New York - The Novel

Fifth, he paused by St. Patrick’s Cathedral. At the moment, the city appeared to be quite untidy—there seemed to be building sites wherever you looked. Down on Thirty-fourth, the Empire State Building was the tallest edifice going up, but the biggest construction site was surely the huge complex that ran for three blocks all the way from Fifth Avenue to Sixth, which John D. Rockefeller, Jr., was developing single-handed. Master had no doubt the finished article would be wonderfully elegant, but it was going to take years to complete, and until it was done, the area opposite St. Patrick’s was going to be a big mess.
    On Fifty-second Street, he turned west and walked a few yards to a doorway on the north side of the street. He needed a drink.
    The 21 Club had only been there since the start of the year, but to those in the know, it was already the place to be seen. Charlie had taken him there soon after it opened, for its owners were the two young men who’d run the Fronton speakeasy down in the Village. Having moved uptown, they’d finally settled at number 21 West Fifty-second Street, a much tonier address than where they’d started.
    In the big downstairs room, you could sit at one of the booths round the walls and have a drink in peace. If the 21 Club was ever raided, the police might have some difficulty locating the liquor—it was behind a concealed, two-and-a-half-ton metal door, in the basement of the house next door.
    William sat quietly and nursed his drink. He was glad to be alone.Charlie was coming round to dinner that evening, and he’d be glad of his company. But there were still things he hadn’t told his son. Things he hadn’t told anybody.
    Damn it, the market couldn’t keep going down forever. But if it didn’t pick up soon, he didn’t know what the hell he was going to do.
    When he got home, Charlie was already there. He kissed his wife, and she gave him a friendly smile. He was glad of that.
    He’d been sleeping badly for a month now. Sometimes he’d been so restless that he’d retired to the couch in his dressing room, to let Rose get some sleep. It had been some time since he’d made love to his wife. Partly he’d just been too tired; but more than once lately he’d tried, and been unable. She was very nice about it, but these failures hadn’t helped his morale.
    Their supper passed pleasantly enough. They talked of this and that, but nobody mentioned the markets. They had fruit for dessert, and as Rose was cutting an apple, she casually remarked: “I’m going to need another hundred thousand dollars for Newport. You don’t mind, do you?”
    William stared at her. He hadn’t even seen the damned house at Newport this summer. Rose had been up there, but she told him it wasn’t habitable with all the workmen. He hardly knew what she was doing to the place, though she assured him it would be spectacular when it was done. Meanwhile, she talked about her plans to all her friends.
    Strangely enough, her activities had been quite helpful to the brokerage. “If Master’s spending all that money on his Newport house,” people said, “the brokerage must be in good shape.” At a time when so many others were going under, it had raised his prestige on the street.
    Even so, another hundred thousand?
    “God, Mother,” exclaimed Charlie, “do you have to?”
    His mother ignored him.
    “What’s it for, Rose?” William gently inquired.
    “Marble, dear. From Italy. The hall’s going to be all marble. Nancy de Rivers has a marble hall,” she added, with a hint of reproach.
    “Ah,” said William.
    “You’re obsessed,” said Charlie.
    “Can you finish the house if I give you another hundred thousand?” asked William.
    “Yes,” said Rose.
    “All right then,” he said.
    He’d just have to find the money, somewhere.

    By Friday, September 19, the great steel cage of the Empire State Building was nearly complete. It was almost two weeks ahead of schedule. The bricklayers had been keeping pace, and they only had about ten floors to go. Eighty-five floors in six months from the start of construction. A staggering achievement.
    The foreman was in a friendly mood when Salvatore approached him with his request. Could his brother Angelo spend the day with him? “He’s an artist,” Salvatore explained. “He wants to make drawings of us, working on the building.”
    The foreman considered. The site was by no means closed. Boys went up selling water to the construction