The Betsy (1971)

by Robbins, Harold

  Down at the far end of the plant, a train was beginning to move out slowly, trailing flatbed cars filled with automobiles. On the river side of the plant, a cargo ship was unloading coal to stoke the furnaces of the refining mill near the docks. The long, almost tunnel-like assembly plants were humming with activity as the raw materials went in one end and came out as automobiles at the other. And over it all hung the heavy gray pall of the smoke called industry.

  “No,” he said finally, without turning around. “We keep building the Loren Two. We’ll find a way to make it go. I can’t believe that in the middle of the greatest prosperity this country has ever known a quality car won’t sell. Remember what the President said—two cars in every garage, two chickens in every pot. And Mr. Hoover knows what he’s talking about. It’s up to us to make sure that in this year of our Lord, 1929, one of those two cars in every garage will be ours.”

  Junior was silent for a moment. “Then we’ll have to do something about getting the cost down. At the present rate, the more we sell, the more we lose.”

  Loren turned from the window. “We’ll get on that right away. You tell that young man, what’s his name, in production-engineering, to come up and see me. I like his spirit.”

  “You mean John Duncan?”

  “That’s the one,” Loren said. “I hired him away from Charlie Sorenson at Ford. We’ll turn him loose on the Loren production line. Let’s see what he can come up with.”

  “Bannigan will be angry,” Junior said.

  Bannigan was the chief production engineer and head of the department. “Too bad,” said Loren. “We pay off on work, not temper.”

  “He might quit,” Junior said. “He’s got that offer from Chrysler.”

  “Good,” Loren said. “In that case don’t give him a choice. Tell him to take the offer.”

  “What if he doesn’t?”

  “You’re president of the company now, fire him anyway,” Loren said. “I’m sick and tired of listening to him tell me why it can’t be done. I want someone who will do it.”

  “Okay,” Junior said. “Is that all?”

  “Yes,” Loren answered. The tone of his voice changed. “How’s my grandson?”

  Junior smiled his first smile of the meeting. “Growing. You ought to see him. He’s almost eleven pounds now and only two and a half months old. We think he’s going to be big like you.”

  Loren returned the smile. “Sounds great. Maybe I’ll take a run out there one morning.”

  “You do that,” Junior said. “Sally will be glad to see you too.”

  “How is she?”

  “Fine. She’s got her figure back but she keeps complaining she’s too heavy.”

  “Don’t give her a chance to get set,” Loren laughed. “Have another real quick. And make it a girl this time. I think it would be nice to name her after your mother.”

  “I don’t know. Sally had a pretty rough time with this one.”

  “She’s all right, isn’t she?” Loren asked quickly. “Nothing wrong with her?”

  “She’s perfect,” Junior replied.

  “Then pay no attention to her, son. Women always have to have something to bitch about. You just do your job and you’ll find soon enough that she’ll have no complaints.”

  “We’ll see.” Junior was noncommittal. He started to leave. His father called him back. “Yes?”

  “That icebox company you were talking about. You really think it’s a good deal?”

  “I do.”

  “Then buy it.”

  Junior looked at him. “But where will we put it? I was figuring on the Loren building.”

  “Come over here,” Loren said. He walked to the window and opened it. The roar of the factory came flooding into the room. He leaned out the window and pointed. “How about there?”

  Junior stuck his head out the window and looked. “But that’s the old warehouse.”

  Loren nodded. “It’s also a hundred and ten thousand square feet of production space that ain’t doing nothing but gathering dust and rust.”

  “It’s also where we store parts and replacements,” said Junior.

  “Get rid of it,” Loren said. “Why the hell did we establish regional parts depots all over the country if we’re going to keep that junk in our own backyard?” He walked back to his desk and picked up his cigar. He smelled it with obvious satisfaction. “Ship it all out to the depots and tell them what a great favor we’re doing them. Instead of the usual ten days or tenth of the month, they won’t have to pay us for ninety days.”

  “That’s not fair, Father, and you know it. They’ll never sell at least fifty percent of that stuff.”

  Loren relit the cigar and puffed on it. “Who said anything about being fair? Shove it to them just like they shove it to us when they get the chance. One thing you better learn and learn real good. There’s no such thing as an honest car dealer. They’re the direct descendants of the old horse thieves. And they’ll steal from anybody who gives them the opportunity. You, me, their customers, even their mothers. You didn’t hear them weeping when they hit us for the extra two hundred dollars a car on the Loren Two when they knew we were losing over two hundred a unit at that time. Oh, no, they promised to pass it on to the customer. But you and I know better. They kept it for themselves. So don’t go feeling sorry for them. Save your sympathy for where it counts. For us.”

  Junior was quiet for a moment. “Somehow I can’t believe that. Not all of them can be that bad.”

  Loren laughed. “Did you ever meet a poor automobile dealer?”

  Junior didn’t answer.

  “Tell you what, I’ll make you an offer,” Loren said. “You take a lamp and go like Diogenes to look for one honest car dealer. Just one, no more. And when you find him, you bring him here to me and I will give you all the rest of my stock in this here company and quit the business!”

  “Will there be anything else, Mr. Hardeman?” his secretary asked.

  Junior shook his head wearily. “I think that should do it, Miss Fisher.”

  He watched her gather up the papers and leave the office. The door closed silently and respectfully behind her. He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. It seemed that the details never ended. It was always a surprise to him how much his father knew about what was taking place in the business without seeming to exert any effort. He had to exhaust himself just to keep up with the tiny day-to-day affairs, much less the over-all management of the company.

  Right now, he could use an administrative vice-president just to keep the organization moving smoothly. But his father was against it.

  “The only way to run a business is to run it yourself,” he had said when Junior asked for permission to hire an assistant. “That way everyone knows who is the boss. I did it that way all my life and it worked.”

  It didn’t make any difference how much Junior explained that times were changing and the demands were greater. His father’s final word on the subject was that he hadn’t made him president of the company so that he could shirk his responsibilities. That he was not about to go off and leave his business in the hands of strangers. And that the only reason he felt secure in leaving for Europe in May for the first vacation he had ever taken in his life was because his son was in charge.

  Junior had listened with a certain kind of inner skepticism. He had heard those tales before. He would believe them when his father got on the boat. He took out his watch and looked at it.

  It was nine forty-five. He reached for the telephone. His secretary answered.

  “Would you get Mrs. Hardeman for me?”

  There was a buzz on the line and a moment later Sally answered. “Hello.”

  “Hello, darling,” he said. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize it was so late. I hope you didn’t wait dinner for me.”

  Her voice was cool. “When I didn’t hear from you by eight, I figured you were tied up and had something.”

  “Good,” he said. “How’s the baby?”

>   “Fine.”

  “Look, it’s late,” he said. “And I don’t feel up to that hour’s drive home tonight. Especially when I have a seven o’clock appointment back here tomorrow morning. Do you mind if I stay down at the club?”

  There was the barest hesitation in her voice. “No. Not if you’re that tired.”

  “I’ll make it home early tomorrow night,” he promised.

  “Okay,” she said. “You get a good night’s rest.”

  “You, too. Good night, darling.”

  A click told him she had gone off the line. Slowly he put the telephone down. She was angry. He knew that. It was the second time this week he had stayed in town. His father had been right. It had been a big mistake moving all the way out to Ann Arbor. This weekend he would have a long talk with Sally about moving to Grosse Pointe.

  He picked up the phone again. “Call the club,” he told his secretary. “Tell them I’ll be in and to have Samuel wait for me. I’ll want a massage before I turn in.”

  He began to feel better almost before putting down the phone. That was the ticket. A very light dinner, then a hot, relaxed bath. Afterwards he would climb into bed nude and Samuel would come in with his mixture of soothing oils and alcohol. The tensions would leave him almost at the first laying on of his hands and languor would overcome him. He would be fast asleep by the time the masseur left. A deep, safe, dreamless sleep.

  Sally put down the telephone and walked back into the living room. Loren looked up at her from the couch. “Is there anything wrong?”

  She shook her head. “That was Junior. He’s staying at the club tonight. He’s too tired for the drive home.”

  “Did you tell him I was here?”

  “No,” she said. “It wouldn’t have made any difference.” She picked up another glass from the cocktail table in front of him. “Let me fix you a fresh drink.”

  “Fix one for yourself while you’re at it,” Loren said. “You look like you can use it.”

  “I can’t have any,” she said. “Not till I finish weaning the baby.” She handed him his glass. “Now you just relax and make yourself comfortable while I give your grandson his ten o’clock feeding. I won’t be long.”

  Loren got to his feet. “I’ll come with you.”

  She gave him a curious look but didn’t answer. He followed her up the steps to the nursery. A tiny night bulb glowed in a corner of the room, casting a faint yellow light behind the crib.

  They walked silently and looked down at the baby. He was asleep, his eyes tightly shut. She reached in and picked him up. He began to cry almost immediately.

  “He’s hungry,” she whispered, crossing swiftly to a chair and sitting in it. She was in the shadows, her back to the light. He heard the soft rustle of her clothing, then abruptly the cries ceased and instead there was a faint smacking sound as the baby fed.

  She looked up at him. His eyes glowed like an animal’s in the reflected yellow light. There was a strangely intense expression on his face. “I can’t see,” he said.

  Slowly she turned in the chair until she and the baby were bathed in the soft glow. She heard his footsteps and when she looked up, he was standing over them.

  “My God!” he said in a hushed voice. “That’s beautiful!”

  A warm wetness rushed through her and she was suddenly angry. “You might try telling that to your son.”

  He didn’t speak. Instead he placed his hand on her bare shoulder and pressed her reassuringly.

  Startled, she looked up into his face for a moment, then turned and kissed his hand. The tears ran into her eyes and spilled down her cheeks onto his hand. She leaned her face against him. “I’m sorry, Daddy Hardeman,” she whispered.

  His free hand stroked her hair gently. “That’s all right, child,” he said softly. “I understand.”

  “Do you?” she whispered, almost savagely. “He’s not you. He’s cold, he keeps everything inside himself, locked up where nobody can reach him.” She looked up at him. “I’m not like that at all. I—”

  He placed a silencing finger on her lips. “I said I understand.”

  She looked at him without speaking. She felt the strength of him flowing out and enveloping her and she knew he felt all the things that she did. “Is it so wrong?” she asked.

  He shook his head.

  “I saw you with that woman on my wedding night,” she said.

  “I know you did,” he answered. “I saw it in your eyes.”

  “Then what makes that right and this wrong?”

  Again he shook his head slowly. “The time. This is not the time.” He looked down at the suckling child. “You’ve got more important things to do.”

  The old unreasoning anger came up in her. Why did he always have to be sure of himself, so right? “I’m a fool,” she said bitterly. “A damned stupid fool.”

  “No, you’re not,” he said with a smile. “You’re just a normal healthy young woman whose husband deserves a swift kick in the ass for neglecting his homework.” He started for the door. “And maybe I’m just the man to do it.”

  “No,” she said. “You keep out of it. There’s only one thing I want from you.”

  “What is that?” he asked.

  She rose from the chair and placed the baby back in the crib. Carefully she arranged the covers around the sleeping child and turned to him. She walked toward him, her fingers fastening the buttons on her blouse. She stopped in front of him and looked up. “You tell me when it is the time.”

  The muscles of his face seemed to reshape themselves into planed angular lines. She could see a pulse beating in his temple. His hands shot out suddenly and took her breasts. She felt the milk from them seep through her blouse into his palms.

  His voice was angry. “You bitch! You couldn’t wait, could you?”

  “No,” she said almost calmly. She put her hands on him and felt his bursting strength. Her insides seemed to turn into a hot boiling liquid. Her legs gave way and she sagged against him. “My bedroom’s through that other door,” she managed to gasp.

  He picked her up and carried her through into the other room. With one hand he closed the door silently behind him and carried her over to the bed. She tumbled into it and stared up at him as he began to undress. She reached across the bed and turned on the small night table lamp.

  He was almost naked now. “What are you waiting for?” he asked savagely. “Take off your dress!”

  She shook her head without speaking, never taking her eyes from him as his union suit dropped to the floor and he stepped toward her. Then she looked up into his face. “You tear it off me,” she said. “The way you did that girl’s.”

  In a moment the dress was torn into shreds and he was on his knees before her. He held her legs back and apart and lowered himself into her.

  She shoved her half-clenched fist into her open mouth to keep herself from screaming. “Oh, God! Oh, God!” She was seized by paroxysm after paroxysm of climax and spending. She shut her eyes tightly and this time she was the girl she saw in the mirror.

  Chapter Eight

  She awoke a few minutes before the baby’s two o’clock feeding. Loren was sleeping on his stomach, one arm thrown across the pillow, shielding his eyes from the night lamp, his long legs stretched down the length of the bed, his feet awkwardly reaching past the edge. This close he didn’t seem to be as hairy as she had thought, his body covered instead with a fine, soft, red-gold fur through which the whiteness of his skin gleamed.

  Carefully, so as not to awaken him, she moved from the bed. The moving made her suddenly aware of her own body. Every cell of her was filled to the bursting, alive, rich, and completed. “So this is what it is like,” she thought in wonder.

  Silently, she slipped into a robe and went into the baby’s room, shutting the door behind her. She stood over the crib, looking at the sleeping baby. For the first time, it all made sense to her. He was not a baby any more. He was a man child and some day he would be large and strong and fill a wom
an just as she had been filled.

  Her breasts began to ache and she touched them, then went to the dresser and took the already prepared warm bottle from its thermos container. She tested the temperature of the formula against the back of her hand. It was just right. She took the baby from the crib, sat in the chair, and gave him the rubber nipple.

  He took one suck and spit it out. He cried protestingly. “Shh,” she whispered softly, pushing the nipple back into his mouth. “You have to get used to it sometime.”

  He seemed to understand because he began to suck hungrily at it. She bent and kissed his suddenly sweating face. “Man child,” she whispered. She had never felt her love for him as strongly as she did at this moment.

  She heard the door open behind her and when she looked up, Loren was standing over them. He was naked and tawny in the yellow light and the strong male smell of him was pungent in her nostrils.

  “How come the bottle?” he asked after a moment.

  “You left nothing for him,” she replied simply.

  He didn’t answer.

  “It’s all right,” she added. “He’s in the middle of being weaned anyway.”

  He nodded without speaking and then went back into the other room. She looked down at the baby. The bottle was half empty, it was time to burp him.

  When she came back into the bedroom, he was sitting on the edge of the bed smoking a cigarette. He looked at her inquiringly as she closed the door behind her. “He went right back to sleep,” she said.

  “It’s a great life,” he smiled. “Nothing to do but eat and sleep.” He got to his feet. “Time for me to go.”

  “No.”

  He looked at her. “We’ve been crazy enough,” he said after a moment. “The thing for me to do is get out of here and make sure it never happens again.”

  “I want you to stay.”

  “You’re crazier than I am.”

  “No, I’m not,” she said steadily. “Do you think I could let you go now that you taught me what it is like to really be a woman? What it is like to really be loved?”