"Miss Daniels?" The real estate agent dragged her back from her reverie with a touch on the arm.
"I'm sorry. ... I was dreaming.... Was there something else?" Naomi Liebson had apparently disappeared into the kitchen again. She wanted to look again, to try to envision how it would look if they broke through two walls. From the sound of what she'd been saying, she was going to gut the place anyway, upstairs and down. It made Bettina wonder why she didn't buy something more to her liking, but apparently this was what she did for fun. She had performed similar mutilation on five co-ops in as many years. But then she sold them again at enormous profits, so maybe she wasn't so crazy after all. Bettina looked curiously at the realtor, and then smiled. "Think shell buy it?"
The realtor shrugged. "I don't know. I'm bringing two more people by later today. I don't think they're right for it though. It's too big for them, and one couple is elderly, and you've got too many stairs."
"Then why bring them?" Bettina looked at her with fatigue beginning to pull down the corners of her delicate mouth. But she hadn't been able to resist asking. Why did they all come? There were people who wanted more bedrooms, older people who didn't want stairs, large families who needed more servants' rooms than even she had; there had been people for whom the apartment could never have been right, yet the realtors continued to come in droves, showing the place off to only a handful for whom the place made some sense. It seemed like a monstrous waste of time, but it was all part of the game.
And then of course it was Justin Daniels's apartment, and that was always worth a thrill.... "Why are they selling? ..." Again and again Bettina had heard the whispers. And then the answer, "He died and left the daughter flat broke...." The first time she had cringed when she heard it, and angry tears of indignation had stung her eyes.... How dare they! How could they? But they dared and they could. And it didn't matter anymore. She just wanted to sell the place and get out. Ivo was right, it was too big and too lonely, and now and then she had been scared. But the worst of it was that she couldn't afford it, and each month when the gargantuan maintenance was due, she trembled as she depleted her dwindling funds still more. It was high time that someone bought it. Naomi Liebson or whoever else.
The other houses had all sold after the first of the year. The one in Beverly Hills brought a windfall a few weeks before. The young man from the Middle East had bought it, lock, stock, and barrel, with carpets, dressers, eighteenth-century mirrors, modern paintings, and all. The place had always been an odd melange of the extremely showy and the very refined and Bettina had never liked it as much as the apartment in New York. It barely hurt at all to sign the papers. Now all that remained abroad was the flat in London, but according to Ivo that was almost empty now. He had called from over there. Her father's London solicitor had also assured her that he had someone to buy the place. He would let her know at the end of the week. Which left only the co-operative apartment on Fifth Avenue in New York. Even that wasn't going to look the same in another two weeks. She sighed to herself again as she thought of the auction. They had moved the date up, as a favor. And in ten days Parke-Bernet was arriving to take it all. Literally everything. She had spent the three weeks of Ivo's absence going over each table, each bookcase, each chair. In the end she knew she could hang on to nothing, only a few mementos, some small objects that had no value, but meant something to her.
But other than that there would be nothing left that was hers after the auction, and she hoped to have sold the apartment by then. Camping out in the empty apartment would be more than she could bear.
The agent looked at her curiously as they both stood patiently, waiting for Mrs. Liebson to return. It was unusual for a seller to help show the apartment, but then again Bettina was an unusual girl.
"Have you found anything else yet?" She eyed Bettina with interest. Hell, Naomi thought, even if Bettina were broke, after they sold this palazzo, she could buy herself something small and pretty, maybe a studio, or a little one-bedroom penthouse overlooking the park. That wouldn't cost her more than 100 thou. The woman didn't realize that it was going to take every dime from the sale of the large apartment, as well as all the profits from the auction, to put her father's estate in the black.
Bettina only shook her head. "I'm not looking yet. I don't want to start until I sell this."
"That's all wrong. You know how it is when you sell. The buyer drags his feet for three weeks, and then suddenly bango, they buy it, and they want you out overnight."
Bettina attempted a smile, but it was bleak. She was planning on moving to the Barbizon Hotel for Women at Lexington Avenue and Sixty-third, read The New York Times every day and of course the Mail, and hoped to find herself an apartment to rent in a matter of days, or maybe even weeks. She was even willing to share, if she had to. And then after that she would look for a job. She had decided not to discuss it with Ivo again. He would just set her up in a fancy office for a salary she didn't deserve and she didn't want that. She wanted to earn her living. She had to find a real job. The prospect of it almost crushed her with exhaustion as Mrs. Liebson returned.
"Aahh just don't know what I'm goin' to do with that kitchen. Honey, it's a mess." She looked reproachfully at Bettina, while still managing a broad smile. She looked at the realtor then and nodded, and with barely a good-bye they left. Bettina stood there for a moment, hating them both, as she softly closed the door. She didn't give a damn if the woman bought the apartment. She didn't want her to have it anyway. She didn't want her touching the kitchen, or anything else. It was her home, and her father's, theirs; it didn't belong to anyone else.
She sat down slowly in the winter twilight and stared around her and then down at the richly inlaid floor. How could he do this to her? How could he have left her in this god-awful mess? Didn't he understand what he was doing? Couldn't he have known? The resentment for her father rose up slowly in her throat like bile, and she let the tears start to flow. They were tears of anger and exhaustion, and her shoulders began to shake as she dropped her face in her hands and started to sob. It seemed hours later when she finally heard the phone. She let it ring for a while, but it was persistent, so at last she stood up and crossed the hall to the discreet closet in the entry where it was concealed. She was just getting used to having to answer the phone herself no matter how rotten she felt. Gone were the days of glory, she thought as she wiped her eyes with a handkerchief and sniffed.
"Hello?"
"Bettina?"
"Yes?" She could barely hear the muffled male voice.
"Are you all right, darling? It's Ivo. Is this a good time to call?" Her face lit up as she heard him and she suddenly had to brush away fresh tears.
"Oh, is it!"
"What? I can't hear you, darling, speak up! Are you all right?"
"I'm fine." And then suddenly she wanted to tell him the truth, all of it... No, I'm lonely, I'm miserable.... In a few weeks I won't have a home.
"What's happening with the apartment? Have you sold it?"
"Not yet."
"All right. Well, we've sold London. The deal closed tonight." He quoted a figure. It was enough to make a healthy inroad in her debts.
"That ought to help. How's your trip going?"
"It seems endless." She smiled into the phone.
"It certainly does. When are you coming home?" She hadn't realized how anxious she was to see him.
"I don't know. I should really have come back days ago, but I got involved in some special meetings over here. I may have to delay it a bit." She felt herself pouting and didn't give a damn if she sounded like a little girl. She could do that with him. He understood.
"How long?"
"Well"--he seemed to hesitate--"I've just arranged to stay for another two weeks."
"Oh, Ivo!" He had been gone since two days after their New Year's Eve date. That's awful!"
"I know, I know. I'm sorry. I'll make it up to you when I get back, I promise."
"Will you be back in time for the sale?"
"What sale?"
"The auction."
"When is it? I thought it wasn't for a while."
"They moved it up for me. It's two weeks from tomorrow. Friday and Saturday. And it's only Daddy's stuff. It's all of it."
"And what about you, for God's sake? You go off into the world with one suitcase and your name?"
"Hardly. You haven't seen my closets. It'll take more than one suitcase." At last she smiled.
"You can't give everything up. What the hell are you going to do? Sleep on the floor?"
"I checked into it and I can rent a bed. It's either that or wait another year for Parke-Bernet to have another date to schedule the sale. And then what? What if this place sells? I'd have to pay storage for the furniture.... Never mind, Ivo, it's too complicated. It has to be like this."
"For God's sake, Bettina, I wish you'd waited for me to come back before you got into all this." He sounded distraught and he was looking around his hotel room with dismay. There wasn't a great deal he could do to stop her from three thousand miles away, and the fact was that she was right to do what she was doing. He just hated to have her face it all alone. But she was good at it. All her life, in a way, Bettina had faced the difficult moments alone.
"Anyway, don't worry about it, Ivo, it's all under control. I just miss you like crazy."
"I'll be back soon." He checked his calendar and gave her the exact date of his return.
"What time are you coming in?"
"I'm taking a seven A.M. flight out of Paris, which should get me into New York at nine in the morning, New York time. I'll be in the city by about ten." She had wanted to surprise him by being at the airport, but she suddenly realized that there was no way she could. "Why?"
"Never mind. That's the day of the Parke-Bernet sale."
"What time does it start?"
"Ten o'clock in the morning."
He made a note on his calendar. I'll meet you there."
Suddenly Bettina was smiling. Unlike her father, Ivo never let her down. "Are you sure you can do that? Don't you have to go to work?"
This time he smiled at her as he held the phone. "After five weeks, one day can hardly make that much difference. I'll be there as early as I can. And I'll call you long before that, little one. Now you're sure you're all right?" But how all right could she be with realtors crawling all over her apartment and all her belongings about to be sold at auction by Parke-Bernet?
"I'm fine. Honest"
"I don't like your being there all alone."
"I told you. I'm all right"
They spoke a few minutes more. Then it was time for him to go.
"I'll call you. Bettina--" There was a strange, empty pause as he hesitated, and she held her breath.
"Yes?"
"Never mind, little one. Take care."
Chapter 9
The phone rang the next morning before Bettina had gotten out of bed. It was the real estate agent. Five minutes later Bettina sat up in her bed with a look of dismay.
"For God's sake, this is very good news!" The real estate woman spoke to her in obvious irritation, and Bettina nodded. It was good news. But it still came as a shock. She had just lost her home. For a handsome price. But still, it was gone. The moment had come.
"I suppose it is. I just ... I hadn't ... I didn't expect it to happen so quickly. When will she ... how soon--" She couldn't find her words and suddenly she hated the woman from Texas. She was buying the co-op. And for a sum that should have made Bettina squeal with delight. But she didn't feel like squealing. The agent talked on while Bettina's eyes filled with tears.
"Shall we say well close two weeks from tomorrow? That will give you both, two full weeks to get organized."
The arrangements made, Bettina hung up, sitting in silence in her bedroom, looking around her as though for the last time.
She spent the next week alternately packing and stopping to dry her tears. And at last on Wednesday they arrived to remove the countless priceless pieces to the hallowed halls of Parke-Bernet. It was the same day she went to her attorney to finalize the sale of the apartment. She didn't even bother calling to rent a bed. She uncovered an old sleeping bag she had bought years before and slept on the floor of her room. It was only for three nights; she could have moved to the hotel early, but she didn't want to. She wanted to stay there until the end.
The day of the sale at Parke-Bernet she woke up early. She began to stir as the first light of dawn crept across the floor. She didn't even bother to close the curtains anymore. She liked waking up early and sitting cross-legged with her coffee on the thick carpeting in her room.
But this morning she was even too nervous for coffee, and she paced catlike about the house in her nightgown and bare feet. If she closed her eyes, she could still see the apartment as it had been only last week. With her eyes open, it was strangely barren, and the parquet floors cold beneath her feet. She went hastily back to her room shortly after seven and tore through her closet for almost an hour. This wasn't a day for blue jeans. She wasn't going to wear work clothes or hide in a back row. She was going to walk in proudly and hold her head high. For this one last time she was going on view as Justin Daniels's daughter, and she was going to look fabulous. As though nothing had changed.
She emerged at last with a striking black wool Dior suit with padded shoulders, a cinched waist, and a long narrow skirt. Her hair would look like flame atop a black candle. And the jacket buttoned high in a mandarin collar. She didn't need a blouse. She would wear her mink over it, and on her feet, high-heeled black kid Dior shoes.
She bathed in the pink marble bathroom for the last time and emerged smelling faintly of gardenias and roses. She brushed her hair until it shone like dark honey, put on her makeup, and slowly got dressed. When she stood in front of the mirror, she was proud of what she saw. No one would have guessed that she was only a nineteen-year-old girl who had just lost everything she owned.
The auction room was already crowded with row after row of dealers, collectors, gawkers, buyers, and old friends. All conversation stopped as she entered the room. Two men jumped forward and snapped her picture, but Bettina didn't even flinch. She walked regally to one of the first rows, almost in front of a spotter, and threw her mink coat easily over the back of her chair. Her eyes weren't smiling, and she acknowledged none of those who tried to get her attention. She was a startling vision in black, with her copper hair, and her only jewelry was a long strand of her mother's large, perfect pearls. In her ears she wore matching earrings, and on her hands, a single onyx and pearl ring. The only thing she hadn't sold in the three months since her father had died were her jewels. Ivo had assured her that she would be able to hang on to them and still clean up the debts, and he was right.
The stage was directly in front of her where she knew she would be able to see the old familiar items appear as they were auctioned. Paintings, couches, end tables, lamps. And in the corners and along the sides of the room she could already see a few pieces, the pieces that would have been too large to carry on and off the stage, highboys, enormous sideboards, his bookcase, and two very large standing clocks. Most of it Louis XV, some Louis XVI, some English, all rare, many signed, it was going to be what the catalog called an "important" sale, but that was only fitting, Bettina thought to herself, Justin Daniels had been an important man. And she felt important again now, as she sat there, because this one last time she was there as his daughter, not simply herself.
The bidding began at exactly seven minutes past ten, and Ivo had not yet arrived. Bettina looked at the plain Carrier watch on her left wrist, and then let her eyes wander back to the man at the podium, the spotters, and the huge inlaid Louis XV chest with the marble slab on top of it, which they had just auctioned off for twenty-two thousand five. The circular platform on the stage slowly turned lazy-Susan style and another familiar item was revealed. It was the large ornate seventeenth-century mirror from their front hall.
"The bidding is open at two
thousand five ... two thousand five ... three, I have three ... four ... five ... six ... seven ... seven five on the left ... eight! ... Nine at the front of the room ... nine five ... ten in the rear! ... Ten ... ten ... do I have ... eleven! ... Eleven five ... and twelve ... twelve at the front of the room." And with that he clicked the hammer down. It was all over in less than a minute. It went with lightning speed, and the action was all but invisible. Fingers barely moved, hands were barely raised, there were nods, signals of the eye, the slightest gesture of a pen, a hand, and the spotters were trained to see it all and report it rapidly to the auctioneer, but it was rare that the spectators could see who was doing the bidding. Bettina had no idea at all who had just bought the large antique mirror. She made a notation in her catalog and settled back in her chair to watch the next item.
There were two beautiful French bergere chairs, upholstered in delicate cafe-au-lait silks, that had been in her father's bedroom. There was also a matching chaise longue similarly upholstered, which was the next item in the catalog. Bettina, with pen poised and waiting for the bidding to begin, felt someone slide into the empty seat beside her. Then she heard a familiar voice in her ear.
"Do you want those?" His eyes looked tired and his voice sounded grim. As she turned to see Ivo the funereal air of intensity of the hour before momentarily fled.
She put her arms around his neck for a moment and held him close. Slowly his face broke into a smile. She pulled away from him briefly and whispered in his ear. "Welcome home, stranger. I'm so glad you could come."
Loving (1981) Page 5