Read Glory Boys for Free Online

ninety-four, I see.’ The older man nodded. He had his son’s strong face and broad bones, but whereas Willard looked handsome, Junius just looked heavy. He looked the way a boxer might look, if he’d been hauled out of the ring and given five thousand dollars to spend at Brooks Brothers. ‘I had no idea pictures were so expensive.’
    ‘It’s not just the actors. You need the cameramen and the stunt guys. We used a lot of airplanes and … it adds up.’
    ‘Yes, I see. I’d never thought about it.’
    There was a pause. Willard flicked at his trouser leg with irritation. Whoever had last pressed them had put the crease in the wrong place, so that the old one was still showing up like a shadow of the new. Willard wished he’d noticed before dressing that morning. The silence ran on.
    ‘Well, anyway,’ said Willard eventually, ‘Ted’s on at me about his money. I can’t help admitting I feel a little peeved. He’s not being quite gentlemanlike. I mean he can’t possibly think there’s a problem, can he?’
    ‘I don’t know,’ said his father. ‘I don’t know the nature of your arrangement.’
    ‘It was a loan, of course. But I mean to say, the understanding was always…’
    ‘Yes?’
    ‘Well, he never said anything about chivvying me, like some Lenox Avenue rent collector.’
    ‘But perhaps you never said anything about failing to repay him.’
    ‘Oh for heaven’s sake! Don’t take his side. It’s not like that.’
    There was another pause, an even longer one this time. Sometimes, silences are shared. They belong equally to both people in the conversation. But not always. This one wasn’t. This one was strictly the property of the older man. Willard’s scalp tightened. Noises from the street outside seemed like an invasion. Eventually, the older man lifted his gaze.
    ‘You haven’t made it very plain why you wanted to see me. But, if I have it right, you are asking me to settle your debt with Ted.’
    ‘Yes. Yes, I am.’ Willard had been intending to ask for some money in addition. It had been a long time since he’d seen any income, and after selling his Hollywood villa and settling his other debts, he’d only have around twenty-five thousand dollars in the world. To ninety-five per cent of Americans, twenty-five thousand dollars would have felt like an impossibly large fortune. To Willard, it felt like the breadline.
    ‘You seem equally confident that I shall agree.’
    ‘And I should hope so! Lord, it’s not as though I’ve ever asked for money before.’
    ‘No. No, indeed.’
    His father slid open a drawer and drew out a slim case in unmarked black leather. Inside, Willard knew, there was a chequebook issued by the Morgan Bank; America’s most prestigious bankers – and ones who offered their services only to the very, very wealthy. Junius picked up the fountain pen from his desk, uncapped it, examined the nib, dried it carefully on the pink blotter, then wrote out two cheques. He examined the nib again and frowned before screwing the cap back on the pen. He placed the chequebook back in the drawer and closed it.
    All this time, Willard was silent and sulky. But if he’d been honest with himself, it hadn’t been too bad. His father had been difficult, but not nearly as bad as he might have been. He’d known some fellows back in college who’d had the most furious fights over money. All in all, he’d got off lightly. His headache drummed away, but wasn’t any worse.
    His father took a dry sheet of blotting paper and held it down over the cheques, rubbing from side to side with a thick forefinger. He didn’t say why he’d written two. He didn’t say anything about how much he’d written the cheques for. They stayed invisible beneath the blotter.
    ‘Willard, in a way I’m pleased that we should be having this conversation.’
    ‘Yes, Father,’ his son responded, not quite clear what conversation it was they were having.
    ‘I am fifty-seven, as you know. I expect I