Pot of Gold

by Judith Michael

  "I don't know anything about that. I just arrange the photo sessions, Claire; I don't play mother."

  Claire gripped the telephone. "Hale, I'm worried about her; please help me."

  "Why.? What's to worry.? Isn't she with Brix.? He usually comes along on the New York shoots."

  "Please, Hale, I've got to find her. If you'd just tell me which hotels you usually put her in . . ."

  There was a pause. "The Plaza or the Fairchild, unless they stay in an apartment he borrows from a friend. I booked a room at the Fairchild for her for tomorrow night; that's all I know."

  "Do you know the name of the friend.'"'

  "With the apartment.'' No. And I don't know his phone number, either. Quentin might, but I never get involved in these things; young folks' screwing is their busi—"

  "Thank you." She hung up and called the Fairchild. "We've stayed there," she murmured. "Emma loves it. Emma Goddard, please," she said aloud when the operator answered.

  "I'm sorry," the operator said after a moment, "we have no one by the name of Goddard."

  "Then Brix Eiger," Claire said swiftly, before he could hang up. "If you'll ring his room . . ."

  "I'm sorry, madam, we have no one registered by that name, either."

  Claire called the Plaza and again was told that Emma was not registered, and neither was Brix. Without pausing, she called Quentin, at work. "He's just left, Mrs. Goddard," said his secretary. "He did say he was going home, but I think he's going out later." Her voice went up slightly on the last word; she thought Claire would know more about Quentin's plans than she would.

  "Thank you," said Claire again, and called Quentin's car phone. But it was busy, and it remained busy for the next few minutes. Finally she slammed down the telephone and looked at Alex. "Brix uses a friend's apartment sometimes. Quentin might know where it is, but I can't reach him."

  "Where is he.^"

  "On his way home. He lives in Darien."

  "Then we'll go there, too." Alex moved quickly to the foyer and opened the closet and took out a long mink coat. "Is this all right.^"

  Claire looked at it absently. It stood for everything that had happened to her and Emma in the previous seven months, and she had always luxuriated in wearing it, but now she barely saw it. "Fine," she said, and Alex put it on her and she took her purse from the shelf and they went out the door, into the cold air. A few skittering snowflakes danced around them, but the clouds were breaking up and some stars and a crescent moon pecked through, and Claire had glanced up at it just as Gina arrived. "I forgot,"

  Claire murmured. "How could I forget? Gina, this is Alex Jarrell. Gina Sawyer. I told you about her—"

  "The friend who thinks Emma is in danger," Alex said as they shook hands. "Something you saw.^ Or heard.^"

  "I think I saw Brix getting the word that somebody's talking about new tests on PK-20 because the first test results weren't good. If I'm right, Brix would know that the only person who had that story is Emma. And he'd know she'd passed it on to someone, even though she told him she hadn't."

  "That's worth worrying about," Alex said. He put his arm around Claire as he opened the car door. "We're going to Darien, Gina; sometimes Brix uses a friend's apartment in the city, and we thought Quentin might have the address."

  "Good idea; it's a hell of a lot better than sitting around worrying. I'm coming, too, is that okay.^" She saw that Claire was not focused on her. "Alex.^"

  "Of course. Quentin probably knows which hotels Brix likes, too," he added as he backed out of the driveway.

  "He may," Claire said. "They don't seem to confide in each other very much."

  Alex took her hand and held it as they drove. They were silent; none of them wanted to talk. "It's early," Alex said as they approached Darien. "They'll be at dinner in New York. We can be there before they finish. We'll find her, Claire. We'll bring her home."

  His hand held hers firmly. But he's never met Brix, Claire thought. He's never met Quentin. He doesn't know what they're like: the single-mindedness, the determination. And he doesn't know that Emma is afraid to break away. She may be afraid of Brix by now, but she may be even more afraid of losing him.

  But she did not say that to Alex. He was comforting her; he was at her side and he would stay there through whatever they found. From now on, my love. Together.

  My love. My love. She could barely fathom it. Something so wonderful should be savored, its endless possibilities imagined and treasured. Instead, she felt only a swift moment of delight, her own love welling up, but then, just as swiftly, it was overwhelmed by the thought of Emma, and something so terrible . . . but she was not sure of that. Gina could be wrong; she could be

  imagining, exaggerating. We might find Emma and Brix quietly at dinner. We might. We might.

  He was removing a screen from his window and he leaned out too far and fell.

  A long shudder tore through Claire. She closed her eyes and saw Emma falling. No! she cried silently. No, no, no . . . She forced the image away. Then, in a minute, she saw Emma, graduating on a sunny May day, wearing a yellow dress her mother had made for her, laughing and teasing with her friends after the ceremony, her eyes wide with worry when Toby disappeared. Everything s changing.

  Please, Claire thought, unable to put anything more into words. Please, please, please.

  Brix and Emma sat at a small table along the mirrored wall of the restaurant. It was early and the room was not crowded, and sitting on a velvet banquette, Emma looked only at Brix and pretended they were alone. Around them was the hum of other conversations and the clatter of china and silver, but their table felt to her like a beautiful, private place where waiters approached silently and spoke in hushed tones, where she and Brix faced each other across a crisp white cloth set with delicate French china and crystal, a small candelabra with three white candles, and a perfect rose in a small cut-glass vase. French Christmas carols played softly in the background, and now and then Emma caught a phrase from a song she had learned in school, and then she would have the strange sensation of being two people at once: Emma in the high school chorus, excited about singing in French, and Emma in a restaurant in New York, excited about Brix.

  "To the most beautiful woman in New York," he said, and took her hand as he raised his glass. "And to us."

  Emma, flushed and trembling with a happiness she could barely contain, touched her glass to his. "I love you," she said.

  The waiter brought their desserts and Brix let go of Emma's hand. "Maybe we'll go skiing," he said, taking a neat spoonful of his creme brulee. "Would you like that.-* You'd learn in no time; we'll go to Aspen and you'll take a couple of lessons and then you'll be flying down the slopes, no stopping you."

  Emma's eyes were shining. "I'd love it. I used to have a friend

  who told me what it was like, and sometimes I'd lie in bed at night, pretending I was skiing, and I could almost believe it, and then Toby would jump on me and that would be the end of that."

  "Toby?"

  "My dog. Didn't I ever tell you about Toby.^ I found him in an alley one day; he was filthy and so thin you could feel every one of his bones, and his ears were torn, but he had the most beautiful eyes, so I brought him home. Mother couldn't believe it, our apartment was so tiny, but he only took up a few inches, and he slept in my bed—"

  "Lucky dog. Smart, too."

  Emma flushed. "Anyway, he followed me around and we played games—"

  "I like the way you play games."

  Emma's flush deepened. She hated it when Brix made comments like that.

  "What was he.^" Brix asked after a moment.

  "You mean what kind.^ I don't know, sort of a terrier, maybe; I don't know anything about dogs. All I cared about was, he loved me and followed me around, and understood almost everything I said, and sometimes we'd have conversations."

  Brix cocked an eyebrow. "You talked to a dog.^"

  Emma gave a small giggle. "I know it sounds silly, but he always looked like he was li
stening so seriously, and when I wanted to think about something important, I told him about it." She giggled again. "I knew he'd keep it to himself, so I could tell him anything. I mean, how many people do you know that you're absolutely sure won't tell your secrets to somebody else.'' And it was good to talk because things sound different when you hear them out loud; not so dire. At least sometimes they don't." Her voice dropped. "I've really missed Toby the past few months."

  Brix finished his dessert. "What happened to him.^"

  "He ran away. The day I graduated. That was the day Mother won the lottery, too; everything happened that day."

  "Well, why didn't you get another one.'"'

  "Oh, I don't know. We were doing so many things with all the money, and we took that trip to Alaska, and then I started modeling ... I don't know; I just never did." She paused. "I found him, vou know."

  "Who?"

  "Toby. One day I drove to Danbury, to our old neighborhood, just to look around, and I saw him."

  "So.^" Brix asked when she stopped. "Why didn't you take him home.^"

  "Because he was happy. He was in the backyard of a big house, with a lot of little kids, and they were throwing a ball for him and his tail was wagging so fast you could hardly see it, and he was making those little barks, you know, sort of yipping sounds that are like a person laughing. And I thought, the worst thing you can do in the whole world is take somebody who's happy and . . . ruin it."

  "Well, you can always get another one." Brix motioned to the waiter, who refilled their glasses. "Drink up, sweetheart, this is a very special Yquem in honor of a very special lady, who had the good sense to come to New York without going through the motions of asking her mother's permission. Which reminds me, what's with her and my dad.'' I haven't seen her at the office lately."

  "They're not together anymore." Emma took a sip of wine, trying to see what was so special about it. It was the third bottle of wine they had had, and she could no longer tell them apart, even though the first one had been white and the next was red and this one was a half-size bottle and the wine was a deep gold. She thought it tasted a little like varnish. She did not want any more wine, but Brix got upset when she turned down anything he chose, so she took a sip, then put it down and touched her fork to her pear Tatin, which he had also chosen, even though she hadn't wanted dessert. "They haven't been, for a while."

  "Right; that's the old man," Brix said. "He goes along for a few months, hot and heavy, and then finds somebody else. Women are always trying to pin him down, but they don't get anywhere."

  Emma heard a note of admiration and looked at him, frowning slightly. "Are you like that, too.''"

  "Hey, what kind of a question is that? This is Brix, remember? Faithful, loyal, brave, helpful, reverent, friendly and reliable, that's me. Didn't I rescue you from that terrifying wilderness in Alaska? With wolves and lions at our heels? And carr you like a princess to that hotel that was like the end of the world?"

  Emma was laughing softly. "There weren't any wolves and lions."

  "That's what you think. I saw them back there, hundreds of them, thousands, maybe, hiding behind trees, waiting to come and grab you—they're into princesses these days. But I kept them away. Whenever they made the first move, I gave them my wild-animal look and it struck terror into their hearts. Did you think I'd let anybody but me get close to you.^ Nobody decides my Emma's fate but me."

  What an odd thing to say, Emma thought vaguely, but the thought slipped away; she felt so wonderful, so warm and loving and wanting Brix that there was no room for it. "What would you have done if there really were wild animals.''" she asked curiously.

  "Killed them, of course." He grinned. "I couldn't be sure just looking at them would work."

  "No, I didn't mean if they were attacking; I meant, just if they were there, and we could see them."

  "I'd probably kill them anyway. You don't want to give somebody a chance to get you first."

  "Somebody.?"

  "Something. Animals. Whatever it is, you have to get there first, before they get you in a place where you can't get out. Anyway, nothing happened, nothing with the animals, anyway. A lot of other things happened; it was the best night of the cruise. It's a good thing you never looked at your watch. You almost did; I actually had to distract you a couple of times. You were a challenge, you know."

  "Distract me.? When.? At dinner.? You mean you knew . . . you knew we'd be late getting back to the boat.?"

  "If I had anything to do with it. Come on, you don't really think I'd do something like that by accident, do you.? I don't miss boats, my little Emma. I don't miss anything."

  "You planned that whole evening.? Everything.?"

  "Hey, don't talk to me like that; I'm hardly a criminal, you know. We both wanted it so I made it happen."

  "I didn't want it."

  "You did, but you didn't know it until I gave it to you. It's not such a big deal; most women don't know what they really want. They need the right guy, to show them."

  Bullshit. Hannah's voice, clear and sharp, pierced through Em-

  ma's thoughts, which had become fuzzy with wine. Men tell women what men want. Remember when we talked about thatP Emma clung to the image of Hannah's crinkled face, shrewd and loving. She couldn't use Hannah's language; she had never been able to say those words comfortably, but she had other words, almost as good. "That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard," she said.

  Brix's eyes narrowed. "I told you to watch it, Emma; you don't talk to me that way."

  "But it is," she said stubbornly, clinging to Hannah, remembering Hannah's sorrow, and her strength. She shook her head, trying to clear away the fuzziness. "It's ridiculous. It's stupid. Men don't show women what women want; men tell women what men want women to want, and then if women don't give it to them, they act like they've been cheated out of something they deserve."

  His face was dark. "Who told you that.^"

  "Hannah. But I agree with it. You shouldn't decide what I want, Brix; people who love each other try to find out what they want and then they try to give it to them." She shook her head again. "That doesn't sound right. I mean, if we love each other, I'd find out what you want and try to give it to you. And you'd do the same for me. That's what love is. You wouldn't pretend we had lots of time when you knew I was worried about being late for the boat. And you wouldn't make up stories about my mother, either, because you don't really know her. She was the one who broke off with your father; he didn't break off with her. She ended it."

  "They always say that. What else did your friend Hannah say that you think I ought to hear.^"

  "She did end it; I know she did. She's met somebody else."

  Brix was momentarily diverted. "No kidding. What a kick. Wouldn't that give him something to think about. So"—he picked up her hand and played with her fingers—"is that what you're going to do to faithful, loyal, reverent Brix.'' First tell him he's ridiculous and stupid and then find somebody CISC'"'

  "No, of course not. I could never do that."

  "But you just told me I'm stupid and ridiculous. Or was it ridiculous and stupid.'"'

  "I'm sorrv'." She hadn't meant to say that, but the words slipped out. Hannah wouldn't have apologized, she thought, be-

  cause what he'd said really was ridiculous and stupid. But she wanted the dark look on his face to be gone; she wanted him to be joking and loving again, the way he had been before.

  "Well, you're my little sweetheart." Brix dropped her hand and poured more wine into her glass. "The trouble is, you don't mean it."

  "Mean what.''" Emma asked, feeling confused.

  "You don't mean that you wouldn't leave me for somebody else. You don't mean that you'd always be loyal to me. You don't mean that you wouldn't do anything to hurt me."

  The sentences fell like hammerblows and Emma shrank beneath them. "I don't know what you mean. I'd never do anything to hurt you, Brix, you know that. I love you."

  "Really.'^ Really and truly.^ Well,
maybe we should talk about that a little bit."

  The waiter came to clear their dessert plates. "Mademoiselle is finished.^"

  "What.'"' She looked up at the waiter. "Oh. Yes, I'm finished."

  "Two coffees," Brix said. "And two cognacs."

  "Brix, I really don't want any—"

  "But I do. After all, this is a celebration, right.'' We're celebrating Christmas. Oh, and Emma's love and loyalty. Mustn't forget that."

  Emma felt dizzy. All through dinner he had been swinging between one mood and another, and now he had changed so completely, his voice, his face, even the way he was sitting, that it was as if she sat opposite a stranger. "Brix, please, don't do this. I don't know what you want."

  "I want to know why you're out to destroy me."

  She stared at him helplessly. He returned her look without expression. The waiter returned with coffee and cognac, and Brix held his glass, still looking at her. He appeared perfectly relaxed, but his eyes seemed to look through Emma, as if she were not there.

  "A while back," he said after a moment, "I asked you to do something for me. Not a hard thing, but something that was important to me. I asked you to keep something to yourself. You'd been spying in my office and you read a couple of pieces of paper you weren't supposed to read, and I told you it could hurt

  me if you talked about them and you told me you wouldn't. Am I right about that?" He waited. ''Am I right?''

  "Yes, but—"

  "Yes, but you did talk. Right.'' Sweet, loyal, loving Emma went out and did what she'd promised not to do. Right.-^ In fact, that's what you said just now about talking to your dog. Right.'' You liked talking to him because there weren't a lot of people you could trust who you're absolutely sure won't tell your secrets to a bunch of other people. That's what you said, right.'* So you did. How many.'"'

  "What.?"

  "How many people did you tell.'"'

  Emma tried to keep her thoughts straight. How did they start talking about the memos.'' They hadn't talked about the company all evening. And what did Toby have to do with it.''

  "How many.?" Brix repeated, leaning forward. ''I asked you a question.'''