Stars and Bars: A Novel

by William Boyd

  “ ’Cause you didn’t have no car, man. It wasn’t there this morning.”

  “What do you mean it wasn’t there?” He felt the sense of baffling weakness descend on him that he now associated with life in Luxora Beach.

  “I got up this morning, no car. Simple as that.”

  “Duane?”

  “Could be. I heard he was trying to get it fixed up and all.”

  “But there was nothing wrong with the bloody thing!” He drummed his fingers on the table. The crying general, the disappearing car … These were like portents in a Shakespearean play. Beckman was talking again.

  “Some cars are real dogs. I remember back in Quang Tri we had an APC was a real mother. Always throwing tracks, breaking down. One day we woke up an’ it wasn’t there. Just like yours. Seems the sarge got stoned with some chopper pilots, drove it off to the airfield. They picked it up—used one of them big fuckers, a Chinook—flew out over a jungle and dropped it off. Figured if Charlie Cong picked it up it’d do the war effort more good fouling things up for the gooks.” Beckman laughed at his anecdote, tucking his thin blond hair behind his ears, his eyelids fluttering like the wings of a hovering bird.

  “Well, hello.” Cora stood in the doorway, cigarette held beside her face. “My father would like to see you.”

  So there were people at home, Henderson thought.

  “Catch you later,” Beckman said. “Wait till you hear what happened next.”

  Cora and Henderson walked up the stairs together.

  “How do you get on with Beckman?”

  “Fine, fine. He tells me all about life during the Vietnam War.”

  “You do realize that he was never out there.”

  “Sorry?”

  “He was 4F. Because of his eyes. Nervous complaint.”

  “No, I didn’t know. I was sure—” He felt obscurely shocked at this news. He didn’t know why. Nothing at the Gage Mansion was what it appeared to be—he should have learned that by now.

  “Dr. Dubrovnik get off OK? No ill effects from your stroll in the lake? Walking on water takes some practice, I hear.”

  “Oh, God. It was … Everything went wrong. It’s difficult, um …”

  “Don’t worry.” Cora laughed, but kindly. “But I was very impressed. Somehow it was the last thing I’d ever have expected you to do.”

  “Same here,” he said thoughtfully. Then, “Look, I’d be terribly grateful if you didn’t mention anything to Bryant. I wouldn’t like her to get the, you know, wrong idea.”

  “Or Bryant’s mother.”

  “Yes.”

  “Dr. Dubrovnik wasn’t the most convincing art historian.”

  “Well …” He made a wry face.

  “Bit of a dark horse, Mr. Dores, aren’t you? Lead a complicated sort of life.”

  “Not usually,” he said candidly. “But since coming here everything has got rather out of control.”

  The were outside Gage’s door. Cora looked quizzically at him for a moment.

  “Go right on in. He’s expecting you.” She turned to her own door.

  Henderson knocked and went into Gage’s room. It was empty and the double doors to the bedroom were closed.

  Gage’s voice came from behind them. “Henderson. Give me two minutes.”

  “Fine.”

  Henderson took the opportunity of scrutinizing Demeter and Baubo again. There was the goddess in her tattered widow’s weeds, laughing at the serving maid’s outrageous display. The grin was crude, badly rendered, but was wide enough to reveal the goddess’s teeth. Baubo was laughing too. They were having a good time, that was clear enough.

  “Come on in,” Gage called from his bedroom. Henderson walked through. Gage was shirtless and was patting his damp ruddy cheeks with a towel. His old chest and shoulders were covered in surprisingly dense gray hair.

  “Having a shave,” he said, and put on a clean shirt. “How are you, Henderson?”

  “Oh. Fine.”

  “A successful consultation in Atlanta?”

  “Yes and no.”

  “Freeborn tells me you created quite a stir. Something about shouting and wading across the atrium lake?”

  Henderson colored. “Ah. Yes. I can—”

  “Freeborn was insistent that anyone who behaved like that wasn’t a man to do business with.”

  “There is an explanation. Of sorts.”

  “I listen to Freeborn but I rarely take his advice.” He paused. “I guess you had your reasons.”

  Henderson scratched his cheek. “Yes. I think I did.”

  “Well, OK. Things I did when I was your age …” He came over and put his arm around Henderson’s shoulders. “We got to sow our wild oats, don’t we? Otherwise what the hell’s the point? Know what I mean?”

  “We all want to be happy and we’re all going to die.”

  “You’re learning, Henderson. You’re learning.”

  Henderson smiled. Gage patted his shoulder.

  “I like you, Henderson. Like you a lot. You’re a bit quiet and withdrawn, but I’ve got to say I like you.”

  Henderson didn’t know what to reply. He liked Gage too, he realized. He felt fond of the little old man. He wanted to tell him that, but something prevented him.

  “Thanks very much,” he mumbled.

  Gage smiled and shook his head sadly.

  “Now. What about our business?”

  “I’ve spoke to Mr. Beeby and we’ve thought again about the Dutch paintings. We will raise the reserve to fifty thousand dollars each. I know that’s not as much as Sereno and Gint, but if we get anywhere near our estimates on the others, you’ll do much better.”

  Gage spread his hands. “There you are. A little extra consideration can work wonders.”

  “All the other conditions remain more or less the same, of course.”

  “Well, I think we’ve got a deal.” Gage held out his hand. Henderson shook it. Gage’s grasp was cool and dry. “I’m delighted,” Henderson said. He felt a thudding in his chest, a slackening. “Truly delighted.”

  “I don’t think my son will be very pleased. Neither will Mr. Sereno or Mr. Gint. But they are my pictures, after all.” Henderson quickly ran through the next stages of the operation—packing, shipping, insuring. “How soon can you sell them?”

  “A month, perhaps slightly longer. We need to publicize, announce—”

  “Good. Well, the sooner the better. I won’t disguise from you, Henderson, my need for the money. The Gage Mansion, Beckman’s lab, Freeborn’s medical supplies venture, and various so-called sure things he’s gotten me involved with, Cora’s … well, these last few months Cora doesn’t cost much—but she has to be looked after. It’s all drained away over the years.”

  “I see,” Henderson said, sympathetically.

  “Know how I made my first million? Parking lots. Right after World War I. I saw all these new motorcars on the roads and I thought, guys will start driving them to work and are gonna need someplace to leave them. I had a little money saved up and I bought myself a vacant lot in downtown Atlanta. Leveled it out, painted some lines on the ground. The first real parking lot in Atlanta.

  “You know, my parking lot was a kind of peculiar shape so I had to draw a plan of how to get the most number of cars into the place. Then I had my idea.” Gage paused, adjusted his stance as he got caught up in his story.

  “I took out a series of patents on parking-lot design. Filed them at the patent office. You look at any old parking lot today. What do you see? The basic grid, the parallelogram, the chevron, the interlocking chevron. I had patents on them all in the early twenties. Everyone who had a parking lot had to pay me to use the design. I had three lawyers touring the southern states serving writs. The money came flowing in. I bought more space for parking lots. Before I knew it I was the biggest parking-lot operator south of the Mason-Dixon Line. I made my first million, and then some more. But then in 1924 the Supreme Court declared my patents invalid and the bottom fell out of
parking-lot design forever.”

  “Good Lord,” Henderson said. “It seems such an obvious idea.”

  “All the best ones are, son. Every time I see a parking lot today I could weep. And those multistory garages … What the hell. It didn’t bother me that much. I’d bought this place. I’d been to Europe and I had my art collection. In 1935 I got married.” He paused.

  “I only had that one good idea which made me all my money. I thought I had good ideas later but it turned out I was only going to be allowed the one.” He laughed to himself. “Amazing how easy it goes, money. I’ve been poor and I’ve been rich, now I’m getting poor again and there’s no doubt it’s better being rich. Money can’t buy you happiness, they say—and it’s true, I guess—but it can buy you one hell of a lot of other things.” He looked at Henderson. “You get me two or three million, Henderson, and I’ll see the century out happy.”

  “I don’t think you need worry. The Sisleys alone will—”

  “You a happy man, Henderson?”

  Henderson was a little taken aback. “Well, I wasn’t. But then I thought I knew what would make me happy. But now I’m not so sure.” He rubbed his hands together and put them in his pocket. “I’m afraid that doesn’t make much sense.”

  There was the sound of someone coming into the next room.

  “Loomis,” came a voice. “It’s me.”

  “Ah,” Gage said, looking at his watch. “A little early, but never mind.”

  They both went through into the sitting room. Standing in the middle of the carpet was Monika Cardew, in a bright-orange dress, tight around the hips, and white high-heeled shoes. Her hair was still in its complicated beehive.

  “You remember Henderson, Monika.”

  “Of course. How do you do?”

  “Hello,” Henderson said, trying to look insouciant.

  “We won’t be a second, Monika. Help yourself to a drink.”

  He followed Henderson to the door and opened it. He smiled.

  “Fine woman, Henderson. See you in church.”

  Henderson shut the door. For a moment he stood incredulous. Then, remembering his good news, clapsed his hands together, looked heavenward and said, “Thank you, God.”

  “Everything go well?” It was Cora standing in her doorway.

  “Yes. I think so. We got the pictures after a bit of renegotiation. I’m afraid your friend Mr Sereno has had a wasted journey.”

  “He’s not my friend.”

  “I thought—”

  “Wrong.”

  Henderson nodded. “That was, um, Monika Cardew.”

  “Yeah. She comes once a week. When T. J. goes to Tallapoosa to record his Sunday Sermonette.”

  “I see.”

  “It’s been going on for years. Why else do you think Daddy spends so much time with T. J?”

  “Good point.” He paused. “Well, I must get to a phone. It will have to be Luxora Beach. I can’t quite see Freeborn allowing me to communicate my news over his line.”

  “Are you walking?”

  “No choice. My car has disappeared into thin air.”

  “Feel like some company? I’d like a walk.”

  Henderson and Cora went down the front steps and out into the night. It was warm but from time to time a coolish breeze would blow. Cora wore an old blue cardigan over her baggy gray T-shirt and black cotton trousers. Soon they turned a bend in the road and the lights of the house were lost to sight. They walked along in silence for a while. All about them was the melancholy sound of crickets. It was, Henderson thought, one of the earth’s most evocative of noises. Like an owl’s hoot, or a gull’s screech it summed up a whole cargo of emotions and moods. Now he felt sad and relieved, weary and grateful, strangely mature and wise. Up above him the stars shone in their confusing constellations.

  Cora paced along beside him, a small intent figure, the top of her head bobbing at the level of his elbow. She lit a cigarette and he smelled the smoke. As soon as they had stepped outside she had removed her sunglasses. He looked sidelong at her now but it was too dark to make out her features. What a curious, complex person she was! he thought. He couldn’t figure her out at all. Had she really abandoned a career in medicine? Or was that another Gage Mansion fantasy? What was she doing whiling away her life in her father’s house? Smoking, reading? Listening to classical music? And what did she do for sex? he suddenly wondered crudely, and then felt embarrassed by his prurience. He found himself trying to imagine her naked: the slight girl’s frame, with full breasts and a woman’s hair … oddly stimulating.

  “Lovely night,” he said, derailing that train of thought. “You haven’t, um, seen Duane and Bryant by any chance?”

  “Bryant’s in with Shanda watching TV, I think. I don’t know where Duane is. There was some talk of him taking your car into Hamburg.”

  “Bryant told me that she and Duane wanted to get married.”

  “That’s not funny, Henderson.”

  “It’s not meant to be. It’s true.”

  “You’re kidding.” She stopped.

  “I wish I were.” They started walking again.

  “It sounds very unlikely to me. I mean, God, you know what Duane is like.”

  “Actually, as surprising as it may sound, I’ve yet to clap eyes on him. He’s just some sort of malevolent spirit who’s commandeered my car, as far as I’m concerned.”

  “Well, when you meet him you’ll know what I’m talking about. God, marry Duane?”

  They had reached Luxora Beach. Henderson didn’t know whether to be comforted or alarmed by Cora’s words. They crossed the mall and stepped over the railway tracks.

  “Bar seems to be doing a roaring trade,” he observed. “Well, it’s all we’ve got.”

  They walked down a dark side street to the lambent phone box outside the post office.

  “Won’t be a second,” he said. As he put through his collect call to Beeby he looked at Cora’s small neat figure pacing around outside. She paused to light a cigarette, looked up and caught his eye. She had an oval pleasant face, he could see, now that it wasn’t disfigured by her dark lenses. She gave a mocking curtsy. He doffed an invisible cap.

  Beeby answered.

  “Thomas,” Henderson said. “It’s done. He agreed.”

  “You’re sure?” Beeby gave a shout of exhilaration. “Henderson, you amazing man!”

  “We shook hands on it ten minutes ago. I’ll get everything tidied up tomorrow, be back in the office Monday.”

  “Fine. Superb. But I thought you were taking a holiday?”

  “Slight change of plan, there.”

  “Have it another time.”

  “Right.”

  “You’re a marvel.”

  After some more praise, he hung up.

  He made one more call, To Melissa.

  “Melissa, darling, it’s—”

  “Get her out of there, you bastard, or I call the cops!”

  “What? Who?”

  “My baby, you bastard, that’s who! You’re meant to be looking after her. She called me today, says she wants to marry someone called Duane. I mean, Duane? I ask you. Look, Henderson, I’m warning you—”

  “Calm down, Melissa, Calm down, for God’s sake. There’s no need to worry.” He felt his armpits moisten. “It’s nothing, some girlish fantasy she has. A stupid crush. There’s no problem—we’ll be back on Monday.”

  There was a pause. Melissa started again, this time tearful.

  “But I am worried, Henderson, I am. She said she wasn’t coming home, that she was going to stay with this Duane person. She said she was very happy. It just didn’t sound like her.”

  “Exactly,” he soothed. “A passing infatuation. She doesn’t know what she’s saying, really. I’ve already spoken to her. Everything will be fine and we’ll be back on Monday, I promise.”

  He uttered some more consoling platitudes and hung up. He wondered how he had managed to sound so confident and reassuring—he didn’t feel it. He ste
pped outside the box, shaking his head.

  “It’s uncanny. One problem clears up, another steps into line.”

  “What is it?”

  “Bloody Duane and Bryant. That was Bryant’s mother, reaching hysteria point. The stupid girl phoned home.”

  “Take it easy,” Cora touched his arm. “I’ll get Daddy to talk to Duane—end of problem. He always does what Daddy tells him. Always.”

  “Would you? That’d be wonderful. I don’t know what she’s playing at. She’s only fourteen, for Christ sake. At fourteen I still had two years to go to my first kiss.”

  Cora laughed disbelievingly.

  “No, it’s true. We tend to be late developers in England—if we develop at all. They lock you away, you see, for the duration of your adolescence with lots of other boys.” He frowned. “It’s a long haul,” he added.

  They set off back through the town to the Gage Mansion.

  “You know that painting, the one you call Demeter and Iambe?”

  “Yeah. What about it?”

  “Well, I’ve discovered it’s not Demeter and Iambe. it’s Demeter and Baubo.”

  “So? It that important.”

  “Not really. Vaguely interesting.” He explained what he had learned of the myth. “It seems that Demeter broke her fast and came out of mourning when Baubo flashed her … her privates at her.”

  “Her privates? You mean her cunt?”

  “Well, yes.”

  “Say what you mean, Henderson, say what you mean.”

  “Sorry. I was just wondering what it could be all about. What it all signified.”

  “Demeter has had her daughter stolen, right? She goes into a kind of deep mourn. But she cheers up when Baubo shoots her a view of—”

  “Precisely.”

  “Well it seems pretty obvious to me what it’s all about.”

  “Does it?” He looked across at her. She looked back at him. He stumbled on a stone. Cora grabbed his arm. “Christ!”

  “You OK?”

  They had stopped on a deserted stretch of the road. There was no moon yet, but a clear faint light from the stars. The crickets breeped steadily about them. Henderson knew, with sudden insight, both what he was about to do and all the good and strong reasons why he shouldn’t. These crisis points had occurred before: he recognized the right path, recognized the wrong and chose the wrong. Sufficient to have stood but free to fall. It was, he felt, an understanding periodically offered him of a certain truth about the human condition. But perhaps, he thought, as he bent down to kiss Cora, that is a little grand. Not the human condition, then: the Dores condition.