buy tickets to his plays.
"We'll take care of your bags, sir."
Carter Stewart pressed a five-dollar bill into the doorman's hand. At least he didn't say, "Welcome home," he thought.
Five minutes later, a scotch from the mini-bar in his hand, he was standing at a window in his suite. The Hudson was brooding and restless. Only mid-afternoon in October and there was already a winter feel in the air. But at least, thank God, the reunion was over. I even quite liked seeing a few of those people again, Carter thought, if only to remind me of how far I've come since I left there.
Pierce Ellison felt that they needed to strengthen the character of Gwendolyn in the play. "Get someone who really is a ditsy blonde," he'd been urging. "Not an actress
playing
a ditsy blonde."
Carter Stewart chuckled aloud as he thought of Laura. "My, my, how she would have fit the bill," he said aloud. "I'll drink to that, even though in one hundred thousand years it would never have happened."
30
Robby Brent had not missed the fact that many of his former classmates shunned him after his speech at the dinner. A few others had paid him the barbed compliment of saying that he was a marvelous mimic, even if he had been a little hard on their old teachers and the principal. It also got back to him that Jean Sheridan said humor should not be cruel.
All of which was intensely satisfying to Robby Brent. Miss Ella Bender, the math teacher, had apparently been seen crying in the ladies room after the dinner. You seem to forget, Miss Bender, how frequently you reminded me that I didn't have one-tenth the ability for higher mathematics that my brothers and sisters did. I was your whipping boy, Miss Bender. The last and least of the Brents. And now you have the nerve to be offended when I show your prissy ways and unfortunate habit of frequently licking your lips with your tongue. Too bad.
He had hinted to Jack Emerson that he might be in the market to invest in property, and Emerson had buttonholed him after the brunch. Emerson was a blowhard in a lot of ways, Robby thought as he turned into the Glen-Ridge driveway, but he did make sense when they talked about real estate and the advisability of investing in this area.
"Land," Emerson had expounded. "Around here it does nothing but go up in value. Taxes are low when it's undeveloped. Sit on it for twenty years, and you'll be worth a fortune. Get in on it before it goes out of sight, Robby. I have a few listings on some fabulous parcels, all with views of the Hudson, and some of them waterfront. They'll knock your socks off. I'd buy them myself, but I have plenty. Don't want to make my kid too rich when he grows up. Stay over and I'll take you around tomorrow."
"It's the land, Katie Scarlett, it's the land." Robby grinned, remembering the bewildered look on Emerson's face when he quoted that line from
Gone With the Wind
to him. But then he'd latched onto it when he explained that what Scarlett's father meant was that land was the basis for security and wealth.
"Gotta remember that, Robby. That's great and it's true. Land is real money, real value. Land doesn't go away."
Next time I'll try a quote from Plato on him, Robby thought as he stopped the car at the entrance to the Glen-Ridge. Might as well let the valet do the parking today, he thought. I'm not going anywhere until tomorrow, and then I'll be in Emerson's car.
Jack Emerson should only know how much property I already have, he thought. W. C. Fields used to leave money in banks in towns all over the country, wherever he was performing. I buy undeveloped land all over the country and then have it posted with no trespassing signs.
All my life growing up, I lived in a rented house, he thought. Even back then, those intellectual wizards, my mother and father, couldn't scrape together enough money for a down payment on a real home. Now, besides my home base in Vegas, if I wanted, I could build a house on my property in Santa Barbara or Minneapolis or
"We'll take care of your bags, sir."
Carter Stewart pressed a five-dollar bill into the doorman's hand. At least he didn't say, "Welcome home," he thought.
Five minutes later, a scotch from the mini-bar in his hand, he was standing at a window in his suite. The Hudson was brooding and restless. Only mid-afternoon in October and there was already a winter feel in the air. But at least, thank God, the reunion was over. I even quite liked seeing a few of those people again, Carter thought, if only to remind me of how far I've come since I left there.
Pierce Ellison felt that they needed to strengthen the character of Gwendolyn in the play. "Get someone who really is a ditsy blonde," he'd been urging. "Not an actress
playing
a ditsy blonde."
Carter Stewart chuckled aloud as he thought of Laura. "My, my, how she would have fit the bill," he said aloud. "I'll drink to that, even though in one hundred thousand years it would never have happened."
30
Robby Brent had not missed the fact that many of his former classmates shunned him after his speech at the dinner. A few others had paid him the barbed compliment of saying that he was a marvelous mimic, even if he had been a little hard on their old teachers and the principal. It also got back to him that Jean Sheridan said humor should not be cruel.
All of which was intensely satisfying to Robby Brent. Miss Ella Bender, the math teacher, had apparently been seen crying in the ladies room after the dinner. You seem to forget, Miss Bender, how frequently you reminded me that I didn't have one-tenth the ability for higher mathematics that my brothers and sisters did. I was your whipping boy, Miss Bender. The last and least of the Brents. And now you have the nerve to be offended when I show your prissy ways and unfortunate habit of frequently licking your lips with your tongue. Too bad.
He had hinted to Jack Emerson that he might be in the market to invest in property, and Emerson had buttonholed him after the brunch. Emerson was a blowhard in a lot of ways, Robby thought as he turned into the Glen-Ridge driveway, but he did make sense when they talked about real estate and the advisability of investing in this area.
"Land," Emerson had expounded. "Around here it does nothing but go up in value. Taxes are low when it's undeveloped. Sit on it for twenty years, and you'll be worth a fortune. Get in on it before it goes out of sight, Robby. I have a few listings on some fabulous parcels, all with views of the Hudson, and some of them waterfront. They'll knock your socks off. I'd buy them myself, but I have plenty. Don't want to make my kid too rich when he grows up. Stay over and I'll take you around tomorrow."
"It's the land, Katie Scarlett, it's the land." Robby grinned, remembering the bewildered look on Emerson's face when he quoted that line from
Gone With the Wind
to him. But then he'd latched onto it when he explained that what Scarlett's father meant was that land was the basis for security and wealth.
"Gotta remember that, Robby. That's great and it's true. Land is real money, real value. Land doesn't go away."
Next time I'll try a quote from Plato on him, Robby thought as he stopped the car at the entrance to the Glen-Ridge. Might as well let the valet do the parking today, he thought. I'm not going anywhere until tomorrow, and then I'll be in Emerson's car.
Jack Emerson should only know how much property I already have, he thought. W. C. Fields used to leave money in banks in towns all over the country, wherever he was performing. I buy undeveloped land all over the country and then have it posted with no trespassing signs.
All my life growing up, I lived in a rented house, he thought. Even back then, those intellectual wizards, my mother and father, couldn't scrape together enough money for a down payment on a real home. Now, besides my home base in Vegas, if I wanted, I could build a house on my property in Santa Barbara or Minneapolis or
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