11

Hugh Thomas Calder had not made the family fortune, his father had done that, but he administered it with conservative good sense. His financial operations lacked panache, he avoided the big gamble, but steadily, unobtrusively, he made money with his father’s money. Time called him “bland, brilliant Hugh Thomas Calder,” but that, he supposed, was because he said very little, and so people, being what they were, put him down for a thinker. That wasn’t the case. Most things he had to say were, he felt, rather asinine, usually he was bored, and so he seldom spoke unless he was asked a direct question. Mr. Calder was a widower, and grateful for it. He enjoyed living alone. Well, not quite alone. For there was Sandra. When Sandra had been fourteen he had looked at her and realized that she would grow up to be the true rich bitch, but he didn’t care. Why not, he had thought. There’s certainly money enough for it, and it’s time somebody enjoyed it.

Hugh Thomas Calder did not pine for power, he had had his father’s fortune thrust on him. He abhorred the stale atmosphere of board rooms and committees and clubs, but there was nothing else he really wanted to do. He was not a frustrated artist or farmer. Neither did he see himself as a political candidate. A mere fifty and still mildly handsome, Calder was not altogether without enthusiasms. They were short-lived, however. He had collected pictures by young Canadian artists for a time, the nonfigurative kind of stuff, and then one day he looked at them all together, gave them away, and never bought another one. He had tried an analyst once, a little German refugee with sour breath, and he had invented the most extravagant dreams for his sake, but the German had been more interested in his opinions on the market and Calder had dropped him. He had once been intrigued with a girl who sang in a night club under the name of Carole — she complained endlessly about the conditions of her work — and one evening he asked her, “I wonder what you would do if you were suddenly given five thousand dollars out of nowhere.”

“Oh,” was all she said, and he made out a check right there.

Carole had seemed such a spirited girl that he had hoped she would do something wild. What she did was quit her job and bring her sister and mother in from the country and open up a hat shop.

There had been other and, when he reflected on it, more shameful little experiments with money. Once, at the Chantecler in Ste. Adele, a hundred-dollar bill had accidentally dropped to the bottom of a urinal when he had hurriedly reached for his handkerchief. Calder hadn’t retrieved the soaking note. He had returned to the bar and sat there staring at the toilet door for some time. After four other men, with all of whom he had a nodding acquaintance, had been inside Calder went to the toilet again. The hundred-dollar bill was gone. Back in the bar again, Calder examined each of the four men severely, trying to guess who had stooped for the note. He thought of announcing his loss, he wanted badly to humiliate whoever had done it, and that depressed him. But the shocking part of it — for him anyway — was that following the first accidental loss he had, while staying at smart resorts, two or three times purposely repeated the procedure and then sat where he could keep an eye on the toilet door. Each time he would try to guess the man who had stooped, and shortly afterwards he paid his first visit to the little German analyst.

Hugh Thomas Calder disliked Dr. Westcott intensely, he knew Sandra was not suffering from a mere nervous upset and that Westcott knew more than he was saying and — what’s more — was aching to be asked about it. Calder was going to deny him that pleasure. Sandra was, to his mind, a shallow little bitch and unless it was absolutely necessary for him to know he’d much rather not get involved in what was bound to be sordid. So he was displeased and in a most unreceptive mood when Edgar came to tell him that there was a young gentleman who insisted on seeing him alone.

“What does he look like?”

Edgar described him as a thin, shifty boy. He wore pointed patent-leather shoes. “He was here once before, sir. To see Miss Calder.”

“I see. Send him in, please.”

When Duddy entered the living room, Hugh Thomas Calder rose with studied weariness from his armchair and put on his glasses to have a better look.

“It’s about Sandra,” Duddy said quickly. “She hasn’t got a cold. She was knocked up.”

Calder removed his glasses. He stared. “Are you an abortionist?” he asked.

“Me! Are you crazy? Oh, I’m sorry.”

“Let me guess, then. You’re a blackmailer.”

“Hey, one minute. I’m a respectable businessman.” He handed Mr. Calder his card. “I’m in the motion picture business.”

“I see. Are you sure you wouldn’t like to sit down? Now, are you a blackmailer?”

“Jeez. Could I have a drink, please? I mean is that rude for me to ask… ?”

Mr. Calder poured two whisky and sodas. “You were saying?”

“Lennie’s not going to be the fall guy, see. I’ve got friends.”

“I’m sure you have, but —”

“He’s a cinch to win the medal. You’re on the board of governors and you can help.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“O.K. Sure. But one thing I want to get straight first. Lennie doesn’t know I’m here. He’d kill me if he found out.”

“Lennie?”

“He’s my brother.”

Duddy told him about the bungled abortion.

“But they could have killed her,” Mr. Calder said. “Why didn’t she come to me?”

“They’re kids,” Duddy said. “I’ve seen quite a bit of them in the last week and if you’ll pardon me they don’t know from their ass to their elbow.”

“Perhaps you’re right. But what do you want from me?”

“This Dr. Westcott can make trouble. He can get Lennie expelled.”

“Don’t you think he ought to be expelled?”

“No, sir. I’m speaking candidly.”

“Give me one good reason why not.”

“Oh, let’s not talk like that, please. They took advantage of him like.”

“Don’t you think he might at least have waited until he got his degree before he started to perform illegal operations?”

“O.K., he made a mistake. Why should he be the fall guy but? Why should your daughter and Andy Simpson get off and Lennie be expelled?”

“I think they all ought to be thrown off the campus.”

“Wow.”

“I’m trying to be fair.”

“Sure. Sure you are. Sandra’s expelled and she comes home to this Yankee Stadium here and for all I know she can sleep in a different bedroom every night. That Andy Simpson goes home and sits on his ass until his father croaks and he inherits enough money to choke ten horses. But what about my brother,” Duddy shouted, approaching Calder, “what happens to him? He becomes a taxi driver. He gets a job in a candy store. Do you know what went into getting that guy into medical school?”

“Why didn’t he think of that before?”

“Maybe he did. But he’s a poor boy and he never met up with ladies and gentlemen before. Present company excepted.”

“That’s not a good enough excuse.”

“And what happens to my father? He dies of a broken heart. Thank you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“He’s sorry. Hah! Look, it wasn’t even Lennie who knocked her up. He never once touched her. Is that how you people pay off favors?”

Mr. Calder didn’t reply.

“All you have to do is tell Westcott to shettup. When he finds out, I mean. Meanwhile he doesn’t even know it was Lennie.”

“Why should I use my influence to conceal a criminal act?”

“What are you? A lawyer?”

“Are you very fond of your brother?”

“He’s my brother,” Duddy said, annoyed. “You know.”

“How old are you?”

“Almost nineteen.”

“Good God!”

“What’s the matter?”

“Couldn’t your brother have come here to see me himself?”

“He doesn’t know I’m here.”

“Nonsense.”

“O.K., so he knows. Lennie’s very sensitive. He gets headaches. Coming here was my idea anyway. Be a sport, Mr. Calder. Don’t make trouble.”

“Why shouldn’t I?”

“You’d feel better to see him expelled, ruined for life?”

“No.”

“O.K.,” Duddy said, “then it’s settled. You’ll speak to Westcott and —”

“Wait a minute, please.”

“I thought you said —”

“Tell me how a boy your age gets into the film business. I’m interested.”

Duddy told him about Mr. Friar, Yvette, and Happy Bar-Mitzvah, Bernie! time he made Mr. Calder laugh he felt easier, more hopeful, but it was difficult for him to tell if he was really making progress. Mr. Calder resisted each attempt to bring the conversation back to Lennie’s future.

“And what about you,” Mr. Calder asked. “Why didn’t you go to the university?”

Duddy guffawed. “I’m not the type, I guess.”

“Are you positive?”

“I come from the school of hard knocks.”

“And what do you want out of life? Money.”

“I want land. A man without land is nothing. Listen, about Lennie —”

“I still see no reason why he shouldn’t be expelled.”

“Just this once, Mr. Calder, couldn’t you — Well, he’s a good boy. Really he is. And he’s worked so hard like. Studying and studying…”

“If he was such a good boy he wouldn’t have allowed you to come here to speak for him. He would have come himself.”

“What do you want? Blood. He has to go back to McGill. He has to see Sandra and Andy and all those other rich stinkers every day. How could he come here?”

“It would have been awkward. I understand, but —”

“Have a heart.”

Mr. Calder smiled.

“Maybe some day I’ll be able to return the favor. I’ve got friends, you know.”

“Oh.”

“You heard of the Boy Wonder?”

Mr. Calder waited.

“Only the other weekend the Wonder and I went down to New York together for the weekend. Just like that.”

“What on earth is the Boy Wonder?”

“Jerry Dingle — the Boy Wonder. mean you never heard of him?” What, Duddy thought, if the truly powerful people in the city knew nothing about the Wonder? Could it be that Dingleman was only famous on St. Urbain Street? “You’re sure you never heard of him?”

“Absolutely.”

“Jeez. I thought everybody — Look, Mr. Calder, give Lennie a chance and I swear I’ll never forget it. I’m only small beans right now, but one day… well,” Duddy said, “you know the old saying. Mighty oaks from little acorns grow.”

Mr. Calder laughed. He refilled his glass. “Very well,” he said at last, “I’ll speak to Dr. Westcott.”

“Shake on it?” Duddy asked, jumping up.

“Is he waiting outside?”

“No. He’s at home.”

“Well, you can tell him for me that he’s lucky to have you for a brother.”

“Aw. You’d be surprised at some of the things I’ve done in my time.”

“I wouldn’t.”

“I’d like to show my appreciation, Mr. Calder. I’d like to send you a gift, but — Jeez, what does a guy like you need?” Usually, Duddy knew, it was safe to send a goy but Calder owned a distillery. “I’ve got it. You name your favorite charity and I’ll send them fifty bucks. A token like.”

“That won’t be necessary, Kravitz, but why don’t you come and see me again?”

“Wha’?”

“Phone me,” Mr. Calder said. “We could have dinner together.”