Barbara Greer (23 page)

‘Well, I know a little more about it than that,' Barbara said.

‘But seriously,' Peggy said, ‘why should you? You're not involved in it the way I am. You get your dividend once a year and that's the end of it for you. But with me, having my mate in it, it's become one hell of an important thing.' She smiled at Barbara again. ‘You think I'm driving at something, and I am. Quite frankly.'

‘What is it?' Barbara said.

‘Look. How much, exactly, do you know about what's going on there right now?'

‘Well,' Barbara said, ‘quite honestly, from a couple of things Woody said, I got the impression that things aren't going too well.'

‘Too well! No, dear, they're not going too well. Oh, it's no crisis, or at least I don't think so. But things aren't too good, either. Some of it's not our fault. This is a depressed area right now, this section of the state. Everybody's feeling it. Our sales are off this year. But they've also been off for the last five years. That's the big difference. And the funny thing is, they really haven't been
off
. What's happened is more that
other
plants—competing companies—have been going up, bit by bit. Old Woodcock Paper's just standing still, holding its own, but not moving. And I don't know how much you know about business, dear, but from a business standpoint that ain't so good!'

Barbara studied her sister's face. ‘Peggy,' she said, ‘you really surprise me sometimes. How did you get to know so much about business?'

‘As I said, I've more or less
had
to, dear,' Peggy said. ‘Living here, I've been involved in it—through Barney.' She hesitated. ‘Barbara—how much do you miss Carson?'

‘What do you mean?'

‘I mean how much do you miss him when he's away?'

‘That's a funny question. Can the amount someone misses someone else be measured? I don't know. I—'

‘No,' Peggy said. ‘I mean, do you miss him a great deal when he's gone, or do you miss him just a little? Or do you feel a little relieved? Do you think—
whew
! Now I can relax and live my own life for a few weeks!'

‘No, I don't think that,' Barbara said. ‘I certainly don't feel relieved! No, I miss him—a great deal, of course. I miss him terribly.'

‘I was just curious,' Peggy said. ‘Just wondering. You've been married longer than I have. And of course in my case, Barney's right here—all the time. Built-in, so to speak! So I never have an opportunity to miss him. I was wondering how I would feel if he went away, on trips.'

‘You'd miss him, you can be sure of that.'

‘Would I? I suppose so.' She tapped her cigarette, carefully shaping the ash against the side of the ash tray. ‘Barney is a very unusual person,' she said. ‘He has an extremely acute business sense. He's a
sensitive
businessman, if you see what I mean. He's sensitive to trends, situations—a kind of intuition, which is very good in business and very rare. What he needs isn't guidance—which is what some of the people at the company seem to think he needs—he needs support. He needs all the support he can get. With the right kind of support he can—I'm convinced—turn this company into a damned good thing. The kind of company it was in 1926 and 1927. You and I should give him all the support we can.'

‘What do you mean?'

Peggy's eyes gazed across the pool, toward the rising banks of rhododendron and laurel that filled the distance between the pool and the house and terrace beyond. ‘I mean,' she said, ‘that you yourself—just as much as I—ought to support him. For a purely practical reason. Because it's your company, too. You own stock in it. It could make us both rich some day—or it could leave us both poor as church mice, if the company goes bust. Look,' she said, turning to Barbara now and looking at her intently. ‘Let's not be hypocrites. I've been thinking about this for a good long time and I've got a plan. You say you hate Locustville, you miss Carson when he takes these damn trips—all that. Well, frankly, I can guess what Carson makes at that job—not a hell of a lot, I imagine. Well, if you had some money—I'm talking now of quite a bit of money—why couldn't you get him to quit his job and move somewhere else. While he's finding a job you like better, and he likes better, you could have a nice little cushion of money to carry you along. You could be free agents, write your own ticket. I'm talking now of seventy-three thousand dollars.'

‘Where will seventy-three thousand dollars come from?' Barbara asked quietly.

‘From your stock. Selling it to me. That's the book value of the stock you own. Since you wouldn't be selling at a profit, you'd have no gain—no taxes to pay on it. All you'd do is turn over your stock to me, and I'll give you a cheque for seventy-three thousand dollars.'

‘Do you have seventy-three thousand dollars?' Barbara asked.

‘I have some of it. Not all of it, but the rest I can get. From the bank. I've talked to George Willard about it, and he's prepared to finance me. You have no
sentimental
attachment to the stock you own, do you? You admitted you scarcely care what goes on here at the company, that you're really pretty out of touch—'

‘But I don't see how my stock is going to make me a rich woman some day if I sell it all to you,' Barbara said.

‘Now, wait a minute,' Peggy said. ‘Let me finish. I haven't finished telling you what my plan is. True, you'd be selling it to me. But, if you want, we could consider it temporary. After a few years, if you wanted to, you could buy back into the company. I'd agree to that—after a few years' time.'

‘Well then,' Barbara said slowly, ‘suppose you tell me why you want my stock now.'

‘It's very simple,' Peggy said. ‘I want it first to get Barney elected president. I need every damn share of stock I can get my hands on. And I need it, second, to give Barney a free rein for the next five—maybe ten—years, to do whatever he wants to pull this company back into shape.'

‘Well,' Barbara said. ‘That's very ambitious.'

‘Of course it is. It will take somebody ambitious to do what I want done.'

Barbara looked at the heads in the pool, representing cousins, shareholders, participants in the Woodcock Paper Company, members of her family—all of which, she supposed, were, in one way or another, involved in Peggy's plan. She wondered how many of them knew it. In the summer sunlight, playing together, laughing, tossing a bright striped beach ball in a half-serious water polo game, they seemed certainly unconcerned. Their inheritance, from common ancestors, from fathers who had been cousins, grandfathers who had been brothers, seemed to be serving them well enough. The most important member of the family, William Woodcock, was not there. Barbara asked Peggy quietly, ‘What about Cousin Billy? Does he know anything about this yet?'

Peggy smiled. ‘Cousin Billy will find out when I'm ready to have him find out. You're right—he won't like it.' She laughed. ‘After all, he's president now! When I have enough stock to out-vote him, that's when he'll find out!'

‘And what about Daddy?'

‘Daddy I'm handling in my own way,' Peggy said. ‘What I'm interested in now is you. What do you think? Will you go along with me?'

Barbara considered this. ‘Well,' she said finally, ‘this is all pretty sudden. And what you said about—about taking the money and moving to another town—I really don't think we could do that, or that Carson would want to. I mean, I don't think Carson is unhappy. And besides, I don't really see why you'd need to buy my stock. If I gave you my proxy for whatever you wanted to do, wouldn't that be enough? Would you have to own the stock outright?'

‘Ah!' Peggy said, tapping out her cigarette with a series of hard, confident taps. ‘I was wrong. You
do
have a little business sense, don't you? I'm sorry. No, you're quite right. I don't have to buy your stock. But then I do need your proxy—no strings attached. And I'd need it for a good long time. Rome wasn't built in a day! This thing won't be easy, and I'm really just beginning. If you'll promise me your proxy for the next ten years, to let me vote your stock in any way I want, then—fine! Then it's a deal! Will you do it?'

‘Let me think about it, will you, Peg? I don't have to decide this afternoon, do I?'

‘I'd like a decision as soon as possible.'

‘I'd like to discuss it with Carson,' Barbara said. ‘Let me write him and ask him what he thinks.'

‘What does Carson have to do with it? It's not his stock. It's yours. Why do you need to mention it to Carson at all?'

‘Well, I'd like to. I'd just like to.'

‘I really can't see why it's any of Carson's business.'

‘Well, give me a little time, anyway, Peg. Truly don't make me say yes or no right now. Let me think about it.'

Peggy shrugged. ‘All right. If you want to. But I'm telling you right now, it's the one thing that can save us—in the long run. This company needs something—something dramatic, dynamic! Not people like Cousin Billy. It's
because
of people like Cousin Billy—yes, and Daddy, too—that the company's in the shape it's in. The management has been too
fat
—too satisfied, willing to let things just coast along. Well, they've been coasting now for quite a while and the sled's been picking up speed. One of these mornings we'll all wake up at the bottom of the hill in a banged-up toboggan!' With her hand, she performed a nosedive, in demonstration. ‘So think it over, dear. But don't take too long.'

‘I really didn't know things were that bad.'

‘Well, they are. That bad. And as far as what I said about getting Carson to quit and moving out of Locustville—well, it was only because I know how you hate that place. And sometimes, I think the woman
should
take the initiative, don't you? I mean, no matter what a man's capabilities are it sometimes takes a woman to bring them out, don't you think? And if you really miss him as much as you say you do—if you really resent these trips of his—well, hell, Barb, why be wishy-washy about it? Get him to quit for God's sake! Get him to take you some place else! Why not?'

Peggy looked hard at her, and Barbara shifted in her chair and looked away. She was beginning to feel uncomfortable with Peggy. ‘Some men are—well, different,' she said lamely. And she added, ‘Besides, we'll work things out.'

Suddenly Peggy put her head back and laughed. ‘God!' she said. ‘You are the devoted, all-American wife, aren't you?'

‘Well,' Barbara said, ‘perhaps I am.'

‘Don't get mad,' Peggy said. ‘I think it's wonderful—I really do. I think it's very, very nice. As I say, I don't know whether I'd miss Barney if he had to go off on trips or not. Would I? I just don't know.' She laughed again. ‘I think maybe I'd just say thank God, I've got the bed to myself for a change. When they're gone—men, I mean—what is it that a woman misses? Is it their boyish charm, or their snoring, or that thing they've got in their pants?' She put her hand on Barbara's arm. ‘Remember Charlie Muir, Barb? Remember Charlie?'

Emily, her mother's maid, was coming down the path from the house, her white uniform brilliant in the sun.

‘Which reminds me,' Peggy said, still laughing, ‘have you heard the one about the boys who had this contest? And this one little coloured boy—Rastus—came home to his mammy and said he'd won, and his mammy said, “Rastus—”

‘Shh!' Barbara said. ‘Emily's coming. Lunch must be ready—'

Emily approached along the pool's edge and said, ‘Mrs. Greer, a long distance call for you.'

Barbara said, ‘Who in the world could this be?' She stood up and followed Emily toward the house. Halfway up the walk, she suddenly remembered the thoughts she had been having last night before going to sleep. Oil burners exploding. Chimney fires. And she thought, oh, dear God! The children! And she began to run. When she reached the telephone, she was out of breath. ‘Hello?' she gasped.

Then she was relieved to hear Nancy Rafferty's voice on the other end of the wire, ‘Oh, thank God it's you!' she said.

‘Why?' Nancy asked. ‘What's the matter, Barb?'

‘Nothing. But I thought—long distance. Perhaps it was Flora and there was something wrong—'

‘I just talked to Flora,' Nancy said. ‘Everything's fine. She told me you were at the farm. I was amazed! When did you go up there?'

‘Yesterday,' Barbara said.

‘Right after I left? Goodness, you wasted no time, did you? What made you decide to go? I didn't think you'd fly the coop so quickly!'

‘I—I just decided—'

‘And what have you been doing? Weaving your fatal spell around Barney?' Nancy's laugh tinkled distantly.

‘I don't think that's very funny.'

‘It isn't. I'm sorry! But what I really called about was—I've been in the depths. The absolute depths, Barb. And I need cheering.'

‘Why?'

‘Can you cheer up an ex-nursing student?'

‘What happened?'

‘Me,' Nancy said, ‘that's what happened,
I
happened! Oh Barb,' her voice moaned, ‘I've been a very, very naughty girl. I've quit, resigned. Thrown in the proverbial towel. Or no, let's be frank. I didn't quit, I was
asked
to quit. I was thrown out on my proverbial ear, darling, and I've been mourning and so repentant! I've been in sackcloth and ashes, but no—I really haven't! I've been celebrating, actually. I've been saying, Hey! Whoopee! I wasn't cut out to be a nurse anyway! Oh, Barbara, you'll never, never in the wide world guess what awful things I've done!'

‘What? What have you done?'

‘Yesterday, after I left your house. I was feeling, how shall we say, a little bit leftover? Oh, God, but it was more than a little bit and I was really, truly praying that death would come on the highway, to take me out of my misery, I had a hangover,' she laughed, ‘that should have been written up by the American Medical Association! Anyway, I had no luck—death didn't come on the highway and I got back to Philadelphia, unfortunately, intact, still living, and I found that I'd been called to go into a case in surgery, at the hospital. Well, like a good girl, I went—feeling worse than horrible. Got on my little uniform and went. It was some horrible old bum who'd had his head halfway cut off in a razor fight. Oh, God! I stood there, trying to hold your breakfast down while they tried to sew his damn head back on. And I could feel it coming. I thought: No, no, I can't, it's no use. I said to myself: Give up, kid, this is not your life, you've missed the call, so I turned on my heel and walked right out of the operating room—with some instruments still in my hand—and slammed the door. Oh, God! I don't know if you know much about the nursing profession, dear, but that is
not
one of the things one is supposed to do in nursing. In fact, it's just about the cardinal sin. So here I am, free as a bird!' She laughed gaily. ‘And I'm not drunk, either, much as you may suspect. Drunk with excitement, maybe. But I was going to ask you if I could buzz back down to Locustville and cry on your shoulder, but now that you're at the farm, would you mind if I buzzed up there? There's a train that will get me there by supper time. Would you mind, terribly, Barb, having an old ex-roommate and ex-nursing student buzz in on you for comfort and consolation? Would you mind? Of course I really think it's your bounden duty to have me because, after all, it was your Martinis that did it Friday night—and your
excellent
Scotch somewhat later in the evening! Oh, I'm only kidding, Barb, but could I come? Could I please? And if you could just rally your cousin Woody for the occasion this evening, I'd love you for ever! If you could manage to put Woody about—oh, about two feet away from me at the supper table I'd do my best to weave my fatal spell about him in my most alluring manner, and not disgrace you, really! I'll do it with perfume, not words. I'll invest in—what? Ah, yes! Tabu! I'll invest in a bottle of Tabu!'