me to meet with you. She informed me of your intention to divorce Eleanor and hopes I may persuade you to change your mind.'
Clayton stared at him for a startled moment, then drained his martini. 'Mother told you everything I said to her?' he asked hoarsely.
Callaway nodded. 'She did. And gave me permission to tell you that she had. Clay, this is very embarrassing for me. I really have no desire to intrude on your personal affairs, but I could hardly reject your mother's request.'
'Did she also tell you I want to marry Helene Pierce?'
'She told me. Clay, what's the problem between you and Eleanor?'
The younger man took a gulp of his fresh drink. 'A lot of problems, Father. I guess the big one is sex-or the lack thereof. Does that shock you?'
'Hardly,' Callaway said. 'I guessed that might be it. Eleanor is not an unattractive woman, but compared to Helene…' His voice trailed off.
'Exactly,' Clayton said. 'I want a little joy in my life.'
'That's understandable. But what if you ask Eleanor for a divorce and then Helene turns you down? Your mother said you told her you haven't even hinted to Helene about the way you feel.'
Starrett turned his glass around and around, looking down at it. 'That wasn't precisely true. I have told Helene about the way I feel about her and what I plan to do.'
'And what was her reaction?'
'I don't know why I'm telling you all this. I hope I can depend on your discretion.'
'I assure you this conversation has all the confidentiality of a confessional booth.'
'Some booth,' Clayton said, looking around at the crowded, noisy bar. 'Well, if you must know, Helene will marry me the moment the divorce is a done deal.'
'She told you that?'
'Not in so many words, but I'm positive that's the way she feels. Even if the divorce takes a year, Helene is willing to wait. After all, it means status and financial security for her.'
'It does indeed,' Callaway said. 'I think I'll have another drink if you don't mind. Perhaps a straight vodka on ice this time.'
'Of course,' Clayton said, and summoned the bartender. 'Father, I appreciate your efforts-I know you mean well-but there's no way you can change my mind.'
'I didn't expect to.'
'How did mother sound when she told you about it. Is she still upset?'
'She is, and somewhat confused. She wants you to be happy, and she hopes to have grandchildren someday, but the very idea of a divorce in the family disturbs her. And, of course, she's aware of the distress Eleanor will suffer.'
'So mother really hasn't made up her mind?'
'Not really. As a matter of fact, she said she would be willing to accept whatever recommendation I make.'
Clayton's laugh was tinny. 'In other words,' he said, 'my fate is in your hands.'
'Yes,' the Father said, and took a swallow of his vodka, 'you might say that. My main aim in this affair is not to cause your mother any unnecessary pain. She is a splendid woman and has made very generous contributions to the Church of the Holy Oneness.'
As he said this, Callaway turned to look directly into Clayton's eyes. 'Very generous contributions,' he repeated.
The two men, their stare locked, were silent a moment.
'I see,' Clayton said finally. 'You know, Father, I feel somewhat remiss in not having offered any financial support to your church in the years I've known you.'
'It's never too late,' the older man said cheerfully. 'The Church of the Holy Oneness is constantly in need of funds. For instance, we hope to enlarge the church kitchen so that we may provide food to more of the unfortunate homeless. But at the moment that seems just a dream. I have obtained estimates and find it would cost at least ten thousand dollars to build the kind of facility we need.'
Clayton had a fit of coughing, and the Father had to pound him on the back until he calmed enough.
'Of course,' Callaway continued blandly, 'I realize ten thousand is a large donation for any one individual to make. But perhaps a large New York corporation might be willing to contribute to the welfare of the city's poor and hungry.'
'Yes,' Clayton said, much relieved, 'that makes sense. Would you be willing to accept a ten-thousand-dollar contribution from Starrett Fine Jewelry, Incorporated?'
'Gladly, my son, gladly,' Callaway said. 'And bless you for your generosity. The donation, of course, would be tax-deductible. And when may I expect the check?'
'I'll have it cut and mailed tomorrow. You should have it by the end of the week. And when do you plan to give mother your recommendation on my divorce?'
Father Callaway smiled benignly. 'By the end of the week,' he said.
Chapter 24
Eleanor and Clayton Starrett sat at a round table for eight, and directly across from Clayton was Bob Farber's new wife. She was a petite young woman wearing a strapless gown of silver lame, but all he could see above the starched tablecloth were the bare top of her bosom, bare shoulders and arms, bare neck, and head topped with a plaited crown of blond hair. It was easy to imagine her sitting there absolutely naked, amiably chatting with her husband, laughing, her sharp white teeth nibbling a shrimp.
He tried not to stare but, uncontrollable, his gaze wandered back. She seemed to him soft, warm, succulent. And beside him sat his hard, cold, bony wife.
He dreamed of the day when he might be seen in public with his new wife, Helene. He would wear her proudly: a badge of honor. Her youth, beauty, and sexuality would prove his manhood and virility. What a conquest Helene would be. What a trophy!
His wife kicked his shin sharply under the table. 'You're allowed to blink occasionally, you know,' she said in a low, venomous voice, smiling for all the other diners to see. 'You keep staring like that and your eyeballs will fall into your soup.'
'What are you talking about?' he said, injured.
Eleanor paid him no more attention, for which he was thankful. He sneaked continual peeks at Mrs. Farber and let his fantasies run amok. The candlelfght gave her flesh a rosy glow, and he dreamed of Helene, a fireplace, a bearskin rug.
The remainder of the party was endured only by drinking too much wine. At least, he told himself, he had sense enough not to dance. Eleanor was a miserable dancer, stiff and unrhythmic, and Clayton didn't dare ask Mrs. Farber lest he might suddenly become frenzied, wrestle her to the floor, and then… He shook his head. He could, he reflected gloomily, get twenty years for what he was thinking. Just for thinking about it.
He put his wineglass aside and rushed out onto the terrace. He stood there, breathing deeply of the cold night air, until his brain cleared and his ardor cooled. Then he was able to think rationally, more or less, and felt frustrated that so much time-perhaps a year!-must elapse before his dreams might be realized.
Eleanor was silent on the ride home, and so was he. They remained silent when they were alone in their suite, and finally this embittered silence convinced him that now was the moment. If he was going to do it, then do it. So, as she was removing her jewelry, he said, almost casually, 'Eleanor, I want a divorce.'
Her reaction was totally unexpected. He had thought she might faint, scream, weep, or at least express disbelief. Instead, she nodded, continued to take off her jewels, and said coolly, 'It's Helene Pierce, isn't it?'
'What?' he said, aghast. 'What are you talking about?'
She stopped what she was doing and turned to face him. 'You're really brainless, Clay-you know that? I knew it before we were married, and nothing you've done since has changed my mind.'
