Penelope's Suitors

Chapter 08

Chapter 8

Spring, 2006

At 9:00 Monday morning Ted found himself at the Hertz office. The worst of rush hour traffic was gone, and soon he was through the Lincoln Tunnel and onto series of Jersey roads. He passed long stretches of auto supply shops, shipping depots, and manufacturing companies he had never heard of. The day was sunny and the country flat; Ted had turned so many times he had no idea where he was in relation to Manhattan. He peered at road signs through his sunglasses and consulted his printouts. Once he pulled over and unfolded the big map.

At 10:25, he was relieved to see a long, low building labeled Zelnick Construction. Trucks bearing the same logo were parked in the lot. Ted pulled into an empty space and walked through the only entrance he could see, an unmarked door. Inside he found a small reception area, with unconvincing fake wood paneling. A young woman was peering at a computer screen that stood on a battered metal desk. She looked up, a little startled at his appearance.

"Can I help you?"

"I'm here to see Henry Zelnick. My name is Ted Jellinek. I have a 10:30 appointment."

"Let me see if he's around." She picked up her phone and dialed. "Henry, your 10:30 is here." She hung up. "He'll be out in a minute." She went back to her computer screen. Ted looked around the reception area. Except for a sign with the company logo, the room sported no decoration. There were three dusty, faded chairs to sit on, and a tired end table with back issues of Time. Ted picked them up; the newest was two months old.

A door quickly opened opposite the receptionist. A man leaned in without actually entering.

"Ted? I'm Henry Zelnick." He turned to the receptionist. "Annie—that proposal done yet?"

"Before noon, just like I promised," she said wearily.

"Fine. Ted, come on in." He shook hands quickly and firmly, then ushered Ted through a small suite of cubicles to an office. Henry sat behind another battered metal desk covered with papers. His office had the same wood paneling, but here were framed photos of office buildings, presumably ones Zelnick Construction had built. And the guest chairs were in better condition. "Have a seat, Ted. And let me answer your first question: no, neither William nor I were adopted." He barked a laugh.

"We got that all the time as kids. You should've seen us at school. He was one of the tallest kids in his class, and I was one of the shortest. He was built like a string bean, and I was, well, stocky." He patted his stomach. "Mom called us the odd couple." He frowned, perhaps thinking of his brother, or regretting his speech. "But you wanted to know about William?"

"Thanks for making time for me. I know this isn't easy, but as I said, Penelope Tolford asked me to write a biography of her father—and William of course comes into that. I lived with him for a summer, but never got to know him well."

"You and me both. We weren't just physically different. You know, I loved this place even as I kid. I used to beg our Dad to take me here during school vacations. I made friends with the guys on the loading dock. I remember being old enough to go to job sites. I pleaded with the guys to give me lessons in operating a backhoe. But William—he hated every goddamned minute Dad made him spend here. They'd spend whole days fighting. Dad would find him in the lunchroom playing his guitar." He shook his head. "He was just like Mom. He even looked like Mom."

"Did he have a lot of friends?"

"Other teen-musician types. 'Long Hairs,' my Dad said, and they'd mess around in the basement. Guys with cool tee shirts and torn jeans. I was a few years younger, and they let me hang around, if I behaved."

"So you two got along?" Henry leaned back and thought about this for a moment.

"Actually, yes. You wouldn't think it, we were so different. I was Dad's favorite and he was Mom's, so maybe that was it—no cause of jealousy in the end. And he could be very charming. You know, Dad and I always saw eye-to-eye, but even when we were little, Mom would put on records and William would listen to them and I'd get bored. As we got older, William got more and more interested and I got more and more bored. They got him guitar lessons, and he took to it right away. The birthday he got an electric guitar—he disappeared into the basement with that and he didn't even come up to eat all day."

"What about girlfriends?" Henry gave his barking laugh again.

"I remember in high school, there were girls who'd hang around him. It was cool to be a musician, but I don't remember anyone in particular. Actually, I remember once this on-again, off-again band he had with his friends, and they briefly recruited this girl singer. What the hell was her name—Sally? Susan? Anyway, long stringy blond hair—short skirts and tank tops, you know what I mean? Looking back, I think William may have had a thing for her. She was an awful singer, I mean, terrible. She didn't last long."

"You told me on the phone that the two of you went to Mansard, but he had transferred to New Springdale."

"Oh yeah." He came back suddenly from pleasanter memories, and sat up in his chair. "Wasn't that a fight. William just wasn't working at that school. You know, Dad would’ve been happy to send us both to parochial school, but Mom grew up in Manhattan and had prep school ambitions, even after William messed up. Anyway, after 10th grade, and following a lot of family arguments, he went to New Springdale. He really seemed to like it there, and did well. He was all set to go to college that fall, a BFA program in music."

"What about that summer? Did you two talk during those weeks? Did he talk with your parents that you know of?"

"We had virtually no contact with him. Teenaged boys were not much on letter writing," he said, with a wry smile. "I know he called home every week or so. There was a payphone on the property, wasn't there?"

"In the Hall, where we worked."

"Just the usual, saying he was working hard, everything was fine, no, he wasn't goofing off and playing his guitar. If I was around, I'd say hello, but there were no confidences he shared with me. Actually, I was hoping you could tell me something about my brother's last weeks." He looked unsure of himself. Ted didn't think Henry Zelnick was used to asking for favors.

"To be honest, your brother did goof off and play his guitar." Henry laughed and slapped the desk.

"I figured."

"But we didn't mind. We all enjoyed his music, and it never occurred to his to ask him to do his fair share. We often gathered evenings around a fire on the beach, or in the Hall, and William played for us. He even took requests. But he wasn't arrogant about it, not show-offy. I got the impression he didn't care if we were there or not. He'd play for an audience of 50, or one, or himself." Henry was smiling and nodding. "And he did have a girlfriend of sorts."

"Did he?"

"Well, a chief groupie, anyway. The girls loved to gather around him, and one in particular, a teenaged girl, dressed in what I think we call goth today."

"The soulful ones always fell hardest for him."

"She sure was soulful. I think she was basically okay—just a would-be teenaged rebel. You know, everyone seemed to get along with William. No one had anything against him. We all liked him."

Henry sighed. "Yeah, he made Dad nuts. But it was impossible not to like him." They sat in silence for a moment, until there was a knock on the door and Annie from the reception desk walked in.

"Sorry to interrupt," she said, in a tone that showed she wasn't sorry at all. "But you wanted the proposal as soon as I was done." She dropped the papers on Henry's desk, and walked out, closing the door behind her. Ted stirred.

"You're very busy. I appreciate the time you've give me, and I'll be going."

"I don't know if I was any help. But I enjoyed talking about William again. I don't get to do that much. Listen, I know I asked you not to talk to my parents. But if they are open to hearing more about him that summer, would you talk to them by phone? They might like that."

"Anytime."

"Thanks. And I know I said our opinion is that William died by accident. And I do believe that. But…if you find something else, will you share it with me?" He searched Ted's eyes.

"I don't expect to find anything different. But if I do, I consider that you have a right to know."

"I'd appreciate that." They stood. "I'll see you out." As they walked down the Hall, Ted tossed out one more question.

"Most of us city boys got our jobs at Twelve Pines though some connection with Maxwell Tolford. Did you have one?"

"We, that is my Dad, had done some work with TRED, Maxwell Tolford's company. A development near Atlantic City, I think. Before my time at the company, of course. I think Dad mentioned something to Maxwell at some point about how it wasn't working out, with William working here, and Maxwell said maybe he'd find the country more to his liking."

"Have you continued working with TRED?"

"No. We're really a regional company and TRED was mostly developing in the Sunbelt. The Atlantic City thing was a one-off thing for them. Dad said he was sorry, it was not only profitable but he liked Maxwell personally. He found him pleasantly low-key and friendly, after the kind we usually deal with in this business."

They entered the reception area, and Annie had wandered off.

"Did he talk to you about Maxwell? He was a pretty well-known figure, and he was around for at least part of the summer."

"Actually, that does remind me of something," said Henry. "One of William's calls home—he was in a rare chatty mood. I was around, and Dad put him on the speaker phone. He asked if Maxwell was around a lot, and William said no, he was on the road mostly, but his daughters were around. So Dad made some crack about marrying a Tolford heiress, and William said—how was it again, in that world-weary tone he affected for our folks—that it didn't matter, he didn't think Maxwell was much interested in his girls anyway, and besides, one of the other guys already had a thing for the older one." Henry gave him a sidelong glance. "Was that you?"

"Could've been. That was 20 years ago. And actually, there were two of us interested in her."

"Well, if you had played it a little more smoothly, maybe you wouldn't be working for a living. Anyway, take care."



Summer, 1986

“Sure,” said Mary-Lou, "I'd like some company." They walked down Amherst, toward the County Courthouse, a substantial redbrick model of 19th century rectitude. Next to it a public park sloped down to the lake. There were no lights in the park, and old trees shaded most of it from the neon of the street. A low wall separated it from the sidewalk and provided seating for the tired and hungry while they ate their ice cream cones.

“It’s pretty down here,” said Mary-Lou, hopping over the wall. “If you walk down to the lake, you can see all the way up north.” They were alone in the park, as they headed to the shore. Ted reached for her hand in the dark and felt her fingers wrap around his.

The grass gave way to dirt, and they heard the water lapping against the sand. The noise of Amherst Street fell behind them. To their right, at the lake's southern end, brightly lit tour boats bobbed at their docks, and the ticket office softly played harmonium music.

“Look,” she pointed. “You can see up the lake. It’s just a blur, but you can see Longwood all the way up. And those lights in the distance are the Mohawk Hotel. One of my brothers worked there one summer on the golf course—" but she stopped talking, when Ted stroked her cheek, then bent down to kiss her. She put her arms around his neck and they kept kissing.

After a few minutes of kissing, Ted sat down against a tree, and she lay down with her head in his lap. Ted slipped his fingers through her sun-streaked hair.

“That feels nice,” she said. “Why did you wait so long to kiss me?”

"Because I'm an idiot," he said.

“That explains it. Penelope asked me if I was interested in you. I didn't know what to say. She then said I better be obvious because you weren’t very bright.”

“Thanks,” he said dryly. And Mary-Lou laughed in the night, until he bent down and kissed her again.

“Why did you want me to kiss you?” he asked.

“What a strange question.” She thought about it. “Because you’re funny. Because you say funny things. Because you ask strange questions.”

“That’s interesting.”

She looked at her watch with its radium dial and sighed.

“It’s after 10:00. They’ll be wondering where we are.”

“No they won’t. Talking about us maybe. But not wondering.”

“Don’t be fresh,” she admonished, and sat up. “Will you buy me some ice cream?” And hand-in-hand they strolled out of the park.

They met everyone else outside the Soft-T ice cream stand, down the block from the arcade. They were already eating their swirled chocolate and vanilla cones with rainbow sprinkles. Laurie had a stuffed panda bear at her feet, and Ariadne had a Dalmatian. “There you are!” she said. “Look at the dog Matthew won for me.” Matthew just smiled and shrugged.

“He’s a cutie,” said Mary-Lou.

“And Laurie got a bear.” Ariadne saw Ted and Mary-Lou were holding hands and her eyes met Ted's, just for a second.

The two guests had won smaller prizes—key chains and light-up pens. Apparently they eventually figured out how the racing game worked.

“Did you win anything, William?” asked Ted.

“I got bored and found a really strange T-shirt store down the block. They had some guitar straps in the back—I bet they were sitting there for the last 20 years.” He fished a folded strap out of his back pocket—a painfully bright psychedelic pattern.

“Will you use it?” asked Ariadne.

“For the summer,” he said.

Ted bought a cone for himself and one for Mary-Lou, and they stood on the sidewalk as the thinning crowd of tourists flowed around them. The cool mountain air made everyone sleepy after a day at the lake, and people were heading back to their cars and their rented cabins.

Laurie was staring at Ariadne, who suddenly noticed.

“I’m sorry. It’s just that I bought some lipstick that didn’t really work for me, but I was looking at you and just realized it would be fantastic on you. Just give me a sec.” She rummaged around in her voluminous bag. “Here it is. Just didn’t work for me. Maybe it was my hair color.”

“I’ve never used lipstick,” said Ariadne.

“You’re kidding? I’ve been playing with make-up since I was 11. My mother had a fit when she caught me wearing it to school. Don’t you even know how to put it on? Go like this—" She shaped her mouth. “That’s it. Now stay still.” Laurie deftly applied it. “Oh, that’s good. Isn’t that good everyone?” Everyone murmured their assent. It did work for her, thought Ted. Ariadne looked self-conscious. “Wait—let me bring out those cheekbones…you have a great complexion but your bones aren’t very prominent…this will do it…” More cosmetics came out of the bag. Laurie’s fingers worked with sureness and speed across Ariadne’s face. Then she stood back to admire her work.

“Oh, that’s nice.” She had added about three years to Ariadne’s age, but like all good artists, she knew when to stop. “We should go shopping someday—I’ll show you what you should buy. I’m great with make-up.”

“You should do that professionally,” said Ted.

“I am. I’m starting cosmetology school in the fall in Mohawk Falls. Getting my haircutting license. I used to cut my girlfriends’ hair in high school. But my real skill is make-up.”

“Isn’t she fabulous?” said Vic.

“I want to see!” said Ariadne. Next to the Soft-T was a store selling cheap jewelry. Ariadne dashed in and asked for a hand mirror. They watched her look of surprise, as she admired herself.

“She’s so pretty,” said Laurie. “But I’d really love to work on her sister—Penelope has lovely eyes, but a little work on the angles of her face would work wonders.”

By common consent they began walking back to the car. Ted held Mary-Lou's hand; he squeezed it and looked at her, and she smiled at him as they walked up the dark, quiet street. Ariadne seemed to hold her head a little higher after her impromptu makeover, but still she hugged her new stuffed animal as she walked in a threesome with the guests.

Ahead of them, Vic and Laurie held hands, and swung their arms as she let her panda dangle from her free hand. He whispered something to her and she laughed.

This time, Ted wrangled the seat next to Mary-Lou. In the middle row, Laurie leaned her head against Vic's shoulder; her hair spilled over him and she closed her eyes—she had started very early, working the diner's breakfast shift.

The windows at the Stone House were dark when they turned into the resort. Mary-Lou pulled in to the house's driveway, tripping the motion sensors and turning on the driveway floodlights.

"Thanks for driving, Mary-Lou," said Ariadne, as she hopped out. Then, shyly, to Laurie: "And thanks for...for..." she pointed to her face.

"It's nothing. Here, take it." She pulled the lipstick out of her bag. "It's no use to me—keep it." Ariadne took it like it was a piece of the true cross, and pocketed it. Then she picked up her dog and ran along the front lawn path into the house’s front entrance.

Mary-Lou headed down the resort road to the parking lot. Matthew thanked her, said goodnight to everyone, then headed to his car, another row over in the lot. The young guests chorused their thanks too, and disappeared down the paths to their cabins.

"I'm going to put the new strap on my guitar," said William. "Thanks for the ride, see you all tomorrow," and he headed to the staff cabin.

Laurie and Vic got out and were talking in low voices a few feet away.

"Come, take a walk with me," Ted said to Mary-Lou. "Down by the lake."

"It's so late..."

"Just for a while..." And he kissed her again.

"My mother gets worried. Make me a fire tomorrow night and save me a chair. And I'll see you in the morning."

“Okay then—tomorrow.” They kissed goodnight. Ted got out of the car, and watched her pull away.

Laurie's car was still in the lot, but she and Vic had disappeared.

He was too wired to sleep, so he walked down to the docks. The lake was so still the boats made no sound against their moorings. Across the bay navigation buoys blinked red and green. He scanned the beach, but he saw no shadows of people. He walked along the sand anyway, sat in one of the Adirondack chairs, and stared at the lake. A few boats in the distance were visible by their running lights, but were too far away to hear. Ted closed his eyes and imagined Mary-Lou and the way her hair felt, so soft from the lake.

He began to get drowsy and walked back up the hill to his cabin. He was surprised that no one was there. Vaguely annoyed, he propped up a pillow and started reading a paperback mystery. After a while, he heard feet on the steps and William walked in.

“Couldn’t sleep—went to take a walk,” he said.

“So did I. I was down at the lake.”

“I walked up the hill to the road. I needed some exercise.” He picked up his guitar, with the new strap, and began to play softly.

“I’m not bothering you, am I?” he asked.

“Not at all.” Ted closed his eyes and listened to the strumming, losing track of time. Sometime later, he heard a car start fitfully in the lot, and the crunch of tire on gravel. A few minutes after, Vic walked in but didn't say anything, just started getting ready for bed.

"Did you have a nice evening?" asked Ted. Vic looked at him, trying to see if there was a smirk with the question, but there wasn't.

"Yes I did. And you?"

"Very nice." Neither spoke to William, who continued playing.