degree in accounting. I made myself another drink.
Communism was dead, and American capitalism had a bad cough. So who and what would inherit the earth? Not the meek, as the Reverend Mr Hunnings preached. Not the parasites, such as Melzer, who could survive only while the organism was alive. Not Lester Remsen, who, though he specialized in mining and industrial stocks, wouldn't know a lump of coal from a cow pie. And certainly not me or my children, who had evolved along very narrow lines to be masters of a world that no longer existed.
People like the Stanhopes might survive because their ancestors had stashed away enough acorns to last for a long time. People like Bellarosa might survive if they could make deals with the new wolves in the woods. Evolution, not revolution. That was what America was all about. But you had to evolve fast. I took my gin and tonic and went out on the back terrace. Susan, who had taken to drinking Campari and soda this summer (probably because it was served at Alhambra), joined me outside. She asked, 'Is everything all right?' 'Yes. But I need to borrow twenty thousand from you.'
'I'll have a cheque drawn to you tomorrow.'
'Thank you. I'll have it back to you as soon as I unload some stocks. What is your interest rate?'
'The vig is one percent a week, compounded daily, and you got ninety days to pay up the principal or I break your legs.' She laughed.
I glanced at her. 'Where did you learn that? Next door?'
'No, no. I'm reading a book about the Mafia.'
'Why?'
'Why? You read books on local trees, I read books on local wildlife.' She added, 'Those wiseguys are not nice people.'
'No kidding.'
'But they make much better interest on their investments than my stupid trustees do.'
'So tell Bellarosa you want to capitalize his loan-sharking.' She thought a moment, then said, 'Somehow, I think Frank is different. He's trying to go a hundred-percent legitimate.'
'He told you that?'
'Of course not. Anna did. But in a roundabout way. She doesn't even admit he's head of a Mafia family. I guess, like me, she never saw it in the papers.' 'Susan,' I replied, 'Frank Bellarosa is the number-one criminal in New York, perhaps in America. He could not legitimize his business or his life even if he wanted to, and I assure you he does not want to.'
She shrugged. 'Did you see that article in today's Times?
'Yes. Are you reading the newspapers now?'
'Someone told me to read that.'
'I see.' The article in question concerned an announcement made by Mr Alphonse Ferragamo, the United States Attorney for New York's Southern District. Mr Ferragamo stated that he was presenting evidence to a federal grand jury that was looking into allegations that Mr Frank Bellarosa, an alleged underworld figure, was involved in the death of a Mr Juan Carranza, a Colombian citizen and a reputed drug dealer. The federal government was involved in the case, Mr Ferragamo stated, because both the victim and the suspect were reputed to be involved in ongoing interstate and international racketeering. Thus, the government was seeking a federal indictment for first-degree murder. I always liked the New York Times' understated style, calling everyone 'Mr,' and inserting lots of 'reputed's and 'alleged's. It all sounded so civilized. The Times should have heard what I heard in Bellarosa's study: fucking Ferragamo, fucking Carranza, fucking Feds, spies, shitheads, and melanzane. I made a mental note to pick up tomorrow's New York Post and Daily News and get the real scoop. Susan said, 'Carolyn and Edward will be home tomorrow or the next day. But only for a few weeks, I'm afraid.'
'I see.' Neither of them had come home directly after school. Carolyn had gone to the summer home of her roommate's parents in Cape Cod, and Edward had remained at St Paul's for some vague reason, probably having to do with a girl. I asked Susan, 'Where are they going in a few weeks?' 'Carolyn is going to Cuba with a student exchange group to promote world peace and perfect her Spanish. Edward and some other graduating seniors are going to Cocoa Beach where there is a house available to them. I don't think they're going to promote world peace.'
'Well, but that's admirable on both counts. World peace begins with inner peace, with solving the problem of the groin area first.'
'That's very profound, John.'
I don't think she meant that. I should tell you that Susan finances these trips of Carolyn's and Edward's. The Stanhope money, in fact, has been a problem in the children's upbringing from the beginning. I don't say that Carolyn and Edward are spoiled; they are bright and they work hard in school. But their early nurturing was left to nannies hired by the Stanhopes. And their formative years were spent in boarding schools, which, while customary around here, is not mandatory. But I went along with it. So now, in a way, I barely know my children. I don't know what they think, what they feel, or who they are. Neither does Susan. I think we missed something, and I think they did, too. July, so far, sucked.
Lester Remsen called me at my Locust Valley office one morning. The purpose of the call was social not business. Or more accurately, it was the business of being social. 'John,' he said, 'we had a meeting up at the club last night, and the subject was you.'
'Who was at the meeting?'
'Well… that's not important -'
'It most certainly is to me if I was the subject of the meeting.' 'It's more important what the meeting was about. It was about -' 'If it's important, Lester, we will present the topic at the next regularly scheduled meeting of the board. I will not be talked about behind my back in an unscheduled session of self-appointed busybodies who want to remain anonymous. This is a nation of law, and I am a lawyer. Capisce?'
'What?'
'Do you understand?'
'Yes, but -'
'While I have you on the phone, Lester, Mrs Lauderbach called and told me you suggested she sell half her American Express and buy United Bauxite. Why?' 'Why? I'll tell you why.' Whereupon he launched into a sales pitch.
I interrupted and asked, 'What is bauxite?'
'It's… it's like… an important… I guess you'd say mineral…'
'It's aluminium ore. Hardworking men dig it out of the ground so people can have beer cans.'
'Who cares? I told you, it's ten and a half today, a two-year low, and there's talk of a takeover bid by American Biscuit. They're a hot company. They make quality sporting goods.'
'Who makes biscuits? U.S. Steel?'
'USX. That's U.S. Steel now. They make… steel.'
'Leave the Lauderbach account alone, Lester, or I'll pull it from you' He mumbled something, then before I could hang up, he said, 'Listen, John, let me return to the other thing for a moment. I want to talk to you about that. Just between us.'
'Talk.'
'First of all, I think you owe me an apology.'
'For what?'
'For what you said to me at the club.'
'I think you owe me an apology for having the audacity to try to involve me in swindle.'
'I don't know what you're talking about. I want you to apologize for telling me to go fuck myself.'
'I apologize.'
'Oh… okay… next thing. The Bellarosa thing. I have to tell you, John, twenty years ago you'd have been asked to resign for that little stunt. We're all a little looser now, but by the same token, we're all a little more concerned about all these new people moving in. We don't want the club to get a reputation for being a place where these people can come, even as guests. We certainly do not want it known that a notorious Mafia boss is a regular at The Creek.' 'Lester, I have no desire to cause you or other club members any distress. I am as big a snob as you are. However, if John Sutter wishes to sup with the devil at the club, it is no business of yours or anyone's as long as no club rules are broken.'
