by William Boyd
‘Oh. Fine.’
‘A successful consultation in Atlanta?’
‘Yes and no.’
‘Freeborn tells me you created quite a stir. Something about shouting and wading across the atrium lake?’
Henderson coloured. ‘Ah. Yes. I can—’
‘Freeborn was insistent that anyone who behaved like that wasn’t a man to do business with.’
‘There is an explanation. Of sorts.’
‘I listen to Freeborn but I rarely take his advice.’ He paused. ‘I guess you had your reasons.’
Henderson scratched his cheek. ‘Yes. I think I did.’
‘Well OK. Things I did when I was your age…’ He came over and put his arm round Henderson’s shoulders. ‘We got to sow our wild oats, don’t we? Otherwise what the hell’s the point? Know what I mean?’
‘We all want to be happy and we’re all going to die.’
‘You’re learning, Henderson. You’re learning.’
Henderson smiled. Gage patted his shoulder.
‘I like you, Henderson. Like you a lot. You’re a bit quiet and withdrawn, but I’ve got to say I like you.’
Henderson didn’t know what to reply. He liked Gage too, he realized. He felt fond of the little old man. He wanted to tell him that, but something prevented him.
‘Thanks very much,’ he mumbled.
Gage smiled and shook his head sadly.
‘Now. What about our business?’
‘I’ve spoken to Mr Beeby and we’ve thought again about the Dutch paintings. We will raise the reserve to $50,000 each. I know that’s not as much as Sereno and Gint, but if we get anywhere near our estimates on the others, you’ll do much better.’
Gage spread his hands. ‘There you are. A little extra consideration can work wonders.’
‘All the other conditions remain the same of course.’
‘Well, I think we’ve got a deal.’ Gage held out his hand. Henderson shook it. Gage’s grasp was cool and dry.
‘I’m delighted,’ Henderson said. He felt a thudding in his chest, a slackening. ‘Truly delighted.’
‘I don’t think my son will be very pleased. Neither will Mr Sereno or Mr Gint. But they are my pictures after all.’
Henderson quickly ran through the next stages of the operation—packing, shipping, insuring.
‘How soon can you sell them?’
‘A month, perhaps slightly longer. We need to publicize, announce—’
‘Good. Well, the sooner the better. I won’t disguise from you, Henderson, my need for the money. The Gage mansion, Beckman’s lab, Freeborn’s medical-wadding venture, and various so-called ‘sure things’ he’s gotten me involved with, Cora’s…Well, these last few months Cora hasn’t cost much—but she has to be looked after. It’s all drained away over the years.’
‘I see,’ Henderson said, sympathetically.
‘Know how I made my first million? Parking lots. Right after World War One. I saw all these new cars on the roads and I thought guys will start driving them to work and are gonna need someplace to leave them. I had a little money saved up and I bought myself a vacant lot in down town Atlanta. Levelled it out, painted some lines on the ground. The first real parking lot in Atlanta.
‘You know, my parking lot was a kind of peculiar shape so I had to draw a plan of how to get the most number of cars into the place. Then I had my idea.’ Gage paused, and adjusted his stance as he got caught up in his story.
‘I took out a series of patents on parking lot design. Filed them at the patent office. You look at any old parking lot today. What do you see? The basic grid, the parallelogram, the chevron, the interlocking chevron. I had patents on them all in the early twenties. Everyone who had a parking lot had to pay me to use the design. I had three lawyers touring the Southern states serving writs. The money came flowing in. I bought more land for parking lots. Before I knew it I was the biggest parking lot operator south of the Mason-Dixon line. I made my first million, and then some more. But then in 192,4 the Supreme Court declared my patents invalid and the bottom fell out of parking lot design for ever.’
‘Good Lord,’ Henderson said. ‘It seems such an obvious idea.’
‘All the best ones are, son. Every time I see a parking lot today I could weep. And those multi-storey ones…What the hell. It didn’t bother me that much. I’d bought this place. I’d been to Europe and I had my art collection. In 1935 I got married.’ He paused.
‘I only had that one good idea which made me all my money. I thought I had good ideas later but it turned out I was only going to be allowed the one.’ He laughed to himself. ‘Amazing how easy it goes, money. I’ve been poor and I’ve been rich, now I’m getting poor again and there’s no doubt it’s better being rich. Money can’t buy you happiness they say—and it’s true, I guess—but it can buy you one hell of a lot of other things.’ He looked at Henderson. ‘You get me two or three million, Henderson, and I’ll see the century out happy.’
‘I don’t think you need worry. The Sisleys alone will—’
‘You a happy man, Henderson?’
Henderson was a little taken aback. ‘Well, I wasn’t. But then I thought I knew what would make me happy. But now I’m not so sure.’ He rubbed his hands together and put them in his pocket. ‘I’m afraid that doesn’t make much sense.’
There was the sound of someone coming into the next room.
‘Loomis,’ came a voice. ‘It’s me.’
‘Ah,’ Gage said, looking at his watch. ‘A little early, but never mind.’
They both went through into the sitting room. Standing in the middle of the carpet was Monika Cardew, in a bright orange dress, tight around the hips, and white high-heeled shoes. Her hair was still in its complicated beehive.
‘You remember Henderson, Monika.’
‘Of course. How do you do?’ __
‘Hello,’ Henderson said, trying to look insouciant.
‘We won’t be a second, Monika. Help yourself to a drink.’
He followed Henderson to the door and opened it. He smiled.
‘Fine woman, Henderson. See you in church.’
Henderson shut the door. For a moment he stood incredulous. Then, remembering his good news, clasped his hands together, looked heavenward and said ‘Thank you, God.’
‘Everything go well?’ It was Cora standing in her doorway.
‘Yes. I think so. We got the pictures after a bit of renegotiation. I’m afraid your friend Mr Sereno has had a wasted journey.’
‘He’s not my friend.’
‘I thought—’
‘Wrong.’
‘Henderson nodded. ‘That was, um, Monika Cardew.’
‘Yeah. She comes once a week. When T.J. goes to Tallapoosa to record his Sunday Sermonette.’
‘I see.’
‘It’s been going on for years. Why else do you think Daddy spends so much time with T.J.?’
‘Good point.’ He paused. ‘Well, I must get to a phone.
It will have to be Luxora Beach. I can’t quite see Freeborn allowing me to communicate my news over his line.’
‘Are you walking?’
‘No choice. My car has disappeared into thin air.’
‘Feel like some company? I’d like a walk.’
Henderson and Cora went down the front steps and out into the night. It was warm but from time to time a coolish breeze would blow. Cora wore an old blue cardigan over her baggy grey T·shirt and black cotton trousers. Soon they turned a bend in the road and the lights of the house were lost to sight. They walked along in silence for a while. All about them was the melancholy sound of crickets. It was, Henderson thought, one of the earth’s most evocative of noises. Like an owl’s hoot or a gull’s screech, it summed up a whole cargo of emotions and moods. Now he felt sad and relieved, weary and grateful, strangely mature and wise. Up above him the stars shone in their confusing constellations.
Cora paced along beside him, a small intent figure, the top of her head bobbing
at the level of his elbow. She lit a cigarette and he smelt the smoke. As soon as they had stepped outside she had removed her sunglasses. He looked sidelong at her now but it was too dark to make out her features. What a curious, complex person she was! he thought. He couldn’t figure her out at all. Had she really abandoned a career in medicine? Or was that another Gage mansion fantasy? What was she doing whiling away her life in her father’s house? Smoking, reading? Listening to classical music? And what did she do for sex? he suddenly wondered crudely, and then felt embarrassed by his prurience. He found himself trying to imagine her naked: the slight girl’s frame, with full breasts and a woman’s hair…oddly stimulating.
‘Lovely night,’ he said, derailing that train of thought. ‘You haven’t, um, seen Duane and Bryant by any chance?’
‘Bryant’s in with Shanda watching TV, I think. I don’t know where Duane is. There was some talk of him taking your car into Hamburg.’
‘Bryant told me that she and Duane wanted to get married.’
‘That’s not funny, Henderson.’
‘It’s not meant to be. It’s true.’
‘You’re kidding.’ She stopped.
‘I wish I were.’ They started walking again.
‘It sounds very unlikely to me. I mean, God, you know what Duane is like.’
‘Actually, as surprising as it may sound, I’ve yet to clap eyes on him. He’s just some sort of malevolent spirit who’s commandeered my car, as far as I’m concerned.’
‘Well, when you meet him you’ll know what I’m talking about. God, marry Duane!’
They had reached Luxora Beach. Henderson didn’t know whether to be comforted or alarmed by Cora’s words. They crossed the mall and stepped over the railway tracks.
‘Bar seems to be doing a roaring trade,’ he observed.
‘Well, it’s all we’ve got.’
They walked down a dark side-street to the lambent phone box outside the post office.
‘Won’t be a second,’ he said. As he put through his collect call to Beeby he looked at Cora’s small neat figure pacing around outside. She paused to light a cigarette, looked up and caught his eye. She had an oval pleasant face, he could see, now that it wasn’t disfigured by her dark lenses. She gave a mocking curtsey. He doffed an invisible cap.
Beeby answered.
‘Thomas,’ Henderson said. ‘It’s done. He agreed.’
‘You’re sure?’ Beeby gave a shout of exhilaration. ‘Henderson, you amazing man!’
‘We shook hands on it ten minutes ago. I’ll get everything tidied up tomorrow, be back in the office Monday.’
‘Fine. Superb. But I thought you were taking a holiday?’
‘Slight change of plan.’
‘Have it another time.’
‘Right.’
‘You’re a marvel.’
After some more praise, he hung up. He made one more call, to Melissa.
‘Melissa, darling, it’s—’
‘Get her out of there, you bastard, or I call the cops!’
‘What? Who?’
‘My baby, you bastard, that’s who! You’re meant to be looking after her. She called me today, says she wants to marry someone called Duane. I mean, Duane? I ask you. Look, Henderson, I’m warning you—’
‘Calm down, Melissa, calm down, for God’s sake. There’s no need to worry.’ He felt his armpits moisten. ‘It’s nothing, some girlish fantasy she has. A stupid crush. There’s no problem—we’ll be back on Monday.’
There was a pause. Melissa started again, this time tearful.
‘But I am worried, Henderson, I am. She said she wasn’t coming home, that she was going to stay with this Duane person. She said she was very happy. It just didn’t sound like her.’
‘Exactly,’ he soothed. ‘A passing infatuation. She doesn’t know what she’s saying, really. I’ve already spoken to her. Everything will be fine and we’ll be back on Monday, I promise.’
He uttered some more consoling platitudes and hung up. He wondered how he had managed to sound so confident and reassuring—he didn’t feel it. He stepped outside the box, shaking his head.
‘It’s uncanny. One problem clears up, another steps into line.’
‘What is it?’
‘Bloody Duane and Bryant. That was Bryant’s mother, reaching hysteria point. The stupid girl phoned home.’
Take it easy,’ Cora touched his arm. ‘I’ll get Daddy to talk to Duane—end of problem. He always does what Daddy tells him. Always.’
‘Would you? That’d be wonderful…I don’t know what she’s playing at. She’s only fourteen, for Christ’s sake. At fourteen I still had two years to go to my first kiss.’
Cora laughed disbelievingly.
‘No it’s true. We tend to be late developers in England—if we develop at all. They lock you away, you see, for the duration of your adolescence with lots of other boys.’ He frowned. ‘It’s a long haul,’ he added.
They set off back through the town to the Gage mansion.
‘You know that painting, the one you call ‘Demeter andlambe’?’
‘Yeah. What about it?’
‘Well, I’ve discovered it’s not Demeter and lambe. It’s Demeter and Baubo.’
‘So? Is that important?’
‘Not really. Vaguely interesting.’ He explained what he had learned of the myth. ‘It seems that Demeter broke her fast and came out of mourning when Baubo flashed her…her privates at her.’
‘Her privates? You mean her cunt?’
‘Well, yes.’
‘Say what you mean, Henderson, say what you mean.’
‘Sorry. I was just wondering what it could be all about. What it all signified.’
‘Demeter has had her daughter stolen, right? She goes into a kind of deep mourn. But she cheers up when Baubo shoots her a view of—’
‘Precisely.’
‘Well it seems pretty obvious to me what it’s all about.’
‘Does it?’ He looked across at her. She looked back at him. He stumbled on a stone. Cora grabbed his arm.
‘Christ!’
‘You OK?’
They had stopped on a deserted stretch of the road. There was no moon yet, but a clear faint light from the stars. The crickets breeped steadily about them. Henderson knew, with sudden insight, both what he was about to do and all the good and strong reasons why he shouldn’t. These crisis points had occurred before: he recognized the right path, recognized the wrong, and chose the wrong. Sufficient to have stood but free to fall. It was, he felt, an understanding periodically offered him of a certain truth about the human condition. But perhaps, he thought, as he bent down to kiss Cora, that is a little grand. Not the human condition, then: the Dores condition.
His pouting lips met mid-air. Cora had stepped back. He clumsily reached out for her but she batted his arms away.
‘What are you trying to do, Henderson? God. Bug off, will you?’
‘I thought—’
‘I don’t want to kiss you, Henderson. What makes you think I do? Why do you have to try and kiss me?’
He was glad the night hid his knotted, boiling face.
‘Jesus,’ he began. ‘Misinterp. Look, I…Christ.’
‘I like you, Henderson. You’re a nice guy. It’s a big asset. But I don’t want to make it with you.’
He swallowed. ‘A ghastly misunderstanding. Misreading. I got carried away. I’m terribly, terribly—’
‘Relax.’ Her voice was softer. ‘It’s no big deal. Now we know where we stand.’
He nodded wordlessly.
They set off again, walking up the road in silence. Cora gave a little chuckle and from time to time looked over at him. Fool, he said to himself, fool fool fool FOOL. They turned a corner and the house was in front of them. Lights shone from all the windows.
‘Looks like everybody’s home all of a sudden.’
They walked across the park to the front steps.
‘Listen, Cora,’ Henderson started, dry-throat
ed, but was interrupted by the front door being flung violently open. It was Alma-May, weeping piteously.
‘Cora, baby! Cora, darlin’! Your Daddy’s dead, baby. Your Daddy’s dead!’
Chapter Thirteen
‘Your father promised me—we shook hands on it—just miputes,’ Henderson cleared his throat to rid his voice of the tremble, ‘just minutes before he…passed away—literally minutes—that Mulholland, Melhuish were to auction his pictures.’
Tuck you,’ Freeborn said. ‘You’re lying, you bastard. Jesus, you don’t expect me to believe this shit? You fuckin’ English dork!’
‘Mr Dores,’ Sereno said. ‘We have only your side of the story. Well, it’s not enough, I’m afraid.’
‘Look, I told Cora—’
‘He did,’ Cora said. ‘That’s true.’
‘So fuckin’ what? It’s just words. Ain’t no proof. I say we take Ben Sereno and Peter Gint’s offer now, ‘stead of waiting for some pissant faggot auction in New York.’
‘These people,’ Henderson said, with genuine anger, indicating the two gallery owners, ‘are total frauds. I wouldn’t trust them an inch.’
‘There’s no call for such accusations,’ Sereno said, quite untroubled by the slander.
‘Shut yo’ fuckin’ mouth,’ Freeborn said to Henderson, pointing a finger at him. ‘They’re my pictures now an’ I says they go to Sereno and Gint.’
‘One minute, Freeborn,’ Cora said. ‘There’s Daddy’s will. Beckman and I may have some say.’
‘I’ll go along with Freeborn,’ Beckman mumbled. ‘Just as long as I’ve got my labrotory.’
‘Anyway, that will ain’t read for two fuckin’ weeks.’
‘Look, do you think we might conduct this discussion without constant profanities?’ Henderson said.
‘Fuck yo’ ass, English shitbird!’
Freeborn, Beckman, Cora, Henderson, Sereno and Gint were in the sitting room. Across the hall in the dining room on the long table lay Loomis Gage, cold in his coffin.
Half an hour after Henderson had left him and Monika, Duane had returned to the house and had duly switched on his music. According to Beckman, who was passing through the hall, his father—wearing a dressing gown—had appeared at the top of the stairs and had bellowed furiously, ‘Duane, turn that damn music down!’ Then he had shuddered, gone white, twitched and fallen over. Duane came running out of his room, picked Gage up and carried him back to bed. Beckman, with rare spirit of diplomacy, drove Monika Cardew home and collected the local doctor. By the time they got back, Gage was dead, and Duane—who was sitting impassively beside the body—said it had happened only moments before. Freeborn, Sereno and Gint had returned from whatever carousing or plotting they had been engaged in five minutes prior to Henderson and Cora’s fateful arrival at the front steps.