An Idol for Others (16 page)

“I sometimes wonder myself. But that’s not Johnny’s problem. I’m not sure we have the right to tie him up for six months.”

“Don’t worry about me. I’m willing to wait. I need the money.”

“You’re sure? The amount is fair. Nobody would give you more. Do you understand about the option? It has nothing to do with your final contract. The money’s yours. I’ll talk to David about the right sort of paper to draw up.”

“What’s David got to do with it?” Clara demanded.

“Everything. You know that, Clarry. If we expect anything to come of this, we’ll need his help.” He paused and fixed her with his eyes. “Of course, there’s another possibility. If you’d introduce me to a few key members of your family, we might think about producing it ourselves. It’s the sort of play Uncle Perry’s outfit might put up money for.” He watched her expression closing him out and knew there was still a point beyond which she refused to play heiress.

“No,” she said flatly. “This is what I’ve been waiting for. Afterward you can spit in their eyes. Besides, they wouldn’t have anything to do with a play by a Communist.”

“They wouldn’t have to know.” He turned to Johnny. “Is Michel what’s-his-name a well-known Communist?”

“He hasn’t held any positions in the party, if that’s what you mean. Everybody in Paris knows who he is.”

“I doubt if anybody here would bother to find out. What about it, Clarry? Was that a final no?”

“Yes, you’ve got to have a free hand. If they did anything to spoil it, I’d never forgive myself.”

“OK. I’ll talk it over with David. I doubt if we can do anything, but we can sure as hell try.”

The next morning David was consulted about the option, and he gave them the address of Steelman’s lawyer, who could draw up the necessary paper. Johnny sat with him during the morning rehearsal. Walter took him outside for a cigarette during a brief break.

“You’re amazing,” Johnny said in his flat, unadorned way. “You still look like a kid, but you turned into a man in there. You certainly give the impression you know what you’re doing.”

“I do, Johnny. It’s the one thing I do know.”

They smoked while Johnny watched with brooding eyes the decorative apprentices going about their chores. “It’s hard to believe that kids can still look like that when the rest of the world is being torn to pieces. Who’s that one?”

Walter laughed. “You’re human, after all, Johnny. That’s our own Hedy Lamarr. Her name is Sophie Hofritz, in case you want to have it engraved on your heart. She’s every bit as dumb as she is beautiful, which helps. Otherwise, I’m afraid we’d all have torn her clothes off the first week.” The season had got under way with the usual flirtations and small scandals and gossip. Walter had so successfully switched off his antenna that he had no idea if any of the boys entertained amorous thoughts about him. Sophie was impossible to ignore. She was the embodiment of every man’s fantasy girl. Her breasts were ripe fruit, as were her buttocks. She had pansy eyes, her nose tilted bewitchingly, her mouth was a rosebud. They watched as she paraded her sublime curves past them.

“I don’t see how you concentrate with stuff like that around,” Johnny said.

Walter chuckled. “You get used to it, more or less.”

Walter drove him to the train at the midday break. They had settled all the details they could deal with for the time being. Johnny had two more copies of the play that he promised to send. They had settled the terms of the option, and instructions were to be sent to the lawyer, along with Clara’s check. Nothing more could be done, except by correspondence, until the end of the summer season.

The play was a dazzling gift from Clara. In the first days that followed, it was something he thought about the last thing at night and filled him with excitement the minute he woke up. He gave it to David to read. David returned it one morning in the theater lobby.

“It’s the best play I’ve ever read,” he said. “Do you happen to have $25,000 on you? We could set fire to it right now and save you a lot of trouble.”

“You don’t think it has a chance?”

“Sure it does. It’s antiwar. It’s un-American. It will appeal to people of intelligence and taste. That ought to pretty nearly fill, oh, about one house.”

“You don’t know how I’ll direct it. I’d make it a real sock in the eye. Do you think there’s any hope we could produce it?”

“This is a free country. Anybody can become a producer. The trick is to find the money.”

“Damn it. I know it’s insane, but I think we might make a mark with this, even if it didn’t run.”

“Who is the ‘we’ you’ve turned into?”

“You and me, of course. We’d produce it together.”

“Ah, well. I suppose we’re not too old to dream. What does Clara think of the idea?”

“What should she think? It’s the most natural thing in the world, isn’t it?”

“I wonder. When she talks about all the fabulous things you’re going to do, she makes it sound very much like a one-man show. Have you talked to her about raising money?”

“A bit. She won’t let me contact her family, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“Somehow that’s the first thought that comes to mind. So there you are. You’re just a poor boy with a play. I’m afraid it’s a lost cause.”

“I know. Still, I wish you’d try to think of somebody who might be interested. I’m going to send the script to a couple of big people just to see what happens. If you have time, I wish you’d work a sort of rough budget. You know more about Broadway costs than I do. If by some wild chance something happens, I can count on–” Sophie Hofritz passed in front of the theater. They both watched her until she was out of sight.

“Where were we?” David asked. They looked at each other and laughed.

“I want to be sure I can count on you, that’s all. I can’t do anything without you.”

“Oh, I always do everything you say. You know that. It’s the one flaw in my character. I love working with you, but to be perfectly frank, Clara intimidates me. If you think you can keep her under control, I’m your boy.”

“Thanks, old pal. I know the whole thing is ridiculous, but we’ve got to start somewhere. As long as we’re here, actually running a theater, we’re in a position of strength. People know who we are. They’re coming out from New York to see us.”

“That’s because word is spreading that you’re hot.”

Walter beamed. “You mean that somebody might eventually offer me a job?”

“It could happen, maybe in the next ten or 15 years.”

“Thank you for those kind words. You give me courage to go on.”

They went about the day’s business. After that, they had frequent brief conversations about the play, such as: “I’ve been thinking about Greg Boland for the lead.” Greg Boland had been a junior member of the company the year before and had played a few good parts. “What do you think?”

“The last I heard,” David said, “he was about to sign up with some movie company.”

“Then why not try to get some money out of them? They back shows sometimes, don’t they? He’d be more valuable to them if he made a splash on Broadway.”

“Now you’re talking. That’s not a dumb idea. I’ll look into it.”

Or:

“I’ve got the set all worked out. I’ve made some sketches. It could be built for next to nothing.”

“You’ve got to hire a union designer. It’s one of the rules.”

“Fine,” Walter replied. “We can put Oscar’s name on the program. He’d do what I tell him.”

“I knew it. You’ll be hand-printing the programs yet.”

Walter sent the script to a few carefully selected producers, and a month passed with no replies, although he had used the theater letterhead, with his name on it as director, to give his cover letter some professional standing. He began to resent Clara for her gift. If she were so determined for him to do the play, why wouldn’t she go all the way and help with the financing? Not knowing what she might accomplish was maddening. Lacking proof to the contrary, he was soon convinced that she had only to say a word for money to come pouring in.

With half the season gone, autumn loomed. He stood on the threshold of the big breakthrough; to retreat, to be forced to resume the church sociables would be a crushing defeat, perhaps a final surrender to the treadmill. Clara was responsible. She had trapped him somehow, robbed him of something. What was it? He didn’t know. She was blocking the free flow of his energies, forcing him to make his own way but at the same time reserving the right to tell him how to do it. They had been together a full year, and she still refused to acknowledge his existence, except in the tiny community here. He was beginning to feel like the skeleton in the Washburn closet. It was insulting. At the same time he couldn’t even look at Sophie without feeling guilty.

He began to look at Sophie a great deal. She had a studied come-hither look for every male, but he liked it when it was directed at him. It made his trousers feel pleasantly tight. She had only to speak for the sensation to pass. Her voice was a childish piping, the twittering of birds. Why should he care what she said or sounded like? She was a unique and wondrous physical creation, meant to be looked at and enjoyed. He felt sure that if it weren’t for Clara, he would have enjoyed every inch of her by now.

He met her looks with looks of his own, amused but insinuating, and knew that she wasn’t letting them pass unheeded. He encountered her one day in cramped quarters backstage. Instead of edging around each other, they moved in closer. The beautiful face lifted as if she expected to be kissed. Their eyes met with acquiescence. Walter shifted so that she could feel the tightness of his trousers. She swayed her hips lightly against it. He lifted a hand and moved it slowly over her breasts and instantly resolved to have her.

“Do you want to see them?” she piped. “Boys always do.”

“I’m like most boys.”

“Why haven’t you ever asked me for a date? I don’t live in the dorm, you know. Mummy and Daddy have a house here. I’d love you to come by some night after the show.”

“And you could show me these?”

“You’re such a cute boy, I might.”

“It’s a bit difficult to manage. We’ll see. I’d better stop doing this, or I’ll undress you right here.” And undress himself. That was an aspect of it that excited him as much as the prospect of seeing her naked. The exhibitionism Clara had cultivated in him was a drive that demanded fresh outlet. He wanted to show himself off to her.

“Oh, you’re wicked,” she twittered. “I might be a little wicked too. I do like you.”

His hand lingered another moment on the sublime flesh. “In that case, we’d better get together,” he said. “I’ll see what I can fix.”

It was ridiculous to feel guilty. She was a beautiful girl, and she had practically offered herself to him. He and Clara were presumably going to get married, but it was her fault that they weren’t married yet. He still had the right to have some fun. He liked girls. If you liked girls, it was in the plural, not just one. There was no reason to feel furtive or guilty about it, as if Sophie were a boy.

He found a moment alone with David later in the day. “Do you have any handy excuses for why I should spend an hour or so with you after the show some night?” he asked with a meaningful smile.

“This is so sudden. An hour or so with me? I take it the point of the excuse is that you’ll be with someone else. Let’s see. Mrs. Wilton is coming to the theater tomorrow night. She’s commanded me to have a drink at her place after. We could say she’d commanded you too. Is that the sort of thing you have in mind?”

“It might do.” Mrs. Wilton was an important patroness of the theater. Clara avoided her because Mrs. Wilton knew her family. “There’s no reason on earth for Mrs. Wilton to tell anyone I wasn’t there. Yes, that should work. Fine. Spread the word.”

He kept an eye out for Sophie, and when he saw her he had a final struggle with his qualms before saying the word. He was taking risks with what he saw as the crucial fact of his life–his eventual marriage to Clara. But wasn’t Clara taking risks by keeping him waiting indefinitely? He couldn’t be expected to have only one girl for the rest of his life. He told Sophie he could come see her the following night.

She lifted her pansy eyes and looked at him with lovely mindless delight. “Oh, that will be nice.”

“It’ll be our secret, won’t it?”

“Oh, yes. I’d like having a secret with you.”

Clara accepted his story with no great show of interest. David had apparently already told her about Mrs. Wilton’s invitation. The lie came out easily; nothing he did with Sophie could have anything to do with Clara. “I’ll only be about an hour,” he said. What difference did an hour make in a lifetime?

He drove away from the theater with David after the show the next night, and in a few minutes David dropped him near Sophie’s house. Her parents were out. She made the point that she expected them to be late. She couldn’t think of any reason why they shouldn’t go up to her room. When he began to undress without preliminaries, she was a maiden in distress. But when he continued, she was out of her clothes before he was. She had nothing on but shoes and a dress. He was enthralled by the perfection of her beautifully rounded body. She squealed over his. She put up a pretty resistance to his entering her without safeguards; but he knew how to overcome resistance with his hands and mouth, and when he was ready, he drove easily into her while she explained that she had never allowed a boy to do it without wearing a rubber thing. She agreed that it was nicer this way. He exulted as her body shuddered with repeated orgasms. Before he was through, she had forgotten resistance and caution and was begging him to have his orgasm inside her. He remained until the last perilous second and tore himself from her in a paroxysm of slightly frustrated pleasure.

Being joined to her body, all open to his naked thrust, had revived his procreative fire. He had known it only with Debby, and it had made him briefly think he loved her although he had always suspected that she was so free with her body because she knew she couldn’t have children for some reason. Walking back to the Peabody cottage, he realized that he had probably just had the most straightforwardly masculine experience of his life, since it had been devoid of any intellectual or emotional contact. He, as a male, had wanted a beautiful female–as simple as that. He had always known he wanted girls, but Clara’s assumption that she was the girl of his life had made him suppress his response to others. If he didn’t let himself desire a girl, how could he be sure that he did? Living with Clara effectively protected him from the brand, but he was sure that boys were no longer a threat after the terrifying lesson of Philip, even though he had found it prudent to keep his distance from attractive boys whose tastes were suspect. After tonight, he felt he could be as friendly as he liked with any boy, no matter how attractive, without any risk to himself. Sophie made him think of other girls at the theater, girls who had caught his eye without his being aware of it, but he doubted if many of them could match her uncomplicated lust.