New York - The Novel

Monday, and William Master was dressing. He did not know why he should have opened that particular drawer—he hadn’t done so for months. It contained some old ties and a couple of waistcoats he never wore. Then he noticed the belt.
    He pulled it out. The thing had been handed down in the family since God knows when. His father had told him: “Better keep it. It’s wampum. Supposed to be lucky.”
    William shrugged. He could sure as hell use some luck today. On an impulse, he decided to put it on. Under his shirt of course—he didn’t want to look like a damn fool. Then he dressed as usual, every inch the successful man. If he was going down, he’d go down in style.
    Anyway, you should never give up hope.
    He went downstairs, kissed Rose good-bye, as if this were any other day, and walked out the door.
    Joe was waiting there smartly, beside the Rolls.
    “Good morning, sir.” Joe opened the door for him.
    “Morning, Joe. Fine morning.” Comforted for a moment, he got in. Joe was a good man. He wondered if he’d be employing him much longer. Probably not.
    As they went down Fifth, he gazed out at the park. A sprinkling of daffodils and crocuses had appeared on the grass.
    He’d told Charlie he wouldn’t be needed in the office today. He didn’t want to see anyone except the chief clerk. That trusted man had been going over the books all through the weekend.
    For today was the day of reckoning. It couldn’t be put off any longer. There was a bunch of calls due today that would bring everything to a close. Of course, if the market suddenly had a huge rally, that might make a difference. But the market wasn’t going to rally. In April last year he’d said the Dow would get to 300. It never had. It was only a little more than half that now.
    While the chief clerk went over the brokerage accounts that weekend, he’d done the same for his own affairs. Alone in his study, he’d reviewedhis remaining assets. He shouldn’t have tried to save the brokerage, of course. Shouldn’t have used his own money to prop it up. Easy to see that now, but at the time, there had always seemed to be hope round the corner. He’d deluded himself that something would turn up. Fact was, he just couldn’t bear the loss of face, couldn’t admit his failure. Couldn’t let go. Too late for that now.
    The house would have to go. Hard to say what it would fetch in this market, but it was a hell of a house. A good asset. The Newport house was another matter. Three weeks ago he’d casually asked Rose if she had any of the $600,000 he’d given her left.
    “Not a cent, William,” she’d answered with a sweet smile. “Actually, I might need just a little more.”
    “The work’s not finished?”
    “Not by some way. You know these designers. Well, the builders, too …”
    An unfinished palace in Newport. God knows how you’d sell that in the present market. Nobody was buying fancy houses that he knew of. He’d marked its value down severely.
    So, absent a miracle, he’d find out in the next few hours whether his net worth was positive, zero, or negative. He preferred to do that alone. Then, when it was over, he’d have to go home and tell Rose that they were broke.
    She had no idea.
    “Pick me up at four o’clock, Joe,” he said, as he got out.

    The sun was still shining quite brightly when Joe opened the door for him again that afternoon. He settled comfortably into the back seat, and looked out at the street.
    “Take me for a drive, Joe,” he said. “We’ll go up the West Side.” He smiled. “Take me to Riverside Drive.”
    It was a while since he’d driven up the Hudson. As they got into the Seventies, he looked out at its broad waters. They were pretty much the same, he supposed, as they would have been when the first Masters and Van Dycks had come to the city. That’s what they would have seen. The Indians before them, too.
    That reminded him. The wampum belt. He still had the damn thing on. He’d forgotten about it during the day. Well, it hadn’t brought himmuch luck. So far as he could tell, when the brokerage was closed, the houses sold, and all debts paid, he had maybe fifty thousand dollars left in the world. Better than bankruptcy.
    Three hundred years of accumulated family fortune, gone. Lost in its entirety. Lost by me, he thought. He’d been the one, the only one in all those generations, to achieve that. He continued to smile out of the window, as he took a deep breath, but it was no good.