The Early Ayn Rand (49 page)

INGALLS: [
With a courtly gesture of introduction in the direction of the sound
] There’s Mademoiselle Shirley Temple . . . !

ADRIENNE: Walter! Why in hell do they have a horse running loose out there?

BRECKENRIDGE: Adrienne, my dear! How do you—

TONY: [
At the same time
] A
horse
?

ADRIENNE: A horse. Hello, Tony. Why do they have a horse cavorting in the middle of the driveway? I almost killed the damn beast and I think I should have.

BRECKENRIDGE: I’m so sorry, my dear. Somebody’s carelessness. I shall give orders to—

ADRIENNE: [
Forgetting him entirely, to
FLEMING] Hello, Harvey. Where have you been hiding yourself lately? Hello, Bill, old pal. I really came here just to see you again. Hello, Flash.

BRECKENRIDGE: Adrienne, my dear, may I present Serge Sookin, a new and very dear friend of mine?

ADRIENNE: How do you do, Mr. Sookin.

SERGE: [
Clicking his heels and bowing
] I am honored, Miss Knowland.

ADRIENNE: [
Looking at the room
] Well, I think this place is—[
Her glance stops on
INGALLS
, who is standing aside. She throws at him curtly, as an afterthought:
] Hello, Steve. [
She turns away from him before he has had time to complete his bow
] I think this place is—what one would expect it to be.

BRECKENRIDGE: Would you like to see your room, my dear?

ADRIENNE: No hurry. [
Tears her hat off and tosses it halfway across the room. To
FLASH
, indicating her suitcase:
] Flash, be an angel and take my stuff out of the way, will you? [FLASH
exits up the stairs with the suitcase.
ADRIENNE
walks to sideboard and pours herself a drink
] Incidentally, where’s the host? BRECKENRIDGE: Mr. and Mrs. Dawson are not here yet. ADRIENNE: Not here? That’s a new one in etiquette. Oh, and yes, of course, happy birthday.

BRECKENRIDGE: Thank you, my dear.

ADRIENNE: How’s the infernal machine?

BRECKENRIDGE: The what?

ADRIENNE: The gadget with cosmic rays that the papers have been yelping about.

BRECKENRIDGE: The papers might do some real yelping about it soon. Very soon.

TONY: I heard it’s really a colossal invention, Adrienne.

ADRIENNE: Another one? I think it’s outrageous—the amount of space that the Breckenridge Laboratories have always managed to hog in the newspapers. But then, Walter has a genius for not remaining unnoticed. Like a stripteaser.

INGALLS: Or an actress.

ADRIENNE: [
Whirls to him, then away, and repeats calmly, her voice a little hard
] Or an actress.

SERGE: [
Breaks the uncomfortable little silence, speaking hotly and with a defiant sort of respect
] The stage—it is a great art. It helps such as suffer and are poor, all the misery and the sadness it makes forget for the few hours. The theater—it is the noble work of the humanitarianism.

ADRIENNE: [
Looks at him very coldly, then turns to
BRECKENRIDGE
and says dryly
:] Congratulations, Walter.

BRECKENRIDGE: What?

ADRIENNE: Your very dear friend is a real find, isn’t he? Out of what gutter did you pick him up?

SERGE: [
Stiffly
] Miss Knowland . . .!

ADRIENNE: But, sweetheart, there’s no need to look so Russian about it. I meant it in the nicest way. Besides, it goes for me, too, and for all of us here. We were all picked up by Walter out of one gutter or another. That’s why he’s a great man.

SERGE: I do not understand.

ADRIENNE: You didn’t know? But it’s no secret. I was singing in a dive, just one step better than a cat house—not a very long step—when Walter discovered me, and he built the Breckenridge Theater. Tony here is studying medicine—on a Breckenridge scholarship. Harvey has nothing but Breckenridge cash between him and the Bowery Mission—only nobody would let him into the Mission, just as nobody will give him a job, because he drinks. That’s all right, Harvey—I do, too, at times. Billy here—

TONY: For God’s sake, Adrienne!

ADRIENNE: But we’re among friends. We’re all in the same boat, aren’t we? Except Steve, of course. Steve is a special case and the less you know about him, the better.

BRECKENRIDGE: Adrienne, my dear, we know you have a wonderful sense of humor, but why overdo it?

ADRIENNE: Oh, I just thought I’d initiate your Volga Boatman here. He’s joining the brotherhood, isn’t he? He’s got all the earmarks.

SERGE: It is very strange, all this, Miss Knowland, but I think it is beautiful.

ADRIENNE: [
Dryly
] It is very beautiful.

SERGE: And it is the noble thing—the Breckenridge Theater in the so very vile Fourteenth Street, for the poor people to see the drama. The art brought to the masses, as it should. I have often wondered how Mr. Breckenridge can do it, with the such low prices of the tickets.

INGALLS: He can’t. The noble thing costs him a hundred thousand dollars a season, out of his own pocket. SERGE: Miss Knowland?

INGALLS: No, Serge. Not Miss Knowland. The theater. That would have been much more sensible. But Walter never asks anything in return. He discovered her, he built the theater for her, he made her the star of Fourteenth Street, he made her famous—in fact, he made her in every sense but the proper one. Which is outrageous, when you look at Adrienne.

BRECKENRIDGE: Really, Steve!

SERGE: [
To
INGALLS] You are not able to understand the unselfish action?

INGALLS: No.

SERGE: You do not have the feeling that it is beautiful?

INGALLS: I’ve never had any beautiful feelings, Serge.

SERGE: [
To
ADRIENNE] I shall beg your forgiveness, Miss Knowland, since the person who should do so will not.

BRECKENRIDGE: Don’t take Steve too seriously, Serge. He’s not really as rotten as he sounds at times.

SERGE: By us in Moscow, a gentleman does not insult an artist.

BRECKENRIDGE: Oh, no matter what Steve says, he’s always attended her every opening night.

ADRIENNE: [
It is almost a scream
] He . . .
what
?

BRECKENRIDGE: Didn’t you know it? Steve’s always been there, at every opening of yours—though I never caught him applauding, but the others made up for it; you’ve never lacked applause, have you, my dear?

ADRIENNE: [
She has been looking at
INGALLS
all through
BRECKENRIDGE
’s speech. She asks, still looking at
INGALLS
:
] Walter . . . with whom?

BRECKENRIDGE: I beg your pardon?

ADRIENNE: With whom did he come to my openings?

BRECKENRIDGE: How can one ever ask “with whom” about Steve? Alone, of course.

ADRIENNE: [
To
INGALLS
, her voice trembling with anger
] You didn’t see me in
Little Women,
did you?

INGALLS: Oh, yes, my dear, I did. You were very sweet and very coy. Particularly the way you let your hands flutter about. Like butterflies.

ADRIENNE: Steve, you didn’t—

INGALLS: Yes, I did. I saw you in
Peter Pan.
You have beautiful legs. I saw you in
Daughter of the Slums
—very touching when you died of unemployment. I saw you in
The Yellow Ticket.

ADRIENNE: Goddamn you, you didn’t see
that
!

INGALLS: I did.

TONY: But, Adrienne, why are you so upset about it? Your greatest hits.

ADRIENNE: [
She has not even heard
TONY] Why did you go to my openings?

INGALLS: Well, my dear, there could be two explanations: either I’m a masochist or I wanted material for a conversation such as this.

FLASH: Well, I don’t know about you all, but I don’t think it was a nice conversation.

TONY: [
As
FLEMING
is about to snap at
FLASH] Never mind, Harvey. I’ll kill him for you one of these days.

FLEMING: Why in hell should Billy have a moron for a tutor?

BRECKENRIDGE: And why, may I ask, should you exhibit public concern about Billy’s tutors, Harvey?

FLASH: [
Belligerently
] Whom you calling a moron, huh? Whom?

FLEMING: You.

FLASH: [
Taken aback
] Oh. . . .

BILLY: Father, could I please be taken back to my room?

BRECKENRIDGE: Why, I didn’t think you’d want to miss the party, Billy. However, if you prefer—

BILLY: [
Indifferently
] No. It’s all right. I’ll stay here.

TONY: The Dawsons?

BRECKENRIDGE: [
Mysteriously
] Yes, I think it’s time for the Dawsons.

HELEN: [
Astonished
] Why, Curtiss! What are
you
doing here?

CURTISS: [
Bowing
] Good afternoon, madam.

BRECKENRIDGE: Helen, my dear! [
Kisses her on the cheek
] What a pleasant surprise to see you enter! As a matter of fact, it’s always a surprise to me. I can’t get used to it—not after sixteen years of married life.

HELEN: [
Smiling
] Too nice, Walter, much too nice. [
To the others
] Shall I say “hello” collectively? I’m afraid I’m late and last, as usual.

HELEN: [
To
BILLY] How do you feel, dear? Was the trip too hard?

BILLY: It was all right.

HELEN: I really don’t quite see why I wasn’t allowed to come down with you.

BRECKENRIDGE: [
Smiling
] There was a reason, my dear.

HELEN: I had a perfectly beastly time getting away from the city. I envy you, Steve—living right here in Connecticut. You have no idea of the traffic on a holiday eve. Besides, I had to stop at a bookstore—and why is it that they never seem to have any clerks in book-stores? [
To
BRECKENRIDGE
, indicating her package
] I bought
How Deep the Shadows
for Mrs. Dawson. Mrs. Dawson has such a regrettable taste in books. But it was so nice of her—giving this party.

INGALLS: Too nice, Helen, much too nice.

HELEN: Not if it got you out of that laboratory of yours. How long since you last attended a party, Steve?

INGALLS: I’m not sure. Maybe a year.

HELEN: Maybe two?

INGALLS: Possible.

HELEN: But I’m being terribly rude. Shouldn’t I say hello to our hostess? Where is our hostess?

BRECKENRIDGE: [
His voice gay and solemn at once
] Helen, my dear,
that is
my surprise.
You
are the hostess. [
She looks at him without understanding
] You have always wanted a house in the country. This is it. It’s yours. I had it built for you. [
She stares at him, frozen
] Why, my dear, what’s the matter?

HELEN: [
A smile coming very slowly—and not too naturally—to her face
] I . . . I’m just . . . speechless . . . Walter. [
The smile improving
] You can’t expect me not to be a little—overwhelmed, can you? . . . And I haven’t even thanked you yet. I’m late again. I’m always too late. . . . [
She looks about, a little helplessly, notices the package in her hand
] Well . . . well, I guess I’ll have to read
How Deep the Shadows
myself. It serves me right.

BRECKENRIDGE: I am fifty years old today, Helen. Fifty. It’s a long time. Half a century. And I was just . . . just vain and human enough to want to mark the occasion. Not for myself—but for others. How can we ever leave a mark—except upon others? This is my gift—to you.

HELEN: Walter . . . when did you start building it . . . this house?

BRECKENRIDGE: Oh, almost a year ago. Think of what I’ve spared you: all the bother and trouble and arguments with architects and contractors, and shopping for furniture and kitchen ranges and bathroom fixtures. Let me tell you, it’s a headache and a heartache.

HELEN: Yes, Walter. You have never let me be exposed to a headache or a heartache. You have been very kind. . . . Well . . . well, I hardly know where to begin . . . if I’m to be hostess—

BRECKENRIDGE: Everything’s taken care of, my dear. Curtiss is here, and Mrs. Pudget is in the kitchen, the dinner is ordered, the drinks are ready, even the soap is in the bathrooms. I wanted you to come and find the party complete—from guests to ashtrays. I planned it that way. I don’t want you to exert yourself at all.