Free Carriage Trade by Stephen Birmingham Page A

held her tongue.
    Instead, she had enrolled in some weekday evening classes in marketing and business at N.Y.U. It would be years before she got an M.B.A., but what the hell? She was learning something. And, because she knew what her father would think of this particular endeavor, she had held her tongue about that, too.
    Now, after a little more than three years with the store, she is still patiently waiting for something to do where she will be asked to make a decision or at least to offer an opinion. After three years with the store, Thomas E. Bonham III is just another properly aloof executive, her father’s second in command, and his extraordinary good looks are just a familiar part of Tarkington’s general landscape, no more remarkable than the six Baccarat chandeliers that light the center aisle of the street floor. Who must she get to take her seriously now? she wonders. Tommy Bonham, of course.
    As though he had been reading her thoughts, he says, “One thing I wanted to ask you. When do you think we should reopen the store? With all due respect to your dad, do you think just being closed today in his memory is enough?”
    â€œAbsolutely,” she says firmly. “I think we should open for business tomorrow morning at ten o’clock, business as usual. I think Daddy would have wanted that. And I certainly hope we’re not going to drape the windows with black bunting, or have the salespeople wear black arm bands, or anything. Daddy would have hated that.”
    â€œI agree,” he says. “So we reopen tomorrow and act as though nothing has happened, even though something monumental has.”
    â€œYes,” she says, and realizes, with a start, that she has just been asked for her opinion.
    â€œOf course,” he says, “I don’t really know who’s supposed to be running the store now that he’s gone. I don’t suppose there was anything said about that in his will.”
    â€œNo, but obviously you are. You were always the heir apparent, Tommy.”
    â€œWell, I don’t know,” he says with a faint smile. “There’s a board of directors and shareholders to consider.”
    â€œWell, you’ve obviously got my vote, Tomcat,” she says, and immediately wishes she hadn’t said that. Now that she finds herself a major shareholder, she mustn’t start acting as though she thinks she’s Tommy’s boss or something, though, in a sense, she is.
    â€œWhat about your mother?”
    â€œMother’s never had that much interest in the store, as you know. But I’m sure she’d agree with me. You’re the obvious man to take over.”
    â€œWell, suppose I serve as president pro tern,” he says, “until the shareholders decide what course they want to take. You know there’ve been several outside offers to buy the business. Some of the shareholders may decide they’d like to sell.”
    â€œAnd let Tarkington’s become part of a chain? I don’t think any of us would like to see that happen.”
    â€œI guess there was no mention of that in your dad’s will, either.”
    She shakes her head.
    â€œSo if it’s okay with you I’ll call a little meeting, before we open the doors in the morning, and explain that I’m assuming the title of president pro tern. After all, somebody’s got to run the place.”
    â€œAbsolutely,” she says, thinking: If it’s okay with you!
    â€œActually, I’m a little surprised your father made a will,” he says. “With all due respect to your dad—he was my closest friend, you know—men like him sometimes begin to think they’re immortal. They don’t make wills, because making a will reminds them that they’re not. Don’t misunderstand. I don’t mean to speak ill of your dad. I loved your dad.”
    â€œI understand.”
    â€œAnd if I do end up becoming the store’s new