"Hello, Father," Clarence said. "How are you feeling?"
"What's that?" his father said.
"Dad, this is my fiancée," Clarence said. His father held out his hand to Clarence. "This is Inez O'Brien, Dad," Clarence said, pointing to Inez. "I believe you're familiar with her father, Senator O'Brien."
Mr. Mullens looked upset. "I must be getting senile," he said. "Shall I take your coats?" He took Clarence's and Inez's coats and handed them to Clarence.
Inez followed Mr. Mullens into the apartment. "Care for a drink before dinner?" Mr. Mullens said.
"I'd like a Perrier and water, if you've got it," Inez said.
"No Perrier," said Mr. Mullens. "I can offer you club soda and water."
Clarence found he was blushing with embarrassment over his fiancee's remark. Was it really possible that Inez was the daughter of Senator O'Brien? Her manners, her accent, her mode of dishabille were not what one would expect. Still, the sons and daughters of the rich and famous were often highly unusual. Clarence considered himself to be out of the ordinary, though few people connected him immediately with the distinguished publishing house of Winston Mullens and Sons.
He threw their coats on the floor of the closet and led Inez firmly by one arm into what had been his childhood bedroom. "I thought you might be interested in examining my childhood photograph album," he said. "You would probably be amused to see what I looked like in prep school. My hair at that time was down to my shoulders. Throughout high school, I was heavily into drugs; following my graduation, my parents arranged for a series of treatment at an upstate sanatorium. Luckily they were of the sort where they put you out before the electroconvulsive shock. But during high school I played in a band; even then I was interested in electricity."
Inez seated herself on the bed and removed her rather worn pumps. She lay back and lifted her stubby legs in the air. Her stockings had numerous runs; her thighs, white and juicy, were visible.
If I don't prevent her, Clarence thought to himself, she'll pull that skirt all the way up and God knows I don't wish my parents to discover her without underpants.
"Let's go have a drink," Clarence said, walking quickly from the room.
Over dinner, Inez brought up an unfortunate experience. As a sixteen-year-old she had been overpowered by a sex-crazed creep, brutally assaulted at a rowdy rock concert.
Clarence's father, still dressed in his robe, sat at one end of the table toying with his soup. He perked up momentarily as Inez stubbed out her cigarette at the side of her plate. "Tch tch tch," he said.
"What are you publishing these days, Dad?" Clarence said.
"It turns my stomach to hear you were raped," Clarence's father said. "Would you like another drink?"
Inez shook her head. "I believe I was in the middle of a story," she said to Clarence in a reprimanding tone of voice.
Clarence's mother was extremely pale. As always, she was dressed in peach. This evening she had on a peach-colored cashmere sweater and a wool peach skirt that was several sizes too large. Lately she had lost weight; heavy bags under her eyes had not been obliterated by recent plastic surgery.
"Do you find this sort of story distasteful, Mother?" Clarence said, finishing the watery pea soup and reaching to the center of the table for a handful of oyster crackers.
"Don't be an old fuddy-dud, Clarence," his mother said. Her weak blue eyes glittered as she reached across the table and cracked Clarence across the hand with the back of her spoon.
Clarence dropped the handful of crackers. "May I please have the crackers?" he mumbled.
"Would you excuse me for just a minute," Inez said, rising from the table.
During her absence Clarence's father drooped once more. His head sunk weakly into his concave chest, which was visible through his partially opened robe.
"An unusual girl, Clarence," Mrs. Mullens said. "I'd like another Scotch."
Clarence stood up and went to the sideboard. He poured some Scotch into his mother's glass and drank it quickly, throwing back his head. Then he poured out another shot and brought it to his mother.
"Senator O'Brien is on the House Ways and Means Committee," Mrs. Mullens said.
Clarence's father did not look at all well. It occurred to Clarence that he should be checked for Alzheimer's disease. His eyes fluttered shut. Then they opened and fixed themselves on Clarence with a steely gray stare. "Grammy's doing just fine, Clarence," he said. "That nursing home is one of the most beautiful places I have ever seen. You and Inez will have to come out with us next weekend to visit her. I'm sure," he said more loudly now as Inez came back into the room, "that Inez would be fascinated with Grammy's reminiscences about Ernest Hemingway. She doesn't have much longer to live; someone should listen to her."
"What do you do, dear?" Mrs. Mullens said to Inez.
Inez was standing at the head of the table, near Clarence's father. "Look at this," she said, pointing to her leg. "Would you believe it? My stockings have a run." She kissed Mr. Mullens on top of his head with a wet, smacking sound and sat down at her place abruptly. "I hope you don't mind that I kissed you like that," she said. "I'm a rather spontaneous person. It's not often I tell people how I was raped by a burly, nineteen-year-old marine. I wouldn't want you to learn about it secondhand. Because of the enormous crowds, women were permitted to use the men's restrooms during the concerts, but guards kept the men out of the women's bathrooms. A man offered to stand guard as I used the men's room; unfortunately, after escorting me inside, he pushed me into a stall and ripped off my clothing. Several men in the bathroom yelled 'Right on, right on!' during the procedure."
"Clarence's father and I always tried to discourage Clarence's interest in music," Clarence's mother said.
"Oh, yes," Inez said. "Clarence and I hoped for a rather informal wedding, perhaps in a garden somewhere in the city, in a few months. It will have to wait, however, until I'm settled into my new job."
"Oh, not an informal affair," said Clarence's mother. "When Blake was married—last year, to a lovely girl—we had the wedding out at our summer home in New Paltz. It was really lovely. Nearly a thousand people came, and though the weather was not what might have been hoped for, the enormous tents kept everyone dry."
"It really was splendid, Inez," Clarence said.
The maid brought out herb omelets and French fries. She was not a good cook; however, she had been with the family for years. The omelets were rather dry, and filled with a dense padding of dried herbs. The French fries were greasy and already cold.
After dinner Clarence's father offered to show Inez slides of their trip to Peru; but Inez, smiling gently, took Mr. Mullens's hand in her own and explained that a young boy, who was lost on the street, was waiting for them back in Clarence's apartment.
"We must go off and join the young people, you know!" Clarence said, standing suddenly. "We're a very desirable couple—can't spend the whole evening with you!"
Clarence's mother escorted Clarence to the door, while Inez had a brief word with Mr. Mullens.
"I am so glad you're getting married and settling down at last," Mrs. Mullens whispered in Clarence's ear. "God knows we've had our difficulties with you, Clary, perhaps in part it was my fault. I always did want a girl, though I suppose it's not unusual that you kept your hair long until college. It was the times, you know. She seems like a nice girl."
As Inez walked to the door with his father, Clarence could hear her saying, "Major multinational insurance company. I'll be instructing foreign companies in insurance against revolutions, political risk, that sort of thing. Exporters selling to private buyers abroad want to make sure they'll pay their debts. For example, an American company sold twenty million dollars' worth of software to Brazil. Now they have twenty million dollars in Brazilian currency in a Brazilian bank, which can't be converted."