Fortune's Hand (36 page)

“What is wrong with you, Robb MacDaniel?” he said aloud.

For his optimism had verged on the delusional. He was sitting in his office with the folder marked “Personal” open before him on his desk. For many months now he had been kiting bills, borrowing from one source to pay another, even borrowing from his life insurance. He was being hounded for the enormous notes he owed to banks; small creditors, too, besieged him on the telephone, and by ringing the bell at the double doorway in the evening at home kept him hiding upstairs.

Strangely enough, according to Eddy, Dick Devlin was now as worried as were Robb and he. His outstanding
loans amounted to so many millions that Eddy was no longer sure of the aggregate—certainly seventy-five million, or probably more. Five foreclosures were already pending, with others on the way unless, Eddy said, something miraculous should descend from the skies.

Why on earth, Robb had asked, had a man as shrewd as Devlin not incorporated his ventures so as to save himself from personal responsibility? Oh, that was simple: Devlin had always been so successful, so smart, that he thought himself invincible. As simple as that, Robb thought now. I myself, who should have known better, was also dazzled by that success. Who was I to doubt the golden dazzle?

“I'm sorry I got you into this,” Eddy said.

“You didn't get me into it. I did it to myself.”

“I'll tell you who's really in trouble. It's Glover. There's been a lot of monkey business in that bank. Bad loans. Federal bank laws. You name it. Let me tell you, when it blows, it's going to be one of the biggest scandals in the state. I'm not sure how or whether Devlin's involved. I have a hunch he is, but then, lawyer or not, I'm not privy to his secret conversations. Just be glad you're not in Glover's shoes, anyway.”

Poor Glover, Robb thought now. What a tangle! Bank examiners, prosecuting attorneys, vengeful depositors, friends turned enemies—a horror.

Then he returned to his own “tangle.” If he didn't get some help quickly, he would be lost, with his self-esteem and his reputation gone. Somewhere there must
be somebody who will be willing to help me temporarily, he thought, somebody whom I can't be too embarrassed to ask. Oh, embarrassed up to my ears, but not impossibly so.

Jasper, perhaps? They had liked each other. Naturally, from time to time, they encountered each other, but he had never been back in that office once since the final confrontation with Wilson Grant. But Jasper was not a rich man, so it would probably be futile to ask him. Yet, nothing ventured, nothing gained.

He went downstairs into the middle of a broiling summer day. The sidewalk reflected the heat, and there was little shade. It would be more sensible to drive the considerable distance to the other end of the city. But he needed the exercise, and in addition, he reasoned, the walk would give him more time to think of how to approach the subject.

Arrived in Jasper's office, however, his thoughts, which had been desultory at best, provided him with nothing more than an abrupt and unsuccessful attempt at making a plea that should not sound humbling. Still, a plea has to be humble, he said to himself at the very moment of making one.

“Jim,” he said when he was finished, “you can imagine how I hated to come here and ask for your help.”

Jasper nodded.

“But if I don't get any, I—well, to tell you the truth, I can hold out, maybe hold out, for another sixty days. That's about it.”

Jasper nodded again. Now it was he who was obviously embarrassed. He was turned toward the window,
looking out at the street that Robb could see in his mind without looking at it: a wide band between an aisle of old trees, tulip and oak; two rows of big Victorian houses, still occupied by families, these interspersed, especially at the corners, by the offices of doctors and law firms like this one. There had been no change since he had left. It seemed a thousand years ago that he had worked here. Actually, it was only thirteen years.

Jasper turned back, and making a little palms-up gesture of disbelief, inquired gently, “How did a man like you ever get yourself into this position?”

“God knows. Well, of course I do know. I like to think bad luck, and there is some of that, but it's chiefly bad judgment. It always is, when you come down to it.”

Perhaps it was the position of his chair, facing a wall of books, that reminded him of something: He had been sitting one day with Eddy when Judge Salmon's name had come up, and now he distinctly heard himself saying, “More than anything, I would someday love to wear a robe like that man's.” And then he distinctly recalled Eddy's voice: “In one good month, you could make what he makes in a year.”

Almost as if he had followed Robb's thoughts, Jasper said, “But surely you are earning enough in your present law firm to pay off these debts.”

“Not soon enough, and not nearly enough, anyway.”

Jasper was silent. He was clearly shocked and unable to think of some response.

“I know it must seem extraordinary if you haven't been involved in this kind of investment. But believe me, Jim, the situation is cyclical. Things always rebound. I only need something to tide me over.”

Even to his own ears as he spoke them, the words sounded hollow, and he could well imagine how they must sound in the other man's ears.

“Perhaps—I should think you might make some arrangement with your firm,” Jasper suggested. “Some way of borrowing against earnings, or—” He did not finish.

“That's not possible.”

The last thing he would want the firm to know was what he owed. It was useless to explain that to Jasper. It had, as he had known, been useless to come here.

“I wish I could help you,” Jasper said.

He meant it. He was a merciful man. But there was no sense wasting his time, and Robb stood up.

“Well, thanks for listening, Jim.”

And Jasper said the necessary, kind words. “I'm really sorry I can't help. Keep me posted, though, will you?”

They shook hands, and Robb went out. A flock of children was gathered around the ice cream truck, which was apparently still keeping to the schedule that he remembered. And he slowed his walk to watch the happy clamor at the truck. That was another thing that had not changed.

The sun had reached the zenith. He felt hot, and at the same time, chilled. On the avenue in a plateglass shop window, he saw his reflection, a striding man, tall
and well dressed, with an invisible, palpitating heart. If anyone has doubts about psychosomatic illness, he thought, he should ask me. And he called a taxi to drive him back to the office.

He was barely out of the taxi and on the sidewalk, when someone hailed him. “That you, Robb MacDaniel?”

“Why Ike, it's you!”

“I didn't think you'd recognize me,” said Ike Wilton.

“Why not? You haven't changed.”

Indeed, he hardly had. The boy of fifteen who had provided the cozy hiding place for a younger Robb and Lily was taller and heavier, but there was no mistaking the square, ruddy cheeks and the small bright eyes that, depending upon one's interpretation of their expression, were either merry or sly.

“I meant,” said Ike, “that I didn't think you'd want to recognize me.”

“Now why would that be?” Robb inquired, feigning innocence in the face of the hostility that he sensed.

“Well, because you're a big important man now with write-ups in the paper. Big important cases, big lawyer.”

“You're talking nonsense, Ike.”

“Nonsense to you, maybe, because your head's filled up with big things. Down home we've got more time, I guess, for a phone call or a Christmas card, stuff like that. Did you know my dad died?”

“No Ike, I didn't. You would have heard from me if I had known.” Robb's own sudden shame merged into
anger at himself. Remembering how Ike's father had fed the stock while he was in the hospital and how Ike's mother had fed him when he came home, he felt the justice behind the man's accusatory gaze. “How is your mother?” he inquired rather humbly.

“Middling. She lives with me and Althea. Althea's my wife.” With the easy glide of a skater on ice, the subject slid from “wife” to “Lily.”

“Did you know Lily got married?”

“I heard.”

“To a great guy, Ma said. A doc. Doc Blair. She keeps up with Miz Webster. They drive over together now and then to visit Lily in Canterbury.”

Needling me, Robb thought, and enjoying it. Well, there's a touch of malice in all of us now and then. He wants to pull me off what he thinks is my high horse, to remind me that he “knew me when.” But how to explain that my neglect was not intentional, that it just happened because life did put me on a different path from his, that I simply never thought as I went ahead to look behind? How to explain that even to myself?

“I'm genuinely sorry, Ike,” he said, meaning it. “Tell me, what are you doing in town?”

“Althea and me, we brought the two kids to look at the capitol.”

“Say, that's nice. I remember my folks took me when I was a kid.”

Now was the moment when he should be making some belated amends, inviting them to come back to what they called “supper” and he now called “dinner,”
inviting them to meet his wife. But the wife was gone, and home was a tomb where the refrigerator might well be empty.

“So now that we've met,” he said heartily, “we won't let so much time go by again. We definitely won't. Have a good time in town. I hate to rush right now, but I'm late for an appointment with—with the dentist. Sore tooth.”

They shook hands, and Ike walked away. In the blazing heat, Robb stood and watched until he had disappeared. Then he kept standing. The will to go back upstairs to the office was just not there. His mind seemed to be going blank.

After a while, a float bedecked with flags moved by and turned into the direction of the park. For a moment he wondered what might be going on, until he remembered that the day after tomorrow was the Fourth of July. They would be having the great fireworks display in the park. That had been the one night in the year when his children had been allowed to stay up after dark. Popcorn and Popsicles, he thought now, and all that after a midday feast with the neighbors in the backyard; hot dogs, barbecued chicken, potato salad, and pie. Little Julie in a red, white, and blue dress …

He blinked, and there she was coming out of the building just as he, rousing himself to duty, was preparing to go back inside to work.

“Dad!” she cried. “I was upstairs looking for you. I have a free hour and I thought maybe you might have one, too. How about lunch?”

“Of course. You lead. I'll follow.”

He knew her motive. Ever since she had learned about Ellen and himself, she had been finding more of these impromptu “free hours.” She knew that, unlike Ellen, he was literally alone. He had always been able to read Julie's mind, and now the process was in reverse.

Sitting across from her in a lunchroom, he did not so much concentrate on what she was saying as on his observation of her. She was being cheerful and purposeful, in the healthy method that people use when they want to lift up.

“The latest book I'm reviewing is an environmental tract. I agree with everything it says, but it's not a very good book, repetitious and boring. I can do much better. I know I can,” she said earnestly. “And I'm going to start one soon. The only thing is, I've got to get my degree first. There aren't enough hours in the day.”

“And,” Robb said, “there's that little matter of Andrew taking up a bit of your time.”

Julie smiled. “You like him, don't you?”

“Very much, the little I've seen of him.”

“Well, you'll have to see more.”

“Whenever you want.”

“We're changing, you know. How can I explain it? We started out just having fun. He's so funny. You saw that. I wish I had his sense of humor. But something else has happened. We still have fun, but there's so much more to it than that lately. It's hard to describe.”

Her face looked as faces often do when a person is
listening to profound music, and he was very much moved. “You don't need to describe it,” he said. “I know.”

Suddenly she reached over and touched his hand. The small frown between her eyes—those wonderful green eyes—made her look more than ever like Ellen.

“I worry about you, Dad,” she said.

“Oh, that,” he replied, misunderstanding. “Your mother and I—neither of us wants it to affect you, at least to a point where you worry about us. Sad as it is, we've had to come to terms with it. We've worked it through.” Psychobabble, he thought. What the hell does it mean to “work it through”? We smashed up for a variety of reasons that must not be any burden to Julie. Our Julie. My Julie. And he repeated, “No, you've got no need at all to worry.”

“I wasn't talking about that. I meant the stuff that's been in the papers about the Danforth Bank.”

“What's it got to do with me?” he replied, almost sharply.

“I don't know. I hope it doesn't. Andrew says that investigation is only beginning.”

“It beats me how these newspaper fellows like Rufus Max know about things before they happen.”

“They have their ways, contacts, the same, I suppose, as detectives do. Andrew says you can believe Rufus Max, and he works for him. He knows what he's talking about.”

“Well, if that's the case, poor Glover's the one in trouble. I've only been a depositor and a borrower.”

“He made a lot of ‘iffy' loans to crooked politicians
or people who have contacts with them. And in return for that, they kept the authorities from checking too closely into his business. At least, that's how Andrew explained it to me. One hand washing the other.”

“We want to believe that the men we elect are decent and honorable. And I'm sure most of them are. Most. Thank God, though, that all of it has nothing to do with me. Hey, would you and Andrew like some tennis one day? Doubles. You find a fourth.”