of a heart attack in 1955, aged just 56. His son Joseph went on to run the family firm and became one of the richest men in the state of New York.