Sleeping Beauty (16 page)

“Christ, we went through this before you left; don't you ever let go? I'm caught in the middle here, Vince; I'm trying to understand both of you. How the hell could I do anything for you that night? You wanted me to call my daughter a liar; I couldn't do it.”

“Why not? She is one.”

“Don't call her that! Whatever she did, poor kid, dreamed it, or made it up for some crazy reason, whatever happened, a father has to be sympathetic. You'd be the same with Dora.”

“Dora would never be that kind of girl.”

“What kind of girl? Oh, for Christ's sake, look, I'm having
enough trouble; don't make it worse. I can't stand it that Anne's gone, that she ran away from us; I keep wanting to fix things between us. I was a pretty good father, you know; I always went to her school plays and spelling bees—she won every spelling bee, and I was damned proud of her—and I bought her whatever she wanted. I guess we weren't quite as close as we could've been; I've been thinking about it, and I guess we didn't really talk very much. And now I can't even talk to her about
that!
And if you can't understand that I'm feeling frustrated—and I miss her, too, you know—then the hell with it; we won't talk anymore. I won't call again; it's not worth it.”

“We'll talk about something else,” Vince said quickly, suddenly realizing that he did not want to lose this only connection with his family. “Is anything else going on?”

“No, it's quiet. Too quiet. We've all gone in different directions; we haven't had a Sunday dinner since she left. It's hard to believe. She was such a quiet little girl, half the time we didn't even know she was around, but now you can't go anywhere in the house without thinking about her. And then you're gone, too, Vince—both of you in the same week—it's like everything fell apart. That's what Dad said: everything fell apart. He's gone, too; he went to Tamarack last week and didn't say when he'd be back.”

“To do what? What's he doing there?”

“I don't know; I suppose he's decided to start expanding it again. I thought he wanted to keep it small, but he doesn't confide in me; he never did. What are you doing in Denver?”

“I've started my own company. Did he take anybody with him?”

“You mean contractors or architects? Not that I know of. If he's really expanding, he'll probably use locals. Maybe some people from Denver. I guess you'll hear about it if he does. You started a company by yourself?”

“I've got a partner who's been around long enough to know the right people.”

“God, I wish I could be there, part of what you're doing.
Starting in a new place, with nobody looking over your shoulder . . . Maybe I could do it next year.”

“You figure it out,” Vince said indifferently. “Let me know in advance.”

“But we'll be talking. We have to keep in touch, Vince.”

“Right.”

“I mean it, Vince. I miss you. I always counted on you, you know, especially when we were starting something new; you see things clearer than I do, the whole project, start to finish, before we even get going. I can't do that; I can't imagine things I've never seen. It haunts me, you know; I can't get past it. Right now I'm worried about the Long Grove mall; we're supposed to start next month and I just can't get a feel for it. I need somebody to talk to; somebody who can help me envision the whole thing.”

“Ask William.”

“He's not you.”

“Well, call me when you want to talk. You'll figure it out.” Vince was bored. He wanted to stay in touch, but he would not play nursemaid. “I have a meeting; I'll call you in a week or two.”

“Shall I say hello to anyone for you?”

“Anybody you want. Tell them I miss them.”

It was an easy thing to say, the kind of empty phrase that could keep doors propped open even after the worst kind of family crisis.

“Smart fella,” said Ray Beloit when Vince went into his office and told him why he was late for their meeting. “It's good to keep up with your family; family ties are thicker than water.”

Beloit, ten years older than Vince, had been urging Vince to come to Denver since they'd met in Tamarack. He wanted a partner, a developer who could look at an aging building or a piece of empty land and see a shopping center or an office complex or an industrial park, and then forge ahead and make it happen. He wanted someone willing to risk money and time to turn a sleepy Western capital into a hot, modern city, and make a fortune doing it. “I like
ambitious men in a hurry,” he said. “I'm the same way. A genuine go-getter; a terrific, first-class A-one achiever.”

Ray Beloit was his own greatest fan. He could not bear the tension of waiting for others to admire him, so he did it himself. Everyone in Colorado business and politics knew that Beloit would tell them frequently and glowingly about his achievements, and that they need only nod or murmur agreement for him to be satisfied. “A couple of highfliers; that's why we're a good team,” he said, clapping Vince on the shoulder, and Vince, who hated to be clapped on the shoulder, forced himself not to jerk away. He needed Beloit.

He named their company Lake Forest Development, even though their office was west of Denver, facing the foothills, turning its back on Chicago and Lake Forest, just as Vince had, forever.

“Odd name,” said Beloit, “but if you got your heart set on it, I'll go along; it's no skin off my nose. We'll make it big whatever it's called. You want to go to a movie with me and Lorraine tonight?”

“I have a date.”

“Good. Good. I like a man who keeps busy. Like me. I don't let grass grow under rolling stones. Full steam ahead and watch for the whites of their eyes. She anybody special?”

“No.”

“Well, take your time. Look around. You wade out of a divorce, you don't want to sink into hot water again.” He clapped Vince on the shoulder. His hand was large and padded, like a bear's paw, and he resembled a bear, with his heavy face and small nose, his dense mustache, moist lips, powerful shoulders, and long arms. He walked with a forward lunge that made strangers think he was about to scoop them up, and those who thought they might have offended him scurried to put distance between them. Vince liked the faintly threatening aura that radiated from Beloit; even more, he liked his connections. Beloit knew everyone in and around Denver; he knew their secrets, their hungers, their alliances, their private wars. And that was the kind of
knowledge a man needed to get where he was going as fast as Vince intended to go.

*   *   *

All through those early years, he flew to Chicago one weekend a month, to see Dora. He liked thinking of himself as a father, knowing he was shaping a pliable mind. That was why people had children in the first place, he thought; to have total power over another human being, to determine, without interference, the kind of person that creature would be. But as much as he enjoyed being a father, he also took pleasure in preventing Rita from having everything her way. As soon as the judge ordered her to allow him access to his daughter for two days a month, Vince was on a plane for Chicago, and after that he never missed a visit, except for rare occasions when he and Beloit had a crisis.

“I'd like her to come to me next time,” he said to Rita one weekend when Dora was six. He had been in Denver for less than a year, but already he and Beloit had bought land and were developing plans for an office tower in Denver and a small shopping center in Colorado Springs. He sat in Rita's peach and silver living room on a bitterly cold Sunday evening in February, looking amiable and successful. “I'll take her to the mountains, teach her to ski; she'd love that.”

“She stays in Chicago,” Rita said.

Vince shook his head mournfully. “How much longer are you going to make me pay? I've been here every month since last May; I've given Dora all my attention and bought her whatever she wanted . . . haven't I been a good father?”

She shrugged.

“Rita, haven't I? Tell me! I want to be a good father, but this is all new to me and I'm not always sure what I should be doing. We don't have a normal home and family, and I'm trying to do the best I can. Rita, it's for Dora's sake, not mine! Tell me what I'm doing wrong!”

“Nothing,” Rita said reluctantly. She glanced at his angelic face and saw tears glistening in his warm brown eyes.

“She's not as beautiful as her mother,” he went on, almost wistfully, “but isn't she lovely? And smart as a whip, and a
wonderful athlete. Did she tell you we played hopscotch and she won?”

Rita smiled, drawn to his charm, as so many times before. Then she jumped to her feet and went to the far end of the room. She bit her lip. “She can't go to Colorado. I want her here, not in an apartment alone with you.”

Vince stared at her. “You still think . . . Good God, Rita, you can't believe that! Whatever else you've ever believed—and that little bitch lied!—you can't believe that I'd do anything to my own daughter!”

Rita avoided his beseeching eyes. “I don't want her in Colorado.”

A long sigh broke from Vince. “Maybe someday you'll relent. I thought it would be good for Dora to see where I live, and my office, and what I'm building. Of course we probably won't break ground for another year; maybe by then Dora will be able to . . .” He let the words trail away. Rita stared out the window at the lights of Lake Shore Drive. “If you'll just think about it,” Vince said humbly, “I'd be very grateful.” He stood and picked up his coat. “I thought I'd take her for pizza; I booked a later flight tonight. Is that all right with you?”

“Fine.”

“I'll have her back in a couple of hours. I won't come up with her; I'll go on to the airport.”

Rita nodded.

“And I'll see you next month.”

She nodded again.

Vince watched her profile, a small smile on his lips. She'd come around. Women always came around with him. There was a moment there, when she'd leaned toward him . . . He knew it would happen again. He walked down the hallway to Dora's room. “How about some pizza?”

“Oh, yes!” She jumped up from the doll's house he had bought her that afternoon. It sat in a corner of the room with the dozens of stuffed animals, dolls, craft kits, building blocks, Lego sets, and games he had lavished on her since the divorce. She ran to him. “I love pizza. Uno's or Due's?”

“You choose. The pizza's the same in both of them.”

“Uno's. It's dark and smoky and more like a place for grown-ups.”

Vince chuckled. “You're a very grown-up young woman.”

“I know,” she said seriously. “I don't think childhood is a very big deal. Are we going?”

“Right now.” He followed her to the coat closet near the front door, and when she handed him her coat, he held it for her. He watched as she wrapped a cashmere scarf at her neck and carefully buttoned the coat around it. He liked looking at her because it was almost like looking at himself. Her short blond hair curled in exactly the same way as his, her brown eyes were the same shape as his and could switch from warm to calculating almost as swiftly as his, her smile was as sweet. Her chin, like his, was a little too sharp, but in spite of it her face had an angelic beauty that was like his own.

Even more than her looks, Vince liked her precocious maturity. He had never liked babies or young children, and it was only by skipping much of her childhood that Dora got his attention.

“It's very cold outside,” she said, pulling on a cashmere beret that matched her scarf. “I hope you're dressed properly.”

“We'll be in a taxi,” Vince said. “Shouldn't you say good-bye to your mother? She gets very upset if you forget.”

“No, she doesn't. We've discussed it.”

“Oh.” He was disconcerted. “Well, that's good. She used to worry about that sort of thing all the time.”

“Did she,” said Dora coldly. She waited in silence at the elevator, and when it arrived, she walked ahead of Vince, nodding a greeting to the elevator man. She looked up at her father and smiled sweetly, unnerving him with her instant switch in emotions that was exactly like his. “I'm starved, Daddy. What a lovely idea you had, to take me to Uno's for pizza.”

*   *   *

He always forgot Dora as soon as he was on the plane for Denver. That was where the real challenge was; that was where he had to make sure he controlled everything that
happened, to take advantage of it all, to accumulate enough wealth and power to do anything he wanted. And especially—since it had not been hard to switch his plans from Illinois to Colorado—to go into politics.

It was the best time to be in Denver, at the beginning of what would become the biggest boom in its history. For a developer like Vince, who had learned his lessons in the minefields of Chicago and Cook County politics, and a contractor like Ray Beloit, whose contacts ranged from leaders of society to shadowy figures behind the scenes, Denver's boom was a long, heady binge.

“The right place, the right time, the right people,” said Beloit to himself, his voice rich with satisfaction. He was standing at the back of an office, watching Vince handle a press conference on the opening of Chatham Place, the first project for Lake Forest Development, and Denver's first enclosed shopping mall. Vince was good, he thought happily; he was the best. He fielded questions with a smile that made you love him. Vince would go a long, long way.

“How come you didn't use a Denver architect?” asked an architecture critic for the
Denver Post.

“I wanted to,” Vince said easily. He perched casually on a corner of a table beside an easel with drawings and photographs of Chatham Place in its various stages. “And I intend to, as often as I can. This time it didn't work out.”