Part 12 (1/2)

Willie laughs guiltily.

You look at me as if you want to make me happy, as if you can't possibly be happy unless I am. It's thrilling. It's frightening. It's what I want for the rest of my life. The only thing I want.

That's it?

Life is complicated, Willie, love isn't. My girlfriends do cartwheels for boys who dress nice or dance well or come from good families. They'll find out. There's only one thing that counts. How does a boy look at you? Can you see in his eyes that he'll always be there? That's how you looked at me on the Whip. You had always in your eyes. That's how you're looking at me now. I hear my mother and sister talk-they only dream about what I've got right here under this tree. Oh Willie. I just love you, that's all. Oh.

All Bess's avowals, all her sweet nothings, begin and end with this word. It's the prelude and conclusion to every endearment. Oh-she says it before kissing him. Oh-she says it after. Oh-she says it as she turns her back to him, as if the sight of Willie is just too marvelous to bear.

Oh Willie. Oh.

Sutton lets go of the railing. Okay, boys, let's go. Next stop.

You looked like you were a million miles away, Mr. Sutton.

Two hundred fifty thousand at least.

What were you thinking about?

I was thinking I could use a drink. Willie needs a Jameson.

Oh Mr. Sutton. That does not sound like a good idea.

Kid haven't you figured out by now? None of this is a good idea.

EIGHT.

Willie has seen the Endner house many times from the outside-stained-gla.s.s windows, fancy bal.u.s.trades, an iron gate with spikes along the top-and he's always cowered before it. At the start of 1919, wearing his black t.i.tle Guaranty suit, he steps inside for the first time.

A butler takes his coat. Willie blinks, trying to adjust his vision. If Coney Island is the brightest place on earth, Chateau Endner is the darkest.

We keep the house dim for Mummy, Bess whispers. She suffers migraines.

Bess leads Willie by the hand down a long hall and into a library, the walls of which are lined with enormous gla.s.s-doored bookcases. Willie glances at the t.i.tles: mostly rare Bibles, a.s.sorted religious texts. The floor is covered by a ma.s.sive wool rug. It came from China, Bess whispers.

Mr. and Mrs. Endner stand at the far end of the rug, warming themselves before a fireplace big enough to roast a deer. The crack and pop of wood are the only sounds in the room, the flames the only light.

Mummy, Daddy, this is Willie.

Willie goes forth. Crossing the rug takes longer than swimming the East River. He shakes their hands. Nothing is said for several moments. A maid appears at Willie's side, offers him a gla.s.s of sherry. Thank you, he says, his voice cracking like the firewood.

A second maid announces that dinner is served.

Willie and Bess follow Mr. and Mrs. Endner down another long hall into a high-ceilinged dining room. The darkest room yet-only two candelabra. Willie surveys the table. It would take up half his house. Mr. Endner sits at the head, Mrs. Endner at the far end. Willie and Bess sit in the middle, on opposite sides. A third maid sets before Willie a plate of grilled lamb chops with mint jelly, scalloped potatoes.

Mrs. Endner says grace. Amen, Willie says, a little too loudly.

Mr. Endner doesn't touch his food. Instead he makes a meal of his mustaches while watching Willie. Bess warned Willie, her father plays with his mustaches when upset.

Where do you work, Willie?

Well sir. I'm looking for work right now. I was recently laid off from a munitions factory. Before that I worked for t.i.tle Guaranty.

And what became of that position?

I was laid off also.

Mr. Endner gives his left mustache a hard tug.

What faith do you practice, son?

I was raised Catholic sir.

Mr. Endner pushes the right mustache up into his nostril. The Endners are Baptist, he says. In fact Mr. John D. Rockefeller Sr. is a close friend-he's eaten at this table. His son is talking about building a new Baptist church. It's going to be glorious. Grander than anything they have in Europe.

The last thing Willie heard about old man Rockefeller: Eddie said his father bilked sick people down south, sold them snake oil. Which is ironic, Eddie said, since Rockefeller started Standard Oil. Willie fills his mouth with food, nods. Yes sir, I believe I read something about that.

Mrs. Endner looks at Willie, then Bess. William, she says-where do your people come from?

Brooklyn mam.

Yes. We know. But your ancestors.

Willie chews his lamb slowly, stalling, which heightens the suspense now gripping the table. Ireland mam.

Willie can hear nothing but the pounding of his own heart and the compounding of interest in the Endner bank accounts. Everyone around the table, even the servants off in the shadows, seems to be envisioning the same selective montage of Irish history. Druids performing human sacrifices on oaken altars. Celtic warriors running naked toward Caesar's legions. Toothless hags hurling bombs from behind the golden throne of the Pope.

The Endners hail from Germany, Mrs. Endner says, looking as though a once-in-a-lifetime migraine is coming on. Hamburg, she adds.

Willie is taken aback at her prideful tone. Even being a Hun is better than being a Mick. He stares at the potatoes on his plate, wondering if he should push them aside, defy at least one cultural stereotype. Only Bess's steady rea.s.suring gaze keeps him from fleeing the room, the house, Brooklyn.

The next night Willie meets Bess at a soda fountain in Coney Island. Her face is pale. He's never seen her without high color in her cheeks. He knows what's coming, but it's still a shock to hear the words.

Willie Boy, my father has forbidden me from seeing you ever again.

She looks down at her dish of ice cream. Willie does the same. His senses are strangely heightened. He can feel the ice cream melt. He knows what Bess wants him to say, what he must say. And do. When he looks up, she's waiting.

Okay, Bess. I'll go talk to him.

They pile back in the Polara. Events were set in motion, Sutton whispers.

What, Mr. Sutton?

Bess and I had a talk. January 1919. Everything flowed from that talk, that moment. Everything. Look back on your life and see if you can pinpoint the moment when everything changed. If you can't? That means you haven't had your moment yet, and you better hold on to your a.s.s, it's coming.

Where did this talk take place?