I stared at him.
I had never seen him do that with any of my friends before.
She took his hand. "How do you do?"
Still holding her hand, he let his voice fall into a semi-amused tone.
"My son thinks he wants to marry you, Miss Marlowe, but I think he's too young.
Don't you?"
Rina looked at me.
For a moment, I could see into her eyes. They were bright and shining, then they were guarded again.
She turned to Father.
"This is very embarrassing, Mr. Cord.
Would you please take me home?"
Stunned, unable to speak, I watched my father take her arm and walk out of the room with her.
A moment later, I heard the roar of the Duesenberg and angrily I looked around for something to vent my spleen on.
The only thing available was the lamp on the table. I smashed it against the wall.
Two weeks later, at college, I got a telegram from my father.
RINA AND I WERE MARRIED THIS MORNING. WE ARE AT THE WALDORF-ASTORIA, NEW YORK. LEAVING TOMORROW ON LEVIATHAN FOR EUROPEAN HONEYMOON.
I picked up the telephone and called him.
"There's no fool like an old fool!" I shouted across the three thousand miles of wire between us. "Don't you know the only reason she married you was for your money?"
Father didn't even get angry. He even chuckled.
"You're the fool.
All she wanted was a man, not a boy.
She even insisted that we sign a premarital property agreement before she would marry me."
"Oh, yeah?" I asked. "Who drew the agreement?
Her lawyer?"
Father chuckled again. "No. Mine."
His voice changed abruptly. It grew heavy and coarse with meaning.
"Now get back to your studies, son, and don't meddle in things that don't concern you.
It's midnight here and I'm just about to go to bed."
The telephone went dead in my hands.
I stared at it for a moment, then slowly put it down.
I couldn't sleep that night.
Across my mind's eye unreeled pornographic pictures of Rina and my father in wild sexual embrace.
Several times, I woke up in a cold sweat.
A hand was shaking me gently. Slowly I opened my eyes.
The first thing I saw was Nevada's face.
"Wake up, Jonas," he said. "We're home."
I blinked my eyes to clear the sleep from them.
The last piece of sun was going down behind the big house.
I shook my head and stepped out of the car.
I looked up at the house. Strange house.
I don't think I'd spent more than two weeks in it since my father had it built and now it was mine.
Like everything else my father had done.
I started for the steps.
Rina had thought of everything. Except this.
My father was dead. And I was going to tell her.
6.
THE FRONT DOOR OPENED AS I CROSSED THE VERANDA.
My father had built a traditional Southern plantation house, and to run it, he had brought Robair up from New Orleans.
Robair was a Creole butler in the full tradition.
He was a giant of a man, towering a full head over me, and as gentle and efficient as he was big.