An Idol for Others (65 page)

Clara stood very straight, looking down at him. Her knuckles were white on her glass. The love affair wasn’t over. She could despise him, but her heart bled for him. He looked so old and frail and pitiful, racked by his youthful love. She thought of him long ago standing naked in front of her on a beach at night, and she wanted to weep for him, but it wasn’t yet time for tears. He still needed her strength. Hadn’t he looked at himself? Didn’t he know what any young man, no matter how much in love, would see in him? The thought of his big sex lifting from his ravaged body horrified her. She must save him once more. She must save him from humiliation and pain. She understood at last why he didn’t want to live. Love would make life a torment for him. She would save him from life.

She went to him and stood over him and hugged his tortured body close. He flung his arms around her and buried his face against her. She stroked his hair and soothed him, and the sounds of his agony subsided. Eventually his arms dropped from her, and he slumped back in the chair with a hand over his eyes.

“I’m sorry, Clarry,” he said in a drained voice. “It’s pure self-pity. I swore I wouldn’t give in to it.”

“You’re not made of stone, dearest,” she said. “You’ve been magnificent through all this. You have the right to let go sometimes. It’s all right. We’ll have you through it soon. And of course, dearest, have Tom stay here if you want.”

“Thanks. It can’t be for long. I’m going to make him go back to San Francisco. He mustn’t lose touch with his play.”

She went to the table where she had left her bag and found her compact and touched up her face. She withdrew the pillbox. She didn’t think she would get into any trouble. Only Clarence knew she had them, and nobody was apt to ask questions. She would act the heartbroken widow. Act? Her heart was broken, but she would find peace with him.

He dropped his hand and lay back in the chair for a moment with his eyes closed. He gathered himself together and rose. “Let’s get drunk, Clarry,” he suggested with a faltering attempt at gaiety. “I haven’t been drunk in years.”

“What a lovely idea. We’ll careen around the room and sing ‘Sweet Adeline.’ Here, dearest.” She took his glass and dropped five pills into his hand.

“What’s this? Something new?”

“You’ll be starting a new treatment next week. That’s part of it.” She poured him a fresh drink and handed it to him and watched him pop the pills in his mouth and gulp them down. A little shiver ran down her spine.

“I’m anxious for you to meet Tom.” He took his glass to the sofa and sat She sat in a chair opposite him. “His being here will give you a few days to catch up on things. I hope he’ll stay for lunch.”

“Make whatever arrangements you like, dearest. I suppose you’ll want to talk to him in here. I’ll see that you’re not disturbed.”

“I’m tired. I mustn’t let myself do things like that. It takes too much out of me.”

“I’ll see to it that you don’t feel that way again. Tell me about his play, dearest. I don’t know much about it.”

He did so, thinking of Tom. A few days together here would give them a chance to feel their way toward the future. When Tom came back after the West Coast opening, he could stay here again. Whether that could become a permanent arrangement depended on whether they could feel really together in these surroundings. He was resigned to another operation. They couldn’t make serious plans until that was out of the way. If Tom and Clara made friends, there would be various possibilities.

“I don’t think I’ll tell you how it ends,” he said, completing his résumé of the play. “You’ll be seeing it. I don’t want to spoil it for you. Give me another drink. I don’t seem to know how to get drunk anymore.”

She mixed him a stronger one. “That should do the trick,” she said, smiling at him as she handed it to him.

He took a swallow and gasped. “Wow. That’s strong. Are you keeping up with me?”

“I’m doing all right. I’m about to burst into song. Clara the Crow.”

He chortled. “It’s just making me feel sleepy. This is ridiculous.”

“Why don’t you put your feet up for a minute, dearest?”

“I guess I better. I’m …” He stretched out on the sofa and closed his eyes. Tom appeared in the center of his mind, a smile lighting his face. He would see Tom tomorrow. Tom was … His mind wandered. He was very sleepy.

She sat watching him, her hands gripping the arm of the chair. She saw his breathing grow deeper. She watched a flush mount to his cheeks. He was looking younger again. She rose and arranged a wave of hair on his brow and resumed her seat She stared into the space in front of her, listening to his deep, regular breathing. Her mind was a blank of waiting.

The buzzer signaled that dinner was ready. She went to the house phone. “Mr. Makin is sleeping, Emile. You’d better hold dinner. Perhaps we’ll have trays up here. We’ll see.”

She returned to her chair and sat watching him. His breathing was getting heavier. She would have to call Alice and tell her to come back for the night. There would be the newspapers to deal with. She watched his breath grow irregular.

He made a whimpering sound. His eyelids fluttered. His body gave a twitch. The corners of his mouth curled up in a gentle smile. Still dreaming?

She went to him and kissed him on the mouth. He was leaving her for the only rival she would allow to take him from her.

The next day the following story appeared on the front page of the late editions of
The New York Times
with a photograph under a two-column headline.

Walter Makin, the internationally celebrated theatrical producer and director, died suddenly last night after a short illness. He was 50 years old and lived at 159 East 75th Street Mr. Makin catapulted to fame in 1940 at the age of 20 with his production of
A Light in the Forest
, a play adapted from the French. The rapid succession of his hits, all produced and directed by Mr. Makin, that followed his debut earned him the nickname of Broadway’s “Boy Wonder.”

Mr. Makin revolutionized all branches of the theater arts. His Theatre Today, a repertory company that he managed for five years, came closer to establishing a national theater than any other company in the history of the American theater. His first film,
Gone Is Nowhere
, which he directed in 1951, created a new trend in comedy-action pictures and is generally regarded as a classic of its kind. Many of today’s leading players began their careers under Mr. Makin’s direction.

Mr. Makin was honored last May by the entire spectrum of the performing arts with a special award for his unique contributions to his profession over the course of his long and active career. He was prevented by illness from attending the ceremony. His health recovered, and he was reported to be preparing a new production before his final illness.

Mr. Makin was born May 17, 1920, in Morristown, New Jersey. He attended the …

The story was continued on the obituary page and ran for two columns, with additional photographs, listing Walter’s many productions, the notables associated with his career, and his nontheatrical activities.

The following day, the paper’s obituary page carried a shorter story reporting the death by an overdose of barbiturates of the well-known young novelist Thomas Jennings.

About the Author

Gordon Merrick (1916–1988) was an actor, television writer, and journalist. Merrick was one of the first authors to write about gay themes for a mass audience. He wrote fourteen books, including the beloved Peter & Charlie Trilogy.
The Lord Won’t Mind
spent four months on the
New York Times
bestseller list in 1970. Merrick’s posthumously published novel
The Good Life,
coauthored with his partner, Charles G. Hulse, was a bestseller as well. Merrick died in Sri Lanka.

All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 1977 by Charles G. Hulse, Estate of Gordon Merrick

Cover design by Drew Padrutt

ISBN: 978-1-4976-6630-6

This edition published in 2014 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.

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EBOOKS BY GORDON MERRICK

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