Heir To The Good Times

By Jeannine D. Van Eperen

"Where's the youngster? Grant asked. "Church," Derek answered. "Between that and St. Benedict's I'll make a priest out of him yet." Priest! The word flung into Devlyn's brain and buried itself there. He could not believe his ears. A priest! I don't want to be a priest. He remembered that St. Benedict's was a seminary as well as a boarding school. He was thunderstruck. A priest, for Pete's sake!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wings ePress, Inc.
• Release date: Aug 18, 2023
• ISBN: 9781597050326

Book preview

Dedication

For Sean and Corey McGrew,

my grandsons,

who hold a special place in my heart.

One

The house stood in a clearing in the exact center of the estate. It was a huge white structure, rectangular with Doric columns gracing both the front and rear. Devlyn had once asked his father which was the front and which was the back of the house. Both sides looked alike, not like other houses he had seen, and his father had told him that their home had no back doors, only front. Devlyn had accepted this. He was only eight then.

During his early years, Devlyn, his father, and his mother had lived in an apartment in Chicago in what is known as the Good Times Club Building. They had a private entrance and elevator that whisked them to the fortieth floor. His mother had taken him for walks along Lake Michigan. Now, he had only to walk out of the front door facing the lake to be on his private beach. His mother had taken him to Grant and Lincoln Parks. Now, the estate grounds here at his Kenilworth home were like a park. There were benches like a park, and iron deer grazing on the lawn. Devlyn sat on a white wrought iron bench and retied his shoelace. He had just returned from Sunday mass, which he attended alone. Sometimes Lotta would go with him, but she had slept late. Lotta had replaced his mother in his father’s affections. Devlyn vaguely remembered two or three others, but mainly, it was Lotta.

Devlyn walked aimlessly around the estate. Tall shrubs growing along the high iron fence blocked the view of the street and the adjacent estates. Old oak trees lined the curved driveway and their leaves rustled as the lake breeze caressed them. A thicket of pines almost encircled a fountain on the northern edge of the property. Devlyn made his way over to it. He picked the blossom of a phlox which bloomed profusely among the small pines where they were unwanted, where the gardener had been trying unsuccessfully to keep them out, to keep contained in an area to the west in their allotted space. Devlyn had sympathy for the phlox. He, too, wanted to be free to roam where he wished, to be a phlox among the pines. He brought the blossom to his nose and drew in its sweet aroma. Two robins landed in the fountain. Devlyn watched as they tried to take a bath in the fountain that dripped and splashed, cascading water to a small pond below. A gold fish darted, but Devlyn’s eyes returned to the birds. He did not smile at the birds’ antics, but seriously studied them, envying their freedom as they flew away. He walked over to the swimming pool. The water shone bright and blue. He circled the pool, as he used to as a child, walking as close to its edge as he could without falling into the water. He dropped the phlox he was carrying into the pool. Be free, he whispered as the blossom slowly floated away. He reached up and clung to the diving board, hanging from it, inching his hands along its surface to make his circle of the pool complete.

Whatcha doing over there? Petrillo, one of his father’s employees, yelled. If you want to go swimming, put on your trunks.

Devlyn ignored the man, not looking at him or answering, but he slowly walked away from the pool area. He sighed, stuck his hands into his trouser pockets, and slumped toward the house. He could feel Petrillo’s eyes following him, and he wondered if the man had nothing better to do than follow him.

Devlyn quietly slipped into the house. He eyed the mahogany banister that graced the stairway. When he was younger, he used to take delight in sliding down. He was too old for that sort of thing now. The Ming vase that had stood at the end of the railing, and that he had broken four years ago, was now replaced with another. Devlyn carefully avoided the delicate thing, and sat down on the red-carpeted stairs opposite the vase and studied the hall. There just wasn’t anything to do! He studied the hallway, admiring the turn of the staircase and the shape of the windows. Maybe he’d be an architect. He watched the prisms that danced on the walls and ceiling, reflected off of the crystal chandelier. He yawned and stretched, and had just about decided to change into a swimsuit when he heard voices coming from his father’s study. Grant was there. Grant, his older half-brother, was a remnant of some distant life his father had once had, a time when his father had worked for someone else and had been married to Grant’s mother. Devlyn didn’t know much about Grant’s mother. He supposed she was dead. Grant was thirty-six and headed the Devereaux Enterprises on the west coast.

Devlyn inched his way to beside the door and stood listening. No one ever told him anything, and eavesdropping was the only way he could possibly know what was going on. He knelt and put his right eye to the keyhole. He could see both Grant and his father.

Where’s the youngster? Grant asked.

Church, Derek answered. Between that and St. Benedict’s I’ll make a priest out of him yet. He laughed.

Priest! The word flung into Devlyn’s brain and buried itself there. He couldn’t believe his ears. A priest! I don’t want to be a priest. He remembered that St. Benedict’s was a seminary as well as a boarding school. He was thunderstruck. A priest, for Pete’s sake! A priest! He’d have even less freedom than he had now. He tried to shut out the thought. Devlyn took his eye away from the keyhole for a moment, then went back to watching. He tried to concentrate on his father’s conversation.

Lotta and I are heading to the Riviera as soon as I ship Devlyn back to St. Benedict’s. I want to see that there are no snags for the opening. The Good Times Gal is always a certain type and I want to make sure they stay that way. Henderson’s good and Lu Courtney has never let me down, but—

Yes, I know. That will make the fifth Good Times Club in Europe.

We’re getting there. One for every place Lotta and I like to visit. London, Paris, Rome, Berlin, and now Nice. I gotta have a place to have a good American meal and a good bed.

Grant grinned. Do you really use that fancy one in your apartment?

Sure. We took some pictures of it the other day with five of the sexiest broads in it. It will be in next month’s issue.

Circulation is up on the west coast.

Things couldn’t be better, except for Dev. Derek smiled and ran his hand over his wiry, grey hair. "Petrillo and Markham haven’t liked their latest assignment. They want to get back to the action and will be happy to see the kid back in school. They’re getting tired of babysitting.

Nothing’s come of that rumor? Grant asked.

No. All’s quiet. I think that’s all it was, a rumor. Derek laughed. They tell me the kid’s growing up. He’s got two little girl friends.

It won’t be long, Grant chuckled along with his father. What’s he now? Fifteen?

Yeah. An immature fifteen. Lotta insists I’ve got to be careful now. Can’t leave any magazines or books around the house. Lotta says it isn’t healthy for him. She’s been reading books on teenagers. Says my pornography isn’t good for him. Pornography, can you imagine? Sexy, yes, but porno, no. She’s very straight these days, a proper mother. But she’s right. The other night I was screening one of the movies, and he walked in. Markham turned off the projector right away, and I don’t think he saw much of anything.

Ever think, Dad, that maybe you’re sheltering Devlyn too much?

Derek shrugged. It’s a little different from when you were his age, Grant. With a business like ours, and an adolescent mind, I think it’s best not to mix them at all. He knows about the Good Times Clubs, or course. Can’t help but know about them. And for that matter, there’s nothing he couldn’t know about them. Nothing wrong with good food, entertainment, and beautiful women, but I think he is too young for centerfolds and titillating movies, don’t you?

Titillating? What did that mean? Devlyn thought he’d have to look up that word. He rose from his knees and turned to move away as the talk in the study turned from him to production costs.

What are you doing, Devy? Eavesdropping? Lotta asked approaching him. You know you never hear well of yourself when you eavesdrop. She smiled and ruffled his curly, dark hair. She kissed his forehead. Get to mass all right?

He nodded. I was just going to look at the dictionary.

Well, you’d better use the one in the library. Your father and brother are discussing business in the study. I hope they won’t be at it all day. Come, keep me company while I have some breakfast, Devy. Devlyn followed after her. He was hungry.

Lotta was twenty-eight, a statuesque blonde, who had been a Good Times Gal for two weeks before Derek Devereaux noticed her. He promptly fired her, deciding to keep the best for himself. She was nineteen then, and her curvaceous figure had not changed one iota in the nine years they had been together.

I bet you’ll be glad to be getting back to St. Benedict’s, Devy, Lotta said over her toast.

Why do you say that?

It must be lonely for you here. All your friends are up in Minnesota.

I’ve made some friends here.

Really? Have you? I’m glad. She smiled at him. Why don’t you bring them home?

I didn’t know I could.

Sure, Devy. I’d like to meet them.

They’re, they’re both girls.

Why, Devy! That’s all right. Lotta smiled and tilted her lovely head looking at him in a manner an older male would find flirtatious. A handsome boy like you will start having girl friends. I guess, being always with fellows up at school, you would want to be around girls for a change. She thought for a moment. I was around your age when I started to date. You won’t have much of a chance to date up at St. Benedict’s, I’ll bet, once you get back, so enjoy yourself while you can.

While I can. Does she know I’m slated for priesthood, too? He frowned. I don’t want to be a priest, he said.

Lotta laughed. Why, of course you don’t, Devy. No boy would.

WHEN DEVLYN AWOKE THE next morning rain pelted against the windows, and the day looked as gloomy as he felt. His sleep was filled with dreams of priests and prisons. He dreaded returning to St. Benedict’s School. Only two weeks of vacation left and then will I have to stay at St. Benedict’s forever? He shuddered, got out of bed and took a long shower. Sometimes, he thought better when alone in the shower with the warm water running over his body. Often, ideas came to him, bouncing off the shower wall. Today, the only idea that entered his head was to go to the Kenilworth Library, make that weird Patsy Petrillo tag after him. He brightened picturing that obese tub of lard hiking through the rain, spying on him, trying not to be seen.

He threw on his clothes and ran down the stairs, keeping his distance from the vase at the bottom. Cook was on her toes on this morning and quickly served him a plate of bacon and eggs, his favorite breakfast. He gobbled down his food, anxious to leave the house. When Petrillo came into the breakfast room, he ignored him, waiting until Patsy was about to take his first bite of his breakfast, then Devlyn drank the last of his milk then quickly announced, I’m going out.

Devlyn snickered to himself as he heard Petrillo softly curse. Before Patsy could hoist his bulk out of the chair, Devlyn grabbed an umbrella and went out the door. He dawdled, taking a circuitous route to the library, to annoy his shadow. Never before had his father had him tailed. What did his father expect him to do? He never had much freedom, but in Devlyn’s opinion having Patsy Petrillo and Paul Markham watch his every move was strange, even for his father.

Devlyn smiled when he saw his two friends sitting at one of the large round library tables. Both were taking some kind of summer course and did research almost every morning. Debra saw him first, and smiled a greeting. Her long, sandy-colored hair had fallen forward as she wrote, and she pushed it back with her hand, then patted the chair beside her. He took a seat, and then all three laughed when he pointed out Petrillo’s heavy, damp figure stationed under a dripping eave across the street from the library.

Only one today, Devy? Debra asked. Where’s his friend?

Devlyn shrugged. Maybe they flipped a coin to see who’d get wet today. Paul isn’t so bad, but this Patsy gives me the creeps. Sorry, Patsy, he said to the other girl. I forgot. I’ll refer to him as Petrillo after this.

The girl giggled, and pushed her glasses back more firmly on her freckled nose. We didn’t think you’d be here in this awful weather.

Why not? You’re here.

Well, we’ll get extra brownie points when school begins for having done this assignment. All research! Patsy shuddered. How I hate it!

I think it’s kind of fun, Debra said, And we wouldn’t have met Devy, if it wasn’t for all this library work. She blushed. Your hair’s wet, Debra said, reaching her hand up and touching his mop of dark brown, unruly, curly hair.

Debra’s friend, Pasty, stood up as if on a signal and said, I’ll be back. I want to find another book.

After the girl left, Devlyn said in a confidential tone, I heard something awful. My father wants me to be a priest. Can you imagine?

A priest! Devy, can he make you? Debra took his hand. I mean, you don’t want to be a priest, do you?

He shook his head. I don’t know what to do. I’ll be back at St. Benedict’s in two weeks, and then it will be too late. What do you think I can do?

Did you talk to your father?

Devlyn snorted. I’ve told you how my father is. You’ve seen the goons he has following me, watching my every move. Debbie, somehow, I’ve got to figure some way out of this plan of his. I don’t know what I’d do, if I didn’t have you to talk to. There’s no one else. You and Patsy are the only friends I have.

Boy, do you two look dismal, Patsy said as she tossed a book on the table and plopped down in a chair.

Devy’s father wants him to be a priest, Debbie said, making a wry face. Can you imagine?

Ugh! Why don’t you just tell him no way? Patsy asked.

Shaking his head, Devlyn said, He wouldn’t listen. No one ever disagrees with him about anything. At least not more than once. His tone was ominous.

Why don’t we make a list of everything we know about priests? Debbie suggested. Maybe there is some reason or condition why you couldn’t be a priest. She got out a clean sheet of paper and put two headings, Things Priests Can Be and Things Priests Cannot Be.

TWO WEEKS LATER, DEVLYN sat alone in the back seat of his father’s black Lincoln sedan ignoring any conversation his two guards, Paul Markham and Patsy Petrillo, threw his way, and trying to appear calm. Both men wore brown business suits but that appeared to be the only likeness. Paul, the younger of the two, was blond, tall, thin, and neat, whereas Patsy always looked rumpled and overheated in summer weather, constantly wiping his swarthy face with an overused white handkerchief, and his black hair appeared oily.

The ride to O’Hare took almost as much time as the entire flight to Minneapolis even with its short stop in Green Bay. Devlyn glanced at the broad shoulders and neck of Petrillo as he sat next to Paul in the front. Even with the air-conditioning going full-blast, sweat oozed on Petrillo’s neck and dampened his white shirt collar. Revulsion for the man filled Devlyn. Even in his earliest memories, he detested the man who was usually at his father’s side.

Paul Markham pulled into the one empty space in front of the terminal building at O’Hare. Patsy Petrillo had suggested that Paul drive, because Paul had that kind of luck. Paul walked over to the police officer who tried to maintain some semblance of order at the busy terminal. I work for Derek Devereaux, Paul said to the patrolman. I’ve got to take the boss’s kid to his plane, and I’d really appreciate it if I could just leave the car there for a few minutes. He casually got out a chit to the Good Times Club and held it in front of the man’s face. You ever been here? Paul smiled. Would you like to take the little woman? The man didn’t express his answer in words, but Paul made out the voucher for entrance, cocktails, and meals. If you want to use it, it’s yours. He walked back to the car and placed the voucher under the windshield wiper, knowing that he could leave the car parked there all day. A parking ticket would be less expensive, but this was good public relations.

Paul opened the trunk and rear door.

Devlyn got out of the car and stood beside the car with Patsy Petrillo, waiting while Paul got a redcap. I’ll take this suitcase with me, Devlyn said.

Are you sure you want to do that, Devy? Paul asked. You’ll have to carry it through the terminal in Minneapolis, you know.

I want it with me, Devlyn said. It has something breakable in it.

What? Your shaving lotion? Patsy jibed. Better to check it.

I want it, Devlyn insisted.

Okay, but remember you’re the one who’ll do the carrying though, Patsy said.

Not here, I won’t, Devlyn said and handed the bag to Patsy Petrillo.

God, I’d love to have a half-hour alone with that kid, Patsy muttered to Paul. He’s a God-damned smart-ass.

You just don’t know how to handle him, Paul said with a grin. He’s a nice kid.

Petrillo and Markham gave a sigh of relief when their charge was safely walking up the ramp to his plane. They stayed there watching until the plane began to taxi, then they turned, smiling, to head to the pub for a drink.

Paul sipped on his Scotch and water relieved that his boss’s son was on his way to school. He had rather enjoyed his last assignment but was glad the boy was now safely aboard the plane and he could now get back to his normal job. A legal-eagle, the boy had called him. What’s a legal-eagle like you following me for? Devlyn had asked, and Paul could not tell him. Derek wanted someone he could trust, so he had picked his two right-hand men. Paul felt glad Derek believed he was trustworthy. They went way back, the three of them. He leaned forward and said, Say, Patsy, do you really think anyone’s out to snatch Devlyn?

Naw, the boss is just paranoid about him. Patsy shifted his bulk and leaned back in his chair.

"Yeah, but you know how your compadres are. Derek’s got a gold mine in Devereaux Enterprises. Booze and broads are going strong, so there have been rumbles that they want to get in on the action."

"What d’ya mean my compadres? Patsy glared at Paul. Just because a guy’s Italian—"

Don’t get hot under the collar, Patsy, but you know the problem. Devereaux’s not about to cut anyone in. He’s worked too hard and too long to get this far. My guess is that he heard something real, and he’s afraid they might try to get to him through the boy.

You think anyone remembers he has a young son? Ever since the split with Melissa Scott, no one ever thinks of Derek as a family man. He’s the world’s biggest swinger.

Melissa, Paul murmured softly. She sure loved her kid.

Well, her kid is a pain in the butt to me, Patsy said. He settled his round body more comfortably in his chair, took out his handkerchief and wiped his brow. He ignored the glass that sat beside his beer and brought the bottle to his mouth. A real pain in the ass, just like his mother. I think he knew we were tailing him and he just wanted to see us get wet walking after him. He’s a smart-ass. He did it all the time. Long walks in the rain, for Christ’s sake! Sure pissed me off! Whoever heard of such a thing?

He didn’t do it out of meanness, Paul said. He’s just too stupid to know enough to come in out of the rain. He’s just a dumb kid, Patsy. Paul smiled. If you’d lose a little of that blubber you’re carrying around, you’d have enjoyed those walks.

Petrillo ignored his thin companion’s remark about his excess of weight. And did you take a gander at those girl friends of his—skinny, flat-chested, little broads, and just as stupid as he is.

You’re just angry because they were giggling because your name’s the same as the one girl’s, Markham said, his hazel eyes laughing into his companion’s brown ones.

Patsy smiled then. "Yeah, maybe. I guess there’s nothing to be so riled at, but I’m sure glad to be rid of the brat. Wiping a