An Idol for Others (63 page)

“Quite recently. Sometime last winter.”

“I don’t suppose I’ve been much of a son to them.”

“How do you mean? You’ve given them a lovely house and scads of money.”

“Really? So I have. How frightfully decent of me. Still, Dad’s retired. It’s the least I could do.”

“Your father’s dead, dearest.”

“Dead? Of course he is. I went to his funeral, didn’t I?”

“Naturally. You’re getting tired. Why don’t you have a little nap?”

“No, I’m thinking profound thoughts about parents and children. We’re really quite a nuisance to each other, aren’t we? I hope I haven’t been as redundant to my sons as my parents were to me. I’ve been meaning to tell you something. You know it already, but just to make it official in case there’s any reason to: Jerry Kennicutt’s mine.”

“I know that, dearest.”

“I’ve seen him recently. He’s gay, but he’s turned out pretty well. I haven’t been redundant to him. I’m very fond of him.” Thoughts of Jerry made him restless, and he grew more wakeful. “Have there been any messages for me in the last few days?”

“Not that I know of. Alice knows how to reach me here. She’ll let me know if there’s anything important.”

“If I begin to sit up and take notice in the next day or two, I’d like you to fix it so David can get through too. He’s doing business for me.”

“The Tom Jennings play?”

“Yeah. It’s good. They’re probably just starting rehearsals.”

“Now that you mention it, Alice did say she had a paper for you to sign when you were able to.”

“Fine. Anytime.”

“It’ll be rather marvelous having a new Walter Makin production coming to town. You’ll be able to give it the final touches.”

“No, I’ll leave it to David. I don’t want to get into it again.” There was some of the old vigor in his voice when he said it.

She allowed a moment’s silence to pass. “Do you want to tell me about the last few months?” she asked.

“No, it wouldn’t be pleasant for either of us. Have you had any nice men, Clarry? I wouldn’t blame you if you did.”

“Good heavens, no. Never. I’ve never been much interested in sex except with you, and I’ve certainly never fallen for anyone else. I remember I used to say that women are the same as men, but they aren’t I think I’m like most women. If things are right with one man, that’s enough. Men stay such children in lots of ways. They think there’s a wonderful new adventure around every corner.”

“What if there is, Clarry?”

“It’s all in the mind. Women’s minds are more practical. We want to keep what we have, not go jumping about from adventure to adventure. You’ve been all the adventure I’ve wanted. It’s not done yet.”

“I’m glad you feel that.” His energy was beginning to ebb again, leaving a pleasant impression that they were arriving at a new companionship, without the complications of sex. He felt as if he never wanted sex again. Perhaps they would end by being able to talk about anything.

He continued to feel better. His strength began to return. After another few days, he felt up to using the telephone and put in a call for David. He found him in Hollywood. He had been back only a day. He wanted to know about Walter’s health and settled for an assurance that he was surviving. He reported that all was well with the play. Rehearsals had been delayed only 24 hours. Herbie had taken over and was enthusiastic about it. Tom was quiet and withdrawn but seemed more thoughtful than emotionally overcome.

“I just don’t think he believes it,” David said, referring to Walter’s departure. “He seems to be waiting, like he’s expecting something to happen. We’ve talked a lot about you, of course. I’ve made a big thing about the hold Clara has always had on you. That seemed to be the right line to take.”

“He’s not angry with me?”

“Not remotely. More worried, if anything. He’s a remarkable guy. You’re his life. He seems to be trying to fit everything together in terms of what you mean to each other. God knows what he’ll do when he thinks he has all the pieces in place.”

“Oh, Christ, David. You better start telling him what a shit I am. Help him to get me off his mind.”

“I think that would probably require brain surgery, but we’ll see. I’ll be going up there every weekend. I’m introducing him to every stud I know, and I know quite a few, but he just looks right through them. I hope you know what you’re doing, honey. I’m not sure.”

“For God’s sake, David, what else can I do? I don’t want him eating his heart out for the rest of his life. You should see me–and I suspect this is just the beginning. There’s nothing left of me for anybody to build a life on.”

“Jesus, honey, I want to see you. How do you think I feel watching it all go on? This is the worst thing I’ve ever got into.”

“I’m sorry, old pal. I always thought I’d make a more graceful exit.”

When he hung up, he wished he weren’t feeling so much better physically. He wondered whether he could face the ordeal of recovery. The torment of uncertainty that he had thought was ended when he had sealed his letter to Tom was beginning again. His mind began to turn in circles. If it looked as if he might be more or less well for a while, if Tom were trying to come to terms somehow with what he’d done, shouldn’t he see him, tell him the truth, face with him the necessity of being parted? And keep Tom tied to him always, cut off from life and new experience? Pain and drugs had insulated him from emotion. Now that they were wearing off, the familiar fierce craving for Tom was getting a grip on him again. If Tom found out somehow or suspected, Walter would be relieved of responsibility for the decision, and they would learn together what they had to do.
Oh, Tommy, please find out
, he prayed.

Clara kept his mail, on the grounds that he wasn’t well enough to be bothered with it, but she screened it carefully with special attention to letters with California postmarks. Letters began to arrive forwarded from the Belvedere address, all redirected by the same hand. She studied it carefully so that she would recognize it. She was puzzled about Tom Jennings. It was hard to believe that he knew nothing of Walter’s illness if they’d been living together, equally hard to believe that he would make no effort to inquire about him if they still had the slightest feeling for each other. Walter’s reticence about him could mean anything, perhaps simply that he wished to close that chapter of his life, but instinct told her to beware. Tom Jennings might represent more of a threat than she had at first supposed.

Messages were piling up at home, just as they had a few months ago when he had failed to appear for the award. Then, she had been wild with humiliation and frustration, not knowing how to handle the situation. Now, at least, she was in control. She was eager to get him home, where her control would be even more effective. Anybody could wander into the hospital and, with ingenuity, might even arrive at Walter’s door. In a week or two they could begin to give small dinner parties, and everybody would see that the Makin household was functioning normally again.

Walter had several more talks with David when Clara was out of the room. Rehearsals were going well. Tom seemed unchanged. He had taken care of a few revisions very effectively.

“There’s beginning to be a lot of talk about you around here,” David told him, speaking from Hollywood. “People are connecting your flit last spring with your quitting the production and are coming up with all sorts of way-out theories. I’ve heard you have a serious drinking problem. Some stories are closer to the truth. I don’t know where they’re coming from. Maybe there’s a leak in the hospital. You’ve got to be prepared for Tom’s hearing something.”

“Oh, God. I’m getting out of here tomorrow. People will be seeing me around soon. That should end the talk. Anyway, he knows more about the flit than anybody else. He won’t pay any attention to stories that try to make something of that He knows you’re in touch with me, doesn’t he? It’s up to you to convince him that I’m all right.” If Tom was going to find out anyway, shouldn’t he let David tell him now and end any doubts that he might have about Walter’s fidelity to the pledges they had exchanged? Knowing that Tom must doubt him was beginning to drive him mad. But that had been the point. He wanted Tom to doubt him. He wanted to make it easy for Tom to cut him out of his life. He couldn’t trust his judgment in his weakened condition. He had known what he was doing when he had written his letter. Stick to it.

He hung up in a torment of indecision.
Please find out, Tommy
, he begged.

The next day he was made ready for the return to the house. His bandages had been reduced to manageable dimensions. He had trouble getting his arm into sleeves, but with help he was able to get more or less dressed, with a jacket thrown over his shoulders. Putting on clothes made him acutely aware of how much weight he’d lost. He was a bag of bones. Clara combed his hair rather bizarrely over the shaved patch. He did his best to carry off his farewells to the hospital staff with aplomb.

Mike drove them the few blocks to 75th Street. The cop on the beat stood nearby to hold the criminal classes in check. He was bundled into the house under the curious stares of a few passersby. Fortress doors closed behind him. He breathed pure conditioned air. Alice and the others made a fuss over him. He went up to his handsome living room and stood for a few minutes looking around at his possessions, thinking of the house on the water, of garden vistas descending to the jetty and the little boat bobbing at the end of it, of moving freely indoors and out breathing real air and careless of clothing, feeling a presence in whom all his thoughts and hopes and desires were concentrated.
Come to me, Tommy. Please find out. Oh, Christ, come to me
.

He made the library his headquarters, and a new life began. He felt almost well enough to go about his business normally, but not quite. He was still under heavy medication. Clara administered numerous doses according to the doctor’s orders without knowing what they were for. She noticed that his mood altered drastically from hour to hour. He was frequently bright and lively but as just frequently drifted into absentminded lethargy. At least he never seemed deeply depressed.

The doctors had told her that it was important for him to regain some weight, and she gave a great deal of attention to his meals. His favorite foods were heaped before him, and he ate well, but it had no immediate effect. His California tan had turned yellow, and the operation had altered the balance of his face. One eye drooped perceptibly so that by contrast the other seemed to have a pronounced upward slant. The loss of weight was beginning to give him a wizened look.

After he had been home for five days, he noticed that his eyes were playing tricks on him. They didn’t focus properly for minutes at a time, so that when he reached for something, his hand went through it. He also felt several unfamiliar sharp stabs of pain in his chest and shoulders during the day. He knew he was probably hypersensitive to any new symptoms, but he told Clara about it. She reported to her cousin.

“It may be happening faster than we expected,” he said. “You better bring him in and let us have a look at him in the morning. I doubt if it’s anything to worry about for the moment, but keep those pills handy. They’ll make a big difference when the time comes.”

Clara joined him in the library for their usual drinks before dinner, dressed as carefully as if she were going out. She knew he took pride in her appearance. He was wearing one of his expensive dressing gowns with folds of scarf arranged carefully around his neck. Emile brought ice and checked the bar cabinet and left them.

“We’re going to get the last of those bandages off you tomorrow,” she said. “Clarence wants to have a look at you.”

“He has peculiar tastes.” He smiled at her over his glass, the ghost of an imp lurking in the corners of his mouth. “I’m going to die, Clarry. We both know it. Don’t you think we might have more fun if we just admit it?”

“You’re not,” she asserted vehemently. “Not this way. I won’t let you. We’re all going to die someday.”

“Exactly. Some of us sooner than others. I wish you wouldn’t mind so much. I’m sorry to drop off so soon, but there’s really a great deal to be said for it. I’ll go out in a blaze of glory. The award. The cover of
Time
. What more could I want? For a while in California, I thought I might be getting into a whole new thing. I had some exciting ideas. I know now I’ll never have the strength for anything new. I’ll go through another operation to show what a good sport I am. Let them have an eye if they want one. Then I’d like to pack a trunk of painkillers and take off for places where they don’t have any doctors. Let’s go to all the places I’ve never been. Exotic islands. Lazy lagoons. I’ll decay elegantly amid rotting tropical vegetation.”

She laughed dismissively. “You’re too absurd. A trip sounds lovely. We’ll go as soon as the doctors say we can. There’s no reason to assume there’s going to be another operation.” She would find some way of making him want to live. She had always saved him. She had saved him from David. She had saved him from Mark. She had saved him from destroying his career in Hollywood. She would save his life. He had always been idolized by others. Only she knew the flaws and fissures that might have brought the idol crashing to the dust. She would continue to shore him up. “You’ll want to be here for the opening of the new play, won’t you?” she asked.

He put his drink down and looked at her thoughtfully. “I’m not sure. Tom’s the last person I want to know about this. If he should find out and turns up in the course of time, I’ll want to see him. You understand that, don’t you, Clarry?”

“Of course,” she said. “Why shouldn’t you?” Her curiosity about Tom Jennings was satisfied. Walter was protecting him. He didn’t trust their relationship to survive the knowledge of his condition. She accepted his faith in her as a tribute to the strength she had always offered him.

He picked up his glass and drank, and a touch of his old jauntiness returned. “I’m glad I’m ending with this play. It’s going to be a sensation. It may not run long, but they’ll know I haven’t lost my touch. It’s the best thing I’ve done since I was really picking them.”