Envy (17 page)

I
T WAS THE HOUR WHEN THE WOMEN WENT UP TO
their rooms to dress for dinner and the sky went from tedious blue to a kind of fireworks. All along the wide veranda of the hotel, fathers and husbands and brothers drank afternoon cocktails and reclined in the large rattan chairs in the fading orange and purple light. They folded newspapers across their knees and accepted telegrams on silver trays. They smoked cigars and talked about the golfing and the hunting and the driving they had done that day and, in lower tones, how the markets back in town were doing. Down on the far end, leaning against the white wood railing so that he would be least seen, Henry was trying to get drunk in a hurry all by himself.

There was little else for him to enjoy. Days had gone by in Florida, each one like the last. He was formal with his wife in public, and avoided being with her in private. He watched Diana laugh with Grayson Hayes and go off to the beach with him after breakfast. Now he knew she no longer hoped for
him, and he felt the full idiotic weight of his many missteps. He had known that morning, after having been with Penelope, that he was a fool, but until a few hours ago he’d believed that Diana would never find out about it. Moreover, he’d seen that look on Penelope’s face when he’d called her bluff—she could no longer ruin Diana as she’d once threatened. Her own reputation was too much at stake. But that was a precious insight that he couldn’t use now. It was useless to him, just like every other pointless thing in the whole pointless world.

He had taken for granted his own smoothness and taste, his ability to discriminate and have his pick. It was an unhappy realization that when something mattered, when he actually cared, he was a hopeless boor tripping over himself and destroying everything in his path. That morning, before Diana had told him how much was changed in her, it hadn’t been so bad to see her in Grayson’s company. But he’d made the mistake of reading the society columns over one of the other gentlemen’s shoulders, and it had confirmed his worst fears.

“Henry!”

Even the sound of his own name irritated him, although he did glance up dutifully in time to see Teddy approaching over the rim of his julep. Teddy was already wearing his dinner jacket, and, unlike Henry’s, his tie was neatly in place. Henry was wearing a dress shirt of fine Italian linen, although he had
forgotten his cuff links and left the top two buttons undone. He sipped from his glass and grimaced a little, even though there was no one else whose intrusion he could have tolerated at that moment.

“Henry,” Teddy said again, when he had crossed the thick boards of the porch and reached his friend’s chosen column. “Where have you been hiding?”

Henry shifted his black eyes away from the Coconut Grove, where a few women who had completed their post-tea transformation were strolling with men they thought were in love with them. There were a lot of flounces and parasols being twirled idly, and he couldn’t stand any of it. “I wasn’t hiding—I just haven’t had the stomach for the party anymore.”

“I know just what you mean,” Teddy replied.

“I doubt that,” Henry said darkly. He was being ridiculous, he knew, but Teddy had long suffered Henry’s silly behavior, and that was too old a habit to change now. He didn’t, anyway, seem to mind too much.

A waiter appeared, and Teddy gestured at Henry’s drink. “Two more, please.”

“You might as well order four—that man takes forever,” Henry muttered, although the waiter was by then already gone. He waved his hands lethargically, as though the futility of every little thing was too great a problem to get very worked up about.

“I am tired of it, and I think my reasons are not so different from yours.”

Henry looked at his friend slantwise, and noticed for the first time the furrows above his brow. “Oh?” was all he managed. He was sure that Teddy’s reasons could not be half as devastating as his own.

“Yes.” Teddy’s tone was firm as he looked out toward the sea, and for a moment the orange light of sunset was reflected in his gray eyes. It made them look washed out and much older than he was. “I think I’m going to give it up for a while.”

Henry, who had been experiencing his life as though it were a well that he was at the bottom of, was irritated by this turn of phrase. “Give it up?” he returned ironically. That would be easy enough for Teddy, he supposed, who had finished college and managed not to get himself married.

“You’ll be all right without me,” Teddy replied with a rueful smile.

“You’re serious?”

“Oh, completely so.” The waiter appeared with their drinks, and both men turned toward the porch railing and looked out contemplatively for a moment. The light was still blazing on the grounds, and it reflected on both heads of slicked hair. Henry’s jaw worked as he anticipated his friend’s response. “I’m going to war.”

“To
war
?” Henry found that he was too stunned to sip.

“Yes, I’m joining the army.” Perhaps because Henry went on staring at him with incredulous, bulging eyes, Teddy added: “I was in the cadets in prep school.”

Henry had to look away. They had gone to the same prep school, but he couldn’t remember his friend doing anything like that. “But where—?”

“I hope to become an officer and to see action in the Philippines. I’ve already written to my father’s contacts at Fort Hamilton, and hope to enlist as soon as I return to New York. I can’t wait for tomorrow—I’m going to be leaving tonight, after dinner.”

This all sounded hopelessly far away to Henry, and he could not help but look appalled. Just thinking about it made his skin crawl under his shirt. He considered several more profound responses, something like “My God” or “Bravo.” What he did finally say was: “But you could
die
.”

Teddy put his elbows against the rail and leaned forward. “Of course I could die.” He clutched his drink and smiled a little. “But I can’t stay here forever, staring appreciatively at the new girls in the latest dresses and drinking from four in the afternoon till four in the morning. No, that would be a poor use of a life. I don’t want to hide from danger—that’s not what it means to be a man. I don’t think so, anyway. To look in the face of hard things and keep moving forward—that’s what one has to do.”

It was not lost on Henry that what Teddy described as a poor use of a life was more or less
his
life. But he found that he was not insulted. He was rather affected by the phrasing, in fact, and so only half-listened to what Teddy said next.

“I’ve been speaking to that lovely creature you were engaged to once, Elizabeth Holland, and I find she makes me want to search out the profundity in things. She is so tiny and frail, and yet she came back from harrowing experiences, and seems no longer to tolerate frivolities. How could she, now, when she knows what it is to be alive as we do not?”

Teddy paused to put his hands over his face. Henry might have wondered if his friend wasn’t stricken by impossible love, too, if he had not so quickly changed the subject.

“Anyway, it’s a young country. And I want to be responsible to it, to its interests and its standing in the world. If not me, who, Henry? I am a good leader; I know how to explain men to themselves.”

They both pressed their elbows against the wood rail and gazed out. The atmosphere was warm and full of virtually imperceptible disturbances that caused the palm fronds to rise and fall as though they were sighing. Henry was thinking of the younger Holland sister, of the way she could go from being an impetuous girl to a knowing woman in a few seconds and never lose the stars in her eyes, and of how his life had
seemed to him when he’d believed he had her. Surely that was not a waste.

Then Teddy hung his head, and in a slightly different voice, went on: “Perhaps when I come back I will deserve the life I want.”

The women in their ruffles were heading back toward the hotel, emerging from the palms like whitefish in a stream and heading up the stairs. Down the veranda, the sound of greetings and high heels on wood planks rang out; it was dinnertime, and no one could hide now. First Teddy and then Henry pushed away from the railing and finished their drinks. Henry clapped a hand on his friend’s shoulder as they joined the crowd.

“I’ll miss you,” Henry said. “You had better not really get killed.”

“The same goes for you,” Teddy replied lightly. “On both counts.”

Henry chuckled agreeably, and thought to himself that there was no need to worry. He had made the situation with Diana very bad indeed, but he was beginning to see the glimmer of a chance that he could fix it. Teddy was right. Life was a short window, and there was no sense in doing the wrong thing over and over even if it was so difficult to stop. When they got back to New York it would be all different for Teddy and different for him as well, and he would be very careful to
do the right thing and not get killed by his wife or himself or by anybody else. There was something to live for, after all, if only he could keep his sights fixed on it.

She was coming up the stairs on the arm of Grayson Hayes, wearing a dress of ecru tiered eyelet and a vast hat, and though she wouldn’t meet his eyes, he still felt her loveliness in his knees. He didn’t mind that she was on Grayson’s arm anymore, and the thing he had done to her had to be faced. There was plenty of life left, and if he had to, he would use it all to get her back. The time had passed for making promises to her—all that was left for him was to act.

T
HE GUESTS OF THE SCHOONMAKER PARTY—WHAT
was left of them, anyway—took the same elegant private car back to New York, although they were far quieter and more subdued on the return trip. Penelope remained frozen in her seat, imperturbable and still despite the jerks and shakes of the train. The light came through the window in lively stripes, but her face remained unchanged, her eyes fixed on the carpet at her feet or at her husband, who sat opposite her. He wore a cream-colored shirt, which she had given to him, and his black trouser–covered legs were crossed. He was reading a volume of poems, a thing she had never known him to do, and he did not bring his eyes to meet hers even once. When he had to speak to her he looked at her knees. She was still suffering from that horrid, choked feeling that had been stifling her ever since her husband had rejected her in the hotel suite, and she was having difficulty finding a reason to do much of anything. Though he had been civil to her since their confrontation, and she was be
ginning to doubt his resolve to leave her, she could not bring herself to feel triumphant.

Even getting dressed that morning had brought her no pleasure, and now Penelope was paying for it in a mauve linen day dress that was perfectly in style but did not—she knew—show off her best features. Or not exactly suffering, because she felt so blank that even that didn’t really matter. She slumped, in heaps of mauve, and managed to gaze a little farther down the aisle, where the Holland sisters sat cozily beside each other.

Diana drowsed on her sister’s shoulder, her face as soft and pink as a little cherub.
A very young cherub
, thought Penelope.
A very irksome one
. Elizabeth, who was only partially visible to her, stared out the window, very much awake, as though she were contemplating the end of man. For the first time, Penelope wondered if Liz truly was carrying the dead stable boy’s child. In the hotel, she had mostly suggested this possibility out of a desire to say something as nasty as she felt. But now Elizabeth was looking so stone-faced that Penelope wondered if it weren’t the case.

The other sister, meanwhile, looked as though she hadn’t a care in the world. Her face tilted upward toward the light in her sleep, her dark curls falling gently across her rosy skin. As far as Penelope could tell, Grayson had succeeded only in tiring her out. He had disappeared again, to the bar car, where he
was spending a lot of time. That had seemed normal enough until just that moment, when his little sister remembered a muttered comment of Grayson’s about how much money he had lost in Florida—some of which Henry had loaned him—and how that was just the beginning of his debts.

Diana now persisted in looking neither wrecked nor ruined by his attentions. She was a tramp, of course, Penelope thought, although it was a shame that, as Henry had pointed out in their Florida hotel suite, she could no longer tell the world about it. Despite a devastating case of ennui, Penelope managed to cock a listless eyebrow, for it suddenly began to occur to her that she might be able to use that information, after all. The whole world didn’t need to know the girl was a whore—there was only one man who needed to be made to see it. Then she rested her pale oval of a face on her own sharp shoulder, and let the rocking of the train soothe her into sleep.

Had New York ever been so cold?

Penelope wasn’t sure if it was her brief period in the sun that made the bone-chilling end of February seem so intolerably dark and sad, or if it had always been that way. She had had too much of Henry’s silent indifference on the train, and
so on the evening of their return she pretended that her parents had missed her too much, and she went alone to their house to dine. Her mother had invited some “amusing” people, as usual, and she spent all of the meal rendering them completely unamusing with her barrage of inane questions. Penelope let her large, painted eyelids fall slowly, portentously, shut and allowed herself to feel the full tragedy of having worn such a becoming dress—it was black lace overlaying an ivory satin, and showed off her slim waist to fullest advantage—on a night when only imbeciles would see it. Candles flickered in the center of the long, squat Romanesque table. When her brother pushed back his chair and excused himself, she half-smiled her apologies and followed him into the adjacent smoking room.

“You’ve really failed me, you should know,” she said as she swept over to the little heart-shape-backed settee next to the leather wingback chair where Grayson sat. His ankle was rested on his opposite knee, and he had just lit a cigarette. His gaze darted in Penelope’s direction and then away. She noted the faint purple quality of the skin under his eyes, and realized that he was tired out, too. There was another quality to his posture, she decided, something like anxiety.

“How so, Penny?” he asked after a pause.

“With Diana Holland, of course.” Penelope reached over and took a cigarette from the silver case that her brother had
left sitting on the chair’s arm. He kept a wary eye on her as he leaned forward to light it. “You were supposed to entertain us all with a game of cat and mouse.”

“I’m sorry if you weren’t entertained.”

Penelope paused and inhaled daintily as Rathmill, the butler, entered the room and crossed the floor to stoke the fire. He refilled Grayson’s cognac, and when he exited, the younger Hayes sibling went on cheerily: “Of course I was! Only I don’t think you went far enough.”

“That’s a dangerous phrase coming out of your mouth,” he muttered.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

Sparks flew upward from the fire, illuminating the dark room, with its sculptured paneling and vaguely medieval air. It was a room without windows, at the center of the house, and for once Penelope was grateful to be so far from the public’s attention. She exhaled and let her long, slender arm droop over the side of the settee, leaving a subtle burn mark on its magenta and gold upholstery.

“Anyway,” she continued, when it became obvious that Grayson wasn’t going to expand on his comment, “I want you to bat the mouse around a little more.”

“Oh, Penny, haven’t you had enough already?”

Penelope showed him her patient smile. She had become fixated by the idea that had occurred to her on the northbound
train; it had given her something upon which to focus all her ambition and scheming—which had sagged briefly at the end of the disastrous Florida trip. This allowed her to feel more like her usual self, and anyway, he should have known that even in her weakest moments she was an insatiable person to whom the word
enough
didn’t mean very much at all.

“You haven’t even kissed her yet,” she said eventually.

“I did
try
,” he replied hotly as he relit a new cigarette with an old one.

“Maybe you’ve lost your touch with the fairer sex,” she speculated with a wan smile.

Grayson’s large blue eyes flashed in her direction as he threw his old cigarette into the fire. “I doubt that.”

Penelope suppressed a giggle at his evident pride on that point by pressing her plush lips together firmly. “Then why stop now? Let’s have some fun with her.”

“I don’t know.” He shrugged uncomfortably. “She’s lovely, but she’s very young, and anyway, I’m busy with other things.”

Penelope considered confessing all to him, but then decided that her other method of persuasion would be more effective. “That’s not very brotherly, Grayson,” she cooed sweetly. “If you assist me in this, I will see that it’s worth your while.”

Grayson waved his hand and went on looking into the fireplace.

Penelope stood, so that her next statement would have the maximum impact. “I’ll pay your gambling debts if you keep the game up.” A crescent emerged at the left corner of her mouth when she saw the reaction to this in her brother’s face. He looked up at her very quickly, and his wide-eyed gaze remained on her as she moved toward the fireplace. She rested her right elbow against her left wrist, and brought her cigarette very elegantly to her lips.

“How did you know…?” He trailed off. “Anyway, where would you get the money?”

“You forget that I am a married woman. You know how much my allowance from Father is, and Mr. Schoonmaker gives me twice that monthly. I order all my clothes on the elder Mrs. Schoonmaker’s account, so you see, I have saved quite a bit.”

Grayson’s lips parted slightly as the possibilities began to sink in. He swallowed hard, and then he said: “What do you want me to do?”

Penelope smiled broadly now, and tossed the end of her cigarette into the fire. “Bat the mouse, Grayson, but harder this time, all right? Make her fall in love with you in a way that she’ll end up regretting forever.”

He put both of his feet against the floor, and rested his elbows against his knees.

“I know you’ve made lots of women feel that way
already.” She could see that he was going to acquiesce, so she let her voice turn a touch patronizing now. “It won’t take too much effort.”

Penelope returned to her settee and took Grayson’s crystal snifter from the little regency side table and sipped. He must have been desperate, for he ignored her insinuation and looked up at her with focused eyes. “How soon can you have the money?”

Penelope opened her own large blues magnanimously. “Oh…as soon as you agree to wipe that aura of innocence off our little Di.” She let one eyelid fall in her signature smoldering wink. “And Grayson? Don’t bother being too discreet. It would be so much more
fun
if everyone”—by which she meant Henry—“knew she’d been compromised.”