Pot of Gold

by Judith Michael

  I could make you need me, Emma thought. I could make you happy.

  For a minute it struck her that what Brix had said was very odd. Why would he say he didn't want to lose her and then, right away, say he didn't need anyone.^ She started to ask him, but then bit back the words. Someday she would, she thought, but not now; she did not want to break the spell.

  He was so beautiful, and he knew so much, and when he said her name, holding it in his mouth as if it were fine wine, it sounded so different to her that she thought it must mean she, too, was different, a new person, just for Brix. He was twenty-four years old and knew more than any boy she had ever known. He knew about scuba diving in the Cayman Islands, and motorcycling across the Welsh countryside; he knew about skiing at Gstaad and hang gliding above Aspen; he knew about bicycling through the vineyards of Spain and ballooning over Burgundy and racing a motorboat off Monaco and horseback riding through the Tuscan hills. It seemed there was nothing he had not done, and Emma listened to him with a sinking feeling that she could never catch up, because however much she could do, Brix would always be far ahead, more knowledgeable and expert and sophisticated than she could ever hope to be.

  Her hand was warm and steady within his firm grasp; their bodies brushed together as they walked, and Emma felt open and ready for anything, and so happy she could barely contain it, but underneath the happiness was a thread of worry that she would bore him because she didn't know enough. She tried to think of something that would show him she was special, something that would impress him enough to make him want her more than the

  other women she was sure were lying in wait for him all over the world.

  "My mother won the lottery," she blurted out.

  "No kidding!" He stopped again. "How much did she get.'*"

  A wave of embarrassment swept over Emma. It was too much; it would sound like a lie.

  "How much.^" he repeated.

  "Sixty million dollars," she said, and added, in a rush, "but of course we don't get all that; they pay it out over twenty years and they take out taxes—"

  "Sixty million! God damn; sixty million? That's more than a lottery; that's the pot of gold! Hey, that's the greatest thing I ever heard! So what are you going to do with it.^"

  "Everything," Emma said.

  He laughed; he was tremendously excited. "Like what.'' What's a for instance.'"'

  "Oh, seeing places I've never seen—that's the whole world, practically—and learning things like scuba diving and horseback riding and skiing and riding in balloons and . . . everything."

  He laughed again. "When are you going to do all that.-^"

  "I don't know. I'm starting college this fall, but I could do some things in the summers—"

  "You could put off college. You could start right away. Emma, this could be terrific; I could help you. You know, teach you. I'll take you anywhere you want to go; we'll go around the world; we'll go—"

  "But you work. And I have to go to college. My mother absolutely wants me to go to college."

  "Hey, you're old enough—"

  "It's her money," Emma said coolly.

  Brix caught himself. "Right. I didn't mean to get carried away. You know best, you and your mother; I'm not about to push in there. But maybe, when you decide what you're going to do. you could let me know.'^ I'd like to be part of it, Emma, help out any way I can. Emma. God, I do love your name." He turned her to him and put his arms around her. He was four inches taller than she was; just right, Emma thought. "God, what luck that vou're here. Emma. Emma."

  He kissed her lightly, then tightened his arms around her and opened her mouth with his. Emma's hngcrs were in his hair; she

  wanted to melt into him. Luck. Such luck. My lucky star. My lucky night. Don't let it stop, she prayed; don't let it end. I'll never ask. for anything else; I just want this to go on forever.

  "Getting close to midnight." Brix's voice was thick. "Next time we'll figure out a better way to do this. Come on, Cinderella; I'll deliver you to your doorstep. Will you have breakfast with me tomorrow.^ And lunch.'' And dinner.^"

  Emma opened her eyes. She swayed a little within Brix's arms. "Yes," she said. "Yes to everything."

  FIVE

  B

  REAKFAST was very quiet. Emma did not eat. She had wanted to eat with Brix, but Claire had said no, and so, pouting, she slouched at the table, turning her coffee cup around and around, stubbornly silent. Claire and Hannah made conversation about the small, forested islands through which the ship wended its way, and the glimpses of life on the shore: puffins with curved red-and-yellow beaks, seals sunning themselves on slick rocks, shore birds picking their way daintily through the surf. The forest reached the water's edge, so dense it seemed almost black beneath the morning sun. "The light," Hannah mused. "This is the strangest light."

  Claire, too, had been gazing out the window, her artist's eye caught by the effects of the slanting rays. "We're so far north," she murmured. "The sun is always at an angle. Much more of an angle than at home." She was fascinated by it: those steeply angled shafts of light that cast long, thin shadows, and the clarity of the light that brought out the tiniest details of land and trees, wildlife and waterfalls, and the towering, jagged mountains, their peaks cloaked with snow. Beneath the overarching, cloudless sky, it was a land of exaggerations, and for the first time in weeks, Claire wished for a sketching pad. I'll have to buy one, she thought, and suddenly was swept up in a feeling of perfect well-being. Everthing was beautiful and new and bursting with the promise of more, always more, because now she was rich and she was still young, with health and energy and good looks, enough to

  impress her daughter, anyway, and Quentin Eiger. She felt capable of anything; she wanted to hug the world that waited for her, none of it closed to her, ever again.

  But Emma was sitting across the table, pouting, casting a cloud on Claire's bright day, and Emma was more important than anything else. They were almost alone in the dining room as the other passengers left for the deck, and Claire poured more coffee and sat back, hoping she looked casual, hoping Hannah would help. She almost always gave in when Emma got angry and unhappy, but this time she wanted to be firm. "Okay, sweetheart," she said, "let's talk about what we're going to do."

  "I just want to be with Brix," Emma said. "What's so terrible about that.^"

  Claire shook her head. "No one said it was terrible. All I said was that I wanted you to be with us for breakfast. And I said I didn't want you to spend all of your time with him."

  "Why not.^" Emma demanded.

  "Because you're with us," Hannah said crisply, but at Claire's exasperated sigh she knew it was not the time to step in, and she subsided.

  "It's too fast, when it's all concentrated in one week and one place," Claire said, "when everything around you is unfamiliar. It's not . . . real." She saw the waiters cast impatient glances at them, waiting to clear the table and set it for lunch. "Sometimes we cling to people when we're cut off from our regular life and we know it's for a short time. Everything gets exaggerated and speeded up; we elevate people to something special, something they may not be, and our own feelings, that ought to take months to develop, seem wonderful and terribly important, even when they're not."

  "How do you know.^" Emma cried. "You've never been on a cruise; you don't know anything about it."

  "I know how this can happen—" Claire began.

  "Anyway," Emma went on, her voice rising, "we don't ^^t^^ a familiar life! It's all changed, it's all new. We're doing all these things we've never done before, and you think it's okay as long as you decide what new things we do, but if I want to do something new, be with somebody new, you say I can't. Why shouldn't I.^ You re with somebody new; if you can do it, so can I!"

  "I didn't say you couldn't see him," Claire said. "I said you should slow down. I told myself the same thing; it's too easy to get caught up in something that seems special but doesn't really mean anything. Emma, please, we've come to this wonderful place; let's
see everything we can, and share it with new friends, but with each other, too. I'm just asking for a little restraint."

  "Restraint is for old people," Emma said coldly.

  "Dear me," said Hannah. "That sounds like an epitaph." She watched Emma blush. "I think you should apologize."

  Emma threw an exasperated look at the ceiling. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for what I said, but, you know, it's hard."

  "Yes, I remember," Hannah said. Emma looked at her in surprise. "Well, of course I went through the same thing when I was your age; did you think you were the only one.'' Or that it's new.'' I fought with my mother all the time, over one thing or another; I suppose I would have fought with my daughter, if she'd lived."

  Emma's head jerked up. ''If she'd livedPou had a daughter who died?'"

  "I'll tell you about it sometime, but not today," Hannah said, and stood up. "We should be on deck; your mother was right: that's what we're here for."

  Claire was staring at her. "You never told us you had a child. You said you'd never married. Were you married.''"

  "No, that didn't happen, which almost broke my heart. We'll talk about it sometime, when I'm ready. I'm sorrs- I brought it up now."

  No, you're not, Claire thought. You brought it up deliberately to distract Emma and get us out of our cjuarrel. What a clever woman you are. I wonder how many other bombshells you have stored up, ready to set off whenever you think we need one. "I hope you will tell us," she said to Hannah. "We'd like to know all about you."

  "Well, I don't know about ^///," Hannah said lightly. "Now, one more thing. What are we doing for dinner.''"

  Claire hesitated, then let it go. If Hannah liked being mvste-rious, they'd have to get used to it. "Emma," she said, "did you make plans with Brix for dinner.'"

  "Breakfast, lunch, and dinner," Emma muttered.

  "Well, wc'c settled that; it's too much. But I think dinner

  would be all right. Quentin and I are having dinner; Hannah, will you join us?"

  "No, no, my dear, good heavens, what a nuisance for you, and not exactly fascinating for me. No, I've made my own arrangements with Forrest. He's an astonishing young man, a college professor, and an expert in every one of my favorite poets; such an amazing discovery for me. Every one! We'll find a quiet corner by ourselves. So, we're all taken care of; how satisfactory. Now shall we go on deck.^"

  "A college professor," Claire said, smiling. "Maybe I should be telling you to take it easy, too."

  "Take it easy.'' Oh, you mean a romance. No, no, it's nothing like that. He wants to start a poetry center somewhere and I want to hear about it; it does sound exciting. Now, then, let's go look at the scenery."

  "Can I go now.''" Emma asked, sounding like a child kept after school.

  "Yes," Claire said. She could not fight Emma for the entire trip, and so she watched her dash away and told herself that somehow it would all work out.

  The ship glided silently along the coast, weaving through the small islands dense with cedar, fir, and hemlock, the silence broken by passengers calling out as they saw a killer whale or porpoise, a salmon leaping up a waterfall, or the long swooping turn of an eagle. Unexpectedly and without an explanation, Emma came back and spent the day with Claire and Hannah, smiling at the porpoises and talking about the mysteries of the forests. A heavy cloud covered the sun and everyone pulled on sweaters and jackets. Someone caught a glimpse, through the trees, of a magnificent pair of antlers, and a hush fell over the ship as the elk moved into the open, and then came the sound of hundreds of clicking cameras. Impervious to it all, waiters served drinks and snacks, cleared glasses away, and returned with more. The day slid by as easily as the ship moved through the channel, a lovely day of countless wonders.

  And then it was evening and Quentin knocked on Claire's stateroom door. He took in with one glance her hair, loosely pinned back, her pearl earrings, and her white silk suit, the collar and cuffs sewn with tiny pearls. "Very lovely," he said, and took her hand as they went to dinner.

  "I want you to meet some of my friends," he said as they were shown to a round table with six upholstered chairs. "They'll be here in a few minutes. Did you have a pleasant day.^"

  "Yes." Claire masked her disappointment; she had looked forward to a quiet dinner. "I didn't see you; you weren't on deck.'' Everything was so beautiful."

  "We were one deck down; our friends have a suite there. I kept Brix with me; I thought a little separation would be good for the young people."

  Claire was silent, wondering if he always took other people's affairs so thoroughly into his own hands. That was why Emma came back, she thought; either she never found Brix, or she found him in his father's orbit.

  "We even did a little work," Quentin went on. "One of my friends is a lawyer for Eiger Labs, and we had some papers to go over. And here they are." He stood, putting his arm around a short, stocky man with a blond crew cut, and leaning down to kiss the cheek of the petite redhead at his side. "Lorraine and Ozzie Thurman; Claire Goddard."

  As they all shook hands, Lorraine tilted her head, her mouth pursed. "I know you. No, I don't; but I've seen your picture. Where was it.^ And I read about you. Lots. Oh! The lottery! You won the lottery! Quentin, for heaven's sake, why didn't you tell us.'' She's a famous lady. Well, congratulations, what a super thing to happen. I hope you're having a ball with your money, buying up the world. What's money for, if not to buy evervthing you've ever fancied, is what I always say. Can we sit down.-^ I'd love a drink. Claire, you sit next to me so we can get acquainted."

  "Where are Ina and Zeke.'*" Quentin asked.

  "Late, as usual," Lorraine said serenely. "They're fighting, and you know they never socialize when they're yelling at each other. Which is fine with me; I absolutely cannot stand it when couples make snide remarks and snap at each other in front of the rest of us; what do they expect us to do, choose sides and cheer them on, or lay bets on who wins or just pretend nothing's happening.'' Anyway, good for them, they do it behind closed doors and they'll be here as soon as they cool off. What's a marriage for, if you can't blow off steam now and then, is what I always say. Martini," she said to the waiter. "Vers drs. with a twist. That gorgeous daughter is yours, isn't she.''" she asked (Mairc. "Wc saw

  you in the dining room last night; what a joy she must be to you. Ozzie and I have four sons, so I'm waiting for a granddaughter; that ought to be enough fun to make up for the shock of being a grandmother. And it will be nice to have someone need me again. I do like to be needed. And what about you.^ You're from Connecticut, I know that much from the paper, and what else.^"

  "And I'm having a ball with the money," Claire said with a smile.

  Lorraine laughed. Her little face with its pointed chin wrinkled up like a monkey's. She was amazingly homely, Claire thought, but somehow it was forgotten in the rush of her chatter and the brightness of her eyes, which beamed rays of good cheer to everyone around her. She wore a blue satin pantsuit that overwhelmed her tiny figure, and a necklace and earrings too heavy for her, but none of that mattered because she looked happy with herself. "What else.^" she asked Claire. Her glance dropped to Claire's left hand. "You're a widow.^ Divorced.''"

  "Divorced," Claire said.

  "For long.?"

  "Long enough to be used to it."

  "And.'"' she pressed. "And, and, and.''"

  "And it doesn't seem fair that you've read about me but I don't know anything about you."

  "I don't believe this. A woman who doesn't want to talk about herself. Come on, Claire, I'm giving you the stage. You're more interesting than I am; I've never won anything, unless you count Ozzie, and that was a humdinger, but it was thirty years ago and since then I never needed to win anything, he's always taken such good care of me. I don't work, I don't have a single skill, except for friendship; I'm a truly good friend. And traveler; we've been all over the world a dozen or so times and I'm really good at that, shopping, you know, and finding the best nightspots and museums and chateaux and great ch
urches, you know. What's a wife for, if not to be a walking guidebook, is what I always say. The article in the paper said something about you being an artist.'' Is that right.'"'

  "A designer," Claire said.

  "Quentin told me you bought a house in Wilton," Ozzie said, breaking in. "I've been thinking of buying a couple of farms north of there, for development. Have you lived there long.''"

  "I've lived in Danbury all my life."

  "Well. good. I'd like to talk to you sometime; get your feeling about the area. Where people are moving and shopping, the way it's growing, you know, that sort of thing."

  "I'm sure there are realtors—" Claire began helplessly.

  He shook his head. "It's always better to talk to people in a town, especially people with money. They have a feel for what's going on before anybody else does." He looked at Claire as if waiting for her to make pronouncements.

  "I absolutely cannot believe you're talking business," Lorraine said. "Claire, who was the other person at your table last night.?"

  "Hannah Goddard," Claire replied.

  "Oh, a relative. Your grandmother.?"

  Claire smiled. "I think she's my fairy godmother."

  "F'airy godmother." Lorraine stretched out the words. "I like it. I want one. What does she do.?"

  "She knows when I need her. I never ask; she just knows. She showed up on a day when everything seemed to be too much, and she took over, and since then, somehow she's known when to step in and organize things."

  "And you allow that.?" Quentin asked. "Someone organizing your life.?"

  "Not such a bad idea, now and then, when things get crazy," Ozzie said. "If I could wave a wand and have somebody come in and make everything smooth and sweet-smelling, would I take it.? You're damn right I would."

  "I would, too, whatever it is," said a man coming up behind Ozzie, and the men stood up.

  "Ina and Zeke Roditis; Claire Goddard." Quentin said, and when they were all seated, Lorraine said, "We were talking about Claire's fairy godmother."

  "How quaint," said Ina. Tall, large-boned, with straight black hair falling to her shoulders and prominent eyes, she was not beautiful but striking, and in her black dress, red silk shawl, and ruby necklace and earrings, she looked. Claire thought, like a dancer, or perhaps one of the eagles they had seen that afternoon, surveying the scene, prepared to swoop. "Docs she grant all your wishes.? Or just convince you you didn't want whatexer it was in the first place.?"