Slaves of New York (25 page)

Clarence rang the doorbell. His father appeared at the door, clad in a bathrobe. He appeared perplexed to see Clarence. Clarence wondered if he even remembered who he was. Certainly he had never been the favorite in this family. It was sad but true that his parents had not been young even at his birth; they had hoped their third child would be a girl, and had never gotten over the shock of Clarence's entrance into this world.

"Hello, Father," Clarence said. "How are you feeling?"

"What's that?" his father said.

"Dad, this is my fiancée," Clarence said. His father held out his hand to Clarence. "This is Inez O'Brien, Dad," Clarence said, pointing to Inez. "I believe you're familiar with her father, Senator O'Brien."

Mr. Mullens looked upset. "I must be getting senile," he said. "Shall I take your coats?" He took Clarence's and Inez's coats and handed them to Clarence.

Inez followed Mr. Mullens into the apartment. "Care for a drink before dinner?" Mr. Mullens said.

"I'd like a Perrier and water, if you've got it," Inez said.

"No Perrier," said Mr. Mullens. "I can offer you club soda and water."

Clarence found he was blushing with embarrassment over his fiancee's remark. Was it really possible that Inez was the daughter of Senator O'Brien? Her manners, her accent, her mode of dishabille were not what one would expect. Still, the sons and daughters of the rich and famous were often highly unusual. Clarence considered himself to be out of the ordinary, though few people connected him immediately with the distinguished publishing house of Winston Mullens and Sons.

He threw their coats on the floor of the closet and led Inez

firmly by one arm into what had been his childhood bedroom. "I thought you might be interested in examining my childhood photograph album," he said. "You would probably be amused to see what I looked like in prep school. My hair at that time was down to my shoulders. Throughout high school, I was heavily into drugs; following my graduation, my parents arranged for a series of treatment at an upstate sanatorium. Luckily they were of the sort where they put you out before the electroconvulsive shock. But during high school I played in a band; even then I was interested in electricity."

Inez seated herself on the bed and removed her rather worn pumps. She lay back and lifted her stubby legs in the air. Her stockings had numerous runs; her thighs, white and juicy, were visible.

If I don't prevent her, Clarence thought to himself, she'll pull that skirt all the way up and God knows I don't wish my parents to discover her without underpants.

"Let's go have a drink," Clarence said, walking quickly from the room.

Over dinner, Inez brought up an unfortunate experience. As a sixteen-year-old she had been overpowered by a sex-crazed creep, brutally assaulted at a rowdy rock concert.

Clarence's father, still dressed in his robe, sat at one end of the table toying with his soup. He perked up momentarily as Inez stubbed out her cigarette at the side of her plate.
"Tch tch tch,"
he said.

"What are you publishing these days, Dad?" Clarence said.

"It turns my stomach to hear you were raped," Clarence's father said. "Would you like another drink?"

Inez shook her head. "I believe I was in the middle of a story," she said to Clarence in a reprimanding tone of voice.

Clarence's mother was extremely pale. As always, she was dressed in peach. This evening she had on a peach-colored cashmere sweater and a wool peach skirt that was several sizes too large. Lately she had lost weight; heavy bags under her eyes had not been obliterated by recent plastic surgery.

"Do you find this sort of story distasteful, Mother?" Clarence said, finishing the watery pea soup and reaching to the center of the table for a handful of oyster crackers.

"Don't be an old fuddy-dud, Clarence," his mother said. Her weak blue eyes glittered as she reached across the table and cracked Clarence across the hand with the back of her spoon.

Clarence dropped the handful of crackers. "May I please have the crackers?" he mumbled.

"Would you excuse me for just a minute," Inez said, rising from the table.

During her absence Clarence's father drooped once more. His head sunk weakly into his concave chest, which was visible through his partially opened robe.

"An unusual girl, Clarence," Mrs. Mullens said. "I'd like another Scotch."

Clarence stood up and went to the sideboard. He poured some Scotch into his mother's glass and drank it quickly, throwing back his head. Then he poured out another shot and brought it to his mother.

"Senator O'Brien is on the House Ways and Means Committee," Mrs. Mullens said.

Clarence's father did not look at all well. It occurred to Clarence that he should be checked for Alzheimer's disease. His eyes fluttered shut. Then they opened and fixed themselves on Clarence with a steely gray stare. "Grammy's doing just fine, Clarence," he said. "That nursing home is one of the most beautiful places I have ever seen. You and Inez will have to come out with us next weekend to visit her. I'm sure," he said more loudly now as Inez came back into the room, "that Inez would be fascinated with Grammy's reminiscences about Ernest Hemingway. She doesn't have much longer to live; someone should listen to her."

"What do you do, dear?" Mrs. Mullens said to Inez.

Inez was standing at the head of the table, near Clarence's father. "Look at this," she said, pointing to her leg. "Would you believe it? My stockings have a run." She kissed Mr. Mullens on top of his head with a wet, smacking sound and sat

down at her place abruptly. "I hope you don't mind that I kissed you like that," she said. "I'm a rather spontaneous person. It's not often I tell people how I was raped by a burly, nineteen-year-old marine. I wouldn't want you to learn about it secondhand. Because of the enormous crowds, women were permitted to use the men's restrooms during the concerts, but guards kept the men out of the women's bathrooms. A man offered to stand guard as I used the men's room; unfortunately, after escorting me inside, he pushed me into a stall and ripped off my clothing. Several men in the bathroom yelled 'Right on, right on!' during the procedure."

"Clarence's father and I always tried to discourage Clarence's interest in music," Clarence's mother said.

"Oh, yes," Inez said. "Clarence and I hoped for a rather informal wedding, perhaps in a garden somewhere in the city, in a few months. It will have to wait, however, until I'm settled into my new job."

"Oh, not an informal affair," said Clarence's mother. "When Blake was married—last year, to a lovely girl—we had the wedding out at our summer home in New Paltz. It was really lovely. Nearly a thousand people came, and though the weather was not what might have been hoped for, the enormous tents kept everyone dry."

"It really was splendid, Inez," Clarence said.

The maid brought out herb omelets and French fries. She was not a good cook; however, she had been with the family for years. The omelets were rather dry, and filled with a dense padding of dried herbs. The French fries were greasy and already cold.

After dinner Clarence's father offered to show Inez slides of their trip to Peru; but Inez, smiling gently, took Mr. Mullens's hand in her own and explained that a young boy, who was lost on the street, was waiting for them back in Clarence's apartment.

"We must go off and join the young people, you know!" Clarence said, standing suddenly. "We're a very desirable couple—can't spend the whole evening with you!"

Clarence's mother escorted Clarence to the door, while Inez had a brief word with Mr. Mullens.

"I am so glad you're getting married and settling down at last," Mrs. Mullens whispered in Clarence's ear. "God knows we've had our difficulties with you, Clary, perhaps in part it was my fault. I always did want a girl, though I suppose it's not unusual that you kept your hair long until college. It was the times, you know. She seems like a nice girl."

As Inez walked to the door with his father, Clarence could hear her saying, "Major multinational insurance company. I'll be instructing foreign companies in insurance against revolutions, political risk, that sort of thing. Exporters selling to private buyers abroad want to make sure they'll pay their debts. For example, an American company sold twenty million dollars' worth of software to Brazil. Now they have twenty million dollars in Brazilian currency in a Brazilian bank, which can't be converted."

"Sadly, I'm not interested in that sort of thing," Clarence's father said, patting Inez gently on her behind. "Literature's my game. You might be interested in stopping by the office one of these days, Inez. I'm bringing out an extraordinary first novel about World War Two."

"Don't you mean the Vietnam war, Dad?" Clarence said.

Mr. Mullens ignored him.

"It's lucky that a man came in while I was being raped and scattered the sickening mob that had gathered to watch," Inez said, taking Clarence's mother's raincoat from the closet and putting it on. She smiled sweetly at Clarence's mother. "You'll never miss this old thing," she said.

Clarence felt the dinner had been a big success. "My parents rarely take to anyone as they have taken to you," he said when they had gotten into his car.

The young boy was sitting in front of the television set just where they had left him. When Clarence stepped into the bathroom to wash his hands, he noticed a grimy ring around the

top of the tub. "Did you have a nice bath?" he said, going into the kitchen to look for the Ajax.

"I have to go home now," the boy said. "Unless you have something to eat."

"But of course," Inez said, going to the refrigerator. "Clarence, what can we make with one egg and some oil?"

"Mayonnaise," said Clarence. "Unless you want to order something in. I really don't feel like going out again this evening. I'm not a strong person emotionally. That dinner with my parents was probably about as much excitement as I can take for at least a week."

"All that will change after our marriage," Inez said. "You just have to get into the swing of life, Clarence. Why don't we make some mayonnaise? There's some old bread here—the boy could have a mayonnaise sandwich."

"My name's Andrew," the boy said. "I don't have a father. The guy my mother is married to appeared only recently. Both he and my mother drink heavily. According to my mother, I am the victim of immaculate conception. Could we order a pizza? A friend of mine works nearby—he would be glad to deliver."

Clarence told the boy to go ahead and order the pizza. Inez was at work making mayonnaise, using a hand egg beater. The procedure was fascinating. With only two simple ingredients, Inez explained, plus a little vinegar, lemon juice, and dry mustard, she could create real mayonnaise. "Watch," she said. She broke the egg into the bowl, added vinegar, and instructed Clarence to slowly pour the oil in while she beat. Within a half-hour, the whole bowl was filled with yellowish, soupy mayonnaise. Inez took the bowl to the television set, where Andrew was sitting. "Andrew, would you like to try some?" she said in the gentlest voice imaginable.

"My mother is attempting to bring me up as the second Messiah," Andrew said. He leaned forward and changed the television channel to an interesting program about sexual surrogate therapy. A large accountant was describing his experiences with premature ejaculation. "I realize my mother has

problems, stemming primarily from her drinking problem." Andrew went on. "However, the idea of thinking of myself as the new Christ does not displease me. I don't mind doing good deeds; I'm doing my best to maintain a childish innocence, though in these times it's not easy. Did anyone call in for that pizza:

"I thought you were going to do it, Andrew," Clarence said, picking up the phone.

After a half-hour the buzzer rang. As Andrew was involved in grooming Inez's hair, Clarence was instructed to go down and open the door. "My friend's name is Ferenc," Andrew said. "Why don't you bring him upstairs? I think you'll find him enthralling, Inez."

Clarence raced down the four flights of stairs. In the entry-way was a dark man, in his early twenties, dressed in paramilitary garb and holding a large box printed with a design of a man in a chef's hat holding a slab of dough.

"Ferenc?" Clarence said through the glass. The man nodded. Clarence opened the glass door. "Andrew is upstairs," Clarence said. "Do you have a moment to come and join us?"

"That will be eleven dollars and ninety-five cents," Ferenc said.

Clarence reached into his pocket. "I believe I've seen you around the campus before," Clarence said. "Do you go to school here?"

"That's right," Ferenc said, following Clarence up the stairs. "I'm working my way through school." He had a slight accent; Clarence determined that he was from Hungary, or some other Iron Curtain country. Yet he hesitated to pry.

On the landing he turned around to address Ferenc. "Only another three flights," he said with a slight smile.

Ferenc was dark and clumsily built. His thin, dark mustache seemed out of place on his potato face.

When they arrived at Clarence's room, Ferenc studied Inez hungrily. Then he turned to Andrew, seated next to Inez on

the bed. "Not you again," Ferenc said. "The little Messiah. Has he been telling you his delusions of grandeur?"