The Betsy (1971) (26 page)

 Chapter Twelve

The snow falling in soft white flakes partly laced the brightly lit great dome of the Capitol as she looked out of the window of the small house in Washington in which they had spent the last year and a half. It was after nine o’clock. Another late night.

She went back to the sofa in front of the blazing hearth. The leaping flames threw their warmth at her, lending a familiar, old comfort. So many nights she had waited for him in this chair, in front of this fire. Somehow there always was an emergency in Washington.

“Government by crisis,” he had said one night when he had come in particularly late. “It can’t be much fun for you.”

“I’m not complaining,” she had said. And she had meant it. Detroit seemed far away and another world. A completely self-centered world whose horizons began with a front bumper and ended with the rear bumper. “I don’t ever want to go back,” she had added.

He had given her a curious look but didn’t speak.

“The children like it too,” she said. “Every day their nanny takes them to someplace new, someplace exciting and filled with history. Imagine how much they’ve learned since they’ve been here. It’s like growing up with everything in the world happening in front of your eyes.”

“It hasn’t been lonely for you?” he asked. “Away from your friends?”

“What friends? Back in Detroit the only friends I had were the wives of men who either worked for Bethlehem or wanted to. I was more alone there than here. At least here when we go to a party we have more things to talk about than just automobiles.”

The sound of the front door interrupted her thoughts. She rose from the sofa and walked toward the foyer. The butler had already taken Loren’s snow-covered hat and coat and was hanging them in the closet when she reached him.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” he said, kissing her cheek.

His lips were cold. “That’s all right,” she said quickly. “Come inside in front of the fire where you can warm up.”

He sank wearily onto the sofa, stretching his hands out toward the fire. She looked down at him with concern. She had never seen him so tired before, his brows knitted with the headache he seemed to have constantly now. “Let me fix you a drink.”

She went to the sideboard and made his drink quickly. When she came back, he had leaned his head against the sofa and closed his eyes. He felt her next to him. Silently he took the drink and sipped it. She sat down beside him without speaking.

He turned to her. “Well, it’s over,” he said in a tired voice.

She looked at him in bewilderment. “What do you mean?”

“You didn’t hear the news?”

She shook her head. “I was reading a book. I didn’t listen to the radio this evening.”

“The Supreme Court ruled today that the NRA was unconstitutional.”

“What does that mean?” she asked.

A half smile came to his lips. “For one thing it means I’m unemployed. Out of a job like a lot of other people.” He sipped at his drink and smiled again. “I wonder how much severance pay a dollar-a-year man is entitled to.”

“Maybe two dollars a year?” she suggested.

He laughed. “Anyhow, the President never did promise me that the job would be a steady one.”

“Did you see him?”

“No. But I did see Hugh Johnson. The general was in rare form, swearing a blue streak, convinced the country would go to rack and ruin without him at the helm.”

“What happens now?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. “As near as I can make out, in the world of politics when you lose, you fold your tent and silently steal away in the night.”

“It’s so sudden, I still can’t believe it,” she said.

“You’d believe it if you saw clerks and secretaries loading up their briefcases with supplies and paper clips,” he said.

“When did you find out?”

“This morning when the Supreme Court convened. It was instant pandemonium. Everybody running around in circles doing nothing except adding to the general confusion.” He was suddenly angry. “Worst of all was the news from Detroit. They went crazy out there. They did everything except declare a holiday. The damn fools!”

He took a swallow of his drink. “What no one seemed to realize was that without the NRA they might as well turn around and hand the entire industry over to the Big Three. Nash, Studebaker, Willys, Hudson, Packard, they’re all doomed. It will only be a matter of time before every independent auto manufacturer will be out of business.”

“Surely they can see that,” she said.

“They can’t see their noses,” he said sarcastically. “They think they can compete with Ford, GM and Chrysler now that controls are off. They don’t stand a chance. The big companies will make it cheaper and sell it cheaper.”

“Does that go for Bethlehem too?” she asked.

He looked at her. “Yes.”

“Can anything be done about it?”

He nodded. “Concentrate on the low end of the medium-priced range. A car priced between the Chevy and the Pontiac. That should be the Sundancer market for at least the next ten years.”

“What about the Baby Sundancer?” she asked.

“It served its purpose,” he said. “It kept us going when the only market was the low-price end. But now the costs are climbing and we can’t compete against the others. I figure that by next year, times should improve enough to let us discontinue it.”

She thought for a moment. “I’ll be sorry to see it go. I liked that little car.”

“It was a little bastard,” he said affectionately. “Made out of leftovers of other cars, but it did have something going for it.”

The butler knocked discreetly before he entered the room. “Dinner is served, Madam.”

It was after midnight when he looked up from his desk in the small study, his work finished. He began gathering the papers and placing them in his briefcase. He stared down at the briefcase a moment. Then he snapped it shut. There was a finality to the gesture. It was done. A part of the past. There was nothing more to keep him here tomorrow after he returned the papers to the office.

He got to his feet and, turning off the light, left the room. He went silently up the darkened staircase and down the corridor to his room.

He was just about to switch on the light when her voice came from his bed. “Loren! Don’t turn on the light!”

He stood there a moment, then closed the door softly. “Why?”

“I’ve been crying,” she said. “And I know I look awful.”

He crossed the room to her, his eyes getting accustomed to the dark. She was sitting up, the pillows behind her back. “Crying won’t help,” he said. “It never does.”

“I know. But we’ve been happy here.”

He dragged on a cigarette. She held out her hand. “May I?”

Silently he gave it to her. The tip glowed red, casting a faint light on her face. Her eyes were almost luminous. “Loren?”

“Yes?”

“I’m not going back.” Her voice was gentle. “You knew that, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” he said.

“But I want to be with you.”

“Then come back,” he said quickly. “Hardeman Manor is big enough. We can—”

“No, Loren,” she interrupted. “It won’t be the same. Detroit isn’t Washington. Here I’m accepted. I’m your daughter-in-law acting as hostess for her widowed father-in-law. There I’m still your son’s wife, living with you while her husband lives a few miles down the road. It won’t work.”

“Then divorce him,” he said harshly. “And we can get married.”

“No. The one thing I learned about Detroit is that you can get away with murder but not divorce. You still owe the banks twenty million dollars. One open scandal and you lose everything you’ve spent your whole life in building.”

He was silent.

“You know I’m right, Loren,” she said. “I would ask you to come with me but I know you must do what you have to do. You build automobiles, Loren. You can’t stop or you’ll die.”

He walked over to the window. The snow had stopped and the night was clear, the stars sparkling in the dark blue sky. “What are you going to do?”

“Stay here for a while,” she said. “Then, maybe move up to New York. Soon the children will be starting school. There are good schools there for them.”

“I will miss them,” he said.

“They will miss you even more. They’ve grown to love you very much.”

He felt the tears come to his eyes and blinked to hold them back. But now even the stars were blurred. “May I come to visit them?”

“I hope you do. Very often.”

Slowly he began to undress. He placed his clothing on a chair and started for the bathroom. She called him and he paused.

“Loren, no pajamas tonight, please. I want to sleep naked with you.”

“Can I brush my teeth?” he smiled.

“Yes,” she said. “But hurry. I want you inside me.”

“Then why wait?” he asked, coming to the bed.

Her legs rose to enfold him, his large, strong hands gripped her buttocks as he entered her. “Oh, God!” she cried, a sudden despair in her voice. “How will I ever live without you?”

 Chapter Thirteen

Melanie was waiting at the kitchen table reading the evening paper when her father came home. He looked over her shoulder at the headlines.

SHOWDOWN DUE AT FORD TODAY

DEARBORN GIVES UAW RIGHT TO

DISTRIBUTE HANDBILLS OUTSIDE

RIVER ROUGE

He began to unbutton the gray blouse of his Ford Security Police uniform, walking to the icebox. He took out a bottle of beer and opened it. Holding the bottle to his mouth he drank until it was half empty, then put it down on the table and belched.

Melanie didn’t look up. She began turning the pages to the women’s section.

“You can tell your Commie-loving boss to watch tomorrow and see how a real company handles the union,” her father said, taking off his blouse. He pulled open his tie and picked up the beer again.

“What do you mean?” She looked up at him.

“You’ll find out tomorrow.” He smiled secretively. “All I can tell you is that we’re ready for those Commie bastards. They’re going to wish they never got that okay from the city of Dearborn.”

“There’s nothing you can do,” she said, her eyes going back to the newspaper. “They have the law on their side.”

“Ford’s got a right to protect its property,” he said. He looked at her. “Just because your boss folded up and gave in to the union don’t mean that we have to lay down and take it.”

“Mr. Hardeman says it’s only a question of time before the whole industry is union.”

“That’s what he thinks,” her father answered. “Tomorrow he’ll find out different.” He finished the beer. “How come you’re still dressed?”

“I’m working tonight,” she said. “Mr. Hardeman has an executive committee meeting over at the house after dinner. I’m going out there to take notes.”

He leered at her. “No wonder he lets you use a company car. You’ve been doin’ a lot of night work lately.”

She didn’t answer.

“Where’s your mother?” he asked suddenly.

“She’ll be up in a few minutes,” she said. “She’s downstairs with Mrs. McManus.”

He took another bottle of beer and dropped into the chair opposite her. His voice took on a confidential tone. “You can tell your old man. He knows about those things. What’s goin’ on between you an’ Number One?”

“Nothing,” she said.

He opened the bottle. “Nothing? You’re too smart a girl to expect your old daddy to believe that.” He took a pull at the beer. His voice turned sly. “Like nothing went on between you an’ Joe Warren either.”

She didn’t answer.

“I know all about that,” he said. “And I don’t blame you for doin’ it. If you didn’t, there would be a hundred girls jumpin’ at the chance.”

She felt her face begin to flush. She got out of the chair. “You got nothing but a dirty mind.”

He smiled up at her. “There’s a guy workin’ at Ford with me. He used to be Warren’s bodyguard. His name is Mike. Remember him?”

Her face was burning, she didn’t move.

“He doesn’t know you’re my daughter. The names don’t mean nothin’ to him, there were so many of them. But he remembers picking up a girl one night an’ bringin’ her to Joe Warren in the hospital. He also remembers what she did.” He took some more beer from the bottle. “So don’t try playin’ Miss Innocent with me an’ expect me to believe you ain’t doin’ at least as much for Number One and maybe more. Girls like you don’t get cars and fifty bucks a week just for typin’.”

She tried to speak but the words stuck in her throat.

He began to laugh. “I just think you’re givin’ it away too cheap. Number One’s used to shellin’ out big dough for his girls. Mike says he was banging his own daughter-in-law an’ that he gave her a cool million bucks to get a quiet divorce last year so the shit wouldn’t hit the fan.”

Abruptly she turned and ran down the hall to her room. She slammed the door shut behind her and began to cry. Through the thin walls she could still hear the sound of his obscenely derisive laughter.

The letter was lying on the library desk when Loren came home. He recognized the handwriting on the envelope, the peculiar wavering underlining of the word “Personal.” He picked it up. It was postmarked New York, May 23 p.m.

He picked up the silver letter opener and carefully slit the envelope. It had been more than a year since he had heard from her. Since the time that they had agreed not to see each other again. He had a strange presentiment that he already knew the contents of the letter. He wasn’t wrong.

Dear Loren,

A long time ago when you told me that I was not the kind of a woman who could live alone and that someday I would find a man I could love, I did not believe you. If you will remember, I said to you at that time, it was easy for you to talk. You were a man and you have known many women, and perhaps even loved some of them in your own particular fashion. I also said that it would not be so with me, that I did not think I could ever love another man.

I was wrong, as you always knew I would be. On Tuesday next I will be married to Capt. Hugh Scott USN. He commands an aircraft carrier based in Pensacola, Fla., where we will live. The only reason I have for writing this letter is that I wanted you to hear about this from me rather than the newspapers. The children are well and happy and so am I. If you have anything to wish me—wish me—

Love,

Sally

He folded the letter carefully and placed it back in the envelope. For a moment, he thought of picking up the telephone and calling her in New York. But it would not change anything. It was over and done. Slowly he tore the letter into tiny pieces and dropped them one by one into the wastebasket.

Melanie arrived just as he was finishing dinner. He looked up as the butler showed her into the dining room. “Have you had your dinner yet?”

“Yes,” she answered. “I came from home.”

“Sit down then and have some coffee with me.”

The butler held a chair for her and then placed a cup of coffee in front of her. He left the room and she sipped at her coffee silently.

After a while Loren smiled at her. “You’re very silent and solemn tonight, Melanie.”

“I think my father knows about us.”

Loren looked at her. “Knows or suspects? There’s a big difference.”

“Not to my father,” she said. “It’s the same thing.”

“What if he does?” Loren asked. “There’s nothing he can do about it.”

“To you maybe,” she said. “But he can make my life miserable at home.”

“Then why don’t you move out and get your own place? He’s working now, it’s time you used some of the money for yourself.”

“I couldn’t do that to my mother. You don’t know my father. All he cares about is himself. If I weren’t there he would drive her crazy.”

“I’ll give you a raise,” he said. “That way you can still give them the same money.”

“It’s not just the money,” she said. “It’s him. He’s plain mean. And it shows even more since he’s gone to work for Bennett at Ford.”

“What’s that got to do with it?” he asked.

She looked at him. “You know what’s going on over there. The whole River Rouge plant is terrorized by Bennett and his gang and my father loves being part of Bennett’s storm troopers as they’re being called.”

“I don’t understand it,” he said. “Edsel isn’t that kind of a man. He wouldn’t tolerate it.”

“Edsel has nothing to do with it,” she said. “My father told me that Bennett has the old man’s ear and Edsel Ford is simply ignored.”

“The old man will live to regret it,” he said. “Someday that whole place will blow up.”

“It might come tomorrow,” she said.

He looked at her. “What do you mean?”

“You saw this evening’s papers?”

He nodded.

“My father says that Bennett is readying a surprise for the union. All of Bennett’s goons will be waiting when the union organizers show up.”

“There’s nothing they can do about it,” Loren said. “As long as the union keeps off Ford property.”

“What if they go up on the overpass over Miller Road in front of Gate Four?”

“What if they do?” he replied. “It’s a public pedestrian bridge. It’s always crowded with peddlers and ice cream vendors doing business when the shifts change.”

“My father told me that Bennett says it’s Ford property because they built it.”

He thought for a moment, then nodded. “That could mean trouble.” He looked up at her. “Get Richard Frankensteen or one of the Reuther brothers on the phone for me. I don’t want to see anyone hurt. It will be a black eye for the whole industry. I’ll warn them to keep off the bridge.”

She went to the telephone on the sideboard and called a number. After a brief conversation, she put a hand over the mouthpiece and spoke to him. “They’re all out at meetings,” she said. “And no one knows just what time they will be back.”

“Tell them that the first one to come back should call me immediately. It’s very important.”

She relayed the message and came to the table. She was about to sit down when she changed her mind. Instead she walked to his chair and kissed him.

“That’s not very secretarylike,” he said with a smile.

“I don’t care,” she said. “I like you.”

He reached up and put a finger on the tip of her nose. “I’ll give you a chance to prove how much as soon as the meeting is over.”

She took his hand and kissed it, letting her tongue lick the center of his palm. “I can’t wait.”

“Junior, you sit next to me,” said Loren. “Walt, you, Ted, and Scotty sit opposite us.”

Silently they took their seats. Melanie took her place at the foot of the rectangular library table and opened her notebook.

Loren looked at her. “You don’t have to take notes, Miss Walker. This is an unofficial meeting.”

She closed the book. “Do you wish me to remain, Mr. Hardeman?”

“Please do.”

She sank back into her chair as he turned to the others. “You fellows don’t have to look so solemn. Nothing terrible is going to happen.”

The tension in the room eased slightly. They leaned forward attentively.

“I’ll make it simple and brief,” Loren said. “What I have to say to you concerns the future management and operations of the company.”

He paused for a moment. “I will begin by telling you something I have no doubt that all of you already know. With the repayment of the final installment amounting to two million one hundred thousand dollars for our bank loans today, I have received in return all rights to the stock. I own in the company.”

“Hear, hear!” Duncan said softly.

Loren smiled at him. “I echo your sentiments. I don’t like bankers any more than you do. At the same time I received the resignation of the four directors they had on the board provisionally until the next board meeting.”

“Again, hear, hear!” This time the Scotsman couldn’t contain himself. He began to clap his hands silently.

A moment later the others joined in.

Loren gestured and they stopped. “Now for my plan.”

There was a slight rustling in the chairs. The men settled back, waiting.

“I own ninety percent of the company,” Loren said. “My son, ten percent. I am also fifty-nine years old and next year, when I am sixty, I intend to retire from active participation in the affairs of the company.”

He paused and the silence around the table deepened. “And so, accordingly, I have made the following disposition of my stock.

“To my grandchildren, Loren Three and Anne Elizabeth, five percent each, a total of ten percent for the two. This stock will be held and voted for them by their father as trustee until such time as they come to maturity. Further provisions have been made in the event of the decease of any of the parties interested in order to protect both the survivors and the company.”

He paused and looked at Melanie. “May I have a glass of water and two aspirin, Miss Walker?”

Silently she went to the bar and returned with the water and aspirin. The men did not speak while he took the pills. They were used to seeing him eat aspirin.

He put down the glass of water. “At the same time I have endowed a charitable foundation to be known as the Hardeman Foundation with thirty-nine percent of the stock. It will be the purpose of this foundation to use the funds they so acquire for the good and benefit of the public. The voting rights to the stock of the corporation are held by me in trust for the remainder of my lifetime. Upon my decease, the voting rights will be held by the trustees of the foundation who will be selected from the foremost educators and public-spirited citizens in the country. My son and I will automatically be lifetime trustees of the Foundation.”

A curious surprise came into Junior’s face. “I do not—”

Loren held up a hand. “Let me finish before you say anything,” he said pleasantly.