All That Glitters (61 page)

“I’m afraid that’s not nearly enough. And let’s not speak of loans, either—I don’t know when I’d be paying you back. But since you have a great deal and I have next to nothing—”

Maude grew terse—“See here, young lady”—but Faun’s hand flashed, cutting off her words with jangling bracelets.

“Nana, please let’s not start with the grandmother act tonight, okay? I’m really too grown up for that these days, don’t you think?” She was taking a “reasonable” tone. “You don’t spend an awful lot of money, your expenses are actually quite modest, I should imagine. And what with the money both you and Grandfather must have salted away, you can’t really be wanting. And since you’ll be leaving it to me one day anyway—”

“Now now, just a minute, my dear. I don’t know where you got that idea, but let me disabuse you of any such notion. You’re making a big mistake, a very big mistake, if you’re sitting around waiting for me to die so you can get your hands on my money. You had your trust fund from Crispin, which you saw fit to give away to your Maharishi friends—”

“What can I say? I made a mistake, I admit it.”

“People who give away all their money on a whim aren’t deserving of having more money—unless they earn it themselves. I’ve already spent a considerable amount on you over the years, and if, as you say, you’re grown up now, I think you should give thought to earning a living on your own. As for your anticipating any further large bequest, I’m afraid that’s out of the question. My funds are carefully allotted to the charities I desire to see supported. So if we’re talking real money here, I suggest you adopt a more realistic attitude.”

Faun bridled and her bracelets sang again. “Frankly, Nana, I don’t think you’re being terribly clever, if you’ll pardon me for saying so.”

“When you get to be my age you’ll discover it’s hard to be many things. Being clever is only one of them.” She sat back and folded her arms. “Continue, please.”

Little by little Faun’s face had been stripped of any softness, and I could see she was out for blood. “Why don’t you tell your grandmother how much money you need and what you need it for,” I suggested, and she swung toward me.

“That’s nobody’s business but mine. Everybody needs money but—the fact is—I need a lot of money and I need it fast.”

Maude laughed outright. “Oh, my dear, I’m afraid you’d have a lot of trouble finding a lot of money lying around here.”

“I think if you’ll just open up the till you’d manage to come up with it. And Nana—if you don’t—”

I saw red. “Faun, cut this out right now. I’m not going to let you sit there making threats—who do you think you are, anyway?”

“I guess we all know who I am, darling. I want the money and I think I’m right in believing I’ll get it. Otherwise I’m afraid I’ll be forced to do something I know you don’t want me to do.”

“What is that?”

Faun took a pack of cigarettes from her bag, lit one with a gold-and-onyx lighter, blew out two pencils of smoke. I thought, “My God, she’s doing Claire Regrett!”

“Did either of you ever stop to wonder why you haven’t heard anything about my book lately?” she asked.

“Jesus. That again?”

“Very much
that
again. Surprising as it may be to you, I have a publisher for it.”

“Terrific. So where’s the difficulty? Can’t you get an advance on it?”

“Possibly. Depending on what I can… come up with.”

“What does that mean?”

“What do you think? Inside stuff. You know, the
real
low-down, the
dirt
.” She stared at me. I knew she was daring me to get upset.

“And—what dirt would that be?” I calmly asked.

“Oh—whatever might be… around.”

“Around what?”

“Around my family, idiot. I mean—every family has its skeletons hidden away in the closets, isn’t that so? Way in the back, behind the winter coats? Don’t you agree, Nana?”

“Perhaps.” Maude never blinked or stirred.

“What skeletons would these be?” I next inquired. Maude’s eyes were on us and I knew she was waiting for the answer.

“Well, as a matter of fact—um—some interesting information has recently come to light.” She looked at her grandmother. “And if you don’t—help me—I’m going to have to put it in the book. You know what I’m talking about. Grandfather and—”

Maude straightened, her eyes blazing. “Stop it! You will do nothing of the kind! I forbid you to write a single word about—about—”

“About what, Nana?”

Maude clamped her lips into a tight line and her face reddened. “Hear me, young woman. If you dare to write so much as one derogatory word concerning Crispin Antrim, you will never see me again. You will never set foot in this house, your allowance will be cut off forever, and I shall alter my will to the extent that it still benefits you. Do I make myself clear?”

Faun spoke softly, reasonably. “But, Nana, don’t you see, if I publish my book, I won’t need an allowance; had you thought of that? It’s only right now I need the money. After that you won’t ever have to give me another cent. When my book gets published, I can sell the movie rights for lots and lots of money.”

“You would do this thing? You would dare to write wicked things about your grandfather, that dear man—your own flesh and blood?”

“Just give me the money, then, and that’ll be the end of it. I’ll go away and you’ll never hear from me again. That’s fair enough, isn’t it? Nana? Do say something.”

“I shall say nothing more. I refuse to discuss it further. Either say you’ll give up this vile notion or I shan’t be responsible for the consequences. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I want to go to bed.”

“Wait,
Nana
!” she wailed. “I
need
it. You’ve got to give it to me or—”

“Or what? Go on, tell me.”

“It won’t be my fault. I’ll only be doing what you’ve forced me to do. I don’t want to do it, Nana, really I don’t, but you’re
making
me do it. It’ll be your fault, then.”

“Is that what you think? Do you really believe that?
I
am making you do it. What a joke. And what a foolish creature you are. I am more ashamed of you than of anything in my entire life. I regret the day your father ever planted the seed of you—or that your mother ever allowed you to be born.”

“That’s all you ever talk about—Mother! I don’t want to hear about her. I’m only here to talk about what’s going to happen if you don’t give me the money.”

Maude’s indignation turned to scorn. “Money! It’s always a question of money with you, isn’t it? You’re money-mad. You have dollar signs for eyeballs. You speak and coins fall from between your lips!”

“I
need
it!” She beat her fists on her knees and her voice strained with urgency.

“I have no doubt you may need it. But not from me, not now and not ever.” She sat back and refolded her arms, defiant, contemptuous. “And tell us, my dear—is that why you—”

“Why I what?”

“Is that why you shot poor Frank, because you needed money and he wouldn’t give it to you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t you, though!” Maude suddenly jumped up and stood over Faun, her whole body trembling. “I’ve had just about enough of you and your lies. No more, Miss, no more. We know perfectly well it was you. We all know. Tell her, Charlie.”

Faun turned to glare at me. I could see the fear in her eyes, fear that I’d say something she didn’t want to hear.

“Don’t look at me as if you don’t know what your grandmother’s talking about,” I told her. “You know goddamn well you shot him.”

“You’re crazy! I never did! Nobody ever accused me.”

“No one accused you because we all agreed we wouldn’t let you get hurt—for your mother’s sake. If we’d turned you in, you’d have gone to jail, maybe you’d have been executed. Do you think your grandmother wanted that? You’re goddamn lucky we didn’t tell what we knew.”

“You bastard! You do hate me, you’ve always hated me, you’d do anything to—to—”

“I’d do anything to protect your mother, if that’s what you mean. I’d do anything to stop you from causing her any more trouble than you have. You’re right, I do hate you. You’ve done nothing but cause people misery for years and years—all the way back to Bucky Eaton. Poor Bucky—what a mess you made of
his
life.”

“Bucky—what’s Bucky got to do with this, for God’s sake?”

“He was the first of your victims, poor fellow. God knows how many others there’ve been. But it stops, it all stops right here, tonight, in this room it stops, do you understand? And as for this nonsense about your book, I think you’re just bluffing. You don’t know diddly about Crispin Antrim, so why don’t you just run along and peddle your papers.”

“Oh you—!” Unable to think what to call me, she un-snapped her bag with a crisp, declarative sound and her hand brought out a packet of envelopes.

“What are those supposed to be?” I demanded sarcastically.

“What do they look like? Nana—what do
you
think they are?”

Stiff in her chair, Maude regarded the letters as if they might bite her.

“Five letters, and very interesting ones. Letters of a highly incriminating nature. Look closely, Nana, maybe you’ll recognize the handwriting.”

She held them up so that Maude could see the superscription, then took them quickly away as if she was afraid someone might snatch them from her.

“How did you come by those?” Maude asked.

“Quite easily, as a matter of fact. When I was in New York I saw an old friend of yours, Nana. I wonder if you can guess who that might be?”

“I wasn’t aware we were playing guessing games.”

“This—friend of yours—had lots of interesting gossip to tell me. But, then, Claire usually does, doesn’t she? Yes,
darling
Auntie Claire. And would you care to hear what I learned from her?”

“I’ve no time to listen to your wicked talk. I said I was going to bed and I am.”

“But, Nana, don’t you want to hear what Claire had to say? Don’t you want to know what’s in these letters? I’m sure someone like you would find it ver-ree interesting.
Especially
in the light of the way Claire behaved at the funeral.”

Maude was struggling to maintain her equanimity in the face of this cat-and-mouse game, and I wanted to give Faun a good crack in the chops for baiting her.

“Then perhaps Charlie wants to hear. Maybe he’ll appreciate what I’ve got here that’s worth fifteen thousand dollars.” She held the letters up again and I tried to grab them but she put them quickly behind her. “Tch tch—didn’t your mother tell you it’s not polite to grab? Very well, I’ll explain what these letters contain.”

“I’d rather you did not,” Maude said.

“But, Nana, he’s family, I’ve heard you say so. To Mummy—‘Charlie’s like one of the family now.’”

She slipped some pages from the first envelope and held them up. “Wait,” Maude said. She looked at me. “It’s true, Charlie is one of my family, but I do not care for him to hear the contents of those letters. Charlie, be kind enough to wait outside for a moment or two while I speak with Faun. Perhaps Ling could make us some coffee.”

I went into the kitchen and asked Ling to put the coffeepot on. He set up the silver tray with sugar and cream; then we sat on opposite sides of the counter, hardly speaking, watching the pot, which, as is proverbial, took long to boil. Then the Snuggery numeral clicked up in the little box and Ling poured the hot brew into the silver pot and set it on the tray.

He managed to mask his indignation when I said I’d carry it in. In the Snuggery I found Maude and Faun more or less as I’d left them, only now Maude was holding the packet of letters in her hand, while Faun lit another cigarette
à la
Claire.

“Ah, I can smell Ling’s coffee from here,” Maude said as I set the tray down at her elbow. “We’re sorry to have kept you waiting so long, Charlie, but Faun and I had certain matters to discuss. Happily, our differences have been resolved, isn’t that true, Faun?”

“As far as I’m concerned, Nana dear.”

I poured coffee for Maude, then offered a cup to Faun, who shook her head and yawned at me. “Not for me, thanks; I don’t want to stay awake another night.” She took out a prescription bottle and spilled two capsules into her palm: good old Tuinals.

I threw another log on the fire, and as I turned, she covertly showed me a filled-in check with Maude’s shaky signature and made a supercilious face meant to be amusing. I didn’t find it so.

“Before I toddle off, Charlie, I’ll bet you’d like to know what’s in those letters that’s worth all that money, wouldn’t you?”

“If you’d care to tell me.”

“Why don’t you tell, Nana?”

Maude set down her cup and picked up the packet from her lap. “Come here, Charlie, please,” she said. I went and stood by her chair. She put the letters in my hand and firmly closed my fingers around them. I looked down at her, then at the letters, saw the handwriting, and identified it as Crispin’s. The letters were addressed to Claire Regrett. When I looked up, I recognized the wish in Maude’s eyes and bent to set the packet on top of the flaming logs.

“Thank you.” Maude picked up her cup again and took a sip of coffee.

Faun began to laugh. “Fifteen thousand dollars’ worth of ashes,” she said as the draft carried black scraps up the chimney and out onto the marble hearth. “What do you think of that, Charlie?”

“I think it’s all over now,” I said sternly, “I think you have your money and I think you’d better leave. That’s what I think.”

“My.” She put out her lip. “Very well. To bed, to bed.” She got up and glanced in the mirror, but didn’t seem to like what she saw. Turning, she smiled at Maude, saying, “Good night, Nana. I knew you’d see things my way. And just in case you’d thought of stopping this check”—she waved it daintily—“you’d better think twice about that. I have Xeroxes.” She folded the check, and when she put it in her bag she slipped out the corners of some white folded pages.

Maude sat taking this in; then her face crumpled and she began to weep and I jumped to take the cup from her hands. I knelt beside her, murder in my heart. Maude pushed me aside and got up unsteadily, refusing to look at Faun. I rang for Ling and when he came and saw his mistress in tears he glared at Faun and then followed Maude out into the hall.