The Good Life

by Gordon Merrick

  Perry had a long way to go before he could think like the rich. He was supposed to seriously consider turning down a quarter of a million dollars. The Vernons thought of Bet as having no money at all because that was all she had. How many other girls would he meet with as much?

  He didn’t even know how to pretend to react the way Billy expected him to. May be he should be offended. As the offer began to acquire some reality, his triumph became an ecstasy of deliverance. He had checked out of the Y for the last time. He would never pump another gallon of gas or wonder if he could afford a fifteen-cent meal or hustle a guy in the street. He could take Bet if he wanted her; the summer was limitlessly promising.

  He remembered that Billy was talking about only a piece of paper, not a hoard of cash, but his euphoria only slightly abated. Billy would provide the cash until his gift could take effect.

  France sounded fine if that was where Billy wanted to live. He was going to do everything he could to make him happy. That was only natural, but he knew how now and would give him no cause for regrets. He sat back, hoping to ease the almost unbearable pressures that had been released in him and threatened to erupt in some wild explosion of joy. He sat forward and stretched. Laughter rippled through him. Inexplicable tears pricked his eyes.

  “My God, Billy,” he burst out. “I’m glad you can make it sound reasonable. Don’t expect me to act as if I’m weighing the pros and cons before I make a decision. How could there be a con? I understand what you’re offering me, and there’s absolutely nothing that makes me wonder if I ought to accept. I haven’t been thinking about going our separate ways. I can go back to France with you in the fall if you don’t think I should get a job.”

  “We can decide about this as we go along. I don’t see that we have to be together every minute. We can make our plans so that they coincide as much as possible. I’d like to think of you as a permanent part of my life, something fixed to give me a sense of direction but with all the flexibility either of us might want.

  “Of course, giving you a sort of promissory note doesn’t pay the bills, but I think we can forget my original suggestion of a fifty-dollar-a-week allowance. Let’s eliminate bookkeeping as much as possible. I’ll keep you adequately supplied without expecting an accounting. You know now what I consider a reasonable standard of living, and I’ve seen that you’re not careless with money, so I’m sure you’ll stay within acceptable limits. We both have to take care as long as my mother is keeping us. When we each have our own money, we can spend it overnight if we feel like it.”

  “Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars? Jesus, Billy. I’ve got a hard-on like a barge pole. I think I’m about to come.”

  “Why don’t you take your clothes off and let us both enjoy it?”

  “What a good idea. I’ve been trying to think of something to do to celebrate.”

  He put down his glass and leaned over to pull off his shoes. He jumped up and peeled off everything and faced his benefactor. Naked and flaunting his erection, he felt more directly engaged in the transaction Billy had proposed.

  A quarter of a million dollars wasn’t an abstract idea; it was going to be his. It would alter his life irrevocably, but it wouldn’t turn him into somebody else. He was still just a naked guy whose incredible luck was riding on his body.

  “You’re a terrible influence, Billy,” he said. “I shouldn’t be encouraged, you know.”

  Billy’s eyes twinkled as he looked him over appreciatively. “On the contrary. As a drawing room decoration, you can’t be surpassed.”

  “An awfully expensive one.”

  “My mother can afford you. Dear me, how vulgar of me. You’re a bad influence too.”

  Perry caught a glimpse of the naughty little boy in Billy, which he found very endearing. A wave of high spirits swept up in him, and he burst out laughing. “Oh, Billy. I love being rich. I’m going to come every five minutes. You’d better grab me if you want to get your money’s worth. I can’t hold it any longer.” He stepped forward into waiting hands.

  His love affair with London began that evening.

  “I watch you with fascination,” Billy said over dinner in the spacious elegance of the Ritz dining room. “You select what’s useful to you. I saw it in New York. You had everything you wanted in a week. You’ll do it here and in France. You’re a natural man of the world.”

  “The longer I’m with you, the more uneducated I feel.”

  “You’ll make travel an education, if travel still exists in a few months. Did you notice how everybody tonight seemed to take war for granted? Sandbags around the Houses of Parliament. Gun emplacements in Hyde Park. It’s a crazy joke.”

  “Why doesn’t anybody at home seem to think anything about it?”

  “If Elsa is to be trusted, Roosevelt does, although I don’t see how our precious neutrality fits into it.”

  “Somebody was talking about what Hider’s doing to the Jews. I’ve never heard anything about that before. It’s as if we were living on two different planets.”

  “In a sense we have been, but planes will change all that. The possibilities are too appalling to imagine.”

  “What’ll we do if it happens?”

  “War? Run for the boats, I imagine. I’ve been through these scares several times in the past couple of years, and they blew over. I don’t think anybody is ready for war, not even the Germans. At least we’re both American citizens, so we won’t have any trouble getting home. Thank heavens I listened to Laszlo.”

  “Didn’t the Germans blow up a boat with a lot of Americans last time?”

  “The Lusitania. It was one of their biggest mistakes, not that I want to be blown up to prove that the Germans never learn. All things considered, the best we can do is to act as if we’d never heard of Hitler and assume we’ll have at least one more summer of life as I’ve known it. I’ll take you to Poole’s and order some suits for both of us. And shoes. Tails for you. I can’t think of a more frivolous reaction to war.”

  Perry had never heard of anybody having their shoes made, but he was dazzled by the idea of being custom-made from head to toe. My shoes? he could just hear himself saying. Oh, yes, they’re Turnbull & Asser It was a good line if he could find anybody who knew what he was talking about.

  Aside from his obligations to his wardrobe, Billy left him free for his sightseeing, which was tireless. Ivor Novello was the most famous of Billy’s theater friends in London, a matinee idol of the first magnitude who also composed his own songs, including “Keep the Home Fires Burning.” It gave Perry a thrill to be taken out after the show in Ivor’s Rolls-Royce while his fans pressed up against the windows, ogling.

  One of Billy’s friends arranged for him to attend a session of the House of Commons, and he heard Winston Churchill make a bellicose speech about Hitler, a battle cry accompanied by cautious murmurs of “Hear, hear.” Even under stress, everybody was so polite and mannerly that Perry was embarrassed by his own informality.

  He still had a lot to learn, and he continued to pick up little habits of the well-educated man of the world he wanted to be. But England in a week was more than even he could manage. Billy teased him about his determination to crowd everything in.

  “I’m sure there must be a stone somewhere you’ve left unturned,” he said. “Have you seen the mud puddle where Queen Elizabeth stepped on Sir Walter Raleigh’s cloak?”

  “Not yet, but tell me where it is. I don’t want to miss it.” They laughed fondly together.

  Perry was growing genuinely devoted to his older friend. It was the kind of settled, solid feeling that he hadn’t known was in him, but all sorts of unknown aspects of himself were emerging every day, as if he had been waiting all these years to become who and what he was, needing only a nudge for it all to fall into place. He couldn’t deny that a quarter of a million dollars was quite a nudge. Billy gave him a signed copy of the statement of intent that was to be sent to the American lawyers.

  “Put it away somewhere safe u
ntil I give you the final notarized document in New York,” Billy directed. “There’s no reason why my mother should drop dead before then, but you’re protected as of now.”

  Through the dense legal jargon, Perry could see that Billy was doing exactly what he said he wanted to do. There was even a clause stipulating that if there were any expenses involved in his taking possession of the gift, they were to be borne by the donor.

  “I suppose this is the time I should make a big speech about my undying gratitude,” Perry said, “but you make me feel somehow that it’s not necessary. We understand each other.”

  “That’s all the thanks I could possibly want. I’m very proud you feel that way.”

  Seeing the transaction all but concluded, Billy was impressed by himself. He wanted to keep Perry with him, but he didn’t feel that the money was his only hold over him. Having eliminated that inducement as best he could, he could enjoy it now or suffer the consequences, as the case might be. It was the most honest and straightforward act of his life. If it didn’t work out satisfactorily, he would have thrown away $250,000 that wasn’t his anyway. Foolhardy, perhaps, but not disastrous in view of what he was going to have at his disposal.

  Billy was jubilant. For once, he thought, he had found somebody who would use to the fullest whatever he chose to offer without feeling obliged to make repayment in emotional currency. Experience had taught him that the relationships that last are the ones based on reality rather than on sentiment. The French knew it by instinct. They got married for sensible reasons and relegated romance to the sidelines.

  He looked at Perry and was enchanted as always but was satisfied that the hazards of falling in love had been circumvented. Perry was going to be more important than just another lost love.

  With some regret Perry faced the necessity of packing. Billy turned over to him the responsibility of getting them out of the hotel and onto the train for France. But when they drew up in front of the station and by the time they were installed in the Edwardian elegance of a first-class carriage on the legendary Golden Arrow, the spell of England had been replaced by the lure of France. Whistles blew, doors banged, and they rolled smoothly out of the station while a white-jacketed attendant hovered over them to take their drink orders. They settled back into the deep, plush comfort of their armchairs and watched England’s lush summer landscape glide by.

  They had lunch on the boat sailing across the tranquil channel.

  “Wine! At last!” Billy exclaimed as he sniffed his glass. “Real wine. French. I may swoon.”

  Perry couldn’t remember when he’d enjoyed himself so much. England. France. The world was waiting for him, and he loved finding his way around it.

  They were efficiently moved from the old-fashioned opulence of the boat to the sleek modernity of the French train.

  “I don’t think anybody could complain about this trip,” Billy said as they made themselves comfortable in their compartments. “Only a couple of more hours to Paris, and then we can eat and drink ourselves into an agreeable stupor and sleep like logs till Fréjus.”

  Perry awoke with pale morning light on his face and lay for a moment without moving, trying to orient himself. He was on a train in France. It wasn’t moving. He sat up and looked around him. His memory of going to bed was a bit fuzzy, but he seemed to have managed in good order.

  He pulled himself out of bed and reached into the washroom for a towel to cover himself before parting the curtains. It was a wise precaution. Men were passing so close below his window that he felt as if he were standing on the platform. On the other side of the tracks a sign announced AVIGNON. They had come all the way down through France during the night. The bridge where they danced was here. He knew that much French.

  He glanced at his watch. After 6. The sky was a clear, pale blue. It looked like it was going to be a good day.

  Perry had some coffee, then shaved, dressed, and joined Billy in his compartment, where all traces of the bed had been tidied away to recreate the comfortable little sitting room. Billy looked as if he could scarcely contain his beaming contentment.

  “I do love to be back,” he exclaimed. “I know it all so well, every tree, every shrub, every rise and dip of the land. I can’t wait to show you everything. Nothing has changed.”

  “What are you going to say, Billy? To Bet? About us?”

  “Oh. I was wondering about that. Perhaps we should settle on a story for her.”

  “To explain me and what I’m doing with you? I guess we should.”

  “She’s used to my having young men with me but never for long. Don’t let us make it very elaborate, or I’m bound to get it muddled.”

  They laughed conspiratorially.

  “How about an inheritance that I’m enjoying before I start looking for work that interests me?” Perry suggested. “You wouldn’t have to know any of the details. I may be rich. I may be poor. Who knows? We don’t even have to pretend we’ve known each other for long. We can say we’ve been playing bridge together a lot in New York, and your asking me to stay with you in Europe was a natural development. How’s that?”

  “Pure genius. That story would do even for Arlene. I didn’t tell her how we met.”

  “I told her I didn’t have any money, because she asked, but I don’t always have to answer questions. Anyway, it could be a very small inheritance that I didn’t think was worth mentioning.”

  Perry knew that any young man with Billy was an obvious target for scandal. He would always be slightly on edge, waiting for the fingers to be pointed. It was an aspect of the life that was taking shape that he could do without.

  An attendant brought a bottle of champagne, which Perry welcomed as the perfect choice after their alcoholic night, and he watched in a trance of happiness as the most beautifully groomed, harmonious countryside he’d ever seen sped by. An occasional chateau was a spectacular ornament in nature’s perfection. Why was “poor, backward Europe” so much more beautiful than the United States?

  “I give up, Billy,” Perry said dreamily to his lolling companion. “France is even more beautiful than England. Why does anybody live anywhere else?”

  Billy smiled and shrugged. “The answer’s obvious. Why do you say New York’s the place for you? Opportunity. Clever people follow money. My great-grandfather knew a great deal about money, bless him. We must never get too far away from money. I know you won’t.”

  “Even when you’re giving me so much of it?”

  “You’ll want more. You don’t have any yet.”

  “What about all this?” He opened his hands with a flash of gold and made a little gesture to include the compartment.

  “I’m helping you learn how to spend money. You had to have it to spend. I’ve never known anybody who needed money more in order to make the most of himself. It would be wasted on many others.”

  “Is that why you didn’t mind my being sort of a whore?”

  “I expected you to be. Most penniless young men are if their looks favor them. I don’t think whoring deserves unqualified condemnation. You were honest with yourself for the most part. I like that.”

  “You’re more clever than you look, Billy. Have some more wine.” They shared conspiratorial laughter again while Perry filled their glasses to the brim.

  “There!” Billy exclaimed. “The Mediterranean. I’m as close to home as I’ll ever be.” Perry had never seen him so excited.

  Perry looked at an expanse of turquoise sea bounded by the curve of a white beach and felt Billy’s excitement. They had come a long way to get here, but the world felt smaller than he had expected. This was home for Billy and therefore accessible, a place anybody could get to, no longer remote and exotic. A speck of white sail drifted across a backdrop of untroubled blue. He was going to be sailing out there soon, getting to know the Mediterranean. He was the luckiest guy in the world.

  They perched on the edge of their seats and waited. He felt the speed of the train accelerating as if it were making a headlong
dash to the sea. It was surely going to have to slow down soon. After another moment it did so, and its momentum was rapidly reduced as he felt the brakes more firmly applied.

  He glanced at Billy, who nodded delightedly. Billy’s panama hat was on the seat beside him, and he dropped it on his head at a jaunty angle. He stood, his feet lightly balanced to adjust to the car’s movement. He always looked in supreme control of his surroundings. It was one of the things that impressed Perry most about him.

  The train ground to a halt.

  Billy strolled ahead while Perry checked that they had everything and tipped the attendant.

  When he caught up to Billy, he was greeting a wiry middle-aged man wearing a beret and a smock rather like the one Billy wore for painting. He noticed some unexpected palm trees and a few dusty-looking shrubs. Billy introduced him to a Monsieur Canetti. Perry shook the hand that was offered him and was reduced to helpless smiles by the flood of French with which he was greeted.

  “Mr. Canetti talks a lot like all méridionales — southerners,” Billy explained, “but he has a heart of gold, and I couldn’t live without him. The car is always waiting for me.” He waved ahead at a big touring car drawn up beside the platform.

  “The touring car? How fabulous.” Perry admired it as they approached. It was very racy-looking, with wire wheels and spares mounted on the running board, attached by straps with gleaming buckles. The hood was conspicuously long, as if the motor were enormous. It sat high off the ground and looked big enough for eight or ten passengers. It glowed from end to end under a rich enamel of forest green. They waited beside it while the luggage was stowed in its cavernous depths.

  Billy looked wistfully over the station fence at a cafe that had its awning out over sidewalk tables, then beamed suddenly. “Do you want to drive, Perry?”