A Million for Eleanor: A Contemporary Story on Love and Money (7 page)

“This is my advantage.” He mirrored her smile. “You just don’t know how much I love maximizing profits. Not only I wouldn’t mind sacrificing my life for such a world, I would consider it the highest achievement of mine. Why should I regret not having consciousness if I have transformed reality from the commonplace into the ideal?”

“You would have no consciousness to know that,” Eleanor reminded.

“As long as it’s true, it’s fine with me.”

They stood and looked at each other as if waiting for something, and the silence was disturbed only by the ticking clock. It seemed to him every second left a tiny scratch in his head before dissolving in the air, and, trying to distract himself, he looked at his watch.

“It’s nine o’clock,” he said amusedly, as if talking to himself.

“Call, then,” Eleanor said with relief.

He fished his phone from the pocket and dialed the number.

“We are ready,” he said into it, looking at Eleanor. Her face betrayed a slight concern, as if she was ready for something but still hoped to avoid it. “No, I’ve already taken one. Okay, I’ll take more. See
you soon.” He hung up. “That’s it. The ladies shall depart shortly, and I suggest we do the same. Don’t forget the cup.”

“Are you going to smash it?”

“We’ll see,” he said, picking up the valises.

“Wait a minute. I forgot my phone.”

“Leave it. Tonight you’re mine, no one else’s.”

Eleanor gave him a reproaching look.

“You’re such an egoist, Richard! And you always have been.”

“No, I become
such
an egoist only once in a lifetime. But I can’t open the door anyway.”

Eleanor let him out, and he waited for her to lock the door, surprised at how fast she found the right one on the chain that seemed to have every key she used in life. The street was dark and quiet, and the only noise competing with the sound of jazz music flowing from one of the houses down the road was that of the wind draggin
g piles of fallen leaves.

“
Wanna guess something?” he said when they began moving along a narrow sidewalk to the place where he parked his car.

“Your games again!”
Eleanor said with a sigh of resignation. “What now?”

“What color is my car?”

“Black. Or did you make an exception today?”

“I did. Black is the color I use for work and funerals.”

“Then it’s white. I must be wrong because a maniac like you would never dress to the car, but I can’t think of anything else.”

“Even if I tell you it’s my
favorite
color?”

“
Especially
then.”

“It’s something a maniac like me couldn’t avoid mentioning. Remember, your professor once asked you to housesit for him, and you invited me over? We drank tea and went for a walk. You were telling me why you always wanted to live on the East coast when I showed you a maple tree which shined like it was on fire. Does it click?”

“No.”

He laughed and suddenly slowed his pace.

“What happened?”

“I just remembered you always told me I walked too fast.”

“Didn’t you calculate that your three steps are the same as my five?”

“Three and a half.
I’m surprised it stuck in your head.”

“If
you
had to jog every time you walked with me you wouldn’t be.”

“Usually I don’t walk fast unless I am in a hurry. Only if I am excited,” he said guiltily.

“Listen, it’s easy! If someone is a foot shorter than you, their steps physically can not be as wide! I can’t believe I am the only one who ever told you that. Or did you date only supermodels? Speaking of which: you still didn’t breathe a word of
your
exes. You told me all about your money, but nothing about your love.”

“What exactly are you interested in: quantity, or quality?”

“Both, unless you start to count every romance you had.”

“What’s your definition of a romance? But I wouldn’t count anyway.”

“Richard, have you been in a relationship?” Eleanor asked suddenly.

He remained silent, trying to decide how to answer. In conversations with Eleanor he always told her the truth but never went into details unless she demanded. She never did, so he could afford amusing himself by touching upon the most delicate topics without fearing to be interrogated. But this time was different.

“Yes,” he said finally. “But only once.”

“And what happened then?”

“Then we were no longer together,”

“Who called it off?”

“It was a mutual decision.”

“A complicated relationship, it seems. And who was to blame?”

“Both.” He was trying to imagine what she was thinking to tailor responses to her thoughts. “Guilt never lies on one person alone. Especially in love affairs.”

“Sounds like a Christian truth,” Eleanor remarked.

“A universal one,” he said, suddenly stopping.

“Is this your car?” Eleanor said in bewilderment, staring at the scarlet Cadillac DTS in front of her.

“What did you expect?”

“I actually remembered you telling me your favorite car was Lamborghini.”

“There is no point driving them in cities: they accelerate too fast and shake to the core on every bump. Besides, I have a soft spot for Cadillacs. They remind me of battle-cruisers.”

“You granddad was a sea captain?”

“You nailed it.” He smiled. “Perhaps for the first time.”

“Surely not.
Will you tell me more about it?”

“You’ll hear enough of my genealogy tonight,” he said, putting the valises down and opening the passenger door for her. “I’m sure my mother will educate you to your heart’s content. Now, can I relieve you of this cup?”

“Please, don’t smash it in the middle of the street! You’ll be fined.”

“Fines I can handle.”

He took the cup, waited for Eleanor to get into the car and closed the door after her. Then he loaded the valises onto the back seat and wandered leisurely to the nearest trash bin. He lifted its lid and, having glanced around with the face of a bored loafer, flung the cup in. The sound that followed tore the air and infuriated every dog in the neighborhood, suggesting the inglorious vessel was reduced to dust. Somewhat deafened, he cautiously closed the lid and returned to the vehicle.

“Headache?”
Eleanor asked sarcastically, watching him extract a transparent plastic tube with white pills from the glove compartment.

“It’s just so that I wouldn’t have a sudden seizure while driving,” he said indifferently, swallowing one pill and starting the ignition.

“When did you begin having seizures? Or will you say you always had, and I never knew?”

“When that dilettante of a sniper took an extra inch to the left and hit my head tangentially instead of pulling a bullet right through the skull,” he replied, adjusting the rear view mirror.

“A sniper?” Eleanor repeated mechanically. “You’re joking, right?”

“The easiest way to persuade you is to let you touch the scar on my head,” he said sullenly. “But I am afraid you’re
gonna have to take my word for it.”

“I didn’t know. I’m sorry,” Eleanor said after a pause.

“No matter what business you’re in, it’s hard to make millions without making enemies. But those involved in drug traffic are armed better than the average.”

“When did it happen?”

“Years ago. Good old San Diego times.”

“Does your mother know where the seizures come from?”

“Of course. She knows everything about me.”

“Really?”
Eleanor asked suspiciously.

“At this point we both are so used to her not approving of my behavior it doesn’t matter what exactly I do,” he elucidated.

“So she knows you paid me money to become your wife?”

“She was the first person to find out,” he confessed.

“Can’t wait to see her!”

“Do you remember the first time you two met? She
came visit in our sophomore year. I had not told her what was going on between us, but she knew everything as soon as she saw you. She gave me such a lecture that I didn’t speak to her for months.”

“Did she tell you what her impressions of me were?” Eleanor asked.

“She did. And if you had any hopes of winning her disposition you can forget about it. She never liked you to begin with, and now that I’ve given you so much money she likes you even less.”

“Why, is she in need?”

“No. But try to understand
her
motherly feelings. Her silly son gave one million dollars to a girl who slept with every other guy on campus and rejected her son twice. She probably thought I could have made you agree for less,” he added with a sarcastic smile.

“And what about your sister?
Does she also think I am a whore?”

“I don’t think she made up her mind yet. But I wouldn’t worry about her. She is very good natured. Throughout her whole life she had only positive opinions about people, even those who didn’t deserve it.”

“Are all boys after her?”

“Inevitably,” he said with sadness. “And not in the way I’d like them to. I don’t see them appreciate her: all they care for is that she is hot and driven in a white Mercedes. The teachers are the same, those
scoundrels. Just a month ago I had to ask my boys to throw her chemistry teacher down the stairwell in his apartment building. He wanted her to take private lessons from him to “
consolidate the material
”, as he was putting it.”

“Poor guy,” she said quietly, looking askance at his face: lit by the headlights of the rare oncoming cars, it remained absolutely impassive.

“He deserved every stair of it. He was also a bad teacher; he didn’t even know what element has the heaviest atoms.”

“Did you talk to him?”

“Of course. After that he started to give my sister lower grades.”

“Richard, you’re a grotesque misanthrope!”

“I hate people only because they don’t deserve a better attitude. Give me a republic run by a philosopher, and I will love its every citizen.”

“What if there are no artists among them? You’re contradicting yourself, Mr. Socrates.”

“I don’t. Literature and philosophy are two sublimations of the necessity to create. The only difference is the goals they pursue: literature brings beauty into the world, and philosophy tries to make beautiful the world itself.”

“Why, then, did Plato banish poets from his ideal city?”

“All he wanted was to get rid of mercenary bastards who composed false praises. In those times poetry was the main type of mass media shaping public opinions as much as television does today. And, as it always happens, the freedom of speech quickly grew into the freedom of lie.”

She didn’t say anything, and for a while he stared at the road, tapping on the steering wheel.

“You know, I really missed this,” he said suddenly.

“What?”

“Such dialogues. Did you notice we talk just like we always used to?”

“
You
do: I simply react.”

“No, your contribution is greater. You give me inspiration and don’t put any limits on me.”

“What limits?”

“Intellectual indifference.
You really are perfect for me. You have always been so indifferent to me romantically you could lend me all of your intelligence. Your presence made me ponder finest philosophical matters, and I knew I could voice any conclusion without fearing to face your prejudice. Imagine, though, what would others think if they overheard us?”

“That you should be locked up as soon as possible?”

“I’m not talking about the facts. People would think they’re reading a novel. No one would believe this conversation happened in real life, yet we never talk otherwise. What would always happen in college when we ate together and had others join us? Those you weren’t involved with, I mean? They all would fall out of the talking within a minute because no one could keep up with us.”

“Is it really that much of a problem to find someone to talk to?”

“Depends on what you want to talk about. My disadvantage is that I spend most of the time with people who consider themselves rich. You have no idea how disgusting they are. They all think they are the most precious things that ever happened in the world and won’t realize their worthlessness even on the deathbed. And, on top of everything, they honestly take themselves for good people.”

“You consider yourself better than they, don’t you?”

Her voice betrayed sarcasm, but he anticipated the question.

“Of course.
Compare me to a man who killed his wife’s lover. Has he done a bad deed? Absolutely. But is he as bad as a psychopath who kills for fun?”

“How many people did you kill?” Eleanor said suddenly, this time taking him by surprise.

“Why? Are you afraid I will kill
you
?”

She didn’t reply.

“Don’t you know that I always keep my word even when it is easier not to?” he continued after a little pause. “I have promised the money would become yours upon giving a consent, and it’s yours. I wouldn’t even touch the valises, but your place wasn’t safe, and you’d find them too heavy to carry. Speaking of which: do you know how much a million dollars weighs?”

“No.”

“Remember, once we ended up in the same class on macroeconomics? I still don’t understand what we were doing there: a philosopher who read half the European literature in the original, and a philologist whose favorite writer was Plato.”

“The only thing I remember about it is that I wrote the final exam until three a.m. and still nearly failed it.”

“I almost did, too, although I was the first one to submit it. Do you recall our professor? You should, he’s your favorite type: a football star back in the day.”

“Why do you think so? He was fat.”

“What do you think athletes’ muscles become with age? It’s just the practices that end: the habit to eat twice what your body needs doesn’t. I didn’t like him either. He didn’t give a damn about us and never even tried to hide it. Yet I am glad he asked that question.”

“He asked us a lot of questions. If you came to class more often you would have noticed it.”

“It was an eight a.m. class. I saw no reason to get up so early to spend two hours among a bunch of students who were ready to sell anything and anyone to become richer and a professor whose ties physically nauseated me.”

“Didn’t you want to see me?”

“I did. That’s why I didn’t drop that class: it was the only one we ever shared.”

“You know, that’s something I always hated about you,” Eleanor said suddenly. “You start a thought, and don’t carry it through.” She turned her head and was now looking at him. “It is so annoying. Do you know how many times you did it tonight?”

“Once? Many people told me about it, but I still don’t understand. If a question leads to a series of segues that are as interesting as the answer itself, why not enjoy the ride instead of cutting its loose ends?”

“Because that’s how people talk.”

“Let them talk as they please. What I don’t understand is why you are getting annoyed. You don’t even care for the answer.”

“I’m dying of curiosity.”

“Just like in that joke: please, continue, I always yawn when I’m thrilled.”

“What question did he ask?” Eleanor cried. “Richard, I swear to God: I shall explode if you don’t answer!”

He turned to her and pushed the gas pedal. The engine whose soft murmur was scarcely heard before roared, and she felt her body pressed into the seat.

“Careful,” she whispered, watching the asphalt run toward her faster and faster. “We’ll crash.”

For a couple of seconds he admired her radiant ivory profile standing out against the grey leather of the interior. She was as beautiful as a woman could be, and he had to acknowledge it once again.

“You are more dangerous than seizures,” he said, turning back to the road and slowing down. “It takes one look at you to lose one’s mind. We’d make a terrific sight if we crashed, though: two dead bodies and a new million which would remain intact because the valises are fireproof.”

“It seems you would rather die than finish what you were saying.”

“How much does a million dollars weigh? See how insipid it becomes when the suspense is over?”

“At least we returned to the beginning,” Eleanor said, trying to hide her disappointment.

“But what was the price?” He laughed. “Now
you’re hating me even more, and the question is still unanswered. What surprises me is that you’re not trying to count. It’s not that hard.”

“Maybe I don’t care?”

“You will when you have to carry it.”

“Why don’t you hire a porter for me?”

“Why don’t you hire one yourself? You can easily afford such trifles now. Though I can tell you from personal experience: there are very few people who can be entrusted with this kind of burden.”

“I was, wasn’t I?”

“Not entrusted: you were
given
it in exchange for a little favor.”

“A small one, indeed.”

“Did I ask for something extraordinary? What can be more natural for a woman than getting married?”

“Doing it premeditatedly.”

“Speaking of which. How were you going to explain everything to your boyfriend? Or have you already forgotten about him?”

She turned her head to the right, pretending to stare through the side window.

“The front view is better,” he said mockingly. She remained silent and motionless as if she hadn’t heard. He didn’t see her face but knew the role she was playing: that if a hurt lady caught up in a stream of recollections, this time flashing before her eyes along the road curb. He regretted she was indulging in it, and yet appreciated the situation because most women could give in to such a state only in complete solitude.

“You know,” he said a minute later. “That’s what I hate about
you
.”

“What?” she said reluctantly, still looking aside.

“That you will pretend you are hurt whenever you think it gives you an advantage. You smell weakness miraculously, and use it mercilessly. I don’t even know how many times you played this trick on me.”

“Why would you let me?”

“Because I loved you! I thought playing by your rules would make you happy. Back then I didn’t know how women worked: I simply wanted you to feel good.”

“You wanted me to feel good next to you,” she said sharply.

“Yes,” he agreed, ignoring the dramatic tension in her voice. “If you felt good with others, why couldn’t you feel good with me? When we met the probability of us dating was much higher than that you would sleep with that baseball player… the one who broke his arm climbing a tree to get into his friend’s room. I still can’t believe you slept with that idiot.”

“Every relationship is a sacrifice; don’t you know?”

“The question is: what should be sacrificed? Everything but money, of course!” he added hastily. “We know it buys everything but luck, don’t we?”

“And health.”

“That’s right. As our friend Schopenhauer says, the stupidest thing one can do is to exchange health for money because happiness depends on the former more than on anything else.”

“Didn’t you go against this? You could die because of cocaine, and you did it for money.”

“That’s not the same. Death is the end of suffering: what can be better than that?”

“Is this a millionaire talking?”

“A philosopher. See, one must be attached to bodily pleasures to like life, and I never even managed to have sex without contempt.”

“This must be the downside of excessive spirituality.”

“Could be. Spirituality is a tricky thing, after all. You can enjoy it on your own, but, when surrounded by people you hate, even the ability to see beauty where everyone else sees nothing doesn’t rescue you. It is the same as to be the only sighted man in a country of the blind: you have all the beauties available to you, and no one to share them with. I’ll tell you a little secret,” he said confidentially. “I don’t think I’d keep living had it not been for my family.”

“I’ll never believe that!” Eleanor exclaimed.
“Even though tomorrow I will become its part.”

“You’re flattering yourself.
Family
includes only those who love me, and you aren’t one of them. You can remain silent now, because any attempt to object will be refuted immediately and with extreme cynicism.”

“That’s something you never lacked,” she said slowly. “
That’s why
I never loved you.”

“Lie. And, since you’re saying it just to insult me, I’ll call it
dirty
. You didn’t love me because I was poor. And you should know I resort to cynicism only if someone sins against the truth.”

“Is our friend Socrates back?” Eleanor asked venomously. “I thought he was buried in my house.”

“Thought, or
hoped
?” he parried. “At any rate, we’re almost there, so I suggest you start excavating the best of you.”

“And what is it that’s waiting for me?
A nuclear attack of Mrs. Mother? I bet she’ll order a steak and eat it like it’s torn from my body.”

“As you wish,” he said indifferently, diving into his thoughts.

The rest of the journey took but a few minutes which passed in sepulchral silence. When the car parked, he got out, opened the passenger’s door and offered her a hand. She touched it reluctantly at first, as if afraid it would electrocute her, but then she leaned on it with confidence, sliding outside without giving her dress any chance to wrinkle. He picked up the valises, locked the doors and invited her to follow him.

They began walking toward a monumental granite edifice with tall Corinthian columns that looked like a public library or a hotel rather than a restaurant, two figures almost dissolving in the Saturday noise of a big city, drifting through the air with such tranquility as if they had an eternity in front of them. It seemed to him the surrounding space along with Eleanor by his side shrank to a dot and disappeared among the neurons of his brain, letting his imagination take over. The grey stones of the pavement, the evasive smell of gas and the wrangle of distant klaxons all seemed as illusory, unreliable and deceptive as a dream from which he was about to
wake, and all he wanted was to keep dreaming and remain a prisoner of this blissful thoughtlessness. But when Eleanor’s heels hit the marble stairs leading to the entrance, a loud clatter ensued, hitting his ears like a razor and cancelling every memory of the fleeting serenity he had just enjoyed.

“Are you afraid it’ll crack?” Eleanor asked, making her every step resound in the air as loudly as possible. “It’d be a disaster: it must have endured so much in its lifetime.”

“It was already washed away by the rain,” he said, trying to suppress the urge to search for the oblivion lost.

They ascended the last flight and saw a doorkeeper, a pale old man of intimidating height dressed in an old-fashioned brown double-breasted jacket with tasseled shoulder-straps. He bowed, pulling the door open and revealing a spacious hall resembling a waiting area of a
railway station. They stepped inside, and a youthful maitre d’ in a white vest and black trousers grew in front of them, his every move showing there was nothing he wanted more than to please his guests.

“Good evening. Do you have a reservation?”

“You bet,” he said, studying the maitre d’s vest which had the name of the house embroidered on its every button. “Under “Charlester”.”

“Sir, your party has already arrived. Please follow me into the cloak room – you will be able to leave your luggage there.”

“We’ll take the valises with us.”

“In that case I must ask you to open them. Out of precaution, you understand.”

“Are you serious?” Eleanor exclaimed with indignation.

“Madam, such are the rules,” said the maitre d’. “I sincerely apologize for any inconvenience.”

“Before we proceed, I want you to know the stuff’s hers, and I’m just a porter,” he said, winking at the maitre d’. “Although you can consider me guilty by association,” he added, walking up to the receptionist’s desk attended by an old portiere. The man observed him with an expression of professional boredom, but only until the contents of the first valise were revealed. Then he flinched, as if presented with a jar of tarantulas, and looked at Eleanor perplexedly.

“Would you like us to open the other one as well?” she said charmingly.

“If that’s okay,” the maitre d’ said in a weak voice.

“This might be timely: you still haven’t seen what was in the second one. What if I brought you only a half?”

“You didn’t.” Eleanor sighed. “You never stop half way.”

He quickly scrolled the locks and opened the second valise.

“Perhaps you’d like to feel through the batches?” he said to the maitre d’. “In case there is a bomb or poisonous snakes underneath.”

“This won’t be necessary, sir” the man said, regaining his composure. “Please follow me.”

The maitre d’ opened a mirror-panelled two-fold door and led them into a large area with some three dozen tables scattered around a tall marble fountain lit by violet lights. He eyed the visitors with great interest, wondering if a single one of them would catch sight of Eleanor or him, but as far as he could tell their passage remained completely unnoticed.

“There they are,” he exclaimed joyfully, nodding at a table straight ahead. Two ladies were sitting at
at, an older and a younger one, and they looked so alike it seemed most logical to assume they were sisters. The older one wore a dark green dress with a surprisingly deep yet perfectly discreet décolleté, while the younger one’s was light blue with no décolleté whatsoever. They were engaged in a conversation, but turned their heads and looked at Eleanor as soon as she neared the table. Her face showed the most amiable smile he had ever seen on it, but he knew she was tense on the inside and ready to improvise.