Seven Seats to the Moon Read online

  Goodrick! Angrily J thought that the man must have other things in the world to do than keep prowling and prying at J’s door.

  He didn’t want to think about Goodrick. He wanted to think about his children and his children’s children, about Win, the father of three, about Amy, the mother of none, and about Nanjo, who must mate. About the world and time. About the fate of man. Nobody would let him think.

  Sophia came back and sat down close beside him. “J, Susie Neeby says an FBI man was at her house this morning asking questions about you.”

  “Name of Goodrick?” said J morosely.

  “Who is he, J?”

  “I wish I knew. Cousin Annie keeps warning me.…” He shut his mouth and looked at her pitifully.

  Sophia said to herself, Any minute he’s going to blurt out the whole thing. Thus she was able to smile and say, “That’s all right. Never mind.”

  But J fell silent.

  So she said, “I’m afraid Nanjo’s puzzling her head about what’s going on between you and Cousin Annie.”

  J said, “I spanked that Annie, but hard, and chased her away. I thought I did the same with Goodrick. Damn it!”

  “You have not, then,” said Sophia, “fallen madly in love with another woman?”

  J darted a glance at her and began to bite his lip.

  “I’ve got to tell you something,” he said, “that’s too rich to keep. Can I have a guarantee you’re not going to spread it around the neighborhood?”

  “What makes you think I can’t keep a secret?” she said ominously.

  But J began to tell the tale of his noonday encounter with the Lily. Sophia was, at first, astonished that he had been drinking in the morning and wanted to know haughtily if he had found himself yet. J said, “Well, in a way, maybe,” and continued. Sophia was then concerned that he had been intoxicated. And at the denouement, although she tried very hard to be worried about Amy living across the hall from a scarlet woman, it couldn’t hold. Sophia muffled her mouth with both hands.

  So J made his face very lugubrious and went on to recount his solemn reflections, which caused Sophia to rock helplessly, squealing and shedding tears, because it was so weird and wonderful, so absurd, so funny—to be an animal.

  Marietta, lying uncomfortably on the narrow couch in J’s den, could hear their laughter. Something about it did not seem … pure. They sounded … No, no, not ribald, surely. (Think no evil!) But then she seemed to see Mrs. Arriola’s face painted on the darkness and hear her voice, “Oh, Miz Thomas …” and it occurred to Marietta that it was at least somewhat heartless for them to laugh so, in the hearing of one who, lost and lonely, was at their mercy. The thought ripped savagely through the clouds. Marietta quickly began to beg her Own Good Angel to close the mists and bring back roses. She couldn’t help reminding him how easily and quickly this could be done, for only one hundred dollars.

  Nanjo, feeling glad and guilty that the other twin bed in her room was peacefully empty, could also hear the distant laughter. Her heart seemed to contract at the sounds and squeeze into a smaller, harder organ. What did they care? They made her sick!

  CHAPTER 22

  Thursday

  Moving around her house on Thursday morning, Sophia found herself worrying, not about Nanjo (who was in school) and not about Marietta, who was in Nanjo’s room occupied with repacking her possessions as if she were planning to move out. Well, she can’t, thought Sophia and went on worrying about this Goodrick. J had gone to the office. She couldn’t ask him (he didn’t seem to know) why Goodrick kept poking around, talking to Susie, picking up Marietta, wanting to know the room-mate’s name, when he, himself, had told Sophia about the room-mate’s death. It was a mystery.

  She answered the phone, midmorning, and found J’s father speaking.

  Grosvenor Winthrop Little III recognized her name but seemed surprised to find her at this number. “Oh, yes, Sophia! Yes. Ah, by the way, Mr. Tobias Thomas is your relative, is he not?”

  “He’s my brother, Mr. Little.” Sophia had never advanced to calling this man Father.

  “He has been most helpful,” said the old gentleman and went on to say that he wished J to call to see him at the earliest possible moment. His wish sounded exactly like his command, and Sophia found herself in rebellion.

  “J is very busy, Mr. Little. Is it anything someone else could do? Could I?”

  “No, no, no.” The old gentleman seemed horrified. “I simply wish J to go to my bank for me. I have come to a decision. He has access to my safe-deposit box, as you may know.”

  “Yes, I know,” said Sophia. “But so does Win, doesn’t he?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “So does your grandson, Grosvenor Winthrop Little the Fifth,” she said, speaking distinctly.

  “Of course. Of couse. Ah, that may be the solution.”

  “Have you Win’s number?”

  “Ah, yes, I must, mustn’t I?”

  “I’ll give it to you again if you like.” She recited Win’s office number.

  As she hung up, feeling that she had been properly protective, Sophia herself was attacked. Marietta appeared to talk about the strength of her feelings in regard to the Retreat. Did Sophia think Marietta had understood about the hundred dollars? And Sophia thought in rebellion, Why should I have to stand between my mother and the consequences of her own acts? “You gave away the hundred dollars,” she said sternly. “So now you haven’t got the hundred dollars. Do you see?” She was thinking, Darned if there wasn’t something to J’s talk about being in the middle. “And anyway, you can’t go there until I’ve looked it over,” she added, and there she was in the middle again.

  Sophia put the big boxes from the store into her car and set forth to return the dresses.

  In half an hour Marietta left the house and began to walk downhill toward the bus stop several blocks away. A car came up the hill, U-turned behind her, and came back down to stop beside her.

  “Can I give you a lift today, Mrs. Thomas?”

  “Oh, no, no. I would be taking you out of your way, Mr. Goodrick.”

  “Come on. Get in,” said Goodrick. “You’re looking worried.”

  “Oh, no,” she said at once. “I never worry.”

  “Listen,” Goodrick looked sour, “I have had orders.”

  “You were sent?” breathed Marietta.

  “That’s right. There’s a man I know, would like to meet you. Maybe he can help you. Let me take you to his hotel. Come on. Nobody’s going to hurt you.” He had the car door open.

  “Of course not,” she sighed and got in. “I think,” she said, “you must take the Ventura Freeway. My grandson has such a beautiful large home, Mr. Goodrick, and three adorable children.”

  Goodrick’s teeth came out of hiding. “Is that so?” he said.

  Only this morning he had said to Mr. Jones, “She’s crazy.”

  Mr. Jones had replied coldly, “Before I accept your conclusions I, myself, would like to see this woman. Why didn’t you bribe her?”

  “She’d take money,” growled Goodrick, “but she’s crazy. And the man Little must be crazy. He won’t take money.”

  “Aren’t you confused?” said Mr. Jones.

  “I think he’s suspicious,” said Goodrick.

  “Ah, suspicion is itself suspicious,” Mr. Jones had pronounced loftily.

  Now Goodrick decided that the more he knew about the family the better. So Marietta did the directing and babbled rapturously all the way, but Goodrick didn’t say much. When he pulled up before Win and Marion’s house, he didn’t listen to her thanks but got out on his side, and when she rang the doorbell, he stood close beside her. He had spotted the play yard and the equipment there.

  Win opened the door. Marietta seemed to notice nothing odd about this on a weekday. She entered, exuding as usual, and presented Goodrick as a friend of dear J’s, who had been so good, and so on. Win shook hands but seemed distraught. He asked no questions. When Marion came into the roo
m to greet them, she seemed absentminded.

  So small talk fell flat, and Marietta was obliged to come to her point. “It came to me, Marion dear, that I might possibly be of help to you. I have no roots, you see, for three more weeks. I am not really needed at Sophia’s. Do you think I could be useful here? The dear children, so fond.…”

  “Oh,” said Marion. “Well.” She glanced quickly at her husband.

  “Nice of you to offer, Marietta,” said Win, “but we’re in a bit of an uproar, and I don’t think you’d be comfortable.” There was something adamant about this speech.

  While Marietta sought to turn it around and make good news of it, somehow, Win turned to be polite to Goodrick.

  “Nice of you to drive her,” he said. “You know my Dad, do you?”

  “I came across him in Chicago,” said Goodrick. “Quite an adventure he had, eh?”

  “It was a miracle,” said Marietta. “Ah, darlings.…”

  The Little kids had come pouring into the room to greet their great-grandmother. Goodrick’s eyes slipped around to look them over.

  Win said sharply, “You mean his accident?”

  The cold eyes came back. “Do I?” said Goodrick slyly. “Do you know a gal named Annette Woods? Good-looking silver blonde, young—”

  Win said, “I don’t think so. Who is she?”

  “That’s something I am trying to find out,” said Goodrick.

  “I never heard of her.”

  “So she’s no cousin, eh?”

  Win said, “What do you mean?”

  “Isn’t it obvious to you that your father has something on his mind? Didn’t he tell you about it?”

  Win stood up. He said, genial enough on the surface, “I don’t discuss my Dad, behind his back, particularly. Excuse me.” He turned. “Marietta, please, would you excuse us? We have just listed this house for sale, and we have a whole lot of decisions to make, what else to sell, and so on. We are in an uproar, as I said.”

  “How much do you want?” said Goodrick, rising.

  “I beg pardon,” said Win, who didn’t like the man. “Do you mean the asking price on this place?”

  “I meant money.” He was grinning like a pumpkin.

  Marietta said, “Oh, Mr. Goodrick is so generous. He has offered me a hundred dollars. I am not to take it, but it was good of him.”

  Win looked from one to the other.

  “We are all here to help one another,” said Goodrick. “I think a giver pays the gift tax? That’s if you can help me. Could we talk?”

  Win said, “This is a bad time. I doubt there’ll be a good time. Do you mind if we are a little bit rude and put you out?” He stirred himself to do just that, with charm, but firmly.

  When they had gone, Win said explosively, “Now where the devil did he come from? I’d sooner do business with a rattlesnake. Why is he running around with Marietta? If Ma doesn’t know about this, she’d better.”

  Marion was keeping the Little kids close by her side. She hadn’t liked that man’s cold eyes on them. He had made her very nervous.

  Nobody answered the phone at Win’s parents’ number.

  “I don’t understand,” said Marion, “why your grandmother can’t sense there’s something wrong about that man.”

  “You should know by now,” said Win. “Marietta makes things over to suit herself. Well, better get on with the job. Which car are we taking to the lot, yours or mine?”

  “I don’t care,” said Marion bracing her shoulders. “What about the sterling?”

  “We won’t need it for a while, I imagine.”

  “Darlings, go play in your room. Not outside for a while. Because Mommy would rather.”

  Win was staring at the telephone. Two phone calls this day had crashed the roof in on his head. He had made the first one himself.

  Mr. Faulkner’s secretary had said, “Oh, Mr. Little, I am so glad you called. I was supposed to call you this very morning to say that Mr. and Mrs. Faulkner had to rush off to South America. They have already gone to the airport. I was asked to say, first, how sorry they are not to be able to come to supper on Sunday.”

  “Well, I’m sorry, too,” Win had said. “How long do they expect to be gone?” (South America!)

  “That’s rather indefinite,” she had said, “and, by the way, I believe Mr. Faulkner also had a business appointment for Tuesday?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I must break that, too,” she had said. “Obviously, since he will be in Rio.”

  “Wants to postpone it, does he?” Win had said easily. “Did he suggest an alternative date?”

  “Why, no, sir, he didn’t.”

  “I see. Then, I suppose, when he does get back—”

  Her voice had changed slightly, “Have you seen the business section of the morning paper, Mr. Little?”

  “No. Why?”

  “I’m sorry,” she had said in quite a human way and hung up.

  So Win had looked. Small paragraph. “Faulkner Manufacturing has awarded its two-million-dollar account to Ad Agency Jimson, Briar, and Carmichael.”

  And there it went, glimmering. Without even the courtesy of a personal word. You get the bad news in the paper. Where else?

  When the phone had rung on the heels of this, Win had picked it up in a daze of indifference.

  “Winthrop?” his grandfather had said. “Will you do an errand for me, my boy? I wish you to go to my bank and bring me from my safe-deposit box your grandmother’s bonds.”

  “Pardon!”

  “Oh, yes—you see … Now I believe you must know who Mr. Tobias Thomas is?”

  “My Uncle Tobias!”

  “A very clever man, is he not? Yes, he has been in session with Mr. Pudney and has succeeded in improving the terms so remarkably that I feel I ought not to let the opportunity pass. Now, I had resolved never to touch dear Alice’s property for myself. But what bonds remain she had destined for Winnie, you see, and Mr. Pudney assures me that dear Alice, and Winnie, too, would both be most anxious to see my work published. If they were here, that is exactly what they would say. Do you agree?”

  “Well, I … How much … Do you want them all turned into cash, Grandfather?”

  “Oh, yes. Yes, I suppose so. Mr. Thomas says that he will be glad to attend to that for me. You need only fetch them. Will you do that?”

  “How soon?” Win had said.

  “Oh, as soon as possible,” the old gentleman had said. “I am quite elated.” He’d laughed; it was a rusty braying. “I daresay it will take a day or two. Shall we say Monday?”

  “All right, Grandfather,” Win had promised quietly and hung up and looked around at ruin.

  “I’ll call and see if they can send for a car,” Win said, the children having gone. “I had better be here. The realtor is coming. Maybe the man about the paintings. I don’t want you dealing with them. It’s going to be a battle of bluffs.”

  “I’m not very good at that,” she said.

  So Win walked to his favorite spot for staring out the big window and spoke in a monotone. “With Faulkner out of the picture I’ve got to cut back and scramble for new business. But I’ll make it. In the meantime we’ve got to unload around here, get the cash, pay off that loan, and deliver those bonds to my grandfather.”

  Marion said nothing.

  “I’ll tell you once more,” said Win in the same dull way, “He gave me permission to use them for collateral, over the phone. I wish I’d had it recorded.”

  “I still don’t see why,” said Marion, “you don’t simply remind him.”

  “Because I said that I needed them for only thirty days,” said Win. “But the truth now is that in thirty days or a hundred I won’t be able to get the money in any other way than by unloading.”

  “I don’t mind that, you know,” she said in a moment.

  “Yes, you do,” said Win. “Shall I ask your father to help me?”

  “It’s possible I would mind,” she said, “my father thinking I
had married a failure. He wouldn’t understand. You could ask yours.”

  “I won’t do that,” snapped Win.

  “I don’t understand you,” she wailed. “What you did wasn’t dishonest. Your father will believe you, of all people in the world. Your grandfather will just have to believe you, although he forgets.”

  Win didn’t seem to hear. “Grandfather won’t be fussing until Monday,” he said. “We’ve got the weekend. Anything can happen in three days.”

  As they drove on, Goodrick asked questions about Win and Marion and the Little kids and sought in the flood for something useful. Win so clever, Marion so charming, children so good, so handsome, so loving and beloved.

  “You love children, don’t you, Mr. Goodrick?” she added confidently.

  Goodrick made a sound.

  “What did you say? I’m sorry.”

  “I said you didn’t know what you’re talking about at any time,” he snapped.

  Marietta trilled out laughter. “Dear Mr. Goodrick, you forget I have a Good Angel of my own, who sees the inside of your heart. Why, you could barely take your eyes from the dear little people.”

  Goodrick sank into a glum silence.

  After a while he said, “This daughter we’re going to see now, she’s got kids, too?”

  “No, no. Dear Amy. But I’m sure, in her prayers.…”

  He said, “I’m on to you.”

  “Why whatever …”

  “Never mind,” he said. “I’m on to you. You’re a liar.”

  Marietta turned her china-blue eyes. “You are sensitive to the truth,” she said gently. “What have I said, I wonder, that has touched you so deeply?”

  Goodrick had never met a person before whom he couldn’t insult. “Listen,” he said desperately, “listen, kindly stop talking for a while, will you please?”

  Avery opened the apartment door. He was not in the least cordial. Amy wasn’t here. He had a headache; nothing else interested him in the least.

  But Marietta drew joyous breath and went, at once, into action. Goodrick looked sourly around at the decor while Marietta seated Avery on a cushion and knelt on her plump knees behind him and put her little pink hands on his brow. She began to plead earnestly for a healing. Goodrick began to snoop nervously through the other rooms.