“Well, it’s a damn sound one,” Green said.
“Well, help me to convince Old Pete of that, will you? He keeps on telling John Rakis what a great idea it is. In fact, if you’d write me a letter, if it wouldn’t be too much bother, that I could show Rakis I’m sure I could get him to put the hotel beneath the office building. The only reason he’s building a hotel in the first place is because they won’t serve him in the bar of the only decent hotel down there.”
“Well, he picked a good time to build, nevertheless.”
They finished their drink. Nick insisted on buying one. As they started their second drink, Old Pete walked in. When he saw Green and Nick standing there at the men’s bar talking and laughing he hesitated a moment, wondering how they had gotten on such friendly terms and what they were talking about. He wanted to join them and stood there for a long while by the entrance watching and, finally, decided it would be better if he left them alone. He decided he’d go down to Lou Duck’s to have his after-office cocktail. In fact, he thought he’d take a cab instead of a streetcar. In the cab he wondered what had come over Nick since he had come back from Atlanta. It wasn’t right for Nick to meet with Green without even mentioning it to him. Old Pete wondered if maybe Nick wasn’t getting some big ideas, getting greedy to get his hands on lots of money and property. It wasn’t right, he thought worriedly, for him to meet Green without saying a word. Then he unfolded the paper and saw Nora’s picture and read the caption. You don’t suppose that kid’s getting any ideas—to grab everything for himself?
Nick, having finished his drink and conversation with Green on the proposed five million dollar building went back to his apartment hotel to pick up the two hundred dollar check which had bounced. Then, from a booth, he called Nora. Her line had been disconnected, the operator said. He went by her building and the doorman said she had left a message for him. She could be contacted through Hy at the Four Winds. Nick got a hold of Hy and called Nora at the number Hy had given him. She said she’d meet him at a small bar in the neighborhood in a few minutes.
She told him she still didn’t know what had gone wrong, her protection was all paid up. She did not seem nervous or upset but said that they would be watching her and it would be best if they didn’t see each other for a while—at least for a few days. Her lawyer thought they could straighten the mess out though they would have to reach several people and it would cost considerable cash. Nick told her he was short but he would give her what he had if she needed it. They only had one drink together, then she went on, leaving him with a number where she could be reached.
Nick went back to his hotel. There was a message to call his mother and also Pierro. Nick could never remember Pierro having called him, personally. Nick called his mother. She cried on the phone and told him not to judge the whole world by this terrible thing that had happened and asked him to come home and have a nice home-cooked dinner. Nick said he didn’t really feel like coming home. Besides, he had an appointment to meet Old Gus. Then he called Pierro at Marci’s. They asked him to come out and have dinner with them but he told them the same thing that he had told Mary but that he would meet them later, if that was all right. They made arrangements to meet at the Edgewater at nine.
Then Nick, having lied twice about going to Gus’, went to Gus’.
“Hello, stranger,” Old Gus said and kissed him.
“I’ve missed you,” Nick said. “I think I was afraid to come here because, well, because of certain things—”
“You are always welcome, Nickie. It’s good you waited until you felt like it, though.”
“Shit. There are some things you should do whether you feel like it or not.”
“Maybe.”
“You coming to my wedding?”
“I would not miss that,” he said. “Little Joe is already in search of a present for you.”
“You don’t approve of my marriage, do you?” Nick said offensively.
“You assume with authority tonight.”
“Do you approve?” he asked in that same offensive tone.
“I don’t know,” Gus said. “I am not God. I cannot solve your problems. You come here and want me to solve your problems. I will if you will let me make them. But you make them, then you want me to solve them. I do not know everything. If you wish to sit down and reason I will reason with you. But I will not resolve things to your satisfaction. I am not that lazy. Even though I do not work I am not that lazy.”
“I’m sorry, Gus.”
“All right,” Gus said. “Drink some wine with me.”
“No, ouzu, please.”
“All right, ouzu. Have you eaten?”
“Yes.”
“You have not eaten. Why don’t you say you don’t want to eat? Are you afraid someone will call you a drunkard?”
“Yes.”
“That’s the first honest thing you have said since you have come in.” He stood there staring at Nick and then the wrath slowly vanished from Old Gus’ eyes and he smiled.
“Christ, it’s been a long day,” Nick said finally, at ease.
They had two drinks together and Nick did not mention anything about Nora as he had planned driving there. Nor did they talk about his impending marriage to Pat. They laughed about some of the fine things that happened on the fishing trip and Old Gus told Nick that he had just about finished the composition of his Greek-American cowboy song. And reminded Nick that he had promised to help compose the lyrics for it. Then, with the sun setting in the west, Old Gus took Nick outside the shack and showed Nick the tires he had put at varying distances on the ground and got out his spinning tackle and cast, using each tire as a target. It was hard for Nick to believe he cast so well and they had a contest and Gus put more of the weights into the tires than Nick. Then Nick left to meet Pierro and Marci.
Driving there Nick realized that their invitation was a put-up job on Marci’s part. In the Yacht Club of the Edge-water they were waiting. Nick kissed Marci and shook hands with Pierro.
“I don’t know what to say,” Marci said. “I’m terribly sorry, Nick.”
“She had me fooled, I must admit,” Pierro said.
Nick sat back in his deck chair and his eyes shifted belligerently from one to another. “I’ve just come from Gus’,” he said. “We’ve been practicing with his spinning tackle.” Then in a new voice: “I knew what she was. I’ve known for a long time. God knows there’s a reason. A damn good reason. And I’m not going to explain it to you and if you don’t want to accept it at that the hell with you—get yourself another best man.”
“You knew?” Pierro said confounded.
“I think I understand,” Marci said.
Pierro, feeling very awkward and embarrassed, excused himself.
“I don’t think you do understand, Marci.”
“Is that why you couldn’t marry her?”
“I would have married her. I’d marry her this day. But she won’t marry me,” Nick said with the same belligerency. “I’ve had more fun with her than any woman in this world ever. And I’ve known her better than I ever dreamed I could know a woman. It’s been life with her. Not existence. Short as it was, it’s been life.”
“Why do you marry Pat then?”
“That’s none of your business. I could just as well ask you why you are marrying Pierro. But I don’t have to. You’re marrying him because you’re ready to get married and because he’s stable and you can control him and because you’re scared shitless of any man you can’t control.”
“Watch your language, Nick.”
“When you say ‘shit’ I suppose it smells sweeter,” Nick said.
“Nick, calm down. I understand you’ve a lot on your mind.”
“Don’t you?”
“Of course. We all do. These are hectic times.”
“I’m sorry about the language,” he said suddenly. “Let’s drop it. I just don’t feel like getting anyone’s sympathy tonight. Please, Marci.”
“All right, N
ick. We only tried to help.”
“I appreciate that,” he said. “I really do. You tell Pierro goodnight for me. I think I’d rather run along.”
He stood up and reached over and kissed Marci on the forehead.
“Thanks for trying. And I’m sorry for what I said.”
But what Nick had said to her she wasn’t able to dismiss from her mind.
When Nick got back to his hotel, there was a note from Nora in his box. She had gone to New York upon advice of her counsel, the note said, until things quieted down. She would let Hy know how and when he could reach her.
CHAPTER XXXV
WHEN Pierro returned to the table, he was surprised Nick had gone. “I swear he’ll disgrace us all one of these days.”
“Perhaps,” Marci said distantly.
Then they finished their drink and Pierro finished the drink that Nick had ordered and not touched and took her home. After he left her off at the Evanston house, he stopped in several bars, then before he went to bed he reached behind one of his bookshelves and took out a pint and drank half of it, then, half-drunk, went to sleep. The next morning he stole surreptitiously off to the west side and had another Wassermann test. The Wassermann showed up positive and, for the fourth time in the last month, the technician assured him that the cause of the test being positive was Pierro’s malaria. Anyone, he had said, who had had malaria as much as Pierro was more than likely to have a positive Wassermann, at least for a few years after he had returned stateside.
Pierro was not satisfied. He thought about it all the time. Lately he had been losing a little of his hair and he had heard that that was one of the symptoms. He had examined his body over and over for sores ever since he had started to drink heavily. He had felt, at first, that drinking a lot, dissipating, was bound to bring it out if it was there. He had too much pride to go to a reliable, established physician—suppose his name was placed on the public health lists for being syphilitic? His career, his marriage, would be ended. What would he do on his wedding night? Over and over these thoughts penetrated him as he drove down to the office.
Around noon he went down to the University of Chicago library and in a shadowy, far away corner read more on the disease. Then returned to supervise the work at his office.
As the wedding day approached, he grew more and more tense. He was never irritable in public but around the house suffered states of severe depression and often would have tantrums, hollering at his little-old-bent-from arthritis mother about a button that hadn’t been sewn on properly, or a pair of pants that hadn’t been returned from the cleaner.
The wedding was to be a small affair. The Prestons did not believe in large, showy weddings. Pat arrived a week before escorted by her father. Her father stayed at the Edgewater but Pat stayed with the Strattons in Winnetka. There were parties every night and the Daily News said it was to be one of the social events of the season and wrote a long article on the history of the Preston family in Chicago, then wrote a short article on Pierro and all the architectural honors that he had won. Pierro grew more irascible around home with each day.
The wedding was held early the morning of the fifteenth informally at the Presbyterian Church and, a little after noon, formally at the Greek Orthodox Church, the reception following at the Blackstone. There were only about one hundred relatives and friends. The Greeks, meeting for the first time the old distinguished Chicago names, were subdued, actually awkward in their conduct, Nick thought.
The bride and groom got away early for their weekend up in Wisconsin. After they left, Old Pete invited a select few of his Greek friends to see the show in the Blackstone’s main room. You would never have taken Old Pete for one of the Greeks at that wedding. Nick and Pat left early and went over to the Sherman to see Benny Goodman. The next day Old John Rakis met with Pete and Nick. John said that he wanted to give Nick and Pat something nice, initially, for a wedding present and suggested buying them, or building them, a house.
“Well, I appreciate that,” Old Pete said. “And so does Nick but I’m sure they won’t need anything elaborate.”
“Looka here, Pete,” John Rakis said, “I worked like hell. Now I want my daughter to have the best. I spend fifty-sixty thousand for a house for them. And furnish it besides. After all, Nick’s gonna be an important man down there. I want him to live important, like he’s important.”
Nick could tell Old Pete didn’t like it at all. The Winnetka house would only bring between thirty and forty thousand and that was one of the nicest houses on the North Shore.
“If it’s all right with Pat,” Nick said, “I’d like to have Pierro design it. I think Pat ought to have a lot to say about it.”
“You’re a good boy, Nick,” Old John Rakis said. “You talk it over with my baby.” Then to Old Pete: “What’s a matter with you, you don’t want your kid to have the best? What the hell’s the matter with you?” Then slapped Pete on the back. “You getting old.” Then laughed and poured a drink for all of them. It was only eleven in the morning and there were at least four ounces of straight bourbon in each glass. Old Pete drank every bit of it and on the way to the office Nick could tell he felt the drink.
As soon as Old Pete got to the office he got together with Charlie and George Stratos and bragged on what a fine house Old John Rakis was going to build for Nick and Pat, then called Lawrence Green and finally Mary and told them.
Charlie Stratos had tentatively delayed the deal with Paddy Crowley, waiting to see what was going to happen to the Atlanta theatres. Old Pete, Charlie Stratos had thought over and over, had really strengthened his position the last two months. And maybe it would be better to stay on with him. Too, he was getting up in years. He might die. His health never was too good, though you wouldn’t know it to look at him. But if he did I certainly wouldn’t have any trouble handling that Nick.
Old John Rakis was very fond of Mary Stratton and it was agreed that Mary would come to Atlanta a week before the wedding, when Nick came, to help make all the arrangements. Old Pete readily agreed but then he thought about the way Old John drank and Mary being exposed to all the liquor and wondered if she might not do something to disgrace them all. Old Pete decided that, business or no business, he was going down a week early too.
The Rakises left two days after Pierro and Marci’s wedding, New York bound to wardrobe Pat. Several days after that Hy called Nick and told him Nora was back in town. They started seeing each other again. Nora had moved to a new apartment a block from the one she had and changed her number. They did not go any place where they could be seen, however.
Nora “sneaked” an occasional call. She was in much more trouble than she had at first believed possible, she told Nick. In fact, she might have to go to jail. Nick borrowed another thousand dollars from George Stratos and gave it to Nora one day saying it was all he could do now but hoped it would help. Nora still had, after attorneys’ fees, over twelve thousand in the bank vaults (she had had a very successful trip to New York professionally) but nevertheless took the ten hundred dollar bills from Nick.
About two weeks after Pierro’s wedding Nick had a letter from Pat. It was not in her hand. She was in the hospital, a virus infection, and wondered if maybe he would come down for a few days. Nick did not show the letter to Old Pete but called the hospital. She was not in serious condition, her nurse told him, but talked of him incessantly. That evening around six when Nora returned from the beauty parlour (she had been to her lawyers too) she seemed in a frenzy. She went into her bedroom while Nick made a drink in the living room. She came out in her robe.
“Well, it looks like I’m going to get married, too,” she said with a vengeance.
“Married?”
“Married. It’s the only way I can get out of it. If I marry that bastard that put the pinch on me he won’t testify.”
Nick thought it was amusing but knew better than to laugh.
“What does he think about this?”
“I’ve been working on him. Seeing
him. He wants to marry me. Otherwise I’m going up for six months, maybe a year.”
“I’ll bet he’ll pay,” Nick grinned.
“You’re fucking right he’ll pay,” she said frenziedly. “He’ll think he’s going to bed with a newspaper. All the rotten bastard wants to do is beat me anyhow.”
“Have you let him?”
“Yes, I’ve let him. You goddamn right I’ve let him.” Now Nick saw for a second how she resembled the oil painting that hung over this new, not as ornate, fireplace. “I’m not going to be locked up anywhere, ever again. And you know something else I found out? Do you know? Do you know why I’m in this mess? Do you? Do you?” she almost screamed. “Don’t sit there looking so stupid. It was your father who got me in this mess. Old Pete. He found out we’d been going together and he used his influence down at City Hall to have me dumped.”
It took a few seconds for the vast reality of it to sink in.
“Pete,” Nick said. “Pete.”
“Yes. Pete. Pete,” she raged.
“That dirty sonofabitch,” he said as if in a daze. “The rotten bastard. I wonder where he’s at. I wonder.” Quickly he got up off the sofa and went over to the phone and called home. Mary said she was expecting him any minute. Nick hung up. “Will you be here?” Nick said to Nora with a wild urgency. “Will you be here when I get back?”
“I’ll be here, Nick,” and put her hands to her head and began to cry. Nick took one huge drink of scotch from the bottle. Driving north he tried to think about everything except what he would tell Old Pete. He tried to think about the fishing trip, the war, his young days in Wisconsin, his grandfather. He didn’t want to lose any of the fury and vengeance that was in him thinking about what Pete had done to Nora. He drove very fast and stopped at Howard Street and had three more drinks and took the west route home and had three more drinks. He did not feel the drinks but the fury, the rage, the fierceness increased and increased and he was trying to pace it so that it reached its zenith when he reached home.
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