Free Establishment by Howard Fast Page B

hundred percent. When I was a child, well, by then he had become a banker and had slipped to twenty or thirty percent, but when I was a child he would give me a ten-dollar gold piece on each birthday. Only it broke his heart to let go of it. You would enjoy seeing the way he fondled it. I think the only time the old goat had an erection was when he was counting his money.”
    â€œMother,” Tom whispered, “you do say the damnedest things.”
    â€œYes, I suppose I do. And I do wonder what drives you, Tom. You have enough money to sit back and enjoy life.”
    â€œI enjoy what I do. It’s not the money. That’s just a way of keeping score.”
    â€œNot very original. I wonder.”
    â€œThen did you ever wonder, mother, who makes this country work, who keeps the wheels turning, who makes it possible for people like yourself to enjoy life, as you put it?”
    â€œBravo. Now stop snapping at me and order some drinks and lunch, and then you can tell me why I’m here.”
    After the food arrived, Tom said flatly, “John has been pestering me to get married again.”
    â€œOh?”
    â€œDon’t just say oh.”
    â€œIs this something we should discuss?” Jean asked kindly. “I’m your mother.”
    â€œDoes that make it too sticky for you? Who else do I talk to?”
    â€œA psychoanalyst—please, don’t be angry.”
    â€œNo!”
    Jean pecked at the food for a few moments. She had not expected anything like this, nor did she know quite how to handle it. Finally she said quietly, “All right, we’ll talk about it. As much as I can. I don’t know—”
    â€œNeither do I,” Tom said. The note of pleading in his voice was something she had not heard in a long, long time, and it melted her and brought up all the guilt she suffered from a long-standing and deep-seated contempt for this man, her son.
    â€œVery well,” Jean said as flatly as she could. “John Whittier wants you to get married. What earthly affair of his it is, I do not know. Do you want to get married?”
    â€œI have plans, mother. That’s no surprise to you. I’m running for Congress. I do intend to be elected. Six years from now, in nineteen fifty-four, John and I feel I have a very substantial chance for governor. If I can get the Republican designation, with Earl Warren’s record in this state, I am as good as elected.”
    â€œAnd that’s what you want so desperately—to be governor?”
    â€œIt’s a step.”
    â€œAnd then? What then?”
    â€œI’m not sure. The Senate, perhaps. John has his own strange ideas about the White House, but that’s what every upright American boy wants, isn’t it?”
    â€œYes, every upright American boy,” Jean murmured.
    â€œAnd why not? I have a decent war record. I have the money and the position, and I’m no fool.”
    â€œYou certainly are no fool,” Jean agreed. “I’m just trying to understand it. You cannot grow up in San Francisco, Tom, and respect politics or politicians. It’s a nasty game, played mostly by wretched men. Well, you have your dreams. Tell me, is there someone you want to marry or is it just a general notion?”
    â€œThere is. Lucy Sommers.”
    â€œAl Sommers’ daughter,” Jean said, recalling the retired vice president of the Seldon Bank and his single child, a dark, long-legged girl. She had never cared very much for either of them, and she had not seen Lucy for years. “She’s a widow, isn’t she, and at least four years older than you, if I remember rightly?”
    â€œYes, that’s so. It doesn’t matter—the age, I mean—and a widow doesn’t carry the implications of a divorcée. It’s bad enough that I have one divorce on my back. When I think of Eloise—”
    â€œWe’re not discussing Eloise.”
    â€œNo, we’re