Inheritance (16 page)

Shit, nobody in the whole goddam world was as alone as he was.

I need a drink, he decided. The office can take care of itself for half an hour.

He waved at Terry Levonio as he walked into the crowded Brass Ring Saloon, just off the lobby. Terry grinned back beneath the handlebar mustache that had become part of Philadelphia lore. The Brass Ring was a hangout for newspaper and television people, it was listed in Philadelphia tour guides, and it was the only part of the Philadelphia Salinger that consistently made money.

Judith Michael

"Midnight, the hour of melancholy," Terry observed as Clay took the last empty stool at the bar. "And you are in need of a small friend." With dextrous fingers he mixed Clay's favorite scotch and soda. "A companion to cheer night's darkest depths."

"Cheers." Clay drank it off and held it out for a refill. "Was Payne asking about me?"

"The usual. How much time do you spend in here, how much do you drink, do you ever talk about the Salingers, why are you here? Same old stuff. Take this one slowly; I expect customers to let my perfect drinks slither down like a caress, not a fucking Niagara."

"Why not." Clay sipped tiie drink. "Nice cuff links," he said, eyeing the jet and diamond rectangles on Terry's starched cuffs.

"A gift."

"Who from?"

"Me to me." He left to serve two women standing at the curved end of the bar; Clay recognized one as a news anchor-woman, the other as the host of a noon talk show. Where did Terry get the money for jet and diamond cuff links? he wondered idly. And the Porsche he drove. And Brioni ties and a Lx)ewe wallet. Taken singly, they were expensive but not impossible; Clay had some Brioni ties, too. But taken together, Terry's lifestyle was a hell of a lot flashier than Clay's. And Clay knew his salary and could guess at his tips.

Only one way, he thought, finishing his drink. He's stealing it. He brooded over the idea. Shit, the guy's probably been stealing the whole time I've been here; something going on practically under my nose that I didn't know about. He can't do that to me; I'm assistant desk clerk; he can't play me for a fool. Another idea struck him. Shit, if there's money missing from anywhere in the hotel, who'd get blamed? Me, who else? Christ, just when I'm straight and making something of myself, this son of a bitch comes up playing tricks.

He did not look up when Terry returned and refilled his glass; he was thinking about how somebody could rip off a bar. The easiest way would be to pocket the money for every third or fourth drink and not ring it up on the cash register. That's what he's doing, Clay decided. He's too cheerful to be honest; he never stops smiling.

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He began to watch. The hours passed; he kept his eyes on Terry's whirlwind fingers, pouring, mixing, serving, playing the keys of the cash register, collecting money and dropping it into the register's compartments without missing a beat. "Who's minding the store?" Terry asked a little after two in the morning.

^They'll call me if they need me," Clay said.

"Some wise fella said the mice play when the cat's not looking," Terry observed cheerfully.

Clay nodded. "I was thinking the same thing."

But he'd been watching for over two hours and whatever Terry was doing, it wasn't pocketing money or failing to ring the charges; he'd swear to that. So it was something else. I should have known, he thought; Ben told me plenty of times that smart thieves make their tricks look legal. He slid off the stool. "Put it on my bill," he said to Terry. "I'll see you tomorrow. What time do you get here?"

"Three o'clock, as you well know since you check my time cards for my inhuman hours."

"You don't work them every day."

"Tomorrow I do. Shall I call you an hour from now to make sure you haven't fallen asleep at your desk?"

"I won't fall asleep. I know how to keep my eyes open." He waved as he left, and the next morning, when the bar was dark and the maids were all upstairs, he slipped quietly into the employees' room in the basement of the hotel and picked the lock on Terry's locker.

He felt like a detective solving a crime. But he felt a different thrill, too. Just like old times, he thought, reveling in the coolness of the metal pick in4iis hand, the feeling of power when the door swung open. Wait'll I tell Laura I can still do it. I No, can't tell Laura; she wouldn't appreciate it. It's my own secret. Except for Terry, of course. Because if I find something, I'm going to stop him dead in his tracks.

Paul reached the top of the seawall and turned to help Laura. But she was already there, taking a smooth, high step to stand beside him, and together they looked out at the silver-blue ocean. This part of the shore of Cape Ann, a knob of land thrusting into the Atlantic north of Boston, was lined

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with enormous rocks dredged up by reclamation teams and wedged together in a wall that stretched as far as the eye could see. On the rocks gulls perched in small congregations; farther 11 out, belted kingfishers wheeled above the ocean's waves, div- ] ing to snatch unwary fish from just below the surface, then, jj their wings beating strongly, climbing straight up to vanish into the bright afternoon mist. Waves pounded the rocks below Paul and Laura, and when the wind shifted a fine spray blew across them, leaving tiny droplets in Laura's hair that shimmered like jewels in the afternoon sun. Paul touched one and then another, and they clung to his finger when he put his arm around her.

"You took those rocks as if they were a stairway," he said. "I never had a chance to be gallant. You didn't tell me you're a climber."

"I haven't been for a long time." She put her head back, feeling strong and free in the fresh salt air. "I used to climb on the rocks up the Hudson with my brothers."

"Your brothers?"

"My brother's friends." She moved away and sat on a rock, tightening her shoelace with shaking fingers. She felt angry and a little sick. She didn't want to lie. She never wanted to lie to Paul or any of the family again. She'd done so much lying she couldn't remember which lie she'd told to whom, and that scared her, but it was more than that. She and Paul had gone out five nights in the two weeks since her party, to dinners and concerts and piano bars where they sat and taJked for hours, and she knew she wanted it to go on forever, just as she wanted everything with the Salingers to go on forever. And that meant being honest with them. It was as simple as that. But, still, if she kept making stupid mistakes . . . How do I get out of a lie that's gotten so big and gone on so long? She stood up but she stayed a little distance from Paul. "Can we walk along the rocks for a while?"

"Good idea. I haven't done it since I was a kid and my father brought me here."

''YouT father?" She was taking a long step to another rock; when her feet were securely planted, she looked back at him. "You and Thomas jumped around here?"

He laughed. "My very quiet father was a champion rower

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and mountain climber until he did something to his back and had to quit." He took the step and joined her. "And who taught you to do this? Not Clay, I'll bet; from what Tve seen, he isn't nearly as surefooted as you are."

"No, it was . . . someone in New York."

"A friend of yours?"

"For a long time he was the best friend we had."

She left him behind, jumping lightly from rock to rock, remembering how it had been to climb brick and graystone walls, clinging with callused fingertips to windowsills and drainpipes and ivy. She speeded up, exulting in her strength. Tennis and swimming, long walks to and from the university, and exploring Boston had kept her muscles taut and responsive. / could do it again if I had to. But I never will.

Paul watched her slender body flowing in long, smooth lines. She reminded him of a dancer whose movements are so liquid there seems no break between them. Or a gazelle, he thought: elusive, wary, quick to flee when startled, beautiful to watch. He followed her, thinking that he knew more about her than he had known two weeks earlier, but still far less than he had expected. After two weeks with any other woman, he would have known about her past, her ftiends, her likes and dislikes, and the feel of her beneath him. He would have been able to categorize her. He hadn't realized, until now, how predictable his affairs had grown, or how absorbed he could become in a woman who was so different: frustrating, annoying, fascinating, and enthralling. And fitting into no category that he could think of.

Some distance ahead, Laura had stopped and had bent down to pick something up. "It's a tiny ring made of stone," she called, the lilt of her voice carrying over the crash of the waves below them. "Or maybe it's bone. Isn't this amazing?"

He caught up to her and looked at the tiny ring in her palm. "Crinoid. Distant cousin of the starfish and the sea urchin." He took it from her palm. "It's a fossil, probably about three hundred fifty million years old."

Laura stared at him. "Three hundred fifty million?" He handed the fossil back and she touched it with her finger. "It's so hard to comprehend; it's like touching infinity." She smiled. "You'd think, if something can survive this long and this perfectly, love affairs and reputations could, too."

Judith Michael

He laughed. "Well put. It makes us sound fickle and hopelessly short-hved."

She was still rolling the small ring in her palm. "What did it look like?"

"It probably had arms, like plumes on top of a stalk. A paleontologist would know for sure,"

"Starfish . . . sea urchin," she whispered as if the words conjured magic images. "Incredible ... so many marvelous things waiting to be discovered." She tucked the fossil into the pocket of her jeans. "Wouldn't it be wonderful to have a collection of things like this? Then when something bad happened we could take them out and remember that some things are perfect and don't disappear and if we keep trying . . ." She flushed, then gave Paul a quick smile. "Of course, lots of people wouldn't need that."

He put his hand under her chin. "You have the strangest notion that the worid is full of people who have no problems. I don't know where you got it. Even this crinoid isn't perfect; after all, it died."

Laura broke into laughter. "You're right. I'd better find something else to envy."

"No." He held her face between his hands. 'There's nothing and no one you should envy. My sweet girl, you outshine everyone; if you'd just learn to trust yourself as much as everyone trusts you— "

"Thank you," Laura said quickly. She felt dizzy, as if all of her were being drawn to the warmth of Paul's hands and she could scarcely feel her feet balancing on the rocky ledge. "Don't you think we should turn back? Isn't it getting late?"

He shrugged, feeling purposely misunderstood, and followed her as she made her way along the rocks. She was moving quickly, almost flying, and as he kept up with her, Paul began to lose his annoyance and respond to the beauty around them and the exhilarating harmony of his body. The ocean had quieted, its waves lapping at the dark rocks that seemed to change color from moment to moment beneath lengthening shadows and a copper sun low in the sky. The air was warm, but a breeze brou^t a hint of evening coolness. When he saw the parking lot, he was regretful; it was ahnost like leaving childhood.

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mm 'I'm glad you suggested that/' he said to Laura as they sat If in the car. "You brought back my youth and made it better , tiian it ever was, even in my memory." He backed out of the I parking lot. "I don't know when I've had a better day." f "When you photographed the beautiful women in the marketplace at Avignon," Laura said mockingly.

"Did I say that was wonderful?"

"One of the best days you ever had."

He smiled. "It was, in its way. But I wasn't with you, so it can't have been as wonderful as I thought. In fact, the memory is fading fast; I can barely remember it."

She laughed. "Can you remember where we're eating dinner?"

H*The King's Tavern at six-thirty. Are you hungry?" "Famished." "So am I. We'll be there in ten minutes. Maybe less."

The King's Tavern was built on a small rise overlooking the main street of Gloucester and, beyond it, the crowded wharves where salt-encrusted fishing boats swayed and creaked in the hght breeze. At the back of each boat, rope as thick as a man's wrist and heavy nets stiff with ocean salt were wound on huge drums or coiled on the deck; gulls swooped in to strut on them and perch on the prows where names generations old were boldly lettered. Beside the harbor, the shops and restaurants on the main street were of wood darkened by the sea, making the small town seem rooted in earth and ocean and sky, tolerating the modem cars of tourists but unchanged by them.

Laura savored it all, especially the sense of timelessness that reminded her of her favorite neighborhoods of Boston, and then Paul had parked at the King's Tavern and they were being shown to a small room at the back. Somehow he had arranged with the owners for a place where they could wash up and dress for dinner: a spare room at the back of the restaurant with two chairs and a tiny bathroom. Laura went first, carrying the overnight bag Allison had given her. "Dress simply," Paul had said, but she had agonized over what to take. In the tiny room at the King's Tavern she pulled off the jeans and khaki shirt that smelled of the sea, washed as well as she could in the small basin, and dressed in white polished cotton, full-skirted with long sleeves and a deep V neck. Around her

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throat she fastened a turquoise necklace she had found in a small shop in Provincetown, on the Cape. There was nothing she could do about her hair: the damp air turned the loose waves into long chestnut ringlets that would not comb straight, and so she left them, even the tendrils that curved onto her cheeks and forehead. Not sleek and sophisticated, shci reflected, but there wasn't time to worry about it; she had to let Paul have his turn in the room. But she did pause when she: took a final look in the small mirror and saw her glowing face. I look too happy, she thought, too excited. He likes cool, clever women. He'll think I look like a Girl Scout. But she didn't know what to do about it, and after a moment, since no one was watching, she shrugged. This is me. He'll like me or he won't.