Some Like Them Rich

by Shirley Hailstock

  I looked at my name and address as if I’d never seen them before. My stomach, vaulting like a roller coaster, told me the letter was from Don. I both wanted it to be from him and was afraid it was from him. Why should anyone else at the St. Romaine send me a letter? I hadn’t been a guest there. Don had extended hotel privileges to me, and I’d taken him up on them. Granted, things had spilled over, more like boiled over, but there was no reason I should receive mail.

  With shaking hands, I pulled a letter opener from the kitchen desk and slit the top of the envelope. A single sheet of paper inside came free.

  I read it. Then read it again. The note was from Don. I nearly dropped it when I saw what he wanted. The words on the cream-colored paper were enough to force me to sit down.

  Due, it read. One four-hour dance.

  “What,” I said out loud. My voice was low, not loud enough to be heard by anyone, even if another person had been in the room with me. He couldn’t possibly expect me to honor this promise. The summer had already ended, and I was engaged when I left the Vineyard.

  Looking down, I read it again. As I completed my part of our verbal contract, I’ll expect you to be ready at 8:00 PM Saturday to complete yours.

  There was no signature. I threw the paper on the counter. Why did he always have to goad me? Why couldn’t he act like a normal spurned suitor and go away?

  I’d refuse to go with him, except he was bound to show up on my doorstep and demand his due. I had promised, and he had introduced me to several rich men. Jack had checked them out and he’d been true to his word. But the summer was over. There was no End of the Summer Dance to attend.

  Eight o’clock tomorrow, the note said. No address, no phone number, no way to reach him. He’d already left the St. Romaine on the Vineyard. At least that was the rumor. I would have picked up the phone and called, but I wouldn’t know what to say. If he was there and answered the call, what then?

  I knew it would be futile. Don was used to getting what he wanted and when it came to me, I couldn’t refuse him, either. I’d promised him four hours. I should be able to survive that. “Should be,” I stated aloud. I had done it in the past. This was just another test. One which I had to pass.

  What was it going to be like to see him again, I wondered. I’d been like a person with multiple personalities since I read the invitation. One minute I was imagining him taking me in his arms and apologizing for all that had happened. The next I saw us fighting over everything, not able to stand being near each other.

  I spent Saturday shopping, buying a dress, having my hair and nails done. I told myself I was doing it for me, that no matter how this evening turned out, I needed the fortitude that came with making myself look as good as possible. And I needed something to do with the nervous energy that seemed to have an endless pump going into me.

  I was ready at 8:00 PM when the limousine pulled up in front of my door. Don got out and rang the doorbell. I opened the door and we stood facing each other. Two people who knew each other in the most intimate way said nothing. My mouth was dry and my heartbeat was loud and choking. All I could do was stare at him. Under the glare of the overhead light, I stared at the man I loved and didn’t know what to say.

  “What do I call you?” I finally asked.

  “You made the date with Don Randall. Why don’t you call me Don?”

  I nodded. “Come in. I’ll get my coat.”

  He stepped through the door and closed it. I backed away, then turned and went into the living room where the matching satin coat to my gown lay across the arm of the sofa. Both were black. I had nothing on that was red, not even lipstick or fingernail polish.

  Don looked around. On the mantel were photos of my family. The room was neat and in order, the furniture comfortable and in soft feminine shades. I wondered what he was thinking. Did he approve or disapprove of my style? His eyes seemed to settle on a photo of Lila, Jack, and me. It had been taken the day we left for the Vineyard. We stood next to the limousine that would carry us to our adventure. I thought about how innocent we had been then, how unenlightened we were of how that summer would affect our lives.

  Picking up my coat, I opened it to slip my arms through the sleeves. Don was instantly behind me, taking the garment and holding it for me. Even though he stood a discreet distance behind me, I could feel his warmth. I wanted to step back into it, bury myself in his body, melt in the remembrance of things past and glory in things promised. But there was nothing to come. This was our final meeting. Once my four-hour obligation was over, Don would walk out of my life.

  It didn’t matter that I loved him. He’d never believe me if I told him. For three months, I’d extolled him with my wishes. He’d even been party to the scheme. Now that I knew the truth of his parentage, he’d never believe me if I told him I loved him for himself and not for the money he had.

  I would keep my thoughts to myself. The night hadn’t begun yet. I was sure it would be an ordeal, but I would get through it. Turning, I gave Don the smile I’d practiced in the mirror.

  “Where are we going? I don’t think there is an End of the Summer Dance in Brooklyn, and if there is, it’s long over by now.”

  “I hear you’re no longer engaged,” he said instead of answering my question.

  I dropped my head, flattening an errant sequin on my coat. “It wasn’t going to work out.” I looked up at Don. “You told me that. I finally understood it.”

  I saw no triumph in his eyes. Don didn’t seem to be the same man. He hadn’t said much, but the reserve he showed was unlike the man I’d known. Where was the commanding figure? Where was the underglow of laughter, as if he had a secret or a joke that no one else could tell? There was a coldness about him. Where was the hot sexual aura that surrounded him like an invisible presence?

  I started for the door, still not knowing where we were going. Don followed me. I opened it and stepped onto the small stoop.

  Don touched my hand, pulling me around. “Amber,” he said and looked at me. Immediately, he released my hand. I watched his eyes cover my face detail by detail. Then he looked me up and down from hair to shoes. When his eyes came back to my face, he leaned in and kissed me on the mouth. His lips were soft and caressing. I couldn’t move. I wanted to tilt into him, run my hands over his shirt and up to his shoulders. I wanted to melt against him and deepen the kiss. Yet I held myself still, feeling sensation skewer through me.

  “Good night,” he whispered as he moved back. Then he turned and took two steps.

  “Don,” I called, my voice hoarse.

  He turned back.

  “I’m releasing you,” he said. “There is no dance. There was one, but it ended weeks ago.”

  I wondered if he really meant the dance or if the words had another meaning. Was he telling me there was no chance for us? That what we had died with the sun setting on our summer?

  “Why did you come here?” I asked.

  “To see you,” he said. “And to thank you for honoring the promise.”

  He looked at me for a long time. I had the feeling he was cataloging me. “You should have worn red,” he said. “It’s your color.”

  He got into the back of the car and it sped away. I stood there stunned, watching the lights grow dimmer as the car moved farther and farther away.

  I would never understand him, I thought. Why had he really come? I’d heard he went to France. Had he come all the way back here to stand on my doorstep for ten seconds and kiss me good-bye? Why did he force me to see him, when he knew what it would do to me?

  Was that it?

  Could this be another game he was playing?

  Anger suddenly raged inside me. I expected him to come back and somehow between now and morning we’d repeat our attempt at spontaneous combustion.

  But again, I was wrong.

  Three hours was a lot of time to think. That’s how long it had taken for the chauffeur to drive to Philly. I wished I’d been driving. It would have given me something to concentrate
on instead of how good Amber looked in that black dress. Her coat matched it except for the splash of gold and purple sequins that ringed the collar, cuffs, and a three-inch stripe down the front.

  Revenge! That’s what I thought was on my mind when I’d sent Amber the note. Tasha tried to warn me it wouldn’t work, but I knew better. The unpredictable happened. All the rehearsing I’d done before my bathroom mirror and in the car on the drive up, the words flew out of my head the moment I saw her.

  Helping her into that coat, I knew then I wouldn’t be able to pull it off. I wanted her right then and there. My plan was to take her to dinner and later dancing at the Rainbow Room. High above the city I could have one last moment with Amber Nash before I returned to France. But I knew I wouldn’t be able to sit across from her making small talk and later holding her next to me without losing my mind. It was better to break it cleanly.

  “Mr. St. Romaine.”

  It took me a moment to realize the driver had called my name. I looked up. He stood there waiting for me to exit the car. I’d been so tied up with my thoughts of Amber, I hadn’t noticed we were back at my parents’ house.

  Getting out of the car, I thanked him and gave him the next day off. I was supposed to be in New York, not coming back until tomorrow. My father had offered me the car, so I wasn’t imposing by giving him time to himself.

  The house was dark when I got in. My parents turned in early and Tasha could be out with friends or upstairs checking the occupancy rate for the St. Romaine chain or watching stocks fluctuate.

  For the second time that night, I was wrong. Tasha opened the door to the music room. She had two wineglasses in her hands.

  “I heard the car,” she said, offering me a glass.

  Walking toward her, I took it. I needed a drink, probably something stronger than wine, but Tasha was looking after my emotional health, too.

  She returned to the room. I followed her.

  “Didn’t go well, I take it?” she asked.

  “Not at all,” I said.

  “How far did you go?”

  “All the way to her door. The moment she opened it, I knew it wouldn’t work.”

  “Sheldon, you didn’t leave her standing there alone, did you?”

  Not exactly. I’d kissed her good-bye, although I kept that information to myself.

  “It doesn’t much matter now,” I said. “I’m leaving in a few days. She’ll never have to see me again.”

  “And vice versa,” Tasha said.

  I stared at her. She leveled her gaze at me, not backing down. I’d seen this look before. It was the call-my-bluff look. She usually used it during negotiations. And it usually worked.

  “Is that what you want?”

  I didn’t answer.

  “I know it’s not,” she went on.

  I was standing next to the large-screen television. The screen was black. Even though the room was full of electronic equipment and types of music from several decades, records, tapes, CDs, even an eight-track player that still worked, Tasha had been listening to none of it. A novel lay open and facedown on the sofa.

  In a flash I thought of Amber’s novel, the one she was writing on the beach when we used to meet in the early morning.

  “Why don’t you tell her how you feel, Sheldon?”

  “She knows.”

  “She does?” Tasha was surprised.

  “I told her when we were on the Vineyard.” Tasha looked surprised, but before she could form the next question, I went on, “Before she discovered I was Sheldon St. Romaine.”

  “You’re still the same man. It doesn’t matter what your name is.”

  “It isn’t my name that’s the issue.”

  “It’s your money,” she stated. “I always thought that bet with Dad wasn’t a good idea.”

  “The bet isn’t the issue either,” I told her.

  “What is the issue?” Tasha sat down in the corner of the sofa. She curled her feet under her as if I was about to tell her some devastating news.

  “I could never be sure.”

  “Sure that she loves you for you and not for the money you have?”

  I nodded.

  “Do you believe she loves you?”

  I took a long moment thinking about the question. Amber had never said she loved me. But could the two of us be so right for each other, so in tune with each other’s wants and needs and not love each other?

  “She never said it,” I finally answered. “But yes, I believe she loves me.”

  “And you’re flying off to France without finding out for sure? Sheldon, this is so totally unlike you.”

  That was true, too. In the past two years plenty had changed in my life. Amber was only one of them, but she was a major one. “All I can say is that it was a defining summer.”

  The waters of the North Atlantic were gray and choppy. The land was dusty and sand colored, reminding me of the southwestern United States, while the streets were gray and old. Sunrises and sunsets were just as spectacular as they had been on the Vineyard. The town was quaint, with stone and brick row houses arching around roads in the order of the flow of land. Nothing was planned or arranged. It looked as if each one had been added on like an ever-expanding family.

  I was beginning to love the town. And the hotel. It gave me a purpose, and I poured everything into it upon my return. I reconnected with friends I’d known just a couple of years earlier. While the architecture of the town might be the same as it had been a century ago, life had changed. Some of my old running buddies were no longer the riotous daredevils they had been in the past. Some had married. Others had been injured in various foolhardy exploits and were more cautious than in the past.

  This was what my father had been trying to warn me against. I wasn’t ready to listen then, but now I saw the evidence of what could be me. We got together for dinner and drinks, but in the end I realized that life would inevitably move on. I was no longer the same person I’d been, and neither were they.

  I wondered about Amber. She was never far from my mind. Was she the same person she’d been last summer? What was she doing now? Had she found someone to replace Casey? Was she now Mrs. Rich, country club member?

  I threw myself into the hotel. Both the life I thought I wanted and the one I left behind were denied me. The place needed repairs in many areas. We’d made major inroads and if all went according to plan, we’d have a grand re-opening in three months. People needed a reason to come there and stay in the St. Romaine. Like the Vineyard, we weren’t the only choice for vacationers and tourists taking the trek up from Paris or across from England who wanted to find comfort and something to do. We weren’t there yet.

  But we would be. I’d give it everything I had. By the next year I expected the hotel to hold its own. It wouldn’t make the renovation costs back for three years, but it wouldn’t be an out-of-the-way place unheard of by tourists.

  Two weeks later I sent a plan to my father and Tasha and presented it via satellite.

  “It looks great, Sheldon. A little aggressive, but we saw what you did on the Vineyard. I say go ahead.” Tasha was speaking.

  “We’ll have the funds transferred to your account in the morning,” Dad said.

  And so it began. In the next few weeks I kept myself so busy during the day I didn’t have time to think of anything except renovations and future marketing efforts. My nights, however, were different. Lady Legs visited my subconscious on a regular basis.

  And my dreams had me stumbling into a cold shower every morning.

  “Jack, this is absolutely beautiful,” I said as she showed Lila and me around her new home in Nashville.

  “Who would have thought that I would ever leave Brooklyn. And for the South,” Jack said. “But I love it here.”

  Jack was still glowing. Her love showed. Marriage had to agree with her. I stopped and mentally shook myself. Since returning to Brooklyn I classified most changes as before and after the Vineyard. It was supposed to be a change for all th
ree of us. I can’t say our goal wasn’t accomplished. It was the unexpected changes that had altered my life. Jack and Lila got what they wanted.

  “This is the master suite,” Jack said proudly. She showed us a bedroom that was larger than her entire apartment near Prospect Park in Brooklyn. It had floor-to-ceiling windows that bathed the room in light. Jack liked color. The walls were a pearly blue, the bed coverings dark maroon with touches of pink. There was a fireplace and sitting area.

  “Oooh,” Lila said. “I like this.” She sat down on the sofa and ran her hands over the silk fabric.

  “Wait until you see the closet and the bathroom.”

  One led into the other. The bathroom was a dream, slate tile floor, river rock on the shower walls. A shower large enough for an entire family, with water jets coming from everywhere stood in its own alcove. The Jacuzzi bathtub was as large as a swimming pool and had jets in a hundred places.

  “Are you sure this guy isn’t rich?” I asked.

  “Members of the band must make a lot more money than I thought they did,” Lila said.

  “We’re comfortable,” Jack said, but there was a smile that said more.

  The yard was equally impressive. After the tour, we sat on the patio overlooking the huge pool and drank diet lemonade.

  “So fill me in,” Jack said. “What have you two been up to since the summer?”

  Lila and I looked at each other and both hunched our shoulders. Lila started. “I quit my job in the city and moved to Washington, DC. I love it there. To think that the nation’s capital was only four hours away and I never visited it. And now I live there.”

  Jack had a big smile on her face. I did, too, but mine had been painted on that morning.

  “And I’m going back to school.”

  “What?” I said. Both Jack and I leaned forward in our seats.