The Slipper (27 page)

It was probably the only theater in the country where the film was still showing, and it was held over here only because of Carol's having been a student at Claymore. When it opened, the movie had been savaged by the critics, and, as predicted, the public stayed away in droves. It had a short, limited run and was quickly yanked from the theaters. Cynical Hollywood insiders declared that the only reason it had ever been completed in the first place was so that the studio would have a good tax loss. Eric Berne held a press conference and placed the blame for the debacle entirely on Carol's head, citing her temperament, her arrogance, her complete lack of professionalism or even a modicum of talent. He had released her from her contract and he apologized to the American public for foisting such a hopeless, undisciplined amateur on them. Carol's name became synonymous with lack of talent and she provided material for many a comedian's monologue. “If a bomb were to drop on this theater tonight,” emcee Bob Hope quipped during the nationally televised Academy Awards ceremony, “Carol Martin just might have a career.” One lone critic in Berkeley, California, a young woman named Pauline Kael, carefully pointed out that the film was horribly written, ineptly directed and garishly produced, that Carol Martin had a luminous screen presence and, under the circumstances, had given a more than adequate performance. Unfortunately her voice was lost in the general condemnation.

Poor Carol, Julie thought, moving on down the street. She got the slipper, all right, but it hadn't worked out the way it was supposed to. The public who had taken her to their hearts in the beginning had turned on her with vicious glee, and America's Favorite Cinderella was now a laughingstock, the butt of show biz jokes. Julie knew that she herself would have been completely demolished by the experience, but Carol hadn't let it defeat her. She was a fighter, determined to prove them all wrong. She had just completed a film in France and, according to a letter Nora had received a couple of weeks ago, was about to begin another next month. Julie admired her spirit and believed in her ability. Carol
had
been good in the film, even if the film itself was an abomination, and she was convinced Carol would ultimately succeed, despite her disastrous debut.

Julie was tired by the time she finally reached the apartment. The walk had been longer than she thought. Wearily, she put the box down on the coffee table and went into the kitchen to make herself a cup of herbal tea. She leaned against the counter as the tea steeped, looking at the dingy walls and worn linoleum, the ancient pine cabinets. Soon they would leave this hideous apartment behind, and she would have a bright, shining kitchen with modern appliances. Julie wondered what it would be like to have their own house and a lawn, perhaps even a small garden. She wondered what it would be like not to have to work such long, hard hours to make ends meet. The bad times were behind them now. It had been tough and there had been times when it had seemed hopeless, when she had despaired, but they had made it, they had finally come through. She wished Gus Hammond and her parents could be here to see Doug receive his degree, but her parents had disowned her and Doug hadn't heard from his father in all this time.

Julie stirred a spoonful of honey into her tea and took it into the living room with its exposed pipes and shabby old pink sofa. She wondered where Doug was. His class had been over at eleven, and it was after four now. Had he had a luncheon engagement with a representative from one of the law firms? She didn't think so. Perhaps he was with one of his friends. Now that classes were over they were … they were probably having a final get-together. He was probably drinking beer in one of the pubs with a group of his buddies. She wasn't going to think about the other. She wasn't. It had meant nothing at all. They had just been strolling across campus together that evening she was leaving the library after working late, and if Doug had had his arm slung around the girl's shoulders as they passed under the lamp and she spied them, it … it didn't mean anything. Julie remembered the sharp, stabbing pain, the doubts that besieged her when he didn't come home until after one o'clock in the morning. He claimed he had been with friends, and the lovely red-headed girl probably
was
just a friend, and he would forget all about her as soon as they left Claymore. She wasn't going to let the doubts besiege her again. She wasn't going to subject herself to that agony.

It was six-thirty when Doug finally came in. Julie had put the suit box away in the closet. She had prepared dinner. She was setting the table when she heard his key in the door. Removing the apron tied around her waist, she stepped into the living room. Doug wore the brown-and-tan checked sport coat she had given him last year and a brown tie, and he carried a briefcase, looking very much the lawyer already. His thick brown hair was tousled and, behind the heavy black horn-rims, his slate-blue eyes were unusually sober. How handsome he was, even handsomer now than he had been when she had first spied him there by the McCanns' pool back in Tulsa. That seemed so long ago, Julie thought. They had been through so much together since then. She felt a rush of love for this man who was far from perfect, true, but her reason for being nevertheless.

“You look tired,” she said quietly.

“I've been busy.”

His voice was curt. He put the briefcase down and loosened his tie, and Julie could see that something was bothering him. He was agitated, uneasy, a deep furrow above the bridge of his nose.

“Dinner's ready,” she told him. “I—I made pork chops and applesauce, your favorites.”

“I'm not hungry,” he said.

“But—”

“I said I'm not hungry, Julie. I stopped by the library this afternoon. You weren't there.”

“Today was my day off. I thought you knew that. I—I had an errand to run downtown. Did—was there something you wanted to talk to me about? You don't usually stop by the library unless—”

“Yes,” he interrupted, “there's something I want to talk to you about, but—” He hesitated, frowning, very uncomfortable. “I suppose it can wait a little longer. What were you doing downtown?”

“I—I intended it to be a surprise but—” Julie went over to the closet and took out the box. “I put this on layaway four months ago and took it out today. I wanted you to look extra nice when you get your degree. It's a very important occasion for both of us.”

Doug took the box from her and sat down on the sofa and opened it. Pushing back the layers of tissue paper, he looked at the handsome navy blue suit without expression and then set it aside. Julie watched, both hurt and surprised by his lack of response. She had worked so hard to pay for that suit, had herself done without in order to get it for him, and he gazed at it without the least interest.

“Don't you like it?” she asked.

“It's a nice suit, Julie.”

“You can wear it with your blue-and-silver-gray striped tie. I had your black shoes resoled and polished, and they look almost like new. You're going to be ever so—”

“I don't want to discuss clothes,” he said.

He stood up, his mouth set in a determined line.

“What
do
you want to discuss, Doug? Something's wrong. I sensed it the minute you came in. What is it?”

“Us,” he said.

“Us?”

“That's what I want to discuss.”

“I don't see—”

“It's all wrong, Julie. Both of us have known it for a long, long time. I never wanted to get married in the first place—you know that—but I hadn't much choice in the matter. I—we've made the best of things these past four years, but—”

He cut himself short, looking pained. This wasn't pleasant for him, she could see that, but then it was hardly a picnic for her. Why didn't she feel anything? Her whole world was falling to pieces all around her, and she felt nothing at all.

“You want to leave me,” she said.

“I'm going to Chicago, Julie. As soon as I pick up my degree I'm flying to Chicago in a private plane. I'm going to work for a law firm there.”

“I see.”

“The salary, the benefits—it's a wonderful opportunity for me.”

“And you don't need me anymore.”

“It isn't—”

“Now that I've worked like a slave for four years to put you through the last year of college and through law school, you don't need me anymore. You never intended to—I never meant anything to you but—you used me and I let you because—because I love you.”

Doug scowled. Nothing was more discomfiting than the truth, and it
was
the truth. Julie knew that. Deep down, on some level of consciousness, she had known it for quite some time, but she had refused to acknowledge it, even to herself. Foolishly, she held to the dream, deliberately deluding herself. She saw that now, but it didn't help one bit. Oh, Jesus, the shock was wearing off now and the numbness was gone and the feeling came in waves, threatening to rend her asunder, yet when she spoke her voice was perfectly level.

“I assume Cynthia Lawrence will be flying to Chicago on the same private plane,” she said. “I assume it is her father's law firm you will be working for.”

He looked surprised at that. He looked guilty, too.

“I saw the two of you together one evening as I was leaving the library,” she explained. “The next day I pointed her out to a friend and asked her name and—and he told me all about her.”

“So you know,” he said.

“I know. I understand. I suppose she's in love with you. I suppose you will use her too. She'll be very, very helpful. Af—after you get rid of me I suppose you intend to marry her. You'll go far, Doug. Oh, Jesus, you'll go very, very far.”

I'm not going to cry. I'm not. I refuse to cry. I refuse to break down in front of him.

“You've figured it all out, haven't you?” he said.

“I think I have.”

“Look, Julie, I'm sorry about this, but—yes, Cynthia and I are going to get married just as soon as the divorce goes through. I've been to see a lawyer. I've already filed.”

“You don't believe in wasting time, do you?”

“I'm beginning a whole new life, Julie, and—you wouldn't—it's not the kind of—”

“I wouldn't fit in,” she said, “that's what you mean. I'm not wealthy. I'm not a socialite. I'm not educated. I wouldn't make the right impression. I wouldn't be an asset. I—I'm just a dumb little nobody from Oklahoma, good enough to wait on tables and put you through school but certainly not the sort you'd care to be seen with at an executive cocktail party.”

Doug made no reply. He had no defense. What she said was the truth, and both of them knew it. He tugged at his tie again and averted his eyes, glancing at the exposed pipes, feeling wretched. Julie smiled a tight little smile and shook her head at her own foolhardiness. But I did it because I love him, she told herself. I love him still. God help me. So this is how it feels to have your heart break.

“I'm pregnant, Doug,” she said.

He looked at her in disgust. “What kind of a fool do you think I am? Do you actually believe I'm going to buy that crap? Do you actually believe it's going to work a
second
time?”

“I'm pregnant,” she repeated. “I've been to the doctor. You'll become a father in early January. I didn't want to tell you until after—after you got your degree. I was saving it for a surprise. I actually thought you'd be pleased because—because we could afford a child now.”

“Jesus! It's true, isn't it?”

“It's true.”

“I guess you'll have to get rid of it,” he said. “I guess I'll have to find an abortionist, make the arrangements.”

Her eyes held his. She shook her head.

“No, Doug, I'm not going to get rid of it.”

“I'm not going to be trapped a second time, Julie. No way. If you don't want to have an abortion, you'll just have to go it alone.”

“I have no intentions of ‘trapping' you. I won't fight your divorce. Go ahead with your plans.”

“I'm not a complete heel, Julie, despite what you believe. I—I'll make sure you're taken care of. I'll pay alimony—I'll be able to afford it easily enough. If you have a child, I'll pay child support, too. I'm going to be making a very good salary, and once Cynthia and I are married there'll be even more money. I want to be fair.”

That tight little smile played on her lips again, and she shook her head. Her husband frowned. He expected tears. He expected anger. He didn't expect this quiet dignity, this unnerving composure. He could deal with tears and he could deal with anger, but he didn't know how to deal with her calm expression and those level violet-blue eyes that looked at him unflinchingly and saw into his soul.

“What is it you want, Julie?” he asked irritably.

“I don't want anything,” she said. “I don't want alimony. I don't want child support. I've managed to support the two of us for the past four years. I imagine I can support myself and my child without any help from you.”

“If you're trying to make me feel bad, you're doing a damned good job. I feel like the world's greatest shit.”

“Is your conscience actually bothering you? I don't imagine that'll last too long, Doug. I imagine you'll recover in record time. When were you planning to leave the apartment?”

“As soon as I get my degree. We'll be flying out that night.”

“I suggest you leave now,” she said.

He looked startled. “Now?”

“Right now. As soon as you can pack your things. I don't want you staying here another night.”

“You don't have to be so unreasonable about this, Julie. I don't have a place to go. I don't have the money for a hotel room. You can't just expect me to—Jesus! Can't we be civilized about this?”

“I don't feel very civilized at the moment,” she told him.