“I would say that’s putting it tactfully,” said Charlotte. “Most people make no bones about calling her a tyrant.”
“Okay, she’s a tyrant,” said Claire with a reluctant smile. “If Elliot had let her, she would have gone on bullying him forever. Anyway, he doesn’t want the rift to go on and I don’t either. It’s eating him up. He really loves her very much.” She paused, her slim fingers toying with her spoon. “It’s especially important that relations be patched up now …” The next words came out in a rush: “Now that the baby’s coming.” She looked up with the smile of someone who’s just completed a difficult task.
Charlotte felt a thrill of delight rush over her: for Claire, for Elliot, and most of all for Paulina. Paulina, who at long last would be a grandmother. Her glance drifted down to Claire’s abdomen, where she could just discern a slight curve beneath her loose white blouse.
“I’m due in November. I know it’s putting the cart before the horse, but”—she smiled engagingly—“that’s the way it is.” She continued: “We were planning to get married anyway. This just means moving the date up a bit. It was a big surprise to me too. I’m no spring chicken myself.”
Charlotte reached out for Claire’s hand. “I’m very happy for you,” she said. “How does Elliot feel about it?”
“He’s on cloud nine. We just found out yesterday that it’s going to be a boy—the wonders of modern science and all that.”
“Paulina will be delighted. Someone to carry on the family name.”
“I hope so. That’s what I’m concerned about. Elliot’s stubborn—he won’t be the first to seek a reconciliation. But I know it would mean a lot to him if his mother came to the wedding. What I’m asking is this: I wonder if you would do us the favor of telling her—you know, that I’m pregnant—and of trying to patch things up. I’d just hate for this to go on …”
“I can’t think of anything I’d rather do. I can’t make any promises …”
“That’s okay. It would mean a lot just to know you’ve tried. I would have asked Anne-Marie, but she’s on the outs with Mrs. Langenberg now too. You were the only one I could think of. It’s very important, especially now. You see, she might not be around much longer.”
“What?”
She sighed. “Elliot found out from her doctor this morning that she had a tumor on her ovary. There’s a good chance it’s cancerous. Apparently it turned up during the routine physical she had on Saturday.”
“I’m very sorry to hear that. Very sorry. Are they going to operate?”
Claire nodded. “Her doctor’s making the arrangements now. He said he’d have a better idea of the situation after the operation.”
Charlotte nodded.
The waitress reappeared and took Charlotte’s dessert order: an apricot mousse at thirty-seven calories and a cup of espresso.
“Have you made any plans for the wedding yet?” Charlotte asked.
“No, but we’d like to keep it small. Immediate family maybe.”
“If Paulina has anything to do with it, you won’t be keeping it small.”
Claire smiled. “Yes, I guess you’re right. Well, if she agrees to come, we’ll put on any kind of wedding she wants.”
“I’ll do everything I can,” said Charlotte. She squeezed Claire’s hand with affection.
Claire smiled and returned her squeeze. “I’d really appreciate it. Well, I’d better be getting back to class.”
After signing her bill, Claire stood up and glided out, her long skirt swaying gently. Her erect carriage and athletic grace gave her a sense of quiet dignity that was elegant and womanly. Elliot had made a good choice. Charlotte doubted she would have any difficulty convincing Paulina of that.
But she wondered if by announcing their engagement, Elliot and Claire might be opening themselves up to trouble from another source.
13
It was with a light heart that Charlotte left. If there was anything she hated, it was a family row. The stubborn pride of people who love one another was the cause of so much unhappiness. And weddings often brought out the worst of it. How many weddings there were in which a pall was cast over the festivities by the absence of a relative who refused to attend. A marriage is hard enough to keep going, let alone one whose beginnings are clouded by disapproval. In many families, the bride’s being pregnant would be the cause of just such a furor, but Charlotte suspected it would be just the opposite in this case. What Paulina wanted more than anything was an heir. For despite appearances to the contrary, she was still an Old World peasant at heart. And now she would have an heir—a male heir. No, the trouble wouldn’t be with Paulina, but with Leon. Charlotte doubted that he would remain Paulina’s heir, and being disinherited was not apt to sit well with someone who’d had time to accustom himself to the idea of becoming one of the world’s richest men.
For the moment Charlotte put aside the idea of returning to the tunnels. After dropping off the flashlight at Jerry’s office, she headed over to Paulina’s. She was met at the elevator by Jack, who looked haggard. The blue eyes under his long, curly lashes were hung with deep, violet shadows and his perennial golden tan had taken on a sallow cast.
“How’s she doing?” asked Charlotte, adding, “I heard.”
Jack was surprised. “How?”
“From Claire.”
He nodded in acknowledgment of the connection with Elliot. “Pretty well, actually. She’s treating this like a business problem: acknowledge it, learn everything you can about it, and find a way to solve it. Only you can’t beat cancer the way you can the competition.” He paused. “I don’t think she fully realizes what she’s up against.”
Charlotte doubted that. There was little that escaped Paulina. “What is she up against? Claire wasn’t too specific.”
Jack closed the door to the apartment behind him to avoid being overheard. “She has tumors in both ovaries.”
“Both ovaries! Claire only mentioned one.”
“No, both. Bilateral. That’s what makes Dr. Castelli pretty sure it’s cancer. She doesn’t have any symptoms. Which is why I don’t think it’s really hit her yet. She’ll have to have surgery, of course. If it’s cancer, they’ll take out both ovaries and the uterus and part of the omentum.”
“Omentum?”
“The fat around the intestines. It’s standard for this kind of surgery. The operation’s scheduled for next week.”
“Then what?” asked Charlotte.
Jack shrugged. “Chemotherapy, I would imagine. If it’s cancer. My mother went through this: the operations, the chemotherapy.”
“For how long?”
“Twelve to eighteen months.”
“Oh, God.”
“I know. That’s one reason why this is really getting to me. My mother died four years ago, just before I came to work for Paulina.” He sighed, and then went on: “She suffered terribly. She lived from one pain shot to the next. That was the worst—waiting with her for those shots.”
“I’m terribly sorry.”
“I was the one who took care of her,” he went on. “My father was dead; my sister was living out in California. When she finally died, she weighed fifty-two pounds. She was a living skeleton.” He blinked away the tears that had welled up in his bright blue eyes.
Charlotte touched a sympathetic hand to his shoulder.
“I’m sorry. I’m kind of emotional this morning.” He smiled ruefully. “Not enough sleep, I guess. This has brought it all back. But I shouldn’t jump to conclusions. Maybe it won’t be the same for Paulina. If it is, I don’t know what I’ll do. I don’t think I could go through it again.”
“I hope you won’t have to. Did Dr. Castelli say what her chances are? If it does turn out to be cancer, I mean.”
“Yes.” He gathered himself together. “Not good. First she has to get through the operation, which is no small feat for someone her age.”
“I don’t think we have to worry on that score. Paulina’s as strong as a horse.” Sh
e corrected herself: “Three horses.”
He smiled. “You’ve got a point. As for the cancer—because there aren’t any symptoms in the early stages, it’s usually not detected until it’s gone pretty far. According to Castelli, the five-year survival rate ranges from twenty-five percent to seventy-five percent, depending on the type of tumor and how far it’s spread. He’ll have a better idea next week.”
Charlotte nodded. It was really too early to tell.
“It’s all been such a surprise, a shock really,” continued Jack. “I wasn’t prepared for this. In all the time I’ve worked for her, she’s never missed a day on account of illness. Except for her nervous crises. But you can’t really count them as being sick.” He smiled. “Of course, to listen to her, you’d think she was always on her last legs.”
Charlotte laughed. “I know. Her headaches, her indigestion … I don’t think we have anything to worry about. Hypochondriacs always live forever.”
Jack smiled. “I hope you’re right. Well, shall we go in?” He ushered Charlotte into the living room. “Miss Graham to see you,” he announced.
Paulina was sitting behind her huge Louis XVI desk, her head barely protruding from above a mound of papers. “She was here to see me ten minutes ago.” She glared at Jack over the tops of her glasses.
It was the first time since the fete that Charlotte had seen Paulina out of bed. She was wearing a stunning Chanel suit of royal blue silk, accented by costume jewelry of blue and green paste that Charlotte wouldn’t have paid fifty cents for at a rummage sale, but that Paulina wore with flair. It was typical of her idiosyncratic style that in addition to the paste, she wore a star sapphire ring the size of a robin’s egg. In the walking jewelry store category, Diamond Jim had nothing on Paulina.
“What were you shmoozing about out there? Don’t answer—that was a historical question.”
“Rhetorical,” corrected Leon, who sat in front of the desk.
Paulina shot him a dirty look. “I know. You were talking about me.” She pointed an accusing finger. “I can tell from that sad-sack look on your faces. Everybody’s walking around here like this was a funeral parlor. Well, I’m not dead yet.” She stood up and came around to the front of the desk. Lifting her hem, she danced a little jig. “I’m still kicking. Got that?”
A smile crept across Jack’s careworn face.
“Say, ‘Yes, Mrs. Langenberg,’” ordered Paulina.
“Yes, Mrs. Langenberg.”
She turned to Leon and repeated her jig. “There’s still some life in the old girl yet. Got that?”
“Yes, Aunt Paulina,” agreed Leon obediently.
“You are forbidden to wear long faces in my presence.” Resuming her seat, she addressed Charlotte: “He told you. I might have cancer of my …” She pointed in the direction of her lap. “But despite what some people may think, I’m not about to croak. The masseuse, The Mousy Girl with the Leg, told me I have a brilliant aura, which means I’m very strong. Besides”—she gripped the ridge of her ear, jiggling the cluster of fake blue and green gems—“I have big ears, like an elephant. Which means I’ll live forever.”
“You’ve never looked better, Paulina,” said Charlotte. She meant it. Whatever minus value the cancer carried in the giant ledger in the sky, it was more than offset by pluses for will, determination, and vitality.
Paulina beamed. “I’ve never felt better. Well, maybe a little tired,” she added, lest a bid for sympathy slip by. Then she became what was, for her, philosophical. “Anyway”—she shrugged—“if I die, it’s no big deal.”
The phone rang and Jack answered it in his office, which opened off of the living room behind Paulina’s desk. It was Innis, he said.
Paulina picked up her extension. After listening to what Innis had to say, she replied, holding the telephone at arm’s length: “I understand what he wants—more money. That’s what it boils down to. Tell him Mrs. Langenberg says no, plain and simple. We’ve made a more-than-generous offer.”
While she talked, Jack listened on the other extension and made notes.
Raising her voice, Paulina went on: “A hundred percent above market price isn’t exactly peanuts. What does he want, the sky?” Placing a hand over the receiver, she addressed Leon: “That was a rhetorical question.” And then to Charlotte: “Sit down. I’m just doing a little business. Leon, will you get us some mineral water, please.”
Charlotte took a seat. While Leon fetched the mineral water, she studied the map hanging above Paulina’s desk. It was a map of the world with Langenberg factories and salons marked with pins: red for salons, yellow for factories. She looked for countries without any pins—Vietnam, Cambodia, Libya, a few other African countries—that was it.
Paulina was speaking sarcastically: “A wholly inadequate offer? That’s what he calls it?” She sighed. “It was down to twenty-five. His stockholders will be making a fortune. Tell him that’s it. Not a penny more.” She hung up. “The lawyers for the Seltzer Boy,” she explained. “Such nerve. We haven’t even made our formal offer yet and already he wants us to sweeten our bid.”
“Will you?” asked Charlotte.
“We’ll see,” said Paulina with a twinkle in her eye. “Now, how’s my Mrs. Stockholder? Listen,” she said, leaning across the desk, “you were smart not to sell out to the Seltzer Boy. You’ll make a lot of money sticking with me. The Body Spa line, it’s, a miracle. The early reorders are in—it’s going to be big numbers—very big numbers. It’s flying off the counters.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
Leon, who had returned carrying a tray holding four glasses and a couple of bottles of High Rock water, gazed proudly at his aunt. “What do you think of my aunt, the eighty-year-old corporate raider?”
“The word’s out on the street already,” said Paulina. “The market likes it. Our stock’s up one and seven-eighths already today. Everybody’s happy that Paulina Langenberg is acquiring Paulina Langenberg. Everybody but me. Oh, I’m happy,” she added. “But let me tell you—being an eighty-year-old corporate raider is no big deal. An eighty-year-old puppet is more like it.”
“What do you mean?” asked Leon as he poured the water.
“That I’m the puppet of the Seltzer Boy. He planned it this way. He knew I’d take over his company. He knows me better than I know myself.” She picked up a document and passed it to Leon. “He’s sharp. Very, very sharp.”
“The proxy statement for High Rock Waters,” said Leon.
“Read the paragraph that’s circled, ‘executive severance agreement,’” said Paulina, pointing with a freshly lacquered fingernail.
Leon set down the bottle and read: “‘In the event of a change of control, Mr. Brant will be entitled to three years’ base compensation.’ Et cetera, et cetera.” He passed the document back. “A golden parachute.”
“A diamond parachute. We have to pay him whether we like it or not. With stock options, he could end up walking off with millions.” She pushed the tail of the turtle buzzer. “Jack, my vitamins.”
The telephone rang again. This time it was a different phone, a red one. Paulina answered it herself.
“Paulina Langenberg.” Pause. “From Garden City. How nice,” she said, her voice sweet as honey. And then: “Much better, thank you. What can I do for you?” For a few seconds, there was silence as the caller voiced her request. “What happens when you use Mineral Lotion Number Three?” asked Paulina. She nodded. “I see. Have you taken the computer test? Good. What is your eye color? Gray. Hair color? I see. What color was it before?” she asked, writing down the reply on the back of an envelope. “Skin color? Do you tan easily? You do, but you burn first. Aha! That’s it! That’s why you’re having trouble.”
Jack handed her a saucerful of vitamins. She put them into her mouth one by one, then downed the mouthful with a swig of mineral water.
“That’s all right, dear,” she continued. “This is what you do: use Mineral Lotion Number Two. Number Three is too strong for
you. Take it back and exchange it for Number Two. No, it won’t cost you anything. Do you wear pink lipstick?” She listened for the reply. “Well, you shouldn’t. Always use lipstick with an orange tone: Copper Rose would be good on you. We’ll send you one. That’s right, no charge. Just give your name and address to my secretary. My pleasure,” she purred. “Good-bye.” To Charlotte, she said: “I never refuse to talk to a customer. People don’t believe it, but it’s true. Isn’t it, Leon?”
Leon nodded. “There’s a special toll-free number.”
“The customer’s the real boss.” She addressed Leon: “If you think I’m the boss, you’re wrong. It’s Mrs. What’s-Her-Name from Garden City who’s the boss. And when I’m dead, don’t you forget it. The minute you forget it’s Mrs. What’s-Her-Name from Garden City who’s the boss, you’re in trouble.”
“Yes, Aunt Paulina.”
“Not that I’m ready to go yet. Okay, where were we? Oh, the Seltzer Boy. Feh! He can have his money. I’m going to get my company back. If it costs me millions, that’s the price I’ll have to pay.” She looked pained. “Anyway, in the end it will go to my Anne-Marie.” She pressed the turtle buzzer again.
Jack stuck his head around the corner of the door.
“Jack, show Mrs. Stockholder Anne-Marie’s announcement.”
Jack nodded. In a minute, he appeared at Charlotte’s side with a recent issue of the Times. On the back page of the second part of the Sunday A section was a headline: “Anne-Marie Andersen to wed Gary A. Brant.” Above the story was a picture of Anne-Marie looking uncharacteristically demure.
“She’s got herself a good one this time,” said Paulina. “He’s smart, very smart. Even if he did outfox me. Not like that nothing she used to be married to.” She turned to Charlotte: “I hear he’s the chief suspect in this bath business. Have the police got anything on him yet?”
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