“This is Virginia Calderwood, Gretchen,” Rudolph said. “The boss’s youngest. I’ve told her all about you.”
Miss Calderwood smiled shyly. “He has, indeed, Mrs. Burke.”
“And you remember Bradford Knight, don’t you?” Rudolph asked.
“I drank you dry the night of the graduation party in New York,” Bradford said.
She remembered then, the ex-sergeant with the Oklahoma accent, hunting girls in the apartment in the Village. The accent seemed to have been toned down somewhat and it was too bad he was losing his hair. She remembered now that Rudolph had coaxed him to come back to Whitby a few years ago and was grooming him to be an assistant manager. Rudolph liked him, she knew, although looking at the man she couldn’t tell just why. Rudolph had told her he was shrewd, behind his Rotarian front, and was wonderful at getting along with people while carrying out instructions to the letter.
“Of course, I remember you, Brad,” Gretchen said. “I hear you’re invaluable.”
“I blush, ma’am,” Knight said.
“We’re all invaluable,” Rudolph said.
“No,” the girl said. She spoke seriously, keeping her eyes fixed, in a way that Gretchen recognized, on Rudolph.
They all laughed. Except for the girl. Poor thing, Gretchen thought. Better learn to look at another man that way.
“Where is your father?” Rudolph asked. “I want to introduce my sister to him.”
“He went home,” the girl said. “He got angry at something the Mayor said, because the Mayor kept talking about you and not about him.”
“I was born here,” Rudolph said lightly, “and the Mayor wants to take credit for it.”
“And he didn’t like her taking pictures of you all the time.” She gestured at Miss Prescott, who was focusing on the group from a few feet away.
“Hazards of the trade,” Johnny Heath said. “He’ll get over it.”
“You don’t know my father,” the girl said. “You’d better give him a ring later,” she said to Rudolph, “and calm him down.”
“I’ll give him a ring later,” Rudolph said, carelessly. “If I have the time. Say, we’re all going to have a drink in about an hour. Why don’t you two join us?”
“I can’t be seen in bars,” Virginia said. “You know that.”
“Okay,” Rudolph said. “We’ll have dinner instead. Brad, just wander around and break up anything that looks as if it’s getting rough. And later on, the kids’re bound to start dancing. Make them keep it clean, in a polite way.”
“I’ll insist on minuets,” Knight said. “Come on, Virginia, I’ll treat you to a free orange pop, courtesy of your father.”
Reluctantly, the girl allowed herself to be pulled away by Knight.
“He is not the man of her dreams,” Gretchen said, as they started walking again. “That’s plain.”
“Don’t tell Brad that,” Rudolph said. “He has visions of marrying into the family and starting an empire.”
“She’s nice,” Gretchen said.
“Nice enough,” said Rudolph. “Especially for a boss’s daughter.”
A heavy-set woman, rouged and eye-shadowed, wearing a turbanlike hat that made her look like something from a movie of the 1920s, stopped Rudolph, winking and working her mouth coquettishly. “Eh bien, mon cher Rudolph,” she said, her voice high with a desperate attempt at girlishness, “tu parles français toujours bien?”
Rudolph bowed gravely, taking his cue from the turban. “Bonjour, Mlle. Lenaut,” he said, “je suis très content de vous voir. May I present my sister, Mrs. Burke. And my friend, Mr. Heath.”
“Rudolph was the brightest pupil I ever taught,” Miss Lenaut said, rolling her eyes. “I was certain that he would rise in the world. It was plain in everything he did.”
“You are too kind,” Rudolph said, and they walked on. He grinned. “I used to write love letters to her when I was in her class. I never sent them. Pop once called her a French cunt and slapped her face.”
“I never heard that story,” Gretchen said.
“There’re a lot of stories you never heard.”
“Some evening,” she said, “you’ve got to sit down and tell me the history of the Jordaches.”
“Some evening,” Rudolph said.
“It must give you an awful lot of satisfaction,” Johnny said, “coming back to your old town on a day like this.”
Rudolph reflected for an instant. “It’s just another town,” he said offhandedly. “Let’s go look at the merchandise.”
He led them on a tour of the shops. Gretchen’s acquisitive instinct was, as Colin had once told her, subnormal, and the gigantic assembly of things to buy, that insensate flood of objects which streamed inexorably from the factories of America saddened her.
Everything, or almost everything that most depressed Gretchen about the age in which she lived, was crammed into this artfully rustic conglomeration of white buildings, and it was her brother, whom she loved, and who softly and modestly surveyed this concrete, material proof of his cunning, who had put it all together. When he told her the history of the Jordaches, she would reserve one chapter for herself.
After the shops, Rudolph showed them around the theater. A touring company from New York was to open that night in a comedy and a lighting rehearsal was in progress when they went into the auditorium. Here, old man Calderwood’s taste had not been the deciding factor. Dull-pink walls and deep-red plush on the chairs softened the clean severity of the interior lines of the building and Gretchen could tell, from the ease with which the director was getting complicated lighting cues, that no expense had been spared on the board backstage. For the first time in years she felt a pang of regret that she had given up the theater.
“It’s lovely, Rudy,” she said.
“I had to show you one thing of which you could approve,” he said quietly.
She reached out and touched his hand, begging forgiveness with the gesture for her unspoken criticism of the rest of his accomplishment.
“Finally,” he said. “we’re going to have six theaters like this around the country and we’re going to put on our own plays and run them at least two weeks in each place. That way each play will be guaranteed a run of three months at a minimum and we won’t have to depend upon anybody else. If Colin ever wants to put on a play for me …”
“I’m sure he’d love to work in a place like this,” Gretchen said. “He’s always grumbling about the old barns on Broadway. When he gets to New York I’ll bring him up to see it. Though maybe it’s not such a good idea …”
“Why not?” Rudolph asked.
“He sometimes gets into terrible fights with the people he works with.”
“He won’t fight with me,” Rudolph said confidently. He and Burke had liked each other from their first meeting. “I am deferential and respectful in the presence of artists. Now for that drink.”
Gretchen looked at her watch. “I’m afraid I’ll have to skip it. Colin’s calling me at the hotel at eight o’clock and he fumes if I’m not there when the phone rings. Johnny, do you mind if we leave now?”
“At your service, ma’am,” Johnny said.
Gretchen kissed Rudolph good-bye and left him in the theater, his face glowing in the light reflected from the stage, with Miss Prescott changing lenses and clicking away, pretty, agile, busy.
Johnny and Gretchen passed the bar going toward the car and she was glad they hadn’t gone in because she was sure that the man she glimpsed, in the dark interior, bent over a drink, was Teddy Boylan, and even after fifteen years she knew he had the power to disturb her. She didn’t want to be disturbed.