“The Cancer Fund?”
“He’s given them something like a total of ten million dollars.”
“Recently?”
“Yes. Continuously.”
“I see.”
“Stanwyk is the perfect man to be Collins’s son-in-law, considering Collins doesn’t have a son of his own. Stanwyk is from a modest family in Pennsylvania. His father is in the hardware business.”
“Still alive?”
“I believe so. Why do you ask?”
“His parents didn’t come out to his wedding.”
“Probably couldn’t afford it. That would have been an expensive trip for them.”
“Stanwyk could have paid.”
“There could have been lots of reasons why his parents didn’t come to his wedding—ill health, business, cost—how do I know?”
“Go on.”
“A brilliant student all the way through, and apparently a nice kid. True blue. A Boy Scout; a Golden Gloves champion for the state of Pennsylvania who did not go on to the nationals for some reason; summa cum laude at Colgate, where he did not box but began to play racquet sports; an Air Force flier who flew lots of missions, currently a major in the Air Force Reserves; graduated third in his class from Wharton Business School, which, because you probably don’t know, is one of the best; came out here; worked in the sales department of Collins Aviation, where sales immediately jumped; became a vice president at twenty-six or twenty-seven; and married the boss’s daughter. Apparently just a magnificent young man in all ways.”
“He sounds machine-made.”
“Too good to be true, huh? There are people like that. Unquestionably the guy is ambitious, but there is nothing immoral in that. He’s done well and he’s well liked.”
“By the way, Jack, who is your source for all this?”
“I thought you’d never ask. The Collins family has a local stockbroker, an investment man out here who does just little things for them, you know, regarding Collins Aviation stock—little things that run into the millions—name of Bill Carmichael. We play golf together. Needless to say, Carmichael is the son of an old buddy of John Collins. His father died, and Carmichael fell heir to the account. He and Stanwyk have become close friends. Stanwyk has taken him flying. They play squash and tennis together. He genuinely likes Stanwyk. And, incidentally, he says Stanwyk genuinely likes his wife, Joan Collins, which ain’t always the case.”
“There is no hanky-panky going on?”
“Not as far as Carmichael knows. Between you and me, Stanwyk would have to be out of his mind to be playing around on the side under these circumstances. God knows what Papa would say if Stanwyk got thrown out of bed.”
“Does Stanwyk have any money of his own?”
“No, not to speak of. He has savings from his salary invested with Carmichael, but it doesn’t amount to much over a hundred thousand dollars.”
“Poor fellow.”
“He did not buy the house on Berman Street. She did, but it’s in both their names. Carmichael says it’s worth maybe a million dollars. However, Stanwyk maintains the house and staff, and supposedly all other family expenses, out of salary. Male chauvinist pride, I guess. Which is why he probably doesn’t have more savings out of salary. That’s an expensive family to keep up with. Incidentally, the house on Berman Street backs onto the Collins estate on, would you believe it, Collins Avenue?”
“Old John Collins has spyglasses.”
“I gather there is a lot of back and forth.”
“Doesn’t he own a second house anywhere?”
“No. His father-in-law has a house in Palm Springs, one in Aspen, and one in Antibes. The kids use these houses whenever they like.”
“Does he own his own airplane?”
“No. Collins Aviation has three Lear jets, with pilots, but Stanwyk flies them when he likes. He also has to do some flying to keep up his Air Force Reserve rank. And he flies experimental planes all over the country, supposedly to test Collins equipment. Carmichael suspects he just gets a kick out of it.
“Stanwyk is also the holder of some stock options in Collins Aviation. So I guess if you put everything together, he is probably a millionaire in his own right at this point, but it’s on paper. He couldn’t raise a million in cash without upsetting an awful lot of people.
“Oh, I forgot to tell you, Fletcher. Stanwyk and his wife have just converted about three million dollars of her personal stock.”
“Converted?”
“Into cash. Carmichael says they intend to buy a cattle ranch in Nevada. He thinks it’s an effort to get out from under the heel of Daddy Collins—go do their own thing.”
“Is this Stanwyk’s idea?”
“Carmichael has the impression it’s her idea. At least, she’s the one who likes horses. One can have enough of tennis and yachting, you know.”
“I didn’t know. Why cash?”
“The ranch costs something like fifteen million dollars.”
“I can’t get used to these figures.”
“Inflation, my boy.”
“How can a farm be worth fifteen million dollars?”
“Farms can be worth a lot more than that.”
“Has Carmichael said anything to you about Stanwyk’s health?”
“No. Except that he’s a hell of a squash player. You have to be in pretty good shape to play that game. I tried it once. Twelve minutes and I was wiped out. Golf for me. Is there anything wrong with Stanwyk’s health?”
“Would it matter if there were?”
“It would matter a lot. I have already mentioned to you that there is a kind of middle-management crisis at Collins Aviation. The whole thing now rests on the shoulders of one Alan Stanwyk. Old John Collins could go back to work, I suppose, but he never was as good a businessman as Stanwyk. He was an inventor who had some luck. Collins now has to be run by a real pro—which Daddy John ain’t.”
“Would the stock market fall if word got around that Stanwyk was terminally ill?”
“Collins stock sure would. That sort of thing would be very upsetting to that company. Executive personnel would start jockeying for position. Some would leave outright. Things would have to be in a state of confusion for about as long as Stanwyk has been running the place.”
“I see. So if he were ill, I mean terminally ill, it would have to be kept a deep, dark secret.”
“Absolutely. Is he ill?”
“How would I know?”
“Oh, I forgot. You’re working on the insurance angle. Well, young Fletcher, I’ve told you everything I know about Alan Stanwyk. You see, we are not very close yet to the moneyless state you write about. There is still plenty of it around.”
“I guess so.”
“Stanwyk seems to be a competent, decent man who happened to marry the boss’s daughter. Okay? Mind if I go back and do my own work now?”
“I appreciate your help very much.”
“I’m just trying to prevent your writing one of your usual shitty pieces. Anything I could do would be worth that.”
Fletch sat on the desk of The Beauty in the Broad-Brimmed Hat, Mrs. Amelia Shurcliffe, Society Editor. He
