An Idol for Others (29 page)

Farley pulled himself upright and sat huddled on the edge of the bed. One shoulder of his dressing gown was ripped, his face was buried in his hands, he was weeping. “I wouldn’t have done anything bad,” he moaned. “Those bullets are just blanks. Oh, God, I’ve had a bad time. I thought you might help me.”

He was pitiful, but Walter didn’t pity him. His throat was still choked with rage and terror. It was a commonplace show-business story–up one day and down the next–but it shouldn’t turn you into a blackmailer. Fuck him. He managed to knot his tie and got into his jacket and felt safer. He made a habit of carrying little cash, but he always kept a $50 bill folded away in his wallet. He pulled it out and dropped it on a table near the door.

“You’re probably used to more, but that’s all I have on me,” he said, barely able to keep his voice even. “Don’t threaten people.”

A sob broke from the actor. “I’m still good, damn it!” he blurted through his hands. “You should’ve given me a chance.”

Walter looked at the defeated figure on the bed and hated himself for being here. “You should try giving yourself a chance,” he said. He pulled open the door and hurried down the corridor, breathing deeply in an effort to calm the tumult that was churning within him. He was out of it and safe, but he felt no satisfaction in his victory, only terror and shame at having got himself into the situation. He ran down several flights of the service stairs so that he wouldn’t be seen getting into an elevator on Farley’s floor. He mustn’t let himself think about it now. He had to get through lunch with Aleck’s influential friend. They were meeting at a nearby restaurant. Walter took time in the men’s room to wash up and retie his tie and comb his hair. His hands hurt. He was grateful that he was no longer trembling. By not attempting the charm that he was in no condition to exert, he made himself sound like a tough-minded businessman, and lunch went better than he had any right to expect.

“I’ll tell you something, Walter,” his host said over coffee. “I don’t want this to sound anti-Semitic, but if you were just another Broadway producer, I don’t think you’d get the support you need. You know what I mean. I sometimes think we wouldn’t have any theater without the Jews, but, after all, it’s business with them. You’re out to make a big cultural contribution to the country, and a few of us are happy to see one of us downtrodden Gentiles taking the lead. You’ve got a lot going for you–your family connections and so forth–but the main thing is you’ve served your country. You’ve got a fine record. I’m all for you. I don’t mind saying that my faith in this country is strengthened by young fellows like you.”

Walter blushed with shame. He was a fraud and a hypocrite. He felt obliged to stick his neck out to recover some shreds of his self-respect. “Of course, what I’m getting at is a theater for all the people,” he said. “Jews, Negroes. For instance, most theaters make a policy of keeping Negroes out of the orchestra. I won’t have that. I’m looking for plays by Negroes. We’re not going to make concessions to anybody’s prejudices. I want to make that clear because I’m going to want a lot of money from you guys.”

“Well, you’re getting into something that’s bound to be controversial. So much the better, I say. We haven’t fought this war to preserve all our old attitudes. We’ve got a scrappy president. Harry’s a good friend of mine. I’m going to write him about this. You can count on me, Walter. I think it’s truly inspiring.”

He was a hero. He could do no wrong. Thinking of all that he had almost destroyed little more than an hour ago, he was appalled by his irresponsibility. If Farley had been tough, he would be done for. Cousin Myrtle’s husband and the chauffeur. Cold sweat broke out on his body. He almost questioned his right to go on with the project. He was asking important people to commit an act of faith in him, right up to the president of the United States. Jesus Christ.

He was glad to find David at the office when he got there. He could not tell David, or anyone, about Frank Farley; but he could talk about what had led up to it and perhaps get some things straight in his mind. He counted on the strong currents of their mutual devotion to carry him through this awful day. He asked David to join him and told Alice not to disturb them.

“Is that all right with you, old pal? You’re not expecting anything earth-shattering in the next hour or so?”

“Nothing that won’t improve with age,” David said. “You’re looking pretty solemn this afternoon, honey.”

“It’s been one of those days.” He shut them in. His office was furnished like a living room, with a handsome Directoire desk, where he sat when he had paperwork. He dropped onto a sofa, and David chose a comfortable chair. Walter told him about Clara and the scene they had had. David listened with growing concern.

“This is serious,” he said. “We’re going to have to do something.”

“What? If she’s going to run off and have an abortion when she feels like it, how can I stop her?”

“Arrange things so she won’t have to.”

“We’re married, for God’s sake, David. She has nothing to complain about. At least, she hasn’t so far. What more can I arrange?”

“Did she say she wants me out?”

“I wasn’t going to tell you, but that’s what it amounted to. I’m sure she didn’t mean it, but even if she did, she knows I wouldn’t listen. It’s pushing me in a way I can’t be pushed. She’s much more clever than that, more devious. If she really wanted you out, she wouldn’t say so. She’d concoct some plot.”

“Maybe she has, without our noticing. Anyway, this is a good time to think about it before we get going on something new. What else did she say?”

“The usual bit about your wicked ways. She says you’re in love with me and everybody knows it. She was pretty overwrought.”

David looked at him and threw his lighter into the air and caught it. “She’s only partly right. Nobody knows.”

“Don’t be silly. We talked about all that long ago.”

“No we didn’t. We talked about falling in and out of love with each other like kids. That was way back at the beginning. Right? Right. I fell in love with you for real when we were doing
Forest
. So what? Clara must know you’re somebody people fall in love with.
She
did. I don’t think that has much to do with it, as far as she’s concerned, except to embarrass you, which she knows it would. Let’s talk about my getting out.” He rose and moved around behind the chair. “Clara will find this hard to believe, but I want to give her a clear field.”

Walter looked at him for a long moment, firmly holding his eyes while his embarrassment passed. “Come here,” he said.

David came back around the chair. Walter reached for his hand as he approached and pulled him down beside him. He put his arm around him and stroked the side of his head and dropped his hand to his shoulder and gripped it.

“OK. You’re the only guy I’ve ever known who’s made me think it might be fun to be queer. Now let’s talk sense. We’ll fold the company. OK? There’s no point keeping it on ice. We’ll assign ourselves new identities. We’ll think up a grand title for Clara. She’ll like that. She can be executive director or something. You’ll be business administrator. I’ll be artistic god. Everything will go on the same as before. I’d like to make an announcement that Makin-Fiedler is being dissolved and get as much publicity as possible so when I talk to the money boys there won’t be any confusion about our taking a profit. Is that all right?”

“Sure, as far as it goes. But let’s talk about my quitting, honey. I mean it. Clara doesn’t just want a title. She wants to run the show, and I completely understand her. I gave her a pretty free hand with the last one, and it wasn’t her fault it flopped. I was watching for her to make mistakes, but she didn’t. And she’s right about this not being my kind of thing. You know me, honey. Showy. With plenty of dough to pay my bill at Cartier’s.”

It took Walter the time that David was speaking to realize that he meant it, and then everything in him rejected the suggestion. Was Clara right in saying that he would give up anything rather than lose David? Probably. He was in a mood to question his qualifications as director of a semi-official institution. Kowtowing to political and financial powers wasn’t his line. He had made that clear with Aleck and again at lunch. Why not go on as before, doing their successful but first-rate work? They had accomplished nearly as much as he would with the new project, and he could make another fortune. On a purely practical level, David was essential as a buffer. Working directly with Clara would be too nerve-wracking. He could battle fraternally with David over a production budget, but it wouldn’t be the same with Clara. Nothing would be the same. He tightened his grip on David’s shoulder.

“I’m not going to let you step aside, old pal,” he said with finality. “I can’t imagine doing anything without you. Maybe we should go on with Makin-Fiedler, and the hell with this other business.”

“I thought we were supposed to talk some sense. Look at it from Clara’s point of view. She’s been in it from the beginning, and she’s worked hard so she’d be able to take over from me. That’s been more or less understood all along.”

“Oh, no, it hasn’t,” Walter said. “I want her as a wife and the mother of my children, not as a business partner. If Clara were needed here in the office, she’d have all the more reason to go on having abortions indefinitely.”

“I’m not so sure. If she felt firmly in control here, she’d probably find that having babies was an interesting sideline. She wants all of you. I understand that, God knows; but I can’t have it, so it’s probably time for me to make it on my own. To tell the truth, I’ve had a fantastic offer from Hollywood. I can have my own production unit–big money and no risk. I’ve been seriously considering it.”

“I see.” Walter felt a stab of resentment. How could be mention Hollywood compared to what they could do together? It was just talk, an effort to feel his way in a situation created by Clara. “This is insane,” he burst out. “Clara has an abortion, and here we are talking about splitting up. Talk about devious. How does she do it? I’m not going to let her get away with it.”

David put his hand on Walter’s knee. “Let’s forget about her for the moment. Let’s look at it the way it is. I’ve watched you start out as my assistant and take over from me and move way out ahead of me. I’ve loved every minute of it. It’s been bigger than anything I ever expected, and I’ve done all right. Now it’s getting so we have to keep me in the background. Frankly, I don’t want to hobnob with Harrimans and Rockefellers and Astors. I’ll never be respectable, even when I’m married. I’ll feel at home in Hollywood. There’s always room for one more freak.”

“But damn it, it wouldn’t be any fun without you,” Walter protested.

“Oh, honey, you’re not going to have time for fun. It’s going to be big, important, impressive work. Nobody but you would get into it. It’s got to be your show, or it won’t work. I know you. You’ll be hand-engraving the tickets. All you need is a good production man, and you’ve got her. Aside from everything else, I’ll never get married as long as I’m with you. I can’t explain it, but I know I’ve let you get too big in my life.”

For the first time Walter tried to face it and imagine what it would be like without him. No one to share the thousand private jokes that had grown up over the years. No flashing teeth and rolling eyes to remind him what it had been like in the beginning. No one to make fun of him. No one to turn to for unquestioning support and affection. Losing David and his child in the same day was too much. He leaned back and put his hands on top of his head and looked at the ceiling. His eyes filled. He closed them and let the tears spill over. “Oh, God, David,” he groaned. “Why does everything get spoiled?”

David leaned over him and kissed his forehead. “Thanks, honey. I’ve had a few cries myself thinking about it. You’ll never know what it was like being your best man. That’s when I knew it couldn’t last forever.”

Walter pulled himself upright and brushed away at his tears and looked at him. “Because of Clara? You swear you wouldn’t let her squeeze you out?”

“With Clara, I’m never quite sure of anything. If she were pregnant and couldn’t do the job, I’d turn Hollywood down and wait and see. As it is, you don’t need me. If I weren’t sure of that, I wouldn’t go.”

“Does she know you’ve been thinking about it?”

“I don’t see how she could. You mean, about the offer? I haven’t discussed it with her.”

Walter was alert for a beat of hesitation in his voice, a fleeting shadow in his eyes, but detected nothing. “And you really have a big offer? I guess I ought to be congratulating you instead of sulking over your walking out on me.”

David laughed with the old exuberant toss of the head. “Oh, honey, I’m not walking out on you. You know that. There’s no rush. I should stick around another month or two until Clara and I get the details ironed out. Things change. It’s as simple as that. As far as I’m concerned, I can stop trying so hard and settle for what I was in the first place. I guess that’s the way it should be at 30. We’ve had a good run, old pal.”

Walter leaned forward and kissed him on the mouth. They looked at each other with laughter in their eyes. “Yeah,” Walter said, drawing it out to encompass a wealth of years and shared accomplishment. If Clara gloated over this, a Washburn would finally get hit. He still couldn’t believe it was happening. Was this the way the loving, working friendship of all his important years would end, with a quiet talk, an embrace? It would be easier if they had had a screaming row. He tried to think of things that would help him cut the bond. Perhaps he wouldn’t have to read any more libelous innuendoes about himself in the columns. Perhaps this would satisfy Clara at last. So what? Nothing reconciled him to losing David. He preferred to think it would all blow over. David agreed that there was time. He squeezed David’s hand and stood. “What’re you doing later?” he asked.

“This evening? Nothing in particular. Meeting Paul for dinner.”

“Can I join you?”

“Wonderful. Better yet, let’s make it just us. I’ll call Paul off.”

“He won’t mind?”

“I live with him, honey. I’m not married to him.”