The Betsy (1971)

by Robbins, Harold

  “Thank you, Loren,” I said, and the meeting was over.

  We walked down the corridor. “How’s Number One?” Bancroft asked.

  “Just fine,” I answered.

  “There’s been a lot of talk around that he’s slipping. Old-age things, you know.”

  “If he is, then we’re all in trouble,” I said. “He’s as sharp as he ever was.”

  “I’m glad to hear that,” Bancroft said. I could tell that he meant it. “He was a real automobile man.”

  “He still is.”

  “My office is right here,” Dan said. “Come on in and we’ll get the details over with.”

  I arranged to have lunch with Bancroft early in the following week and went into Dan’s office. It was simple, efficient and modern, as befit the financial vice-president.

  Dan walked around his desk and sat down. I seated myself opposite. “If my memory serves me right, you worked for us before,” he said.

  I nodded. He knew damn well that I did.

  He picked up his phone and asked for my personnel file. He ran a tight ship. The file was on his desk within two minutes, even though the date of my last employment there was over eleven years ago. He opened it and looked at it. There was surprise in his voice. “Do you know that you still have a balance in our paid-up pension fund?”

  I didn’t know it but I nodded anyway. “I didn’t exactly need the money,” I said. “And it was as safe a place as any to leave it.”

  “Have you discussed your compensation?” he asked.

  “We never got around to it.”

  “I’ll take it up with Loren,” he said. “Do you have any suggestions?”

  “None at all. Whatever he says is okay with me.”

  “Have you discussed a title?”

  “Number One suggested, ‘vice-president, special projects.’”

  “I’ll have to clear that with Loren,” he said.

  I nodded my understanding.

  He stared down at my file for a few moments, then closed it and looked up at me. “I guess that’s all I need.” He got to his feet. “Let’s go over to Design and Engineering and see if we can find a nice office for you.”

  “Don’t worry too much about it,” I said. “I don’t plan to be spending much time in it.”

  Chapter Eight

  The frustrations began to pile up. I didn’t need a Seeing Eye dog to sense that the word was out on me. I got all the cooperation I asked for, but everything took twice as long. Six weeks later I was still in my office trying to get Engineering to spring three Sundancer engines for me. The Sundancer was the top of their line.

  Finally I picked up the phone and called Number One. “I’m boxed in,” I said.

  He chuckled. “You’re in there with real pros, son. They make those kiddie-car drivers you’ve played around with look like rank amateurs.”

  I had to laugh. He was so right.

  “What are you going to do?” he asked.

  “I just wanted your permission to play it my way.”

  “Go right ahead. That’s what I got you for.”

  My next call was to Weyman. “I’m leaving for the Coast tomorrow.”

  He sounded puzzled. “But the engines haven’t come through yet.”

  “I can’t wait for them. If I don’t begin to set my pit crew and drivers now for next year, we may have cars but that’s all.”

  “What about the modifications?” he asked.

  “Carradine in Engineering has them all worked out. He’ll begin the moment he gets the engines.”

  “And the shell?”

  “Design is already working on it. I’ve approved the plans and they tell me that they’re waiting approval from Cost.” That was a shot at him.

  “They haven’t crossed my desk yet,” he said defensively.

  “They’ll get there,” I said.

  “How long will you be gone?”

  “Two, maybe three weeks,” I said. “I’ll check in with you the minute I get back.”

  I put down the telephone and waited. In exactly two minutes it rang. It was Loren III. It was also the first time I had spoken with him since the day I came in. He was always in meetings and too busy to call back.

  “I’ve been meaning to call you,” he said. “But I’ve been locked up. How’s it going?”

  “Can’t complain. With a little luck we should field our first racer in the spring.”

  “That’s good.” There was a pause. “By the way, I’m having some people over for dinner tonight and Alicia thought it might be nice if you could join us.”

  “That would be lovely,” I said. “What time?”

  “Cocktails at seven, dinner at eight thirty. Black tie.”

  “Haven’t got one.”

  “Dark suit then. Alicia likes to dress up the table.”

  Carradine at Engineering was the next call. His voice was excited. “What did you do to them? I just got word that we’ll have the engines tomorrow. They’re pulling them off the line for us.”

  “When you get them, go to work,” I said. “I’m leaving for California and I’ll check in with you from there at the end of the week.”

  The next call was from Design. “We just got the approval back from Cost, but they cut us by twenty percent.”

  “Build them anyway.”

  Joe Huff’s voice was puzzled. “You know better than that, Angelo. We can’t build that design for twenty percent less.”

  “Did you ever hear of going over budget? You build it. I’ll take the responsibility.”

  I left the office early, feeling better than I had in weeks. The smokescreen was up and working. Now I could get on with the real thing.

  I was the first to arrive. The Hardeman house was only four blocks away. The butler ushered me into the living room and put a drink in my hand. I had just begun to sit down when a tall girl appeared in the doorway.

  “Hullo,” she said. “Am I early?”

  I got back to my feet. “Not for me.”

  She laughed and came into the room. Her laugh had a warm, throaty undersound. She held out her hand. “I’m Roberta Ayres, Alicia’s houseguest.”

  “Angelo Perino.”

  She let her hand rest in mine for a moment. “The racer?” Her voice was puzzled.

  “Not any more,” I said.

  “But—” Then she remembered her hand and took it away.

  I smiled. I was getting used to it. “I had my face put back together.”

  “Forgive me,” she said quickly. “I hadn’t meant to be rude. But I have seen you drive. Many times.”

  “That’s all right,” I said.

  The butler came into the room. “And what will be your pleasure, Lady Ayres?”

  The name rang bells. Her husband was a very good amateur driver who bought the farm coming out of an apex at Nurburgring a few years back.

  “Very dry martini, straight up,” she said.

  “Forgive me,” I said. “I should have recognized the name. Your husband was a very fine driver, Lady Ayres.”

  “It’s kind of you to say so. But John’s big trouble was that he was never as good a driver as he thought he was.”

  “Who is?” I asked.

  She laughed and the butler placed the drink in her hand. She held it up. “To fast cars.”

  “Good enough,” I said. We drank.

  “What are you doing now?

  “Putting Bethlehem into racing.”

  “That should be interesting,” she said politely.

  “It is.”

  She looked at me curiously. “You don’t talk very much, do you?”

  I smiled. “It depends.”

  “See what I mean,” she laughed. “You answer most of my questions with two words.”

  “I haven’t noticed.” Then I began to laugh. “That was three words.”

  Loren came in while we were still laughing. “I see you two have already met.”

  “We’re old friends by now,” she said.

  A
strange expression fleeted through his eyes. It was gone before I could record it. He bent over and kissed her cheek. “You look lovely tonight, Bobbie.”

  “Thank you, Loren.” Her hand brushed his lightly. “I must say you look very mod.”

  “Like it?” He smiled with pleasure. “I had it made at that London tailor you told me about.”

  “Absolutely smashing,” she said.

  Then it all came together. Maybe there was hope for Loren yet. At least it proved there were other things on his mind beside business.

  Alicia came down and I went over and kissed her cheek. “Hey, there,” I said.

  “Hey, there,” she said and we both laughed.

  Loren and Lady Ayres were looking at us.

  “Private joke,” I said.

  “Angelo and I went to high school together,” Alicia explained. “And that’s how he used to call everybody. I told him that I wouldn’t answer unless he called me by name.”

  “And then how did he call you?” Lady Ayres asked.

  “Hey, Alicia,” she replied. We all laughed. “It seems like such a long time ago now.”

  “You haven’t changed that much, Alicia,” I said.

  She smiled. “You don’t have to flatter me, Angelo. My daughter is seventeen.”

  The other guests began to arrive, and it turned into a typically intimate Grosse Pointe dinner for ten. Young-leaders-of-Detroit-society type.

  The conversation was typical also. Taxes. Government interference in production. The new pressure of safety and ecology, and its apostle, Ralph Nader, came in for his share of damnation.

  “We don’t decry the need,” Loren said. “But we do object to the way in which we are cast as villains. The public forgets very conveniently that they wanted greater horsepower and speed. We only responded to that demand. Even now, with all the hue and cry, give them the choice of a hot car and a slower, more ecologically considerate one in the same price range, they’ll choose the hot one every time.”

  “What’s going to happen?” someone asked.

  “More government regulations,” Loren answered. “More problems for us. The costs will be tremendous and if we can’t pass them on to the consumer, we could be pushed out of the automobile business.”

  But he didn’t seem very concerned about that, and the conversation turned to the generation gap and drug abuse in the schools. Then everyone had a chance to tell their favorite stories about their children.

  I couldn’t contribute much to that, so I spent most of my time nodding and listening. Once when I glanced down the table at Lady Ayres, I caught her watching, a glint of secret amusement in her eyes. She was a very aware lady.

  I didn’t realize just how aware she was until she stopped next to my seat on the plane the next day. I had requested the lounge so I could spread my papers out on the table and work on the way. I got to my feet. “Why, Lady Ayres, what a pleasant surprise!”

  That same glint of amusement that I had seen in her eyes the night before reappeared. “Is it really, Mr. Perino?” she asked, putting herself in the seat next to me. “Then why did you make such a point of telling me exactly what flight you would be on?”

  I laughed. “Lady or no, I figured there’s only so much of that anyone could take. You had to be human.” I reached behind her seat and took the reserve card off and gave it to her.

  She read her name on it and looked up at me. “You’re pretty sure of yourself, aren’t you, Mr. Perino?”

  “It’s time you called me Angelo.”

  “Angelo,” she said softly, trying it on her tongue. “Angelo. It’s a lovely name.”

  I reached for her hand. “Downhill all the way,” I said.

  The doors clanged shut and the plane began to roll away from the gate. A few minutes later we taxied down the runway and took off.

  She looked out the window at Detroit for a moment, then back at me. “It’s like getting out of jail,” she said. “How can anyone live in that fucking, boring city?”

  Chapter Nine

  There was a Telex waiting for me at the Fairmont Hotel when I stepped up to the registration desk. It was from Loren.

  UNDERSTAND LADY AYRES ON YOUR FLIGHT TO SAN FRANCISCO. WOULD APPRECIATE ANY COURTESIES AND ASSISTANCE YOU CAN EXTEND TO HER. REGARDS.

  L.H. III.

  I smiled wryly and gave it to her, then turned back to the desk and signed in.

  The room clerk looked at the signature, then at the room chart. “We have your suite ready, Mr. Perino. It’s in the new tower.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  He signaled a bellboy. “Would you show Mr. and Mrs. Perino to 2112, please.” He smiled at me. “Have a pleasant stay, Mr. Perino.”

  We followed the bellboy down the long corridor to the Tower elevators. She still held the Telex in her hand as we boarded. Silently she gave it back to me.

  She didn’t speak until we were alone in the room. “How do you think he knew?”

  “The Detroit gestapo,” I said. “Every motor company has one. They don’t like secrets.”

  “I resent it,” she said. “It’s none of their affair where I go or what I do.”

  “You should be flattered. That sort of treatment is usually reserved only for people important to the business.”

  “What has that to do with me?”

  “Come off it, Bobbie. I saw the way Loren looked at you. He’s interested.”

  “All American men are interested. Young blond widow and all that rot. Why should he be any different?”

  “Because he’s Loren Hardeman Three, that’s why. And kings are supposed to be above that sort of thing.”

  “Only American kings,” she said. “We British know better.”

  I went over to the desk and pulled out a telegraph form. The bellboy came in with the luggage while I was writing. He put the valises in the bedroom. I signaled him to wait until I finished.

  “Take a look at that,” I said, handing the form to her.

  She looked down at it.

  HARDEMAN III, BETHMO, DETROIT.

  INSTRUCTIONS RECEIVED. EVERYTHING UNDER CONTROL. REGARDS.

  PERINO.

  She was smiling when she returned it to me. I gave it to the bellboy with his tip. He closed the door behind him.

  The telephone rang just as he left. I picked it up. It was Arnold Zicker, otherwise known as the merger shark. He was responsible for more corporate mergers and acquisitions than perhaps any man in the United States.

  “I’ve got Tony Rourke standing by for dinner,” he said. “Eight thirty okay?”

  “Eight thirty okay,” I said. “Where?”

  “Make it the hotel,” he said. “It’ll be easier.” He was also one of the cheapest men in the world. If we ate at the hotel, it was only natural I should put it on my bill.

  “Okay,” I said. I put down the phone and looked up at her. “Dinner all right at eight thirty?”

  She nodded. “Perfect. Do you have anything special to do until then?”

  “No.”

  “Then let’s go to bed and fuck,” she said. “You don’t think I flew all the way out here just to have dinner?”

  It was beautiful. Really beautiful. I think both of us were surprised, then a bit shaken by the deep emotional impact.

  We clung together after the passion had been spent. I didn’t want to leave her. I felt her trembling. Her flesh was my flesh.

  “Hey, man,” I said, still trying to understand it. “What happened?”

  Her arms tightened around my neck, holding my cheek close to her. “The stars fell in,” she whispered.

  I was silent.

  “I needed you,” she said. “You don’t know how much.”

  I put my finger on her lips. “You talk too much.”

  She nipped my finger. “Women always do,” she said. “It’s because they never know what to say afterwards.”

  I put my face down on her shoulder.

  She turned her head to look at me. “Somehow I knew it wou
ld be like this with us.”

  “Don’t get sloppy,” I said. “It’s not British.”

  “What do I have to say to make you realize that it isn’t always like this?” she asked, almost angry.

  I smiled at her. “What makes you think I don’t know? I’m still inside you, aren’t I? Usually, by now I’m out of bed, washing my cock.”

  “I’ll wash it for you,” she said. “With my juices. I’ll drown it.”

  Just then the telephone rang. I reached across her and picked it up. It was Loren.

  “I just got your wire,” he said.

  “Good.”

  “Everything okay? Where is she?”

  “Right here. I’ll let you speak with her.” I put the phone in her hand.

  “I’m fine, Loren,” she said. “No, really, everything is all right. … It was lovely, but I’d imposed long enough. … Yes, thank you. … I’ll stay on the Coast for a few weeks and then maybe I’ll go over the pole back to London. … I’ll call you before I do. … We’re just about to leave for dinner. … Give my love to Alicia. … Good-bye.”

  She put the phone back on the cradle, then pushed me off her. I rolled over on my back and she sat up and looked down at me. “You really are quite a bastard,” she said.

  Then we both began to laugh.

  They were seated at the bar when we came into the cocktail lounge. Their eyes snapped open when they saw her. No one wears a micro-mini quite like an English girl. Her legs never stopped.

  Arnold slid to his feet from the bar stool. “Tony Rourke, Angelo Perino.”

  Rourke was a big black Irishman with a squinting driver’s face. I liked him right away. We shook hands.

  I introduced her and they made room for her. All conversation halted for a moment as she climbed up on the bar stool. It was something to watch. Then we ordered drinks.

  I allowed exactly five minutes for the usual pleasantries, then pushed right in. I looked at Rourke. “Arnold tells me that you might have the setup I’m interested in.”

  “We just might,” he answered cautiously.