The Betsy (1971) (16 page)

 Chapter Eleven

It was really two parties, not one. The main ballroom was the formal affair. In that room one of Meyer Davis’ society orchestras held forth with what Elizabeth’s friends termed “music for the middle-aged.”

The other party was in the giant game room of the pool house. This had been transformed into a discotheque, and music was electronically blasted forth by two alternating rock groups.

Both parties were jammed with people and even standing room was measured in centimeters. There had been nothing like it ever seen in Detroit. It was an Armageddon of sound and confusion.

The warm late September gardens were also thronged with people wandering back and forth between the two parties, anxious to see everything and be everywhere at the same time. It was almost midnight before the jam of automobiles that had backed all the way down the long driveway into the streets around the house was cleared and Angelo found himself entering the wide-flung great wooden doors.

The reception line had long since broken down; Loren, smashed even before the party began, was nowhere to be seen, and Betsy had adjourned to the discotheque with her friends. Only Alicia, slightly frazzled and the worse for wear, remained anywhere near the entrance.

For the third time, Angelo presented his invitation for inspection. The first two times had been at the driveway entrance and in front of the house. This time a butler in formal livery took it.

The gray-haired man turned to the room. “Mr. Angelo Perino,” he announced in sepulchral tones that were completely lost in the clamor.

Angelo walked down the steps toward Alicia. He kissed her cheek. “You look lovely.”

“I look terrible and you know it.”

“Quite a party,” he said, glancing around the room.

“Yes,” she said. “But I wish we had never given it. Somehow it all seems such a waste. But Loren insisted.”

“It looks like fun,” Angelo said.

“I hope he’s enjoying himself,” she said sarcastically.

“Where’s the deb?” he asked. “Shouldn’t I congratulate her or something? I don’t know exactly what you do at things like this.”

For the first time that evening she laughed. “Angelo, you’re marvelous. You have to be the only honest person left in Detroit.” She glanced around. “I don’t see her anywhere. She must be out in the game room with her friends.”

“I’ll catch up to her,” he said.

“Come,” she said, taking his arm. “I’ll find some pretty young thing for you to dance with.”

“What’s wrong with you?”

“Me?” There was a note of surprise in her voice. She hesitated. “I don’t know. I should remain here. Someone should.”

“Why?”

She stared at him for a moment, then nodded. “You know something? You’re absolutely right. There’s no reason at all why I should stay here.”

He led her out to the dance floor and she came into his arms. She was slightly stiff at first. He moved her closer to him. “Relax,” he smiled. “You’re allowed to have fun at your own party.”

She laughed again and they moved off to the music. She rested her head against his shoulder and after a moment, she looked up at him. “Thank you, Angelo.”

“For what?”

“For making me feel I’m really here. I’ve had the strangest feeling all night that I wasn’t.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You know what’s happening,” she said. “Everyone does. It’s an open secret that Loren is keeping that girl in the apartment on top of the administration building out at the plant and that I’m leaving for Reno the day after tomorrow. People have been looking at me with that, ‘the queen is dead, long live the queen,’ sort of look. It’s been very strange. They’re just not quite sure how friendly they should be.”

“You’re imagining things,” he said. “You grew up here. These people have always been your friends. Married to Loren or not won’t make any difference.”

A sad look came into her eyes. “At one time I thought so. Now I’m not that sure.”

The song ended and they stopped on the floor. A woman’s voice came from behind them. “Alicia, darling! Where have you been hiding this perfectly ravishing man?”

They turned and Angelo saw the beautifully tailored couple standing next to them. The woman’s face had a vaguely familiar look.

Alicia smiled. “Angelo Perino, my sister-in-law and her husband, the Prince and Princess Alekhine.”

The princess held out her hand. Angelo took it. “Kiss it or shake it?” he smiled.

“You can do both,” she laughed. “And the name is Anne. You went to school with my brother but we never met.”

“My hard luck.” He kissed her hand and turned to take the hand of her husband.

The prince was taller than Angelo, with thick gray-black hair and bright dark eyes set in a strong, tanned face. His grip was firm and direct. “You call me Igor,” he said in a deep friendly voice. “And I have been looking forward to meeting you. There is much we have to talk about. I want you to tell me all about the new car.”

“That can wait,” Anne said. “Tomorrow is time enough for you men to talk business.” The music began again. “Igor, you dance with Alicia,” she commanded, taking Angelo’s arm. “I want to learn all about the new man in Detroit.”

She came into his arms with all the assurance of a woman who had been there many times before. He looked down at her. “You’ve been reading too many magazines,” he said.

“Of course,” she answered. “What else do you think Americans in Europe do with their time? They read magazines and that way they keep in touch. It makes them feel a part of things.”

“They could come home,” he said.

“Aren’t you clever?” she smiled. “Changing the subject so quickly. But I won’t be put off that easily. I saw the article in
Life
. The one about DeLorean at Chevy, Iacocca at Ford, and you. Is it true what they said about your grandfather? That he was the liquor dealer who supplied the liquor for my parents’ wedding in this house?”

“Not true,” he said. “He was never a liquor dealer, he was a bootlegger.”

She began to laugh. “I think I’m going to like you. I’m beginning to understand what Grandfather sees in you.”

At one o’clock in the morning the grand portieres were drawn back, revealing the sumptuous buffet and the gaily decorated dinner tables. Half an hour later, the dinner entertainment began.

The orchestra leader spoke into the microphone, but even with the amplification his words were lost in the greater bedlam coming from the tables. He turned and gestured to the wings of the small temporary stage. The girl who stepped in front of the microphone was recognized by everyone there. For years they had seen her face on television every week and for a long while she had even been the voice for one of the major automobiles. Now she opened her mouth to sing but no one could hear her or even cared to listen. They were too busy with their conversation and food.

Loren stood at the side of the stage, swaying slightly. He tried to hear her, but nothing. He moved closer to the stage until he was standing right beneath her. Still nothing. Suddenly he was angry.

He climbed up on the stage quickly and crossed to the microphone. The singer looked at him in bewilderment. He help up a hand and the orchestra stopped playing. He turned and looked out at his guests.

No one had even noticed what was happening on the stage. He bent down and picked up a spoon from a table in front of the stage and banged it on the edge of the microphone until he had caught their attention. Bit by bit the room began to quiet down.

He stared out at them, his face flushed and angry, his collar wrinkled and soft with his perspiration. “Now, listen to me, you slobs!” he shouted into the microphone which carried his slurred words into exaggerations that filled every corner of the two giant rooms. “I paid fifteen thousand dollars to bring this little lady all the way here from Hollywood to sing for you and you all better shut up and goddamn well listen!”

Suddenly, the room was silent, not even the sound of a fork or spoon could be heard. He turned to the singer and made an exaggerated courtly bow.

“It’s all right, little lady,” he said. “Now you can sing.”

The orchestra began again, and as her soft voice began to fill the room, Loren turned and started from the stage. He stumbled slightly on the last step, but recovered his balance before he fell and weaved off toward the bar.

Angelo was standing at the bar as Loren came up to him. He put his hand out to steady him.

Loren shook his hand away. “I’m alri’.” He turned to the bartender. “Scotch on the rocks.” He looked at Angelo as if he had just seen him for the first time. “Ungrateful bastards!” he mumbled. “They don’t appreciate anything you do for them.”

Angelo didn’t answer.

Loren picked up his drink and tasted it. “Good Scotch,” he said. “You don’t get the hangover you do from Canadian. You ought to try it sometime.”

“I get hangovers from everything,” Angelo smiled. “Even Coca-Cola.”

“Ungrateful bastards!” Loren said again, looking out at the crowded rooms. He turned back to Angelo. “When did you get into town?”

“This afternoon.”

“You didn’t call me,” he said.

“I did,” Angelo replied. “But you had already left the office.”

“I want to see you before the meeting tomorrow,” said Loren. “We have some important things to talk about.”

“I’m available.”

“I’ll call you,” Loren said. He put his empty glass on the bar and started away. He turned back abruptly. “There won’t be time tomorrow morning,” he said. “You meet me here at the bar when the party is over. That’ll be around three o’clock.”

Angelo looked at him. “It’s a pretty large evening. Sure it won’t keep until the morning?”

“Think I do’ know what I’m doing?” Loren asked belligerently.

Angelo smiled. “I know you don’t,” he said easily.

Loren’s eyes narrowed and his face flushed even more. He stepped toward Angelo.

“Don’t,” Angelo said quietly. “It would be a shame to spoil your daughter’s party.”

Loren stood there for a moment, then he relaxed. He even smiled. “You’re right,” he admitted. “Thank you for keeping me from making a horse’s ass of myself.”

Angelo returned his smile. “That’s what friends are for.”

“Will you do me a favor?” Loren asked.

“Of course.”

“Will you meet me at three fifteen and drive me back to the plant?” Loren asked. “I don’t think I’m in any condition to drive myself.”

“I’ll be here,” Angelo said.

He walked out through the giant French doors into the garden. The gaily colored lanterns hung along the paths swayed gently in the late night wind. He lit a cigarette and started down the path toward the pool house.

The heavy beat of the rock group grew louder as he approached the building. Through the large picture windows he could see into the discotheque. It was filled with wall-to-wall dancers who seemed oddly frozen in flashes of colored light.

He walked in through the open doorway and pushed his way to the bar. He ordered a drink and the bartender put it down in front of him. He picked it up and sipped it. His nostrils also picked up the acrid-sweet smell of marijuana. He looked around him. In the dark he could not tell who was smoking the grass or who was on tobacco. Cigarettes filled the room like fireflies.

“Do I know you?” The girl’s voice came from behind him.

He turned around. She was young, there was no doubt about that, but then so were all the girls in this room. Her eyes were a pale blue and her long blond hair fell straight along her face to her shoulders. There was an oddly familiar look about her mouth and chin.

“I don’t think so,” he smiled. “But then, I don’t know you, so that makes us kind of even.”

“I’m Elizabeth Hardeman,” she said imperiously.

“Of course,” he said.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“Who else could you be?” he smiled. “Is it proper to congratulate you, Miss Elizabeth?”

She stared at him. “You’re making fun of me.”

“I’m not really,” he said quickly. “I just don’t know what’s the right thing to do in these circumstances.”

“You’re not putting me on?”

“Honest Injun,” he said seriously.

She grinned suddenly. “Can I tell you the truth?”

He nodded.

“I really don’t know what’s proper either,” she laughed.

“Then I’ll let my congratulations stand,” he said.

“Thank you.” She snapped her fingers. “I never forget a face. You’re the man who was driving the Sundancer SS the first time I saw it on Woodward Avenue one night last winter. You were with that girl with the big—. The one who looked like Miss Hurst Golden Shifter, I mean.”

He laughed. “Guilty.”

“Do you work for my father?” she asked. “Are you one of the test drivers?”

“In a kind of way,” he admitted. “I guess you can put it like that.”

A dismayed look suddenly crossed her face. “I know you,” she said. “I saw your picture in
Life
. You’re Angelo Perino.”