A ruling passion : a novel (11 page)

"Ape house? What's that about?"

"That was the joke," he said. "But the jackass who wrote that newscast doesn't know it. How the hell did they get hold of it? And where did they get that cartoon? That was another joke."

"I wonder if Sybille had something to do with it," Valerie said. "She

writes one of their newscasts; I don't remember which. What did you mean about it being a joke?"

Nick leaned against the counter, arms folded. "There's a terrific lady in Sunnyvale named Ramona Jackson, over ninety, full of energy and humor, and she's giving Stanford a chunk of money for a new engineering building. It took her a while to decide—in fact, she was leaning toward Cal Tech—but Lyle Wilson, the chairman of engineering, put on a six-month courtship and convinced her to give it to us. I got in on it when he brought three of us to dinner with her one night; he wanted to show off his top graduate students and have us talk about our projects. Lyle worked like crazy for this building, and a few of us helped him; we made a film of what the department had done in the past, we put together picture books and reports... but mainly it was Lyle. He worked for a solid six months and it paid off."

"But what about the apes.>"

"Monkeys. I don't know who started calling them apes. She has four pet monkeys in her greenhouse and nobody in her family will promise to take care of them. She'll probably give them to the zoo or something, I don't know what she'll do, but at a meeting with her lawyer and university lawyers, and some university people—one of them was a vice-president—Lyle told me when they were disagreeing over details, she said if it kept dragging on she might make the gift contingent on a home for her monkeys, named after the oldest. Who is called Ethelred the Unready, God knows why. She drew a quick sketch and gave it to the vice-president and they all laughed and went on talking."

"And thafs the story that was on the news?"

"Straight. As if it's absolute truth."

"Well, but so what? It's their problem, isn't it? When the real story comes out, they'll look like idiots and they'll have to apologize, and that will be that."

"I don't know." He began to pace around the small kitchen. "She's a very proud lady. Her family's lived here for four generations and she spends a lot of time worrying about reputations, hers and all the Jack-sons', living and dead. She's got a good sense of humor, but how upset is she going to be over this? She could be a laughingstock, and if that makes Cal Tech look better to her all of a sudden... God damn it." He picked up an orange and slammed it into the sink, splitting it open. "Lyle's been as excited as a kid over this building; all of us have. We feel like we've been part of it; almost as if we're leaving a legacy when

we go." He took a few more paces. "I'll have to call him; he may want us to meet with her again. Try to calm the troubled waters."

Valerie was looking at the split orange, her eyebrows raised. "You're getting awfully worked up, Nick; you can't be sure any of that will happen. It was just one newscast, after all; probably nobody watched, and even if they did they wouldn't remember—"

"They'll remember. Money always makes people remember, and this is a hell of a lot of money. God damn son of a bitch—"

"Oh, stop it," Valerie said. "I hate it when you get all wound up like this. We haven't had this much time together for ages and now you'll brood over something that has nothing to do with us and be thoroughly unpleasant and that's not what I expected for tonight."

Nick stopped pacing and gazed at her. "Well, I guess this isn't what I expected, either. I didn't expect you to say this has nothing to do with us right after I've told you how I feel about it. I didn't expect you to tell me I shouldn't get all wound up about a mess that bothers the hell out of me and could hurt a man I admire, who's worked damned hard for this building. But that doesn't seem to matter to you. What the hell does matter to you? Fun, right? The campus doesn't matter. I don't matter—"

"You would if you'd just relax and have a good time! How can I say you matter to me when you're always making a fiiss about something or other that I don't care about at all? The other day you had to go to some meeting about campus politics or something, and you belong to a dozen committees—"

"Two, but who's counting?" He paused, then took a deep breath. "Come on, Valerie, can we have a truce? It seems like we're always quarreling lately and it always comes from nowhere—one minute everything's wonderful and the next there's a batdefield. I never know whafs going to set us off" and I'd like to put an end to it."

Valerie nodded slowly. "Maybe we should."

Alarmed, he stared at her. "That isn't what I meant."

"I know it isn't. But do you know when we started quarreling? When you started talking about getting married. Ever since then, you've been impatient and critical and not nice the way you used to be."

"I could say the same about you. I'm sorry I jumped the gun and asked you to marry me, but I don't know why that would make us quarrel and snipe at each other, do you?"

She shook her head.

"Well, I apologize for my part in it. You know I'd never hurt you if I

could help it. And I don't mean to criticize you—"

"Don't," Valerie said. There was such tenderness in his eyes when he looked at her that her heart sank. Oh, God, what am I doin0? I don't deserve him. But then she thought, Damn it, I'm tired of thinking that! I'm tired of feeling he's better and nobler and smarter than I am. I'd love to be with somebody who's a little dumb, just for awhile. Rob, or somebody like him; somebody who doesn't demand anything.

She felt miserable. All she wanted was to get out of Nick's apartment, get away from him, be alone for a while.

She stood up, and Nick quickly put his hand on her arm. "You're not going, you can't be. What the hell is going on, do you know.>"

"A lot, I guess. I'm going, Nick; I'll call you, or something, but I don't want to talk anymore."

"But I do. Listen, Valerie darling, you can't leave with everything up in the air. It doesn't make any sense—a few quarrels—that's no reason to walk out. My God, you know how much I love you, how much I want for the two of us ... I can't imagine not being with you and I know it's not what you want—"

"Yes it is." She drew back from him, quivering to get away. "Don't you understand? I do want it. Everything is so damned intense around here, it's like living in a hothouse! We have so much fun, Nick, I've told you and told you, but you just won't leave it alone. It isn't enough for you. You have to make everything into a dramatic production, and the only place I can handle that is on the stage when I know ifs make-believe."

"Thafs not—"

"Don't talk, just listen for a minute! You're so good at talking, you can always outargue me, but this time just be quiet. Will you?"

He nodded and Valerie felt like crying. She wanted to put her arms around him and kiss away the pain in his eyes and kiss the sadness from his wonderful mouth that had given her such pleasure, but she fought against herself and took a step toward the door. "Remember the day we were at the Baylands and I was so excited? There's so much that I don't know yet... I thought I'd seen it all, you know, I've been all over Europe and Asia and India and this country, and I figured I'd seen pretty much everything. But I haven't always looked in the right places. You taught me that and I have a lot of plans, and I'm not going to mess them up by being tied down with a family or anything ordinary or predictable. I don't want to know what I'll be doing tomorrow! Can't you understand that? You understand so much about me, it's one of the things I love best about you. I'm asking you to under-

Stand this. I want to do whatever I want, and go where I want, and meet people and go out with them and not have to worry about hurting your feelings—or anybody's feelings. I want to have a good time without feeling guilty about it. I don't think that's a lot to ask. And I've told you all this before; I hardly kept it a secret."

"No, you didn't, but you liked—"

"You said you'd listen and not interrupt!"

"I listened. Now it's my turn. You've liked everything about me that you're busy trashing. You liked having somebody take care of you, drive your car, help you with your homework, listen when you wanted to talk... You liked it that I was older than your friends. You liked it when I was dramatic because it made it seem as if something was happening. You liked knowing I wasn't thrilled when you batted your eyes at that asshole who played the pilot in the—"

"I never batted my eyes!"

"The hell you didn't. You play with people, Valerie, and you know it. You're spoiled and self-centered and restless—"

"Why do you want me, then.>" Her eyes blazed at him. "What's wrong with being restless at twenty? When do I get to have fun, if not now? You're right, I like having somebody do things for me, and it was nice that you were older because you weren't always flying off somewhere the way—"

"The way you do."

"I don't! Fve been here for five months, with you, remember? I just can't stand it that you're always standing over me, waiting for me to make decisions. I don't want to make any more decisions than I have to, not for a long time, and I wish you'd let me be the way I am and not keep trying to change me!"

She had reached the door and opened it and instantly Nick was beside her. "I don't want to change you. I love you for what you are; I have from the day I met you."

"That's not true." She looked at him steadily. "You had an idea of what we'd be like together, or what we ought to be like together, sort of like writing one of your computer programs. You thought you knew what would work best and that's how you wanted us to be. Me especially. You think I spend too much on clothes and go to too many parties and don't pay enough attention to my grades and—"

"But those are little things that don't matter. What I love about you is your spirit and your—"

"Oh, spirit. All that means is I'm easier to talk to and better in bed than one of your computers. You've got this image of me, Nick, and I

can't live up to it. I don't even want to. I want to do my own thing in my own way and I can't do that when I'm with you. I guess I can't I'm not always sure."

"If you're not sure, then give us time. Why would you destroy what we've built for the past five months?"

"Because I feel not good enough and guilty and... smothered!" She shook her head sharply. "I'm sorry, Nick, but I don't want to see you anymore."

"Don't say that!"

"I have to. I don't want to see you at all. I've thought about it—"

"You haven't thought about it! Not until today!"

"I've thought about it for a long time. I just didn't tell you."

"You thought about it while you were making love to me?"

"They don't have anything to do with each other. I loved making love to you."

^HTou can fake sincerity. That's what you said that day at the television station. That's it, isn't it? Making love to the camera, you called it. Is that like making love to me? You said it wasn't hard, at least for you, because if you knew what people wanted you could make them believe almost anything."

"Oh, damn it, Nick, I hate it when people tell me what I said a long time ago. I don't even remember it."

She was fighting her feelings again. She couldn't bear the stunned look on his face; her hands trembled with the desire to hold him so she could kiss him and wipe out everything they had said. But she fought it off. "Goodbye, Nick. I hope"—she made an awkward gesture, trying to find a good word on which to end—"you find somebody better than me."

She turned and stepped through the door, out of his apartment, for the last time. "Valerie," Nick said quietly. She turned and he touched her cheek with his hand, holding it gently along the length of her face. "Goodbye, my love," he said, very softly, and then he was the one who closed the door.

Chapter 5

^^^^^ veryone beamed, clustering around her with con-

^^ gratulations and little pats on her arm. The morn-

V f^ ) ing after the Ramona Jackson broadcast, Sybille

^^ ' y/ felt like a heroine. She was the center of attention,

the star of the station. She had scooped every

newspaper and radio and television station in the Bay Area.

"Hell of a lucky break," said one of the directors, his arm casually

around Sybille's shoulders.

"Lucky, hell," scoffed someone else, "Sybille^wwrf that story!" "Well, whatever," the director said. "But how come it didn't leak? A

ton of money, a nutty old bat like Ramona Jackson, apes in the attic—

how the hell did they keep it under wraps?"

The others shrugged; they didn't know. When Terence Beauregard

the Third heard the question, he dismissed it with a wave of his hand.

"You never know when or how a story's gonna break. You just have to

be ready. The way our litde Sybille is. Always ready."

They drifted back to work, but the story was revived when Laurence

B. Oldfield, vice-president of the university, issued a statement. "The

story about an engineering and ape building at Stanford is ridiculous,

absolutely false, and defamatory. The university is consulting with its attorneys on possible fiiture action."

"Well, what would you expect them to say?" they shrugged in the newsroom of KNEX-TV.

The news editor of the Palo Alto Times-Crier called and was switched to Sybille's phone. "Details," he begged her. "I haven't got any. Terrific story, if it's true, but Jackson isn't answering her door or her phone, and the university's saying no comment and I'm stuck. What can you give me?"

"Nothing," Sybille said coolly; she didn't know yet what she would do with the story, but one thing she wouldn't do was give it to anyone else, especially anyone who thought it might not be true. "We're still working on it for a follow-up; I don't have any more than you heard last night." She hung up, but the telephone rang again, and then again and again, throughout the morning, as reporters from newspapers and television stations in San Jose, San Francisco, Oakland, Los Angeles and the wire services called in. Sybille fended them off, while excitement coursed through her. She had her scoop and everyone knew. Everyone thought she was wonderful, and no one was criticizing her for anything.

Midmorning, Beauregard called Sybille into his office. "Quite a story. Congratulations."

"Thank you. I owe it to you."

'Well, yes indeed, some of it you do indeed."

Sybille's look sharpened. "All of it."

"vl// of it? The drawing? Where'd that come from?"

"I found it. But I wouldn't have known anything about it if you hadn't told me. It's because of you, Terry—"

"Found it where?"

"I can't tell you."

"You'U tell me."

Sybille shook her head. "You wouldn't ask me to reveal my sources."

He stared at her through narrowed eyes. "And the stuff she teaches them? Sign language and etiquette? Where'd you get that?"

There was barely a pause. "One of my sources."

"Who?"

"I can't tell you, Terry. I can't reveal—^"

"To me you can."

"Not even to you."

He was glaring at her. "Where'd you get the quote fi-om Lyle Wilson about the projects they want to work on?"

"The LA Times. They did a story on engineering in California."

"So you did do some research."

"Of course."

"And you have reliable sources."

"As reliable as yours."

He shot out of his chair. "What the hell does that mean? How the fuck do you know who I talk to?"

"I don't! I only meant... It doesn't mean anything, Terry; I didn't mean to upset you."

"Who's upset? I just like to know what's going on. You got that? No games, no surprises. You got that?"

"Yes."

"So who told you about sign language and etiquette? Where'd you get the drawing?"

Sybille shook her head.

"Okay, litde lady, but you just remember, it's on your head."

"Not just mine! Terry, I have the station behind me!"

"As much as we can. As much as we c^w."

"You told me the station always stands behind its people!"

"As much as we can.''''

She sat very still. "You gave me the story, Terry."

He let out an elaborate sigh. "Sounds like we're back where we started, sweetie. I gave you a cute story I said we couldn't use." His telephone rang and he answered it. "Okay," he said. "Hold him half a minute, then I'll talk to him." He replaced the receiver. "Oldfield," he said to Sybille. "V-p of the university; thinks he's a fucking tiger. Don't worry; I'll cover for you." He shook his head in mock amazement. "What a little wonder you are, shaking Stanford up the way you did. And the network's looking at us, too, I hear." He walked around his desk. "Just keep in touch, okay, before you write about apes anymore." He gave her rear end a firm pinch and scooted her out the door.