Early Warning

The conversation ambled forward, Dave Courtland taking an intermittent interest in it, but also looking around the bar, staring at this customer and that one, and not always the females. Frank saw why Jim was after him to run Fremont: Dave was a kind of farmer, with oil as his crop. Proud that he hadn’t gone to school after the age of twelve, proud that he’d taught himself everything he knew, but now confused at how often he felt adrift. Hal and Friskie (Harvard and Yale? Princeton and Dartmouth?) would have perfected their slightly condescending manner, and of course they wanted to invest in Saudi — they could hobnob with Europeans and Rockefellers and art collectors. Frank agreed with Dave Courtland that it was better to drill on your own side of the Atlantic.

Jim sat on any number of boards of directors, including Pan Am and Douglas Aircraft — he had taken Frank on the maiden run of the DC-8 a year ago May, and Frank had been impressed. He knew that Jim loved the DC-8, and suspected that he was behind Pan Am’s big order of those planes when everyone else assumed they were going to go with Boeing. Now he was up to something, but when had Frank ever not gone along with Jim Upjohn? It was like that first time he had taken Frank for a ride in his — what was that? — a Fairchild something — an Argus. You could see through the roof of the plane. It had been a revelation.

All of a sudden, Dave Courtland balked. He bucked, he reared, he backed away. He said, “I’ve had it for today. I’m going up to my room and having supper, then turning in for the night.”

Jim Upjohn was as smooth as could be. He said, “Good idea, Dave. They serve quite a good filet here; you should try it.”

Dave Courtland was already gone, leaving Jim to pay for the drinks. All Jim said was “That man’s got forty million bucks, and those boys are siphoning it out of his pocket.”

Frank said, “You ever siphon gas?”

Jim Upjohn shook his head.

Frank said, “Well, it tastes like hell, and it gives you a hell of a headache.”

“Something Hal and Risky Friskie truly deserve.”

Frank said, “I don’t understand what you want from me, though.”

“We’ll see. My idea at this point, though, is: Dave hires you to replace himself as COO. You walk around beside him, you sit down next to him, you stand a little off to the side, and you say not a single word, and those little boys will be shitting their pants.”

“I have a job,” said Frank.

“Oil pays very well,” said Jim.

They parted at the door, and Frank headed into the park.

—

FIRST, ROSANNA SAID what she always said: “How’s the weather?”

Lillian had long since learned that her mother wanted to know in detail and could not be put off, so she said, “Not bad. Warmish — maybe in the high forties. Sunny.”

Rosanna said, “Well, that cold snap here is over, but it’s still below zero every night. You know it got down to fifteen below. In November. I am not looking forward to actual winter.”

“Brr,” said Lillian.

Rosanna said, “How did those boys behave themselves?”

“They were fine,” said Lillian. Frank, Andy, and their three kids had flown down Wednesday for Thanksgiving and left that morning. Rosanna waited. Lillian said, “Really, they had one fight with each other. They were fine with Tina. She had some toy — oh, the Mr. Potato Head — and Michael asked her for it very nicely. That doesn’t mean that he’s as nice with his brother, Richie….”

“I never saw anyone for taking what the other child had just to get it like Frankie was. Whatever Joe had, Frankie swiped it, and then, as soon as Joe was out of the room, he lost interest and dropped it. Didn’t matter what it was. It could be a piece of lint.”

“They argued over pieces of lint?” Lillian was always amazed at what Rosanna said they had played with during the Depression.

“You know what I mean,” said Rosanna.

“Janny stuck to Timmy like glue, so they went bike riding, and the twins couldn’t get enough of Dean. There was one hair-pulling incident, and then Dean got them to run around the yard with him, trying to keep the paddleball going. They were laughing.” Lillian waited for Rosanna to ask about Andy’s drinking. She had her reply all ready—“Hardly anything, Arthur was the one who…”—but Rosanna said, “Well, good for Dean. Those little boys always strike me as deadly serious.”

Now it was Lillian’s turn to cluck. “Well, Janny is serious, too. It’s just their temperament. I mean…” Lillian hesitated, then went on: “When have you seen Andy laugh out loud? She smiles, and she chuckles once in a blue moon, but I’ve never seen even Arthur get a real laugh out of her.”

Rosanna said, “Dear me.”

Lillian decided to change the subject. “Did you have anyone besides Claire?” They both knew what that meant.

“He’s a doctor. Ears, noses.” Rosanna said this rather dismissively.

Lillian smiled, but said, “Was she wearing a ring?”

“No ring,” said Rosanna.

“How did they act?”

“Like good friends.”

“No hand holding?”

“In front of me?”

“You can tell if there has been hand holding in the last minute or two.”