A Fierce Radiance (22 page)

She found herself moved by his admiration.

“Told my friends who you are. Hope you don’t mind. My daughter the famous photographer. Though I swore them to secrecy.”

“The fact that you’re my father doesn’t have to be a secret.”

“Well, thank you for that.” He flushed, or perhaps, Claire thought, he reddened simply from the lingering heat of the lamp she handed to him.

“You usually come to events like this?” she asked.

“Wouldn’t miss this party for the world. Clare Luce draws a terrific
crowd. You have to give her credit.” He paused to watch as she handled the good-byes near the door. “And of course I want to do my part for the Chinese war effort. Help the starving children of Chungking, etc. You wouldn’t catch me in costume, however. That embroidered silk jacket John D. Rockefeller the Third sported pretty well did me in.”

“Mrs. Luce complimented him on it especially.”

“Well, anything JDR-Three does, she’s bound to like.” Something caught his attention across the room. “Don’t look now, my currently unmarried daughter, but two handsome and apparently unattached young naval officers are heading in our direction. I’d get down from that ladder if I were you. Speaking strictly as someone who has only your best interests at heart.”

Gripping the ladder, she glanced over her shoulder. Jamie was heading toward her, looking exceedingly attractive in naval dress uniform. Another man in dress uniform accompanied him. As they came closer, she recognized Nick Catalano, both men, as her father said, handsome and at this moment projecting an excitement and magnetism that heretofore had been missing from the entire evening.

The River Club was only thirteen blocks from the Rockefeller Institute. She’d invited Jamie to the party as her “second assistant,” to arrive at 10:00
PM
. This was bending the rules, but she didn’t care. Jamie was rarely in town these days, and she was determined to see him when he was. And she genuinely needed the help here. Jamie could pack and carry the equipment while Seth double-checked the captions and spellings with Mrs. Luce. One mistake in the captions, and there’d be hell to pay. She didn’t think Mrs. Luce would object to Jamie’s attendance, as long as she didn’t realize that Claire had invited him. She wished she could have included Tia, who might have found the evening entertaining, but that would have been too much, Claire felt. Attractive men under seventy were always in demand at charity events, so most likely Jamie would be welcomed. He’d add a certain frisson to the scene. Watching Jamie cross the room, in his eagerness
walking a few steps ahead of Nick, he already had, as far as Claire was concerned.

She climbed down the ladder, maneuvering her gown. She’d told Jamie about her ambivalent relationship with her father and explained that although they were slowly growing closer, she still wasn’t entirely comfortable with him. She had
not
, however, discussed Jamie with her father. She wanted to keep her feelings private until she trusted that she and Jamie had a long-term future.
Whatever happened to that doctor you were seeing? Didn’t he like Charlie? Didn’t he like your work schedule?
These were questions she never wanted to hear from her father. Because of her reticence, she was now faced with this: Jamie giving her a quick hug (which Claire hoped Mrs. Luce didn’t see) and holding her elbows to admire her dress while Rutherford observed them with speculative interest.

“Not too early, are we?” Jamie asked.

“Not at all.” She moved away from him and introduced everyone.

“I’m very pleased to meet you, sir,” Jamie said.

“Indeed,” Rutherford replied, shaking hands firmly. He had no need for explanations. He read the situation immediately.

“I invited Nick along, thinking there might be someone here for him to meet,” Jamie said.

They looked around, but the few females remaining were elderly enough to need assistance getting to their cars and drivers.

“Don’t think I’m not grateful,” Nick said. He had an edge of bad-boy sophistication that Claire found simultaneously intriguing and off-putting. Because Nick and Jamie were close friends, Claire focused on the off-putting aspect, resisting the attraction. Claire knew that Nick and Jamie were working together now and that Jamie relied on Nick’s clear-sighted honesty, not to mention his willingness to handle bureaucratic niceties. They made a good team, Jamie had told her.

She felt Nick’s gaze upon her, taking in her low-cut dress and her body beneath it. The look wasn’t leering; instead it seemed a natural
part of human nature—specifically the “man” part of “human nature.” Nonetheless Claire didn’t appreciate it. She shrugged it off, however. Jamie hoped that someday Nick would fall in love with his sister, but exposed to Nick’s stripping-her-naked evaluation, Claire wondered if Tia was experienced enough to handle him.

“Sorry about that, young man,” Rutherford said genially. “Such well-respected and well-preserved pillars of society as those ladies are even out of my league.” The waiters were removing the tablecloths. “I think we should be moving along. Where should we go?”

Claire wasn’t certain how her father had gotten himself invited on this outing. “I need to finish up here and drop the film at the office,” she said, trying to put him off.

“Why, Edward Rutherford, isn’t it? How good of you to come.” Claire Boothe Luce approached them with Seth in tow worriedly reviewing sheets listing several hundred names. “I’m sorry I didn’t see you earlier.”

“Ah, Mrs. Luce, living up to your reputation as a legendary beauty. As usual.”

He was wonderful, Claire thought. In fact he was gallant. He kissed Mrs. Luce’s hand. She glowed under his attentions.

“The evening was spectacular. Let me introduce two friends of mine, physicians both.” Names were exchanged, hands shaken.

“Thank you so much for coming. I’m afraid we’re being moved out.” She gestured toward the cleaning people who were bringing in vacuums. “Forgive me, but I need to review some details with the staff from my husband’s magazine.” Her voice revealed a small yet pointed condescension toward Claire and Seth.

“Of course,” Rutherford said. “The doctors and I were just leaving. Did you know, Mrs. Luce, that Claire Shipley here is my daughter?”

For an instant she frowned and in an equal instant recovered her poise. “How lovely for you both.”

“Well, well, we must be going,” Rutherford said lightheartedly.
“How about coming back to my place for a drink, young fellows,” he said to Jamie and Nick, placing a hand on their shoulders. “Claire will join us later.”

Jamie glanced at Claire, who nodded her assent. God knew how long Mrs. Luce would keep her here, and she couldn’t excuse herself to discuss a plan with Jamie. Rutherford ushered Jamie and Nick out before him.

B
ack in one piece from the Chinese ball? Well done, Claire!” Tom O’Reilly, Mack’s nighttime deputy, greeted her from the drinks cart when Claire reached the office at 11:30
PM
. Pipe in hand, Tom opened a bottle of beer. Claire let the equipment bags slide off her shoulders. She’d already told Seth to go home, so she’d returned to the office on her own in the car Mrs. Luce had assigned to her.

With the staff keeping war hours, monitoring events and correspondents around the world, the office was bustling. The drinks cart, hidden in a coat closet during the nine-to-five daily slog, was prominently placed in the central corridor. Outside the windows were the lights of Manhattan, rooftops and skyscrapers glimpsed in a magical array, like a painting that transformed itself from office to office.

“And how was the boss’s delightful consort?”

“Beautiful as usual. And very polite. Car and driver, the works.” Claire wouldn’t gossip about Clare Boothe Luce here in the hallowed hallways of the Time & Life Building, where the walls had ears.

“She sent a car and driver for you?” said Edith Logan, the nighttime supervisor, joining them at the cart. Edie refilled her Scotch on the rocks. She was a tough-minded woman in her fifties with short gray hair and skin wrinkled from too much smoking and too much sunburn. She wore her usual work uniform of a buttoned-down white blouse and a beige, boxy-cut suit, matched, surprisingly, with delicate navy blue high heels with a bow on the front. “In my next life, I want your job.”

“I like it, I must admit.”

Edie had come up through the newspaper business, but since she was a woman, the top jobs had eluded her. The night shift allowed her promotion. “Okay, Tom, the Chinese ball is scheduled to run next week, so let’s get it into production with this beer rather than the next one.”

“Will do,” Tom said with a good-humored salute.

Duncan Daily, a staff writer, strode down the hallway toward them. He was dressed in a tuxedo, dark hair smoothed back with something that made it shine, lips pursed, chin a touch more elevated than was strictly necessary. He tossed a black-and-white-checked muffler over his shoulder. “Claire! Beautiful dress. Come to El Morocco with me. You’re already ready. We’ll dance until four.”

Claire suspected that “Duncan Daily” wasn’t his real name. “Thank you, Duncan. It’s a very kind invitation, but you know I never stay out that late.”

“Live a little, my dear. Before the bombs start falling, etc.” Duncan had won a Pulitzer Prize for a newspaper series in his hometown of St. Louis, Missouri, about corruption in Mississippi River shipping. Duncan Daily, man of contradictions. “I’m heading over because I received a hot tip that a prominent man is out on the town with a woman not his wife.”

“Same old story,” said Edie, not unkindly. She took a drag on her cigarette. “Can’t you come up with anything new?”

“New, old, the human saga never changes. Besides, a visit to El Morocco paid for by Mr. Billings? How could I turn that down? I tell you, I’ve got the best expense account in the building. Apart from the old man upstairs, that is. Claire, slip a miniature camera into your bodice and I’ll make certain you capture the photo of the year. Please—I’ll be so much more incognito with you on my arm.”

Gus from copyediting, who was tieless, jacketless, and needed a shave, arrived with a page proof for Tom’s review. “Excuse me,” Gus said
to Duncan with faux gruffness. Gus had been with the company since the beginning, growing old with his job, distracted from other possibilities by his appreciation for the drinks cart. “Some of us are working.” Gus had a lit cigar in his hand, and with his slightly wobbly stance, the cigar tip came perilously close to setting the page proof on fire. “I’m trying to make sure the captions match the photos. As usual.”

That comment was aimed at Claire, another in a stream of warnings from copy editors to photographers to take proper notes. Editorial staff considered the photographers to be too wild, unwashed, uncontrollable, and independent to work at
Life
. Alas,
Life
was a picture magazine, so the editorial staff was forced to put up with them. Claire wasn’t too wild, unwashed, uncontrollable, or independent, but she enjoyed when the reputation spilled onto her, both out of loyalty to her photographer buddies and because the image made a nice counterpoint to what she considered her entirely bourgeois existence.

“So, Gus, what have you got for me,” Tom said.

“Young actresses at work and play.”

“One of my favorite topics,” Tom said. “Let’s go to my office and take a private look. What are you drinking?”

“Bourbon.”

Tom poured a bourbon for Gus, grabbed another beer for himself, and they headed down the hall. “Claire,” he called over his shoulder, “don’t forget the film.”

“I’m on my way,” she said.

“Please, Claire, make my dreams come true,” Duncan implored.

“Truth be told, Duncan, I’d love to, but I have a previous engagement. I just stopped by to turn in the film and drop off the lights.” The cameras were hers, of course, and she’d take those with her.

“You’re previously engaged?” Duncan asked with an edge of innuendo. “That sounds like fun.”

“I’m sure it will be,” Claire said.

Warning bells went off in the telex room down the hall. Edie ex
haled the cigarette smoke she’d been holding in. “Better see what that’s about before you go,” she said to Duncan.

Claire followed them, curious. El Morocco temporarily forgotten, Duncan took out his reading glasses and focused on the report being typed out by the clattering telex machine. “More bad news from Burma,” he said, scanning it.

The Burma Road was the only land access the Allies had to the part of China still resisting the Japanese. Claire was no expert, but she knew that Burma was the crucial link between India and China. Already the Japanese were launching attacks against the British navy in the Indian Ocean, and against Ceylon. The Japanese had conquered Rangoon, the capital of Burma, weeks before. If Burma should fall, then India and nonoccupied China….

But that was someone else’s news to cover. Claire had to keep some worries at bay, to protect herself. She dragged the equipment bags to Mack’s office and stowed them under his desk. “Here’s the exposed film,” she said, putting it on the corner of the table where Tom and Gus stood, reviewing notes and copy.

“Thanks, Claire,” Tom said, not looking up at her.

She slipped away without disturbing anyone’s work by saying good-bye.

A
t Edward Rutherford’s Fifth Avenue apartment, Jamie and Nick settled themselves on either side of the parlor’s big fireplace with its baroque mantelpiece. While Rutherford arranged logs and lit the fire, the two younger men exchanged looks that said, Some place, eh?

Once the fire was going, Rutherford said, “So, drinks? I’ve got everything and anything. Brandy? Whiskey?”

Jamie ordered brandy, and Nick followed his lead. When Jamie leaned back in his pseudomedieval chair, Nick did as well. Nick felt tossed out of his depth here, and he studied his friend (he hoped surreptitiously) to learn how to behave.

After serving the drinks, Rutherford sat down opposite the younger men. He noticed Nick’s watchful concentration, and he recognized it. It was what he himself had experienced when he was making his way. Who was this man? he wondered. He found himself much more interested in Nick Catalano than in James Stanton, whatever Stanton’s understanding with Claire. Stanton was secure and centered in himself, Rutherford sensed. He’d admired the apartment, indeed he’d never seen anyplace like it, but it didn’t set him off his stride; he knew he could deal with it. But Catalano…