Lou is giving a New Year’s Day party at his home for friends and neighbors. When I arrive his big living room is full of familiar Fauxmonters and people I don’t know mingling under the clerestory windows. They frame leafless pignut hickories spreading their tallest branches outside in the cold raking winter light.
There, by the punch bowl, I recognize Ernie Manstein in check shirt and khakis. He is tall with thickening waist under the line of his belt. His grey hair, is neatly cut and combed and catches highlight from above. Rank Majors is chatting with him, phone in hand. Rank waves to me and introduces us. Telling me Ernie was a founder of The Leiden Organization. Ernie describes the venture as a ‘personnel thing’ and then his ring tones interrupt us.
“Sorry I’ve got to take this.” Ernie turns and strolls over to the wall where he stands next to the mantelpiece with his back to the room.
Rank puts his own phone back in his pocket.“There’s less and less government money for contractors these days you know. Ernie has brought a bunch of people together who wouldn’t make it out there by themselves.”
“Sounds like a clever fellow!”
“Well happy new year Fred, I didn’t think you were going to make it.”
“Happy new year Diddlie, I was delayed.”
“Rank, have you got that gun on you?”
“As a matter of fact I have Diddlie.”
“Where, I don’t see it?”
“No, you are not supposed to, but I am ready if needed.”
“Oh Rank, what do you need a gun for at a party?”
“Diddlie, who knows?”
“In a crowded room like this … you must be crazy.”
“Diddlie, my training tells me where and when to use it.”
“I hope so Rank … I mean come on, this is a party!”
“That’s right Diddlie, so lighten up, will you?”
Diddlie pats his shoulder and whispers in his ear. Rank puts his arm around her shoulder and gives her a squeeze.
“Okay Rank, hands off buddy!”
“Oh Lou! Save me! Save me!”
“Diddlie, there’s no saving you now kid!”
“Happy new year Fred. How’s your drink?”
“Well filled thanks Lou. You ever heard of the Leiden Organization?”
“Sure, for heavens sake don’t take any notice of that stuff in Fulton Furray’s article online.”
“Lou, sometimes Fulton is on to something.”
“Oh happy new year Mr. Ramsay.”
“Diddlie, you got three men to flirt with already.”
She steps towards him and gets close. “Well, are you happy?”
“I am old and decaying and headed for another drink.”
He’s wearing a bright yellow shirt and deep brown thick-whale cords, with brown leather suspenders. His pants come up high on his waist and hang loosely from his shoulders is if from a hanger. He breaks off and shuffles nearer the table regarding the choices of wines, liquor and punch bowl.
“Here Mr. Ramsay, let me give you a hand.”
“A hand, what do I need a hand for?”
“You look a little unsteady that’s all.”
“Diddlie, where’s that nice tall friend of yours?”
“You mean Daisy?”
“Yeah, get me out from under these weeds. Show me that flower of Fauxmont … now she could give me something!”
“You want white or red Mr. Ramsay?”
“Oh red, but I got to have white, like piss, for god’s sake … it does the job though … unless it’s that cheap …”
Diddlie hands him a glass of white wine.
“What kind of a glass is this? God damn plastic, piss in plastic for Christ’s sake!”
“Drink up there!”
“Hank Dumpty, you fat old fart.”
“Ramsay, I am fat and happy with a brace of pheasant and enough bear meat and venison in the freezer for the rest of winter.”
Hank pours himself some bourbon. Then turns around.
“Any one need a refill?”
“You going to give me one of your birds for dinner tonight?”
“The question is will you behave yourself Ramsay?”
“The question is are you going to give me a refill Hank?”
“Ramsay you’re cut off!”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean just what I choose to mean.”
“You can’t make that choice … You god damn bully!”
“Happy new year Ramsay!”
“I don’t play by your rules Hank …”
A big wide faced blonde woman comes over and stands next to Mr. Ramsay with a light in her blue eyes. She wears black denim bib overalls matching Hank’s, and a white blouse with blue polka dots.
“Helga my love, have a drink with me.”
“Frank, you’re drunk and rude as usual.” She takes his arm and walks away slowly towards some chairs by the garden windows with him shuffling next to her. Diddlie is tugging my arm.
“Fred, come on over here honey.”
We go into the kitchen shaded by the magnolias outside and full of people, polished granite and shiny stainless steel. Daisy is leaning back against the counter top by the sink with a small rectangle of purple paper in her hatband. Her bowler hat is so far back on her head I wonder if it will fall in the sink. She wears a dark pleated blouse with a fine sari-like wrap that seems to drip from her tall spare body in silky purples and deep reds. The multiple facets of her bracelets flash all along her extended right forearm under the thin beam of a halogen light above the sink. She gestures to a small woman standing next to her in a gray tweed jacket, with wild and thin gray hair that looks like a cobweb. She holds her plastic wine glass by the stem in one of her tiny fists.
She says something about, “the ‘subfusc’ light in here”.
Diddlie has turned to talk to someone else for a moment and turns back to tell me the woman is an art historian but doesn’t know her name. I smell smoke.
“Is there a fire somewhere?”
“Here Fred …” Diddlie hands me a joint, fat with a long ash on the end. We are standing behind Daisy next to the stove with the range hood fan on full. The bonfire smell is drawn up across my face towards the stove by the fan in heavy strands of smoke.
“Where did this come from?”
Some one says “Colorado Springs.”
“Okay, so this is legal stuff right?”
“Not around here Fred.”
“Diddlie I mean …”
“Just try it Fred. Get out of your head!”
It is strong and some time after my toke I notice the cobweb woman is gone and the smell of smoke is gone, and there is Lou with Ernie. I didn’t catch Lou’s question.
“What was that Lou?”
“How many you had Fred?”
“More than enough I think.”
We are outside walking along the magnolia hedge toward a group of people standing in the gazebo with its chimney. Ernie is telling Lou that his company is registered in the Netherlands where his partners live. Boris Tarantula is there with Artie Bliemisch, Frank Vassari, and some one else. They all have drinks and warm themselves around the fire bowl in the center of the gazebo.
“Lou, I didn’t know you had connections in the art world.”
“Only through Ernie who collects Frank’s work.”
“Well, I have a couple of early paintings.”
“Now Ernie, I hope you will consider my work too.”
“Boris, when can I take a look?”
“Ernie bought one of Artie’s pieces.”
Artie, introduces me to Giuseppe Gloriani, Tarantula’s new agent. “Hi Fred, happy New Year! Are you a collector?”
No no, I am an interested friend of Artie’s and Frank’s.
“We are all friends here.”
“Of course, Boris.”
“Where is Mr. Guderian? You know Steve Strether introduced me a few months back.”
“I think he had a conflict Boris. I did invite him.”
“Too bad I want him to meet Giuseppe here. Giuseppe is handling all purchasing now.”
So, is that what Steve was doing up at the Guderian’s when we met him with bel and Lambert? When was it we were up there at those mansions off Boundary Circle that “top secret America built”? … All those caterpillars were falling off the trees … Poor Lou was upset about the discussion … His old faith came back to him when he grieved over his daughter’s death … “You know, sometimes I feel as if God is reaching out to me … and then …. Well, … then I don’t … How could God bring about all this? … History is the history of suffering … You know?”
“Fred, hey FRED! Are you stoned or what?”
“No I was just thinking about something.”
