Levine read his expression. “Expecting something like those Pullmans?”
“Well—”
“Not with your people. Don’t like anybody taking notice. I buy that myself. When you know you’ve really got it all you don’t have to advertise it.”
“Yeah,” Mike said, “but four cars and one chauffeur?”
“Mrs. McEye’ll let you know when you need extra drivers. You give me an hour’s notice, I’ll fix it up.” Levine turned to Wilson who, Mike saw, was regarding the Durie transportation with mournful eyes. It was, in a way, touching. “All right, dummy,” said Levine, “tell the man what he has to know.”
“Oh, sure.” Wilson still came on testy but some of his fire seemed to have been banked. “Fifty-three years worth in five minutes.” He said to Mike, “You know the staff hall?”
“Yes.”
“McEye puts up a bulletin board next to the coffee machine there every night. Or whoever’s on duty in the office. It’s got next day’s orders. You go by that. Nine-thirty every morning except weekends is getting Mr. Craig and Mr. Walter down to the office on Broad Street. Four o’clock you get them home. All around that you could have heavy days, you could have light days. You work it out and Levine here backs you up.”
“So,” said Mike, “what with one thing and another, I’m admiral of the fleet.”
“And captain of the dawn patrol. That wagon there’s for when Golightly, the head cook, goes marketing. You drive him. Early up and early out. What with one thing and another, Floyd, it’s a tough job.”
“Lloyd.”
“Yeah. Because there’s a right way and a wrong way for every little thing, and family wants it strictly the right way.”
“Like how?”
“Like you always walk around the back of the car when you open the door for people. With the old lady you might think you give her a hand, but you don’t unless she asks.”
“Miss Margaret.”
“Yeah. And you wait right by the car with her until somebody takes over. You never leave the car. You always stay right with it.”
“Does she do much driving around?”
“Well,” said Wilson, “she never did any all these years, but now she’s starting to tool around some. Like to the Plaza Hotel. The doormen there know her; they’ll take care of her fine. And a couple of these high-toned art galleries around the neighborhood here.”
“Art galleries? Miss Margaret?”
“I know, I know,” Wilson said irritably. “But don’t you go ask her what the point of it is. Fact is, Floyd, you don’t talk to anybody you’re driving unless they talk to you first. And whatever you hear them say to each other, you forget it as soon as you hear it. Get the message?”
“Loud and clear,” Mike said. “But about those art galleries—”
“Now what the hell! I just told you—”
“Cool it, friend. I’m not asking whys and wherefores. I’m just seeing myself pull up someplace without any doorman, and I’m supposed to stay with the car. Then who do I turn the lady over to? The first kind stranger that passes by?”
Levine hooted, and Wilson glared at him. He said to Mike, “I was just getting to that. Any such place, McEye makes a phone call in advance and they have somebody waiting. If you knew McEye, you’d know they damn well better have. Simple?”
“It’s the only way to live,” Mike said. Art galleries? he thought.
Wilson cut into this line of thought. “Another thing is about tickets. Parking tickets you just hand to McEye, they’re not your worry. But any moving violations are right out of your paycheck. That means any cabbie ideas you got, get rid of them fast. And anybody crowds you on the road, no loudmouth stuff. And you keep your hand off the horn. I’ll tell you this much, Floyd. If it was all family chauffeurs on the road, you’d never hear any horn sound off in the whole city. So now you know something about what’s expected.”
“Any questions?” Levine said to Mike. “This could be your last chance to ask them.”
“One,” said Mike. “I understand I can use a car for myself sometimes. When is that?”
“Days off,” Wilson answered. “And whenever you ain’t on duty and there’s a car free. Only thing, Floyd, you better handle that machine like glass. You land it in the body shop on your own time, McEye’ll take the heart right out of you.”
“Like glass,” Mike said. “And, come to think of it, who takes over for me on my days off?”
Wilson pointed at Levine. Levine said, “Wednesdays and Sundays off. I’ve got regulars booked for that. No problem.”
“All right?” asked Wilson, then answered himself: “All right. And since I ain’t needed any more, good-bye.”
“You’ll be back,” Levine said. “Don’t make it sound like forever.”
“You’ll see,” Wilson said and walked out into the street without a backward glance.
Levine shook his head sympathetically. “Fifty-three years,” he said. “A long time all right. He even knew the old man himself, old James Hamilton Durie. But he can’t say those people weren’t good to him. He was washed up at least a couple of years back, and they still lived with it. Getting deaf and forgetful to where they had to kiss him off. With full salary as pension for life and a real class apartment in one of their buildings. But that’s the way they are.”
“Nice people,” Mike said.
“In more ways than one. There’s something Wilson didn’t bring up, in case you’ve been wondering.”
“Such as?”
“Well,” said Levine, “I hope this is no big letdown, but there’s no vigorish goes with this job.”
“Vigorish?”
“Kickbacks. Payoffs from me to you for your business.”
“Suppose I told you, Mr. Levine, that the thought never entered my mind?”
Levine’s fixed smile broadened. “It’s your mind. Anyhow, that’s how we do it here.”
“Only for the Duries?”
“That’s for me to know and you not to worry about. But definitely for the Duries. And that goes back to when my father opened this place and old Mister James Hamilton Durie was his first customer. Mister Northeast Colonial himself.”
“Mr. Northeast Colonial?”
“You didn’t know that was the family shop? So now you know. Northeast Colonial. Hell, they own this whole block. And a lot of others all over town. Old man James Hamilton himself met with my father personally and told him if there was ever a whisper of payoff to the chauffeur, he’d have him and the chauffeur out in the street next day. He was quite a character that one.”
“Father of the present Craig and Walter, I take it.”
“And Margaret. That’s right. And they’re a lot like the old man some ways. Except not so much Moses on the mountain, the way my father said the old man was. Cast iron. No bend in him at all.”
“Glad I’m working for this generation,” Mike said.
“That’s a fact. Mind my asking how come you are driving for them? There’s a lot of chauffeurs in and out of here, and you do not shape up as the usual.”
“Came down in the world,” Mike said. “Or maybe up. I’m not sure yet.”
“Depends where you came from. Corporation desk? They’re doing a lot of letting go these days.”
“Schoolteaching. Private school. As they say, supply right now exceeds demand.”
“Things’ll change,” Levine commiserated, and it struck Mike how readily those who are making it hand this line to those who are not. “Meanwhile,” said Levine, “you’re in with good people. Know how to talk to you. Don’t put on any fancy show.” He motioned with his head at the stretch limos. “A lot of big-money characters are disgusting. That’s the only word for it. Disgusting. So you play it smart with your people, you got something good going.”
“With no vigorish,” Mike said.
“I phony up no bills, I pay no graft, we all sleep better at night. At least I do. Oh, yeah, and another thing for you,” Levine said warningly, “prom
pt is the magic word. They tell you show up at nine minutes after zip, they mean nine minutes after zip. You know that joke about the rich guy, he never worried if there was a chair around, he just started to sit down wherever he wanted, and bingo! there was a chair under him?”
“Cecil B. DeMille, I think,” said Mike.
“Whoever. What’s your name, by the way? Not the Lloyd part.”
“Mike.”
“Mike. So all you have to keep in mind, Mike, is any time one of your people wants to sit down in one of those cars it better be right there ready for him. Or her. Which reminds me. You meet any of the younger set? Like Glendon and Camilla?”
“Just to say hello.”
“Then you ought to know that Glendon’s got a Jag XJ-S parked upstairs—twelve-cylinder monster you have to see to believe—and Camilla’s got a Fiat Princess, which is the latest in a whole string of heaps she busted up. And orders are you never drive either of those cars for them, even on request. That’s the rule.”
“I see. Any special reason for it?”
Levine shrugged. “Could be they don’t fit the family image. Could also be they’re not on the family account. Strictly personal property, billed personally. Could be both. By the way, you get a good look at that Camilla?”
“Well, medium good.”
Levine’s smile broadened. “And?”
“I briefly lusted after her in my mind,” Mike said. “But my wife happens to be Miss Margaret’s secretary, living right there with me. And between you and me, Mr. Levine—”
“Sid.”
“Between you and me, Sid, outside those curves my wife rates a lot higher with me than curvy Camilla.”
Levine held up a hand in protest. “No offense, Mike.”
“None taken,” said Mike. “I’ll bring her around sometime so you can judge for you self.”
“Anytime,” said Levine. “Believe me, after that commercial I can’t wait to see the product.”
IT was Mabry who unbolted the service entrance door. “Ah, there, chauffeur Lloyd, ready now for a proper lunch?”
“Not just yet, cook Mabry. If my wife is available, I’d like to renew acquaintance with her first.”
“Available she is, mon. A few minutes ago I had a lunch delivered to her at her telephoned request. Breast of chicken on white with mayo, coffee, and a basket of assorted fruit. And several bottles of seltzer water. By any chance does she like to bathe in fizz water?”
“Not usually,” Mike said. “Champagne by choice.”
“I believe that. She speaks in sweet and gentle tones that make it plausible. And obviously she is home to you now.”
“If I wanted a lunch sent up to me—?”
Mabry shook his head ever so slightly. “A problem arises. Mrs. Mac’s instructions specify only your lady for room service. You see, she is administration. Such as you and I are not.”
“But since she and I share an apartment—”
“So you do. But your tray-bearer knows that Mrs. Lloyd has already been served, so this portion must be yours. Mrs. Mac would soon be told that staff is grossly overworked by having to fetch viands to the chauffeur.”
Mike resigned himself to this quaint logic. “Well,” he said equably, “considering the dimensions of the old homestead, staff may have a case.”
Mabry looked scornful. “Mon, you think our Hibernians and housemen do the cleaning up here? Not when we have an army of experts attend to it every other Friday. Excluding, of course, staff’s personal rooms.”
“Of course. An agency?”
“You came here by way of an agency called Domestique?”
“Yes.”
“Because that is the filter through which we all flow. It also operates Domestique Plus. Very efficient. Ready to take on Buckingham Palace if requested to. So where does that leave the Hibernians and housemen? None of them, mon, with blisters on their hands. Or working up a sweat at their cruel labors. I am the one with the blisters and the sweat to show.”
“I can appreciate that,” Mike said, trying for just the right note of sympathy.
“Yes, you and your lady would, because”—Mabry tapped his head—“there are brains working there. Not the usual donkey’s view of the world. Refreshing to meet here, mon, I can tell you. As for your lunch, if you care to carry your own along with you—”
“Thank you, but, no, I’ll be down later.”
“And if I’m not here, you know the procedure.” Mabry indicated the kitchen with a gracious sweep of the arm. “Eat, drink, be merry, and leave no crumbs.”
Mike found his lady standing in the middle of their sitting room studying empty wall shelves, half a chicken sandwich in each hand. A couple of the suitcases had been unpacked and lay open and empty. The typewriter was already on the desk, what there was of the novel in progress and the notes for its completion planted beside it. Sort of a nudge in the ribs from the concerned wife; Mike thought, that beckoning typewriter.
When he embraced her she held her arms wide to keep mayonnaise from marring his good suit, and after swapping a couple of chicken-flavored kisses she asked, “All done with the garage?”
“How’d you know I was there?”
“When I got back here I called the McEye about where you were. And when I asked how you get anything to eat here she told me to call Mabry. And he told me you only had a piece of cold toast on your way out to the garage.” She thrust half a sandwich at him. “Here. And there’s coffee in that pitcher.”
He bit into the sandwich while pouring the coffee. The chicken breast was perfection. Melted in the mouth. He asked, “How do you stand with your schedule now?”
“Fine. The McEye said we’re both free for the rest of the day.”
“Free! Free! Oh, Lord!”
“Clown,” Amy said. She pointed at the wall. “But look at those shelves. We could have brought the TV and stereo and some books along with us instead of packing them away at the farm. Now—”
“No problem.” Mike looked at his watch. “There’s the family station wagon on standby, and if we get moving now we can be up to the farm and back well before Cinderella time.”
“No, we can’t. I already called to make sure Abe got the van back”—the van had been rented on the Silverstone credit card and had, after the trip from the farm, been parked on Thompson Street so Abe could return it to the agency—“and he said he and Audie’ll be waiting for us. He said he did some scouting through the NYU stacks yesterday and he’s come up with stuff about the Duries that might interest us.”
Mike tried to put aside the vision of that big wagon and the inviting open road. “Want to leave the unpacking and head for Abe and Audie right now?”
“Nope.”
“Funny, funny woman.” Mike hefted a couple of suitcases. “I’ll lay these out on the bed and we’ll work from there. Meanwhile, let’s hear about Margaret Durie. I’ve been wondering.”
Amy followed him with the duffle bag. “I like her.” She sounded defiant.
“All to the good. What makes her so likable?”
“I didn’t say she was, I just said I liked her. I’m not even sure why. She comes on unbelievably arrogant and condescending and sharp-tongued. And for a minute she had me scared out of my wits. She sat me down and traced my features with her fingertips. She said that way she could get a vivid picture of me in her mind.”
“And that scared you out of your wits?”
“No, but right afterward she had some kind of attack. Glassy-eyed, hyperventilating, the whole thing. Looked like a stroke. Then when I showed natural concern she came right out of it and really landed on me. Let me know my concern wasn’t wanted, thank you.”
“So naturally you like her.”
“I know. But something funny happened. I talked back. And she didn’t seem to mind.”
“Maybe the novelty of it got to her,” Mike said thoughtfully. “Probably nobody’s dared talk back to her for the last fifty years. Spoiled rotten since then. By the way, did you kno
w you’re dealing with the new-model Miss Margaret? Apparently lived most of her life since the accident in morbid retirement. Then about a year ago magically snapped out of it. Which dresser is mine?”
“That one,” Amy said. “Your clean shirts are already in it. And what do you mean, snapped out of it?”
“Oh, took a passionate new interest in life. Hired a personal secretary for the first time. Because you are indeed the very first.”
“I am?”
“Yep. And people who hire secretaries usually do it because they’re making contact with the world out there. Also, Ma’am now comes and goes. Like, to the Plaza. And to art galleries.”
“Well, art galleries,” Amy said, then did a double take. “What would she be doing in art galleries?”
“A good question.”
“Of course,” Amy said reflectively, “she is obsessed with painting. Still has dreams of what might have been if—”
“A sad if, baby.”
“But still she might go to galleries just for the atmosphere. Even if she can’t actually see anything.”
“Awfully masochistic, isn’t that? Oh, well.” Mike carried the flight bag with the family toiletries into the bathroom, where the refrigerator caught his eye. He opened its door and saw the bottles of seltzer and the assorted fruit. He said from the doorway, “Another good question is why all the soda water? Mabry asked if you bathed in it.”
“For his information,” said Amy, “and yours, I can’t see the maids making deliveries up here one bottle at a time.”
“They’re supposed to do that for you. After all, dear, you are administration. As Mabry and I are not.”
“I don’t like the way you put that, Mike.”
“It’s a fact of life. There is a well-defined pecking order here. First requirement for happiness is to know your place in it. Otherwise confusion sets in.”
“Right now,” Amy said, “more than confusion. You’re making me very unhappy.”
“Hell, baby, you know better than that.”
“No. Whenever you make me feel this way you mean to, whether you know it or not. And I’m insecure enough without that.”
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