The Good Life (28 page)

“I remember you,” Bet said. “You were sweet to me last summer. You're…wait a minute. Not Andre. Emile?”

Emile grinned, and they shook hands, bursting into a rapid exchange of French. She turned back to Perry. “I've been explaining,” she said, “that my friends left me at Senequier's an hour ago. I've been sitting surrounded by luggage, waiting for one of you to come rescue me. Doesn't Daddy ever wake up?”

“Oh, he's probably awake,” Perry said. “I never bother him until he makes an appearance. I'll go tell him you're here. He'll kill me if I let you just sit here.”

“Have your beer. Emile's getting me one.” She dropped into a chair. “He's organizing a baggage brigade.”

“Have you a lot? May be I should help.” He slid into a chair beside her. He felt more at ease sitting down.

“Let's have our beer together. I have only five pieces. I don't think they weigh very much. They'll get me squared away, and then you can tell Daddy I'm here. He likes everything to run like clockwork while his back's turned.”

“He was in quite a state about missing you last night. We didn't get your note till about 11:30.”

“I didn't want to come at all. My friends got everything all mixed up. It was all totally unimportant, but I imagine Daddy thought I was off somewhere being raped.”

“Something of the sort.”

They looked at each other and laughed, taking the first step toward friendly relations. Perry relaxed, but a feeling of apprehension still fluttered around his heart.

Emile arrived with the beer. He put it down beside Bet and went on down the gangplank, followed by Henri and the sailor, who put in an occasional appearance.

Bet pulled her hat off and shook out her hair. It was soft and dark, with a slight natural-looking wave, and fell to her shoulders from a part on the side.

As Perry had seen in the photograph, she had Billy's strong chin. All her features were strongly modeled and well-formed. Her brows were straight, giving her dark eyes a direct, almost piercing look. It was a face of such maturity that he didn't know how she had managed to look like a little girl a few minutes ago, but as he studied her face, he saw it happening again — something in her expression, something eager and willful and expectant that made her as vulnerable as a child.

“I
do
like it here,” she exclaimed after taking a swallow of her beer. “I was walking along just now thinking how wonderful it is that it doesn't change, just funny little things that show that somebody is taking care of it. Do you know it well?”

“This is my first trip to Europe.”

“How lovely. Isn't it frightfully exciting for you?”

“Yes. Everything about it. Surprising too. It's different from what I expected.”

“You're not at all like what
I
expected. Mummy wrote about you. She says you're a fortune hunter. I am too.”

“You are?”

“I have no choice. They've been drumming it into me ever since I was born that I have to marry a rich husband. Otherwise, somebody will get me who's after me for
my
money, such as it is. I'll be frightfully old if I wait for Grandma Hahn and Daddy to die. I'll have to find a rich husband. I don't mind so long as I like him. I
would
like to be rich, wouldn't you?”

“I'm getting used to it. Actually, I've recently become what I would call rich, but I don't think it's enough for anybody to marry me for.”

“We'll have to hunt for fortunes. Let's have a bet. I love betting on things. Whoever finds a fortune first has to give the other a hundred dollars. That's fair. The one who gets a fortune will be able to afford a hundred dollars. Is it a deal?”

“It's the first bet I've ever heard of where both sides win. Shake.” He held out his hand. They looked at each other, laughing playfully, as she put her hand in his.

He felt an unexpected shock of connection that was part of her little-girl quality — young and artless, confiding herself to him. She made him feel that if he were gentle but determined, he could do anything he liked with her. There was no reason to be afraid.

But take it easy
, he warned himself.
Hands off
. They were supposed to be pals, nothing more. What was happening in the revealing trunks had already disqualified him as a pal, but May be she wouldn't notice. He let her shapely hand go and shifted in his chair, hoping for the best.

The baggage brigade trooped up the gangplank, heavily laden. The cabin boys were carrying two bags each, the sailor three more. Two had been added since she counted last. You couldn't expect a schoolgirl to be accurate.

A
schoolgirl
, he reminded himself, as tiresome as all the schoolgirls he'd ever known: grown-up and flirtatious one minute, probably screaming with outraged modesty the next. Even trying to be a pal would probably be a bore. If he was sex-starved, Sylvain would be almost preferable to getting involved with Bet.

“Is that everything?” he asked.

“It must be. I don't know where it all came from.”

“If you're all safely on board, I better tell Billy. I mean your father.”

“I call him Billy sometimes. It's almost noon. Does he always sleep this late?”

“I don't think he's sleeping. He just takes his time to get moving. If he'd known you were coming, he would've been out pacing the deck hours ago. You said noon in your note.”

He stood. All was quiet in the trunks department. “If you order another beer, would you order another for me? I'll be right back.” She'd ordered her first beer without referring to him. As it should be. It wasn't for him to play the host.

He went along the silent passage, noting how close his door was to Billy's. It had seemed miles last night. He couldn't remember ever having approached Billy in the morning on his own initiative. Was he supposed to knock? Why not? He did so. There was no reply. He remembered Billy's trying the door of his cabin when he'd been with Timmy. May be knocking was an unnecessary formality. He tried the door. It was locked.

“Billy,” he called. “Can I come in? Bet's here.”

There were sounds within, and the door opened. Billy stood in it, blocking the entrance. He was still in his dressing gown. “Is there anything the matter with her?” he asked, sounding flustered.

“Of course not. She's fine. She's been waiting at a café. I've got her on board. Are you coming up?”

Sylvain suddenly appeared, standing wordlessly behind Billy. He was naked. He lifted the whip and touched his forehead with the tip of it in a mocking salute. He then just as silently stepped back out of sight. It all happened so quickly that Perry might easily have believed that he'd imagined it. He found himself gazing witlessly at Billy.

“What is it? You're sure she's all right?”

“Of course. Come up. She's waiting for you.”

He turned abruptly and moved quickly away. He heard the door close behind him.

Perry flung himself into his own cabin. The door slammed behind him. He brought his fists smashing down on the top of the bureau drawers and leaned against them, breathing heavily. His heart was pounding. He stood without moving, waiting to quiet down. His fists were clenched. He wanted to smash the furniture. He had to get out, get away, out in the air, free and on his own again.

He straightened abruptly and made a dash for the door, then stopped, feeling trapped. He couldn't even cross the deck without encountering Bet.
Son of a bitch. Fucking shit
.

He'd had enough of it. It was all so messy. Guys creeping around waiting to play with your cock. Women changing their tables in restaurants so as not to be contaminated by queers. The rich older man with his good-looking young stud. Why had he ever let himself be sucked into it? It was disgusting. He wasn't allowed the slightest intimacy with an attractive girl his own age — he wasn't good enough — but Billy could play his charades with the first faggotty kid who turned up. How dare he, just when his daughter was arriving?

Fidelity didn't figure in Billy's scheme of things. He admitted to being fickle, but he talked as if decency and consideration and genuine affection counted for something.
Fuck Billy
. Perry'd beat the shit out of Billy if he didn't think he might enjoy it.

Sylvain wasn't worth worrying about.
If it weren't Sylvain, it would be somebody else
.

For almost a week he'd thought he was finally building a life on something solid and permanent. That was probably as much as he could ever hope for. He could smile until his teeth dropped out and tell himself he had been blessed with the luck of the gods, but underlying it all was a shameful bargain whose terms could be altered without notice. He thought he was going to throw up.

He hurried into the bathroom and stood in front of the toilet. His chest heaved but nothing came up. His stomach slowly settled. It was probably the tail end of the combination hangover, drink, and drugs.

He had to get back to Bet. Billy might not hesitate to indulge himself, but he wasn't going to let her see how ugly his life with her father was. She had probably seen plenty in the past. All the more reason for him to remain untainted in her eyes. The rules, if there had been any, were suspended. Whatever assurances he'd given Billy about keeping his distance with Bet no longer applied. Having her on his side would be an asset, and he needed all the assets he could find. His dream of a future he could count on would never come true.

He rinsed out his mouth and checked his trunks. It was all there in fairly clear detail. Another asset? Like a few others, Bet might think so. If she liked it, seeing so much of it might make her want to see it all. Billy had approved of the trunks, not that Perry gave a damn now. Fuck Billy. Perry took a deep breath and composed his features, then headed back to the deck.

Bet hadn't moved. Emile had extricated himself from the baggage and was back on duty. He was standing beside Bet, chatting happily in French.

A fresh beer was waiting for Perry. He picked it up and saluted them both with his glass before drinking.

“Thanks,” he said. Emile said something in French and left them. “I didn't mean to interrupt.”

“He was telling me all about his girl in Toulon. Where's yours?”

“Certainly not in the south of France. I just got here yesterday. Give me time. Your father's on his way. He was relieved when I assured him that you looked as if you'd survived the night undamaged.”

“You didn't have to wake him?”

“Heavens no. He was practically dressed. Nobody'd told him you were here.” He smiled and chatted, confident that he was giving a convincing performance of a man without a care in the world while he got everything straight in his mind.

The episode he'd interrupted hadn't happened on the spur of the moment. Sylvain hadn't just burst into Billy's cabin and shed his clothes in an impromptu attempt to score with the boss. Billy must have arranged it. The cabin boy or deck steward or whatever he was called had been on duty last night. Whenever his working day ended, he wouldn't have been on duty again this morning. Billy must have sent for him.

Perry's heart began to pound as he smiled at Bet and said something about getting an apartment in New York when he returned there in the fall.

Had Billy fallen instantly for the exotic islander? If Sylvain proved adept with the whip, Billy might decide to make some changes, May be suggest that his dearest boy should cut short his holiday. He clenched his fists and felt his smile faltering. If Billy took a couple of days to think it over, Perry would be ready to defend himself. The doting daddy might even find that he had some trouble on his hands with his daughter.

“Daddy!” Bet cried, springing to her feet. Perry turned and saw Billy make a jaunty appearance on deck, looking spruce and benign for a family reunion. Perry suppressed a little spasm of rage and followed to where the two were embracing fondly.

“I'll leave you to catch up on family gossip,” he said to the air in front of him, unable to look Billy in the eye. “I'm going to get some sun before lunch.”

He stepped out from under the awning into the blazing sun, the picture of Sylvain vivid in his mind — an apparition materializing silently over Billy's shoulder and just as silently vanishing. He saw him lift the whip to his forehead, handsomely naked, an insolent little smile on his pretty lips. It had been a foolhardy provocation. Perry supposed that Sylvain had been too pleased with himself to miss an opportunity to show that he was now in charge. Well, for a day, May be.

He stretched out on a mattress and tried to convince himself that the world around him, his world, had some substance. All this — the boat, the car, the fantasy money that had at least been written by lawyers on a piece of paper, the clothes and jewelry in his cabin — couldn't all depend on the whim of a handsome boy from Martinique. Yet the powers of a guy who knew how to wield a whip shouldn't be underestimated. He knew it as well as anyone.

Dreams. He preferred the reality of a slight, pretty girl, who at least brought a breath of wholesome fresh air on board. The hell with Billy. He was going to court Bet as ardently as she would let him.

For lunch Perry put on shorts over the trunks and wore a striped fisherman's jersey. It was cool enough under the awning for this small effort at dressing to be reasonable.

There was a lot of talk about New York. He ignored Billy as much as possible without making it obvious to Bet that relations were strained between them. He wanted to make it obvious to Billy. It was a test of whether Billy's declarations of devotion meant anything. If he cared, he might watch his step with the new boy.

“What fun it would be to go to New York for Christmas,” Bet exclaimed. “If only it didn't take so long to get back and forth. Two weeks at sea for two weeks in the city does sound rather foolish, but think of all the gay parties we could go to. I really don't see why I go back to school after Christmas. It'll practically be finished by then.”