Read Online Matters of Honor by Louis Begley - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Louis Begley
Tags: Fiction, Literary, Suspense, Psychological, Psychological fiction, Historical, Jewish, Friendship, Nineteen fifties, Antisemitism, Jewish college students
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wonder whether the girl would appear, when Henry poked me and pointed to the door nearest the podium. There she is, he whispered. There was no question about it; it was Penthesilea of green stockings, now in navy-blue socks and penny loafers. I gave him the thumbs-up sign.
I had to go to another class after the lecture and said goodbye to Henry and Sue as soon as we left Sanders. But Henry and I met for lunch at the Union. With her identity confirmed, I thought he would have finally spoken to Margot. He seemed startled at the idea and told me that he certainly hadn’t. His plan was to continue to lie low. In fact, he had already gotten Sue to promise never to mention to Margot his name or his interest in her. It was my turn to be surprised. I asked how this squared with wanting to declare his undying love from the moment he first saw Margot.
It doesn’t, he fired back. I told you the stars weren’t aligned. It was a dumb thing to think and a dumb thing to say, but at least I was smart enough not to do anything of the sort. I don’t want to be humiliated.
Archie and Henry hadn’t yet reequipped themselves at Keezer’s. When Henry confirmed my hunch that his wardrobe was a problem, I let him feel my exasperation. Had he not yet realized that so far no one had rejected him because of the way he was dressed?
How would you know? he replied. Disdain is something you feel in your bones. I know what I feel in mine.
After a pause he said, The immediate problem is whether I should stop seeing Sue. She’s very affectionate and nice, but Margot and she live in the same dorm, they spend their time with the same girls. I want to avoid complications. I think I have to drop her—very gently.
I made no comment.
We finished lunch and walked back to the dormitory. On the way he started to tell me what he had learned about Margot. The gist of it was that her parents were rich and elegant enough to be featured regularly in fashion magazines. They were said to know everyone who was famous and important. This made them the subject of a good deal of talk among the other girls at the school and their parents. The details were interesting. Margot’s father had been an important banker in Amsterdam before the war. Most people seemed to know he was a Jew. However, the mother was a real American; that is to say she wasn’t Jewish. According to school lore, Mr. Hornung had “bought” her when she was a cabaret singer performing at the Pierre, and Margot was born five months later. Both events were café society news in the New York tabloids even though Mr. Hornung had taken his bride and child back to Holland. He was no fool. Already in 1938, he began transferring his capital and his collections to New York. Then, in June 1939, the family, accompanied by the English nanny who was still with the Hornungs, tranquilly sailed to New York aboard a Cunarder and were reunited with the money and the art. They moved into their present apartment on Park Avenue in time for Margot to go to school that fall. According to Sue, the apartment was like the Frick Collection. Mr. Hornung made a second fortune on Wall Street, which may be the reason they hadn’t moved back to Amsterdam.
I sensed it, Henry said, as soon as I saw the mother, I sensed what kind of people they are. None of them would give me the time of day, no matter how I was dressed. I’ll have to make Margot my long-term project. In the meantime, I’ll stay away. Don’t want to screw it up.
I agreed that the mother was glamorous. But was that a reason for a Radcliffe freshman—a Jewish or half-Jewish one at that—to refuse to go out with a Jewish undergraduate she had already tried to pick up? Just because her parents were loaded and knew Picasso and the Windsors?
Henry said, You can’t really be that stupid.
I didn’t take offense, but our conversation was over. Henry had to go to the library to read a book that was on reserve. However, we returned to the subject of the
I had to go to another class after the lecture and said goodbye to Henry and Sue as soon as we left Sanders. But Henry and I met for lunch at the Union. With her identity confirmed, I thought he would have finally spoken to Margot. He seemed startled at the idea and told me that he certainly hadn’t. His plan was to continue to lie low. In fact, he had already gotten Sue to promise never to mention to Margot his name or his interest in her. It was my turn to be surprised. I asked how this squared with wanting to declare his undying love from the moment he first saw Margot.
It doesn’t, he fired back. I told you the stars weren’t aligned. It was a dumb thing to think and a dumb thing to say, but at least I was smart enough not to do anything of the sort. I don’t want to be humiliated.
Archie and Henry hadn’t yet reequipped themselves at Keezer’s. When Henry confirmed my hunch that his wardrobe was a problem, I let him feel my exasperation. Had he not yet realized that so far no one had rejected him because of the way he was dressed?
How would you know? he replied. Disdain is something you feel in your bones. I know what I feel in mine.
After a pause he said, The immediate problem is whether I should stop seeing Sue. She’s very affectionate and nice, but Margot and she live in the same dorm, they spend their time with the same girls. I want to avoid complications. I think I have to drop her—very gently.
I made no comment.
We finished lunch and walked back to the dormitory. On the way he started to tell me what he had learned about Margot. The gist of it was that her parents were rich and elegant enough to be featured regularly in fashion magazines. They were said to know everyone who was famous and important. This made them the subject of a good deal of talk among the other girls at the school and their parents. The details were interesting. Margot’s father had been an important banker in Amsterdam before the war. Most people seemed to know he was a Jew. However, the mother was a real American; that is to say she wasn’t Jewish. According to school lore, Mr. Hornung had “bought” her when she was a cabaret singer performing at the Pierre, and Margot was born five months later. Both events were café society news in the New York tabloids even though Mr. Hornung had taken his bride and child back to Holland. He was no fool. Already in 1938, he began transferring his capital and his collections to New York. Then, in June 1939, the family, accompanied by the English nanny who was still with the Hornungs, tranquilly sailed to New York aboard a Cunarder and were reunited with the money and the art. They moved into their present apartment on Park Avenue in time for Margot to go to school that fall. According to Sue, the apartment was like the Frick Collection. Mr. Hornung made a second fortune on Wall Street, which may be the reason they hadn’t moved back to Amsterdam.
I sensed it, Henry said, as soon as I saw the mother, I sensed what kind of people they are. None of them would give me the time of day, no matter how I was dressed. I’ll have to make Margot my long-term project. In the meantime, I’ll stay away. Don’t want to screw it up.
I agreed that the mother was glamorous. But was that a reason for a Radcliffe freshman—a Jewish or half-Jewish one at that—to refuse to go out with a Jewish undergraduate she had already tried to pick up? Just because her parents were loaded and knew Picasso and the Windsors?
Henry said, You can’t really be that stupid.
I didn’t take offense, but our conversation was over. Henry had to go to the library to read a book that was on reserve. However, we returned to the subject of the
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