The Good Life (49 page)

“Of course. But I know she's not promiscuous. That might be something to worry about, but not with Bet.”

“I'm glad of that, but even if she were, Arlene couldn't do anything but advise her to be careful. She can't keep her locked up forever. If you knew she was getting serious about somebody, you would tell me, wouldn't you?”

“I don't see why not — unless she told me and swore me to secrecy.” Was he blushing like Timmy? He stood up, hoping to interrupt the line of questioning. “Would you like a freshener?” he asked, waving his glass.

“Umm, no.” Billy shook his head and frowned. “No, I'd better not.”

Perry looked at him closely. He obviously was not getting any better. “Are you really all right, Billy?”

“Sure, I'm fine.” He laughed. “Well, fine-
ish.
If Bet were getting serious about somebody, I'd like to be prepared. Of course, I'm not likely to interfere. She's almost nineteen, for heaven's sake.”

“In this state she's a woman at eighteen.”

“She's been a woman long before that,” Billy said with a knowing smile, which made Perry wonder just how much he really knew or suspected. Fortunately, Billy changed the subject. “Will you sit for me once more? I've loved leaving your nude unfinished so I'd have an excuse for playing with it some more, but it's all but done now. One more sitting, and that's it. I know it's the best thing I'll ever do.”

“You're giving up painting? Along with drinking? You
are
slowing down, Billy.”

Lounging in the chaise longue, naked, in the familiar pose, Perry automatically started to get a hard-on. That first time with Billy, when he'd used the whip, figured prominently in his thoughts. Would they repeat that episode this time? He hoped not, even for old time's sake. As Billy peered at him through his spectacles and concentrated on the canvas in front of him, Perry felt that that was over too. His cock shrank visibly.

With a final flourish of a small brush, Billy initialed the lower right-hand corner of the painting and declared it finished. “There it is,” he said, stepping back, cocking his head, and studying the picture. He looked over at Perry. “My masterpiece.” He laughed. “I don't know whether my masterpiece is the model or the picture.”

“You created them both, Billy.”

“Damn good they are too. Here.” He took the canvas off the easel and handed it to Perry. “It's yours. It has always been for you.”

Perry stood and leaned it against the back of the chaise longue so he could study it. His cock stirred again. This was carrying narcissism a bit far. Or was it the note of love in Billy's voice that stirred him? “I can really have it? It's really beautiful, Billy. I may be prejudiced, but it's the sexiest thing I've ever seen. Are you going to let Bet see it?”

Billy looked at him with a naughty gleam in his eye. “Is there any reason why I shouldn't?”

“Well, she saw me every day in Saint-Tropez without much more on. And May be a few times without even that much on.”

“A semi—hard-on?” Billy laughed.

Perry joined him in laughter, albeit a little nervously. “People are careless on those nude beaches.” He picked up the portrait and put it back on the easel. “Anyway, don't blame me if she falls madly in love with the picture.”

“If my work has that effect on people, I'd be too flattered to object. Has Bet been to your flat?”

“Of course, but don't tell Arlene. I don't want her to be after me with a horsewhip.”

“And she would too,” Billy chuckled. “That's a lovely image: Arlene on one side of you with a horsewhip and me on the other side with a shotgun.”

Perry put his hands up. “Don't shoot, don't shoot.” He kept his hands above his head as he ran out of the room to get dressed. Billy was getting awfully close with his questions. Perry was happy to have taken another step closer to telling Billy the truth, but he still had to be careful. He had the feeling that Billy was encouraging him to divulge his secret. How would he react when he found out?

“The chains are unlocked,” Bet gloated on the phone. “I'm free this afternoon. I think Mummy is getting tired of the vigil. We're finally wearing her down. See you about 4.”

“I may be a bit late, honey,” Perry said. “I've got a portrait sitting. Get the bed warm.”

What little time they could be together was spent in bed, where they also did their talking — when they weren't busy.

“Why is she letting you off the hook more and more?”

“She may be just giving me enough rope to hang myself, but I doubt it. I think she's just plain tired.”

“So am I,” Perry sighed. “What's she got on for you tonight?”

“Oh, another party. Dinner party. Thank God I don't have to fight the debutante nonsense.”

“That's another good thing about the war.”

“I know. But she really is easing off.”

“Running out of suitable rich husbands? The war has taken a hell of a lot of them away. Another good mark for the war.”

“What are you doing? Bridge?”

Perry sighed again. “I canceled the game. I'm worried about Billy.”

“So am I.” Bet's eyes clouded. “He seems to age as you look at him. Terrifying. But the doctors go on saying that there's nothing wrong.” She glanced at the clock. “Damn. Look at the time. I've got to run.” Crawling over him slowly and reluctantly, she lay on top of him for a moment and looked deeply into his eyes. “You are a sweetheart to be so good to Daddy. I've got to spend more time with him too.”

“Not
our
time,” he said, hugging her.

The evening with Billy was short. Laszlo served them a simple dinner, and they played backgammon for an hour. Perry was home in bed by 10 o'clock, trying to concentrate on a book, but his thoughts of Billy's gray color and trembling hands haunted him. There was definitely something wrong.

Perry started canceling more of his evening plans to spend as much time as possible with Billy. He was the only one Billy really wanted to see. Billy had cut his own social life down to a minimum.

Perry took Bet out for a night on the town for her nineteenth birthday. “I didn't lie to Mummy,” she explained. “I simply told her that we'd made this date in Saint-Tropez.”

“We seemed to have made quite a few dates in Saint-Tropez.”

“Of course. This and every other night. But she's put the kibosh on most of the other nights. How old do you have to be to say no to your mother?”

“Nineteen,” he said, shoving a small leather box with VERDURA printed on top across the table to her. “Happy birthday, my darling.”

Her eyes widened. She looked about twelve — an absolutely beautiful twelve. “Oh, Perry. What is it?”

“Open it, silly.” It was a brooch that Fulco had designed under Perry's supervision, especially for him. An enameled rowboat with two tiny gold figures sitting face-to-face and the boat sitting in a little sea of sparkling diamonds. He knew Fulco had let him have it for less than half its actual worth. He loved it.

And so did she. She stared at the little work of art — the figures in bas relief, the oars also in gold, giving accents at an angle across the enamel — and touched the pin delicately with her fingers, tracing the design. Her fingers trembled slightly. He looked up at her and saw that tears were running down her cheeks. She seemed about to speak, but no words came.

He took her hand and held it to his lips. Then she cried for real. Her shoulders shook, and she gasped for breath. “Oh, my darling. The first time.” Her eyes were wide with amazement.

He pressed her hand to his lips again and leaned close to her and kissed her wet cheeks. “Hardly something to cry about,” he whispered.

She straightened up, shook her hair back, and took a deep breath. “It was…that first time was…” — she continued to stroke the pin with her fingers — “the most beautiful thing that ever happened to me. And this is the most beautiful thing I've ever had.”

He was so touched by the apparent success of his present that he thought he was going to cry too. “Put it on. Put it on.”

“I'd like to have it embedded in my skin so I can never take it off.”

At the Stork Club later, Sherman Billingsley sent a tiny birthday cake, decorated with a single candle, to their table, and the band played “Happy Birthday” while the entire room sang that tiresome but always moving song.

Bet was radiant with joy. Her photograph was taken several times, and her name appeared — along with Perry's — in several columns the next day.

Shortly after, Bet took
him
out on his birthday. “I don't know what to give a man who has everything.”

“A Wassermann?” When Bet looked blank, he realized how young she really was. “Sorry. Locker-room joke.”

She shook her head impatiently and went on. “So I'm going to go on giving you me.”

“What more could I want?”

“This May be?” It was her turn to shove a box across the table. It was a familiar Cartier one, and he looked at it, stupefied, while she grinned gleefully. “Open it, silly,” she said, laughing.

It was copy of his ring done as a medallion to wear on the gold chain Billy had given him. They were chalking up memories and commemorating them.

Christmas was taken over by Mrs. Hahn, so they couldn't celebrate that birthday. Billy's mother had strict ideas about what was proper, and not even Billy was invited to her big midday Christmas dinner. Divorced couples shouldn't be on friendly social terms, she felt.

Naturally, Perry hadn't even been considered.

He and Billy went to a matinee of
The Man Who Came to Dinner
, which made them laugh a lot. Perry wondered if their laughter might not be a bit forced. They were both trying to convince the other that they were having a lovely time. Perry particularly enjoyed the play because its leading character was supposed to be based on Alexander Woollcott.

Thinking of Woollcott made him think of Mrs. Costigan, and he wished she could see him now. He'd like to point out to her that if he was a whore, he was a damned successful one. Another point of interest for him in the play was that the lead was being played by Clifton Webb in the Chicago company, and he could picture him in the part. Imagining Clifton delivering the lines made him laugh harder.

The holidays lurched along, as interminable as the summer, especially since separation had again been forced on Perry and Bet.

Winter finally melted away, and by early spring Billy began melting away too. His loss of weight was alarming, and he was back in the hospital for a major operation — with Perry at his side.

“I don't think the doctors have a clue what they're doing,” Billy said. “They've finally admitted that there's something about the X rays that puzzles them. They want to open me up to see for themselves. Perhaps when they've finished, they might tell you what they've operated for. I've told Dr. Sansome that you're to be treated as next of kin, so he should keep you informed first. I'm taking the precaution of having air-conditioning put in at 66th Street just in case I'm stuck in the city for part of the summer. People who have it say that it makes all the difference.”

“If this summer is like the last, you'll need it. It's a good idea.”

Having gotten Billy settled in the hospital, Perry was told to come back the day after the operation. He was reluctant to leave him but was assured it was best for them both.

“Should I go to the hospital with you tomorrow?” Bet asked Perry that night.

“I don't think it's a good idea for us to go together,” Perry said. “I'll go first thing and stay as long as they'll let me and call you the minute I know anything.”

Perry canceled all his appointments at the studio; those he couldn't put off were handled by Henry. When Perry arrived at the hospital early the next morning, he met Dr. Sansome in the corridor.

“Good morning,” Perry said, searching the doctor's face for some indication of how things had gone.

“Good morning,” the doctor replied with a little shake of his head. Perry's stomach turned over. “I'm afraid I have no good news for you.” He stood beside Perry and stared at the floor. “There's nothing we can do. We had a look and closed him up again. We're still waiting for the results of some tests, but we know enough for there to be no doubt. The cancer is much more widespread than we expected. I wouldn't be surprised if it's already reached his liver. I don't understand why he hasn't been in more pain. At least we'll be prepared to spare him as much suffering as possible.”

“Cancer? Jesus.” Perry couldn't take it in. “I don't understand. He was in here for tests only a few months ago. Surely you—”

“It doesn't always make itself apparent. It's there, but it's not always visible.”

“Then how can it spread so quickly?”

“If we knew that, we'd be on the road to working out a cure. Or at least a way of arresting it. As it is, in this case it has taken over. There is nothing we can do.”

“But he seemed all right yesterday.” Billy had been cheerful enough when Perry had left him. Now the doctor was saying that he was condemned to death. It didn't make sense.

“Outwardly he was all right. It was what was going on inside that we couldn't even guess.”

“Does he know?”

“I've just told him that the operation went off without a hitch and that I'd explain everything when the anesthetic wears off.”

“Then what?”

“You mean, what do we do?” Dr. Sansome shrugged. “There's nothing we can do about the disease.” He put a hand on Perry's arm and guided him slowly down the corridor. “I'll need your advice. I don't know Mr. Vernon well, but he strikes me as a man who wouldn't like us to play games with him. My feeling is that I should tell him the truth, unless you think I shouldn't.”