A God in Ruins - Leon Uris [49]
Darnell always had business in New York and Washington, where T3 maintained offices. It was a wild time of happenings from the Challenger explosion to the Chernobyl disaster to the fall of the Berlin Wall. He and his present wife often accompanied Pucky to Broadway theater, Lincoln Center, or the wild bright spots in the Village.
At the end of the night she often did not go back to the T3 apartment on Park Avenue but drifted down to the Village alone to her sister Penny’s loft. Darnell did not know that anything was amiss but suspected it.
He did not want such a tight relationship with Thornton’s wife. It put him on the middle of a fault.
A time back, Darnell had convinced Thornton that he should establish a charitable foundation. The monster bill was tens of millions; its guiding philosophy was a support system for engineering, medical, and scientific research.
“Over my dead body,” warned Thornton when Darnell proposed a five-million-dollar research grant for AIDS. T3 was alive and well when the gift was made. It grabbed national attention, and suddenly over a hundred gay employees of T3 Industries came out of the closet.
Darnell worked the boss like he was playing a fine violin, so Thornton got credit for putting Pucky on the foundation board. It was a brilliant move, one that put a light into her eyes again.
Dr. Hans Neucamp, president of the Tomtree Foundation, was tired and sported squinting red eyes. “Grant number one hundred twenty-two,” he said, “thirty thousand dollars to Utah State for finishing ponds for the rest of the freshwater fish experiments.”
No objections.
“And one more. The Peterson brothers in Toledo. Their battery will drive a Jeep three hundred miles without a charge. They’re onto the right system for a breakthrough,” Dr. Neucamp said.
Thornton nodded his head.
“Well, that’s it,” Neucamp said.
“If I hear no objections, I propose we vote to pass the grants unanimously.”
“I object,” Pucky said. Emerge from your long darkness now, Darnell had pleaded with her. She caught a glimpse of Darnell on the right side of T3.
Come on, baby, Darnell thought, kick ass.
“Mrs. Tomtree?” Dr. Neucamp asked with a crooked smile and a voice that leapt just a few notes higher.
“What the hell is this all about?” Thornton snapped, looking at his watch. He leaned closer to Darnell, and Darnell nodded. “This being the case, we’ve had a very long day. Why don’t we adjourn till tomorrow? I’ll see what’s on Mrs. T’s mind, and it will only take a few minutes to wrap it up. See you here at ten.”
Dr. Neucamp wanted to hear what transpired, badly, but Darnell took his elbow and guided him through the leather door. The other board members, a cross section of intimidated silence, slunk out.
Darnell phoned the press office and told them to hold up the fund announcements.
“My goodness,” Pucky said, “‘I object’ were the first two words I’ve spoken in ten board meetings. I object, I object, I object.”
Darnell started to leave.
“Come back here. You’re not leaving me alone with this crazy woman.”
“MIT, Cal Tech, Carnegie-Mellon, are going to be drenched in joy tomorrow,” she said.
“I know what my bride is up to,” Thornton said.
“When I came on the board, you agreed that a portion, not specified, would go to the arts. A portion of zero is zero.”
“Correct! Nothing of nothing is nothing. And nothing is where the arts are going in the next century. Playwrights have abandoned the stage, and novels will become relics. They prefer to spread crap thinner and thinner on a hundred and fifty TV channels.”
“Hold on, Thornton,” Pucky commanded. “We woke up from a war singing, ‘Oh, What a Beautiful Morning.’ It was the nation’s song of hope. Brilliant and talented people carried this through the middle of the century with golden plays, golden novels, and golden theater. They were as good as any in American history. Richard Rogers, Tennessee Williams, John Steinbeck…Lord!”
“The people have made their choice, Pucky. I’m only following their orders,” Thornton answered.
“Their orders! To conceal