An Idol for Others (18 page)

“I’m not. You know that.”

“The thought of your letting that little whore play with your body makes me sick. I’m not sure I do want you.” She stared at him with cold appraisal, but the thrust of her attack had softened.

He dared offer her a small conciliatory smile. “Don’t say things like that, Clarry, even if you’re angry. It’s wrong. We need each other.”

“Do we? Even if we need others too?”

He rose and dropped on a knee beside her and held her arms. “We haven’t talked much about being faithful, and I didn’t feel any of the things I feel with you, so I thought it didn’t matter. I know now.”

She studied him for another moment, and the belligerence died in her eyes. “If you looked at her like that, I’ll kill you.”

“I didn’t. I couldn’t. I love you. I looked at her the way I’d look at any beautiful object. That’s what she is. Maybe you should stop wearing that thing.” Thinking of taking her without it immediately aroused him. “I know it couldn’t have happened if we were making children together. That’s what it is with us–love making life. It makes playing around with bodies seem idiotic.”

The one commonplace streak she had found in him was his attitude to marriage and family. She was determined to root it out. She threw off his hands and rose. “Children! I’m not going to have children for years. If that’s what you need to keep you away from little teenage whores, find yourself a nice placid earth mother. We have a lot to do before we think about children. What if you have to go to war? Do you think I’m going to sit at home dandling a baby on my knee?”

He rose and looked at her proud back and laughed. She was splendid. The crisis was past, but she wasn’t one to cover it over with healing tenderness. Her battle continued on all fronts.

“Come here, Clarry,” he said.

“Children,” she repeated indignantly, turning to him, “when you still can’t get a job on Broadway. I’m beginning to think I’d better let you see Uncle Perry, after all.”

He couldn’t believe his ears. He stared at her. This was the greatest triumph of all. He must have given her a real scare if she were ready to sacrifice her precious principles. He sprang forward to her and took her hands, making no attempt to disguise the light of victory in his eyes. “And the others, Clarry?” he demanded.

“If you think you can go to them without its being an admission of defeat.”

“Defeat? I’m not defeated. Don’t you realize what I’ve accomplished in a year? This production we’ve been talking about–it’d be impossible for anyone else. Everybody needs help when they’re launching something like this. We’ll wait and see what Johnny finds out and if we can get a firm reply from the movie people, and then we’ll talk about it. I don’t want the Washburns unless I need them. Except one.” He drew her to him and kissed her.

She permitted a meeting of lips and then pulled away.

“I’m not sure I’m ready to be pawed by you yet,” she said. “It’s fairly obvious, but you haven’t actually told me if you were with her this evening.”

He was briefly thrown off-balance before he realized that, in fact, he hadn’t. There was no need for further confessions, since there was no way for her to know. “No, I told you. Last week.”

She looked at him and burst into mocking laughter, mocking both of them. “I don’t suppose it matters. You’re the most attractive man I’ve met so far. I might as well enjoy you while I still want you.”

He put an arm around her and headed for the stairs. He felt like a full-fledged grownup at last and wise beyond his years. It had been a small domestic drama, but it was his first, and he had survived it. He had somehow plucked triumph from what he had feared would be ruins. The production had moved an enormous step closer to reality. Once it was all set, he would insist on becoming a father. He was bursting with optimism and vitality.

Optimism proved to be justified. The first good news came from Johnny Bainbridge. He had heard from a friend of Michel Leclos to say that the latter had left his papers in order before he had dropped out of sight, including a document that secured Johnny’s rights in his English translation in the event of Leclos’s death, or disappearance. This confirmed the agreement Johnny already had. They could go ahead. Clara sent a copy of the play to her uncle Perry with a cautious cover letter in which Walter wasn’t mentioned. She knew people who were interested in producing the play and wanted to know if it qualified for a grant.

Within a couple of days, David had another letter from the film company. When he called Walter into his office to show it to him, there was an explosion of joy. The company had offered to put up a third of the production costs against a majority interest in various rights.

When Walter’s exuberance had subsided somewhat, David began to point out all the objections to the offer, but Walter wouldn’t listen to him. “Fix it any way you like, sweetheart. Just get the money. As far as I’m concerned, we’re in business.”

“Sure. We just have another $18,000 or $20,000 to dig up.”

“Chicken feed. Now that there’s film interest, people will be showering us with money.”

“Maybe if we shake them right. I’ll make some calls and send out some letters. There’s some people here who might be possibilities, the Kennicutts. Rich. I’ve heard they’ve invested in a couple of shows. You know them? You’d probably recognize them if you saw them. They come to the theater a lot.”

Clara’s eyes widened with triumph when he passed on the news. “What did I tell you? We don’t need my dismal family.”

David sidled into the row from which Walter was conducting rehearsals the next morning and eased himself down beside him. “I talked to those people I mentioned–the Kennicutts–last night,” David whispered.

“Hold it,” Walter called to the actors on the stage. “Take it again from Amy’s entrance.” He had found it difficult to concentrate on rehearsals yesterday. If David had more news, good or bad, he didn’t see how he could go on working. He turned to his partner and saw that it wasn’t bad.

“She just called,” David continued in a whisper. “She wants to see you. I suspect she has the hots for you. Anyway, she wants to talk to you–alone. I arranged for you to go for a drink at noon. I’ll take over here if you’re not finished.” He explained the way to the Kennicutt estate and left him in a state of agitation.

He had forgotten to ask David, but he assumed “she” was Mrs. Kennicutt. This was their first chance of raising money on a direct personal basis, and he was going to have to sell the idea on his own. He knew how reproachful he would be if David failed under similar circumstances. He had to succeed. He wondered if he were dressed appropriately. He had on his most casual working clothes, shirt and trousers and frayed espadrilles. He didn’t know anything about the lady. He didn’t even know how old she was. If she had the hots for him, as David put it, he could imagine an interview strewn with pitfalls.

He found the Kennicutt house without difficulty after driving along an extensive stone wall. He passed through a stone gateway and drove up through tree-shaded lawns to a massive ivy-clad stone structure. It was the most imposing mansion he had ever entered. He was admitted by a butler in a white jacket and conducted through a wide hall and across an enormous living room. He should have gone home to dress. David’s remark about the hots was obviously a joke. He pictured a little old lady in black to match the house. He was ushered out onto a terrace.

“Mrs. Kennicutt is waiting for you out at the pool, sir,” the butler said, indicating a low building with a tall yew hedge extending in front of it across a wide expanse of lawn. He rejected the little old lady as he made his way to it and was at a loss for a replacement. The building turned its back on him. He found a break in the thick hedge at its side and saw a pool stretching before him, completely enclosed by yew. He turned a corner and came out onto a sort of paved patio covered by an overhanging roof. He gathered the impression of a luxurious outdoor living room filled with white furniture and greenery before he focused his attention on the woman, wearing sunglasses and a beach robe, who strode to meet him. She removed the glasses as she approached, and he instantly recognized a regular patron of the theater. He had been impressed by her enormous chic. There were few signs of it now. The voluminous robe was closed demurely to her neck. Her brown hair hung straight, combed out but still damp from pool or shower. She wore no makeup, except perhaps a little lipstick.

She looked him straight in the eye and extended a hand. “I’m Fay Kennicutt. I know very well who you are. How nice of you to come.”

He offered his hand, and she took possession of it with both of hers. They smiled at each other. Her eyes and the pressure of her hands told him immediately what she had in mind. He wouldn’t have needed David’s forewarning. “It’s nice of you to ask me,” he said agreeably while he tried to decide how to cope with her. She was athletic-looking, flat, and slightly angular. She was almost plain, but whatever it was that saved her from being so made her intriguing instead, even alluring at moments. Her most distinctive feature was a wide, slightly comic mouth. She was far from young–a bit past 30, he guessed–but there was a gleam of wicked self-aware humor in her eyes that he liked. Searching for an actress to cast in her part, he settled on Katharine Hepburn. She didn’t look like Hepburn, but she was the same type. She even had a distinctively quirky voice.

“I’ve seen you so often at the theater that I feel we’re old friends,” she said. “You’re doing brilliant work. The season’s never been so good.”

“Thanks. I’ve noticed you too. You were there last Thursday?”

She looked impressed, as if he had made a move in her game that she had thought beyond his powers. “How clever of you to remember. It’s very flattering, even a bit surprising. Rumor has it that you chaps at the theater aren’t much interested in women.”

She said it in a pally, man-to-man way, but Walter flushed with indignation. He wasn’t going to be forced into anything just to allay her suspicions. “It would be pretty easy to disprove that rumor,” he said, looking at her pointedly.

“Oh, I was sure there’d be exceptions. Let’s have a drink.” She moved in beside him, still holding his hand, and crooked their arms so she could hug his against her. It was an astonishing assumption of instant intimacy. She directed them across the patio toward a cabinet laden with bottles on the opposite side. “I was terribly excited when David suggested we might be partners. Of course, he’s a super salesman. I gather you’re the guiding light. I thought if I talked to you, I’d get a more complete picture. I have the feeling that anything you’re interested in would be more than just a business proposition.”

Whatever that may mean,
he thought. She was very disarming. The way she handled him made it easy to feel that they were indeed old friends, even old lovers. He was wary of her assumptions. If he got launched on his pitch for the production and, as was inevitable, got carried away by his enthusiasm only to find that her interest hinged on the sexual question, he would find himself committed to a sort of barter that he would rather not face. He could imagine hating her for making it a condition and hating himself for giving in. If it were going to happen, he wanted it to happen quickly, on his own terms, so that he could retain the upper hand. Once sex was disposed of, one way or the other, they could talk seriously.

She unlinked their arms when they reached the cabinet and turned to him. He saw that crossing the patio had somehow caused the top of her robe to fall open, revealing the gentle curve of small naked breasts. He fixed his eyes on them so that she could have no doubt where he was looking. She toyed with the lapel of the robe with one hand without pulling it closed. She disengaged her other hand from his and lifted it to brush hair back from her forehead. This caused a new disposition of the folds of the robe so that one breast was almost completely exposed, and he caught a glimpse of the nipple.

She dropped her hand to his arm, and her fingers moved slightly against it as she subtly urged him closer. He was amazed that she could touch him in a way that made him feel that they were accustomed to holding each other. He knew she wanted to be taken in his arms, but she was obviously naked under the robe, and he wasn’t sure he would like touching her naked body. It was much older than any he had known. If he was to perform for her adequately, it would have to happen on some surge of excitement, without preliminaries. He felt her eyes on his face, but he continued to gaze at her ill-concealed breasts. They were pretty, and her showing them gave him a pleasant proprietary feeling but didn’t excite him.

“What do you drink?” she asked. Her voice had slipped down a tone or two and was charmingly husky. “I think I’ll have a pink gin.”

“Fine with me.” He lifted his eyes and met hers with a detached smile. Her expression was amused and relaxed, but her fingers tensed on his arm.

“I hope you’ll forgive the informality,” she said, looking at the bottles as if she didn’t know what to do with them. “I spend most of the day out here. I love the privacy. I’ve trained the servants not to come near unless I call. I can swim without anything on.”

He seized on the cue. “Does that apply to old friends too?”

“You’re one of the exceptions, are you?” she said playfully. “Feel free, darling. I have the impression you would anyway, with or without my permission.”

He was to play the dominating male, he noted, she the helpless female. “Well, we have important things to discuss.” He unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it off. “I want to put you in a receptive mood.”

She removed her hand from his arm and placed it flat on his chest. Her eyes ran over his shoulders appreciatively. “Very handsome. You’ve already put me in a receptive mood. Are you really going to take everything off?”

He had found his line and was eager now to pursue it. “Sure. Don’t you want me to?” He kicked off his espadrilles and put his hands on the top of his trousers.

“Oh, I want you to very much. It’s never happened to me quite like this before. Not many men could carry if off with such aplomb.”