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“I can’t do that,” Rudolph said. He put his glass down.
“Why not?” Boylan looked surprised. “You’re always talking about going to Europe.”
“When I can afford it,” Rudolph said.
“Oh, is that all?” Boylan chuckled tolerantly. “You misunderstand. It’s a gift. I think it’ll do you good. Rub off the provincial edges a bit, if you don’t mind my saying so. I might even come over sime time in August and join you in the south of France.” “Thanks, no, Teddy,” Rudolph said. “I can’t.”
“I’m sorry.” Boylan shrugged, dismissing the matter. “Wise men know when to accept gifts and when to turn them down. Even dry holes.” With a nod for Brad. “Of course, if you have something better to do …”
“I have something to do,” Rudolph said. Here it comes, he thought.
“May I inquire what it is?” Boylan poured himself more champagne, without attending to the other glasses.
“I’m starting work tomorrow at Calderwood’s on a full-time basis,” Rudolph said.
“Poor boy,” Boylan said. “What a dreary summer lies ahead of you. I must say your tastes are curious. Preferring to sell pots and pans to sleazy small-town house-wives to going to the south of France. Ah, well, if that’s your decision, you must have your reasons. And after the summer—have you decided to go to law school as I suggested, or to make a stab at the Foreign Service examinations?”
For more than a year now, Boylan had on many occasions urged Rudolph to opt for one or another profession, with Boylan’s preference for the law. “For a young man with no assets but his personality and his wits”—Boylan had written him—“the law is the way to power and preference. This is a lawyer’s country. A good one often becomes indispensable to the companies which hire him. Frequently he finds himself in positions of command. We live in an intricate age, which is daily becoming more intricate. The lawyer, the good lawyer, finally is the only trusted guide through the intricacies and he is rewarded accordingly. Even in politics … Look at the percentage of lawyers in the Senate. Why shouldn’t you crown your career that way? God knows the country could use a man of your intelligence and character instead of some of those dishonest clowns who bumble away on Capitol Hill. Or consider the Foreign Service. Whether we like it or not, we master the world, or should. We should put our best men in positions where they can influence our actions and the actions of our friends and enemies.”
Boylan was a patriot. Out of the mainstream himself, through sloth or fastidiousness, he still had strong and virtuous opinions about the conduct of public life. The one man in Washington Rudolph had heard Boylan praise was James Forrestal, Secretary of the Navy. “If you were my own son—Boylan had continued—“I wouldn’t give you different advice. In the Foreign Service you wouldn’t be highly paid, but you would live the life of a gentleman among gentlemen and you could do us all honor. And there would be nothing to prevent you from marrying well and moving on to an ambassadorship. Whatever help I could give you, I would give gladly. I would be rewarded enough if you invited me to the Embassy for lunch once every few months—and could say to myself that in a little way I made it possible.”
Remembering all this, and remembering Calderwood glaring at the photograph of his three daughters that same afternoon, Rudolph thought, feeling oppressed, everybody is looking for a son. A son in some private, particular, impossible image.
“Well, Rudolph,” Boylan was saying, “you haven’t answered me. Which is it going to be?”
“Neither,” Rudolph said. “I told Calderwood I’d stay on at the store for a year at least.”
“I see,” Boylan said flatly. “You don’t aim very high, do you?”
“Yes, I do,” Rudolph said. “In my own way.”
“I’ll cancel the booking for Europe,” Boylan said. “I won’t keep you from your friends any longer. It has been very nice having you here, Mr. Knight. If you ever happen to get away from Oklahoma again, you must come visit me again with Rudolph.” He finished his champagne and went out of the room, his tweed jacket impeccably on his shoulders, the silk scarf a flash of color about his neck.
“Well …” Brad said. “What was that all about?”
“He once had something to do with my sister,” Rudolph said. He started toward the door.
“Chilly bastard, isn’t he?”
“No,” Rudolph said. “Far from it. Let’s get out of here.”
As they drove through the gateway, Brad finally spoke. “There’s something fu
Of course, Rudolph thought. That was it. It wasn’t all that sleep down South. “Maybe,” he said. “Anything is possible with Teddy Boylan.”
Who are all these people, she thought, looking around her own living room. “Drinks in the kitchen,” she said gaily to a new couple who had just come through the open door. She’d have to wait till Willie came back to get the names. He had gone down to the bar on the corner for more ice. There always was enough Scotch, bourbon, gin, and red wine in half gallon jugs, but never enough ice.
There were at least thirty people in the room, about half of whom she knew, and more to come. How many more she never knew. Sometimes she had the feeling Willie just picked people up in the street and invited them. Mary Jane was in the kitchen, acting as barmaid. Mary Jane was getting over her second husband and you had to invite her to everything. Feeling herself an object of pity, Mary Jane tried to pay her way by helping out with the drinks, rinsing glasses, emptying ashtrays and taking lone stragglers home to bed with her. You needed somebody like that at a party.
Gretchen winced as she watched a Brooks Brothers type let ashes drop onto the floor and a moment later grind the stub of his cigarette into the carpet with his heel. The room looked so pretty when there was nobody in it, pale-rose walls, books in order on the shelves, curtains crisp, the hearth of the fireplace swept, cushions plumped, the wood polished.
She was afraid that Rudolph disapproved of the party, although there was nothing in his ma
Once, when she asked Rudolph why he had picked Joh
Who could know her own brother? Still, she hadn’t meant to have this kind of party for Rudolph’s graduation night and Willie had agreed. But somehow, it always turned out to be the same kind of party. The cast changed somewhat, actors, actresses, young directors, magazine writers, models, girls who worked for Time, Inc., radio producers, an occasional man from an advertising agency who could not be insulted; women like Mary Jane who had just been divorced and told everybody that their husbands were fags, instructors at NYU or Columbia who were writing novels, young Wall Street men who looked as though they were slumming, a dazzlingly sensual secretary who would flirt with Willie after the third drink; an ex-pilot from Willie’s war who would corner her to talk about London; somebody’s discontented husband who would try to make a pass at her late in the evening, and who would probably slip out at the end with Mary Jane.