Pearl Buck - The Eternal Wonder

Rann also smiled at her instruction to relax and be himself after all the talk at luncheon about his image and the new clothes and haircut and his schedule for the rest of the month.

The elevator door opened and they stepped into a red-carpeted hall, an open door at one end. George Pearce came down the hall to greet them.

“I didn’t expect this good a turnout.” His face crinkled into a grin. “Yesterday’s blurb must have helped. This is going to be easy for you, Rann. Just remember that most of these are top people and they are friends.”

There were about forty men and women with their backs to the door when they entered the room, besides the public relations men Rann had met at luncheon. A table had been set up as a bar on the left wall of the room and the senior public relations man stood there. Another table had been set up facing the door. Behind the table were floor-to-ceiling French windows draped in crimson velvet exactly matching the carpets. It was to this table Rann, Margie, and George Pearce made their way. The man from the bar came over with three drinks and everyone watched them in expectant silence while George Pearce referred to his notes. He cleared his throat and rose.

“Ladies and gentlemen, you all have your biographical notes, which should eliminate a lot of questions except that I will tell you they were written by Mr. Colfax’s mother while he was out of the country and his information may very well differ from hers on some points. So don’t hesitate to ask any questions you may have.”

The reporters responded to this with a laugh.

“I’m going to ask that Mr. Colfax remain seated throughout the interview and that you do the same and that the waiter keep everyone’s glass filled. Hands? Yes, Miss Brown.” George Pearce took his seat and sipped his highball.

“Mr. Colfax, I have for some time wondered how one so young could write a book such as Choi . Now I notice in our notes that you were ready for college at twelve. Could you elaborate on this for us, please?”

Their questions for the next forty-five minutes dealt mostly with his background and his reference work regarding his book, and Rann answered them all as completely but as briefly as possible.

A young woman in the back row who had not spoken before raised her hand. George Pearce consulted Margie before he spoke.

“Yes, Miss Adams. I’m sorry, I don’t believe I’ve met you before.”

“No.” The woman’s voice was well modulated. “I’m just in from the West Coast. I’m Nancy Adams from the Trib . Mr. Colfax, how is it you know so much detail about the black market in Korea?”

Rann felt his neck redden. “Miss Adams, I don’t know anything about the black market in Korea.”

“But you wrote of it so realistically. How could you do so if you do not know anything about it.”

“I have been asked not to discuss that.”

George Pearce cleared his throat and pinched his lower lip between his thumb and forefinger, about to speak.

“Asked by whom, Mr. Colfax?” Nancy Adams went on, hurriedly.

“One of the officers in charge.”

“In charge of what, Mr. Colfax? Were you tried for involvement in the black market?”

“No, I was cleared of any involvement.”

“But cleared by whom, Mr. Colfax, if not by trial?”

“By a group of officers in charge.”

“Not a court-martial?”

“No.”

“Just a group of officers?”

“Yes.”

“Mr. Colfax, in your book there are some ranking officers involved in the black market. Couldn’t it be possible that the ones who gave you a clean bill were those you wrote about?”

“No.”

“But how do we know, Mr. Colfax, if, as you say, you don’t know? What was the name of the officer in charge?”

“He was not involved.”

“Then if you were not involved and he was not involved, why not give his name?”

“It was General Appleby.” Rann wished he hadn’t spoken the name, but the woman had made him nervous with her persistence.

George Pearce rose. “Ladies and gentlemen, I hate to break this up but I know Mr. Colfax has to dress for dinner. Thank you very much and I hope that this has been helpful.”

“Mr. Colfax, one more short question, please.” It was the first woman who had questioned him. “I think my readers would be interested in knowing what a young serviceman would choose to do on his first night out in New York after being away for so long. Do you mind?”

“Simple for me. Dinner and the theatre.”

“With anyone special?”

“Rita, Rita Benson.”

“Oh, I see. Very special! Thank you, Mr. Colfax.”

George Pearce and Margie seemed pleased with the afternoon and parted from Rann in the lobby and Rann took a taxi home to change for dinner.

“Why, young sir, you look so different.” Sung’s smile showed his enthusiasm. “You so all new from morning. Looks nice like, different but nice.” He took the package Rann was carrying.

“Thank you, Sung. I’ll be dressing right away and I’ll wear the jacket in that box.”

“Your mother called, young sir. She sound upset. She ask you call.”

“All right, I’ll call her now, but I’ll have to make it quick. I don’t have any time to spare. Turn the water on in the bathtub, will you, and not too hot.”

Rann sat at the desk in the library.

“How are you, Mother? Is anything wrong?” His call went through quickly.

“Oh Rann, I’m so glad you called. I don’t know if anything’s wrong or not until you tell me. There was this very insinuating article in this morning’s paper. Rann, who is Rita Benson?” His mother sounded anxious.

Rann laughed. “No one you need to worry about. She’s just a lady I met on the plane.”

“Not according to this article.”

“Mother, I can only tell you what I have been told, which is pay no attention to stuff like that you read in the papers. She is a nice lady, that’s all.”

“As long as you are sure you haven’t been added to someone’s stable, though I suppose that’s all right too, if that’s what you want.”

“I’m not in anyone’s stable and I’m not going to be. There is nothing to worry about. Now, Mother, I have to run or I’ll be late for a dinner date.”

“With her?”

“Yes, Mother,” Rann laughed again. “With Mrs. Benson.”

“Well, all right. We’ll talk again soon.”

“And I’ll see you soon, Mother, and you will enjoy Mrs. Benson when you meet her.”

Rann sat, thoughtful, for a moment after he hung up. He could not resent her concern. She was not actually prying. It was honest, natural concern. It was a comfort to him, in a way, to have her there in the background of his life, always concerned for his happiness.

“MY DEAR BOY, YOU ARE not late,” Rita Benson said when he telephoned her room at the St. Regis forty-five minutes later.

“And never apologize. In this world anything under a half hour is on time. Do you want to come to my suite for cocktails or, in view of the papers, shall I meet you in the lounge? I must say, however, that if this is a stable, I’m paying dearly for it.”

“I’ll meet you in the lounge, Rita,” Rann laughed. “And I’m not worried about the stable.”

“Oh dear, I must be slipping.” Rita Benson laughed too. “See you in a minute.”

Rann was glad for the new dinner jacket when Rita Benson entered the cocktail lounge a few minutes later. Every head in the room turned to her as she came to the table. She looked to be perhaps thirty-five, though Rann suspected she was nearer fifty-five. Her long gown of wine-colored silk clung to her slender frame with the easy grace of a dress made for the one who wears it. Her closely cropped hair fit smoothly to her head, framing her face dramatically and accentuating her long, graceful neck and slender shoulders.