I waited underneath my fears
And paused a moment in the chase
Of worldly men and flight and years.
Emerging from behind a rich
Unruliness and purity
She threw enchantments like a witch
and purged my insecurity.
Yet when I offered her my kiss
She fled in laughter, teasing me
With truths that I cannot dismiss
And eyes that I forever see.
I would have fit her like a glove.
Murder is the loss of love.
“How did you do this?” Jane finally asked, astonished. “You just sit down and it comes out in rhyme and everything?”
“It’s just a peculiar little talent I have. Not very practical. I hope you don’t think what I wrote was too personal. I had to go where the words you chose took me.”
“I’m very impressed,” she said, trying to hand it back to him.
“No, it’s yours,” said Valentine, shaking his head, smiling at her. “My gift.”
“But I couldn’t.”
“You’ll have to. Unless you’ll take a kiss instead.”
“Don’t you want to keep a copy?”
“No. I wrote it for you.”
Jane finally had to smile back.
“Thank you,” she said, folding the sonnet carefully and putting it into her pocket. “I’m flattered. I suppose you write a lot of these. Impress lots of women.”
“Not so many,” said Valentine. “Women these days are more impressed that I’m in financial services. Poetry isn’t very romantic any more, I’m afraid, except to us diehards. What about you? What do you do?”
“I’m a bodyguard-assistant.”
“Indeed? Are you guarding and assisting some specific body, or can anyone apply?”
Jane ran a hand over her Raphael Renaissance Red locks.
“Elinore’s probably boring my employer to death even as we speak.”
“Who is he, I wonder?” said Valentine, scrunching together his eyebrows in exaggerated thought. “Gangster? Politician, perhaps? Famous movie star?”
“Just a businessman. His name is Perry Mannerback.”
Valentine Treves sat forward with a start.
“Did you say Perry Mannerback? The Perry Mannerback?”
“Yes,” said Jane. “Why? Do you know him?”
“Well, not personally,” sputtered Valentine. “I know of him of course. He’s a very prominent individual. Captain of industry and all that. You’re really his bodyguard?”
“Bodyguard-assistant,” said Jane, surprised at how impressed he was. It was easy to forget Perry’s importance in the world after you had eaten a few dozen gummy bears with him.
“However did you get into that, I wonder?”
Jane sat back and began to tell him. She told him about her own peculiar little talent and about her work in the theatre. She told him that she had taken the job with Perry as a summer lark, not wanting to get into the complicated story of her father. Valentine listened, asking questions, making wry comments and funny observations. After a while Jane grew less self-conscious and found herself laughing.
Half an hour later, they were happily arguing about whether Richard Rodgers wrote better music with Oscar Hammerstein 2d or Lorenz Hart (Jane voted for Hart), when Elinore King appeared in the aisle, smiling like a socialite who’s just had sex with her worst enemy’s husband.
“So I see you two kids are hitting it off,” said Elinore. “Didn’t I tell you he was cute, Janie? I have such a knack about people, don’t I?”
“I really resent your being here, Elinore,” said Jane, rising stiffly, all her anger returning. Meeting Valentine had been so unexpected and pleasant that she had almost forgotten what Elinore had just done. It came back now in a red-hot flash.
“Oh, come on,” said Elinore, brushing her off with a laugh. “I’m just coming out to see my daughter. What’s so terrible about that?”
“You know what I’m talking about.”
“No, I don’t. I really don’t. You know, sweetie, I think you’ve been under a lot of stress, what with your father and all.”
Jane grabbed her bag from under the seat.
“It was nice meeting you, Valentine,” she said.
“A pleasure. Maybe we can talk again later.”
“Perry wants to buy another painting, Janie,” said Elinore smugly. “I said it would cost him at least sixty thousand dollars and he didn’t bat an eye. Isn’t it wonderful? Janie? Did you hear me? Did you hear what I said?”
Jane was already stalking up the aisle back to her seat. When she sat down, Perry Mannerback was staring out the window. His face was pale. The damage apparently was even worse than Jane had feared.
“Sorry to subject you to Elinore’s sales pitch,” Jane said contritely. “I had no idea she was going to pull something like this.”
“No, no,” said Perry. “No bother.”
“You don’t really have to buy another of my father’s paintings. They aren’t even available. Elinore was wrong to lead you on like that.”
“She said he was talking about me,” said Perry, his voice dreamy and detached. “Your father. In his coma. Repeating my name.”
“She had no right to tell you,” said Jane angrily.
“It’s true, then?”
“He’s not conscious. He’s raving.”
“But he’s said my name?”
Jane hadn’t wanted to confront Perry with her father’s ramblings. Not yet. Not like this. The choice had been taken away from her, however. Jane was furious at Elinore for spilling the beans but knew she had to take advantage of it while she could.
“Yes, my father has spoken your name,” she said softly.
“What else has he said? What are his words?”
“He’s saying, ‘No, Perry, no. Don’t do it, Perry,’” said Jane, watching him carefully. “He’s saying, ‘You’re a liar, Perry; I know the truth.’”
“I see.”
Perry turned and stared out the window again.
“Why would my father say things like that, Perry? What didn’t he want you to do?”
“I have no idea,” said Perry in a very small voice.
“Did you lie to him about something?”
“No.”
“Perry, please look at me,” said Jane. “What did you lie to him about? What were you going to do?”
“I don’t know,” said Perry, playing with his fingers, unable to meet her eyes. “Did I tell you about the Willards? The family of clockmakers?”
“Yes, you’ve already told me. Why do you think my father is saying these things?”
“The movie looks interesting,” announced Perry, reaching over for his earphones and placing them on his head. “I’m going to watch the movie.”
When the plane landed in St. Louis two hours later, Perry was still dodging her questions. He seemed off in another world somewhere.
“I’m going to go out into the airport,” he said, rising. “I’ve got to stretch my legs.”
“I’ll come with you,” said Jane, stepping into the aisle and letting him pass in front of her to lead the way.
“No, no. You stay here. I’ll be right back.”
“Are you all right?”
“Fine, fine,” he said, waving a manicured hand.
“I want to talk to you about my father.”
“Soon, soon. When I get back. We’ll be in Seattle in no time.”
There was no way to argue with him. Perry Mannerback was still her employer, and he had made his wishes known in no uncertain terms. He darted up the aisle and out the open portal.
Jane sat down and tried to read a few pages of George Bernard Shaw. It was impossible, however, to concentrate on anything but what had happened with Perry Mannerback. This was not the way she had wanted to handle him at all. How could she get him to open up now that Elinore had put him on his guard?
Fifteen minutes passed and Perry didn’t
return. Half an hour. Jane’s concern grew into alarm. She was about to leave the plane and go out to look for him when a blue-jacketed airline employee entered the cabin and made his way to her.
“Are you Miss Sailor?” he inquired, checking the seat number.
“Yes,” said Jane. What now?
“Mr. Mannerback has been unexpectedly detained,” he said, reaching into his inside coat pocket and handing her a flight envelope. “He asked me to give you your ticket. You’re to go on to Seattle without him and check into the Regency Hotel where he’s made reservations. He’ll take a later flight. You’re to wait in the room; he’ll call when he gets in.”
“But I should be with him,” Jane said, starting to rise.
“He wants you to do as he says,” said the man. “He says not to worry. He says he’s sorry.”
The man departed. Jane sat back, unable to think of anything else to do. The plane eventually took off. A minute after the seat belt sign had been turned off, Elinore appeared in the aisle at her side.
“What happened to Perry?” she demanded. “Why didn’t he get back on the plane? I wanted to finalize things with him.”
“You really have a lot of nerve, Elinore,” said Jane, livid. With Perry gone, there was no longer a governor on her temper. Usually when her anger came out, it came out red-hot. This time, however, it was as cold as ice. “I can’t believe you ambushed us like this.”
Elinore waved her pudgy hand dismissively.
“Ambush, shmam-bush. I have legitimate business in Seattle. I’m going out to see my daughter. Is there a law against that?”
“You’ve gone too far this time, Elinore. You really have.”
“Oh, come on, Janie, drop this self-righteous shit, okay? Didn’t you hear what I said before? Perry wants to buy another of your father’s paintings. Sight unseen. Sixty thousand dollars. I’m so stupid, I should have asked for more. He wouldn’t know the difference.”
“No,” said Jane.
“Oh, you don’t know this man the way I do,” said Elinore happily. “He’ll pay, I’m sure of it. We’ll let him pick out whichever one he wants, and if it’s one of the big ones, we can tell him it’s a hundred thousand and he’ll go for it. That kind of money is nothing to a man like Perry.”
“You’re not selling any of my father’s paintings, Elinore. None. Not to Perry, not to anyone. Not now, not ever.”
“Now, Janie, don’t be like that, don’t be a baby. We have an agreement. I have a contract. No matter how you sell those paintings, I’m going to get paid, so just relax and let me do my job, okay?”
“No, not okay,” said Jane.
“Well, you have no choice.”
“Yes, I do. I’ve decided that I’m not going to sell my father’s paintings at all. I’m going to donate them to museums. The Fyfe will want some. I’m sure there are other museums that will be delighted to have the rest.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Elinore with a nervous little laugh, her beady eyes widening. “Don’t you understand? We can finally make some money off of this. Maybe not a fortune, but sixty thousand isn’t exactly chopped liver either. At least it’s something after all these years, after all this has cost me with Aaron. Don’t tell me that you don’t need money.”
“I don’t want it.”
“All right,” Elinore snarled. “We’ll split everything fifty-fifty. That’s obviously what you’re after, but I really resent the way you’re doing this, Janie, cramming it down my throat like this. There are better ways to negotiate. I thought we were friends.”
“We’re not friends, Elinore,” said Jane. “And I am not kidding. I’m donating the paintings to museums. I’m not going to take a nickel for them. Ever. And neither are you.”
“You’ll calm down,” said Elinore. “You’ll think about this and see I’m just doing what’s in your interest. What’s in Aaron’s interest.”
“Get away from me, Elinore,” said Jane.
“Now, Janie …”
“Get away!” shouted Jane.
Heads turned throughout the cabin. Elinore looked around, reddening.
“We’ll talk when you get control of yourself, young lady,” she said stiffly, then turned and walked back to her own seat.
“I’m not a young lady,” Jane hollered after her. “I’m more than old enough to hire a lawyer and sue your fat ass off if I decide to!”
Jane could feel the eyes of everyone in the first-class cabin on her, but she felt better nevertheless. She felt better than she had felt for a long time. No amount of money was worth being stuck to someone like Elinore. Just look at what she had done to her husband.
Jane hadn’t realized what a burden her father’s paintings had been. Much better that they would be in museums for everyone to enjoy, rather than on the walls of a few privileged rooms. Yes, she could have used the money, but never having had it, she wouldn’t miss it either. Aaron Sailor would have preferred public recognition to money anyhow. The only reason Jane hadn’t thought of this before was that the art establishment hadn’t wanted anything to do with him for so many years.
Two hours later, the plane broke through the gray clouds and landed at Sea-Tac Airport.
As the first-class cabin emptied, Elinore made a great show of sticking her nose in the air and letting Jane pass in the aisle. A pale, stoop-shouldered woman met Elinore at the gate.
This must be the daughter, Jane understood, feeling nothing but sympathy for her. The poor thing flinched at Elinore’s every gesture, like a dog that has been beaten regularly. Elinore’s screech owl voice, determinedly cheerful, harangued her daughter all the way down to the baggage carousels. Jane took up a position as far away from the two women as was physically possible, though Elinore was pointedly ignoring her.
“Hello, again,” said a voice at Jane’s side.
She turned and found herself looking into the big blue eyes of Elinore’s seatmate on the plane, Valentine Treves.
“Hi,” said Jane.
“It turns out I didn’t have to buy a subscription after all,” he said, holding up the New York Times Sunday Magazine. “Complimentary copy. All I had to do was promise to ask you out on a date. Of course, this was before you got into the fight with her. After that, she informed me that you are really the Creature from the Black Lagoon and I’d be very foolish to have anything to do with you.”
“Elinore’s days of looking out for my welfare are over,” said Jane curtly.
“Yes, and for this I owe you another vote of thanks. The woman barely said two words to me all the way from St. Louis. She just sat there with steam coming from her ears.”
“I’m glad.”
“It was a sad story,” said Valentine, holding up the magazine. “About your father. I’m sorry.”
Jane nodded.
“I don’t see Mr. Mannerback.”
“He’s taking a later flight.”
“Ah,” said Valentine, his eyebrows colliding in thought. “I’d like to show you the town, but I’m only going to be here for a few hours. I’ve got meetings in San Francisco tonight.”
“That’s okay,” said Jane, disappointed somehow. “I’ve got to wait for Perry at the hotel.”
“Are you going back to New York soon? Perhaps we could get together there. I could take you to dinner. You could show me your lagoon.”
“Do you live in the city?” asked Jane.
“When I’m not in London. I have a pied-à-terre on the East Side. May I ring you up? Are you in the phone book?”
He smiled a cockeyed smile. It wasn’t fair, thought Jane, remembering her last disastrous encounter with a member of the male species. Why was his dopey, hopeful expression so attractive? Jane felt vulnerable but very charmed.
“I’m listed under Jane L. Sailor,” she heard her voice saying. “On West Ninetieth Street.”
“What does the L. stand for?”
“Luria. Family name.”
“Yes, I remember from the article. Take care of my heart, Ja
ne L. Sailor, now that you’ve got it in your pocket.”
With a wink, he turned on his heel and disappeared into the airport crowds.
Smiling despite herself, Jane collected her suitcase and the one Perry had checked when they had boarded the plane in New York. Then she took a cab to the Regency, a new hotel in the center of Seattle. Its forty-story spire featured three-room suites that made her apartment back home seem like a hovel.
Once she got settled in her opulent rooms, Jane opened a can of Coke from the kitchen refrigerator, took out her Shaw plays, and waited for Perry to call. Because of the time change, it was barely three-thirty local time.
At seven, having finished both Candida and Major Barbara (and reread Valentine’s sonnet more than once), she phoned down to the desk for the umpteenth time to ask if Perry had checked in yet. He hadn’t. Jane ordered a salmon steak and an imported beer from room service and turned on the television.
It was eight forty-five, nearly midnight New York time, when the phone finally rang.
The noise made Jane jump. She grabbed the remote and turned off the set. It was Perry. He was calling from New York.
“I thought you were taking a later flight here,” said Jane, confused and concerned.
“Yes, sorry about that,” said Perry, sounding more scattered than usual. “Something came up. I needed to come back to the city. There was some business I had to attend to that couldn’t wait.”
“What am I supposed to do?”
“About what?” said Perry.
“About the lighthouse clock.”
“Oh, yes, the clock. That’s right. I forgot.”
“You forgot? How could you forget? Wasn’t the clock the whole point of this trip?”
“I suppose you’ll have to check it out for me.”
“But I don’t know anything about clocks!” exclaimed Jane.
“Just go to One Thousand First Avenue tomorrow morning and see Mr. Honey church,” said Perry as though it was an after-thought, as though he was busy threading a needle or defusing a bomb and just happened to be speaking with her at the same time. “He’s expecting me, we spoke on the phone at the end of last week. Tell him that I’m prepared to buy, but say the price is too high. Dad taught me that. They call it negotiating. Look him right in the eye and say, ‘You’ve got to do better.’ It often works.”
The Girl in the Face of the Clock Page 9