The Slipper (26 page)

9

It was a beautiful suit, dark navy blue, elegant and classy, exactly the suit a new young lawyer would wear. It had cost far more than she could afford to pay, but she had put it on layaway four months ago and had finally been able to make the final payment today. Julie left the clothing store with the long white box under her arm and decided to walk back to the apartment rather than wait for the bus. It was two and a half miles, but the exercise would do her good. Doctor Grayson had told her she needed all the exercise she could get, although, of course, she mustn't overdo it. She was young and healthy and he expected no problems, but she needed to build up her strength. Actually, now that the morning sickness had abated, Julie had never felt better or stronger in her life. Her whole body seemed to tingle with health, and she felt a radiant glow inside.

Her skin seemed to glow as well. Doctor Grayson had given her a tube of ointment to use on her face, and after all this time her complexion had begun to clear up. She suspected her pregnancy had something to do with that, too, as all the other lotions and ointments she had used had been ineffective. It seemed miraculous. Only a few tiny pit marks remained, and those were barely visible. Julie walked briskly, feeling the play of muscles in her legs, feeling the strength and the glow. She hadn't felt this way with the first baby. She had felt worn and weary, constantly distraught, but the circumstances had been responsible for that. Doctor Grayson had assured her there was absolutely no reason why she shouldn't carry this baby to full term and have a relatively easy delivery.

Doug didn't know yet. He … he had a great deal on his mind, so many decisions to make. With his grades, his record, he had naturally had a great many job offers. It seemed important law firms did scouting, just like football coaches, and Doug had gone out to lunch with several representatives who wanted him on the team. He didn't discuss it with her—he never discussed anything with her nowadays—but Julie knew he would soon accept one of those offers and they would leave Claymore and begin a whole new life together. He had attended his last class this morning, and in just two days he would graduate at the head of his class. He would wear this handsome new suit, and she would be so proud of him, so proud. When … when it was all over with and he had his degree, she'd tell him about the baby. They'd be able to afford a baby now, as soon as he signed on with one of those important firms.

Things were going to be all right between them. She believed that. She had to believe it. She had worked so long, so hard toward this goal, and now that they had almost reached it nothing … nothing would go wrong. He was unhappy with her, true, bitterly resented her acting and the time it consumed, but she hadn't been able to disappoint Mr. Compton, not after all he had done for her. She had played the leads in the last three plays, and it had been a wonderful, elating experience, but she was prepared to give up acting entirely for Doug's sake. A home, a family—those were the important things. She loved the magic of the theater, loved being a part of it, but she didn't have that obsessive hunger for success that had motivated Carol and motivated Nora as well. Carol wanted to be an actress more than anything else in the world, just as Nora wanted to be a successful writer, and both were willing to sacrifice everything to realize that dream. It … it would be lovely to have a successful career in the theater, but not if it meant giving up home and husband and children. That dream came first.

This had been brought home to her two months ago after the opening night of
Picnic
. She had played Madge, and during that time onstage she had actually
been
a beautiful, discontented young woman from a small town prepared to give up the safe for the excitement of life with a virile stranger, brilliantly played by Jim Burke without leather jacket and Brando mannerisms. In flowing blonde wig and thin melon-pink dress, she had sighed at the heat and boredom, filled with longings easily incited by the dashing, ne'er-do-well Hal. A transformation occurred, as it always did, and afterwards in her dressing room she felt plain and shy, Julie again, wondering why all these people were coming in, beaming, lavishing her with compliments. Julian Compton entered with a short, dumpy, brusque-looking woman with short-cropped gray hair and fierce blue eyes. She wore a drab gray dress and smoked incessantly, fitting cigarettes into a long black holder. Julie judged her to be in her mid-fifties at least, and she felt uneasy as the woman stood at the edge of the crowd, smoking, frowning, tapping her foot impatiently and staring at her with an alarming intensity. When the crowd thinned out Compton shooed the others away and only the three of them remained.

“Julie,” he said, bringing the woman forward, “I want you to meet Sonia Lezenski.”

Julie felt the hair on the back of her neck prickle, felt the color vanish from her cheeks. Madame Lezenski was perhaps the most famous drama coach in America, a legendary figure in theatrical circles. Born in Russia, forced to flee with her family during the revolution, she had had a brilliant career in the theater in Paris before immigrating to America. She had done a number of films during the thirties, character parts mainly, and had eventually given up acting to teach. Her students had included some of the most celebrated names in theater and films, and many of them still claimed they couldn't make a move without Sonia's help. She was tough, feisty, opinionated, autocratic, a tyrant, a genius, and she never took on a student unless she was thoroughly convinced that student had the seeds of greatness. As Julie stared, completely tongue-tied, Compton explained that his friend Madame Lezenski had come to Claymore at his request, just to see Julie's performance. Sonia Lezenski fitted another cigarette into the end of her holder, lighted it, inhaled deeply, than gave a curt nod. With her square, jowly face, much creased and wrinkled, she looked rather like a bulldog eager to snap up a bone.

“You are right, Julian,” she barked in a harsh, guttural voice, “she's got the magic, this one, just like you told me. Janice Rule, she does
Picnic
on Broadway. She is good, but she is not as good as this one is, not half as good. I take her back to New York with me, we work, she will become an enormous success. You!” she snapped at Julie, blue eyes flashing. “You are prepared to work as you have never worked before? You are prepared to put yourself in my hands? You are prepared to obey my every order, to live for nothing but your art?”

“I—Madame Lezenski, I am very flattered, but—”

“It will not be easy! This I promise you! I am very difficult, hard to get along with. I am stubborn, testy, a dictator. I am a demon, this everyone says and it is true, but I am the best. What I see tonight on the stage, it moves me to the core. Me, Lezenski, I cry real tears when I see such talent, such rare, rare talent. You will be my prize student. Together you and I will create a new legend on Broadway.”

Julie saw the woman and heard the words, but it was difficult to believe any of it was real. She was sitting here at her dressing table in front of a murky mirror in this shabby, dusty dressing room backstage in the college theater, still wearing the long blonde wig and thin melon-pink dress, and Madame Sonia Lezenski was telling these things to her. Sonia Lezenski! It was happening just as Nora claimed it would. This dumpy, ugly woman who looked like a bulldog was her fairy godmother and she was holding out the slipper. Julie felt numb.

“You will come with me to New York,” Lezenski announced. “I will help you find a place to live, you will find some menial job to pay for your food, your rent. We will start to work immediately.”

“Madame Lezenski, I—I
am
flattered, like I said, but I—I have a husband.”

Sonia Lezenski made a face and waved her hand, dismissing such unimportant details. Husbands! Who needed them? The butt of her cigarette crackled violently as she drew on the long black holder.

“I couldn't leave him, and even if it were possible, I—I couldn't possibly afford to take lessons with—”

“Money! This is not important! Money I have coming to me in rivers. I take this blonde sex symbol on as student, against my will, as a favor to one of my dear friends, she is not bad, she has potentials, but she is tormented. She cannot make a decision, cannot function, she is a sleepwalker who must be prodded. She makes me her guru, this I do not like but it happens. Now when she makes a film I must go with her and sit on the set and watch and tell her she is wonderful and for this I am paid a fortune, more money than I ever believe it is possible to make. I work with you and we do not worry about money. Later, when you are the huge success,
then
you can pay me.”

“I—”

“You will not give me an answer yet. You will think about it. Tomorrow we will have lunch and discuss all the details. I will meet you at twelve in Julian's office. He will drive us to a quiet restaurant.”

“I—I'll be happy to lunch with you, Madame Lezenski, but—”

“Fine! It is settled. Come, Julian, now we go talk to this boy. He is a magnificent Hal. If only Bill could have been here to see this production. He would have wept, too. Perhaps I will persuade him to write a new play for these two young people I discover in Indiana.”

They left the dressing room and Julie removed wig, dress and makeup and brushed out her hair. Twenty minutes later she joined the others onstage for the opening night party—bright lights, spiked punch, sandwiches, loud, pretentious chatter, clouds of cigarette smoke—and the quiet girl with her shy smile and poor complexion, in her simple white blouse and brown skirt, looked nothing at all like the beautiful, sensuous Madge who had enraptured the audience an hour earlier. Julie saw Sonia Lezenski standing with Jim Burke, her cigarette holder waving as she subjected him to a barrage of words. In jeans and leather jacket, Jim looked dazed, unable to believe the great Sonia Lezenski had seen his performance and approved it. Julie wandered about, deeply disappointed because Doug had not come to see the play and accompanied her to the party. She had asked him and he had said he would try to make it, but apparently he had been too busy with the books. Tonight's triumph seemed curiously hollow without Doug here to share it with her.

An elated Jim Burke drove her home on his motorcycle, telling her of his decision to leave for New York immediately—Sonia Lezenski was going to take him on—and begging her to come, too. Just think, William Inge really
might
write a play for them one day. Jim was going to be a big, big star, he promised her. He was going to take Broadway by storm. It'd be terrific if Julie came, too. Hell, they could be the new Lunts, just buddies off stage but behind the spotlights a sensational team.

Working so closely together, she and Jim had become very good friends. He was one of the nicest boys she knew, always thoughtful and helpful, always bringing out the best in her. For some reason he didn't feel he had to put on a front with her, and, with Julie, he was relaxed and engaging, exuding a boyish charm quite different from his Brando-inspired swagger. Although he was extremely virile and sexy—all the girls were mad for him, of course—theirs was a purely platonic friendship. Jim respected her and knew she loved her husband and had never made a pass, although there had been any number of exuberant hugs. He was very fond of her, she knew, and Julie treasured their friendship. Jim
was
going to be a huge success in New York—she felt it in her bones—and she was going to be very proud of him.

It was quite late when Julie got back home and Doug was already asleep, sprawled out on the bed with his bare legs all tangled up in the sheets.

Julie didn't go to bed. She sat on a chair near the bed in the darkened room and watched the play of moonlight and shadow on floor and walls and listened to her husband's breathing and thought about Sonia Lezenski's offer and the slipper. In her heart, in her soul, she knew that she could become a successful actress, perhaps even a great actress. She knew what was inside her, knew now that she could express it on stage, and Lezenski wouldn't have wanted to take her on if she hadn't known it, too. It would be hard and it would be risky, so much depended on chance, on luck, on the right break, but with a powerful person like Lezenski behind her half the battle would be won. Julie thought about it and Doug groaned in his sleep and turned over, clutching the pillow in a fierce grip as, in his sleep, he usually clutched her. No longer fifteen years old, a grown woman now and far more perceptive than, many people would believe, given her shy demeanor, she was fully aware of all his faults, but she loved him, she loved him with every fiber of her being, and she still believed things would be right between them and they would be happy once Doug got his degree and they were able to make a new start. They would have children, a nice home, and Doug would be a tremendously successful lawyer and she his proud, contented wife. She couldn't give that up, not … not even for the slipper. Fame and fortune would mean nothing without Doug.

Julie paused for a red light and shifted the long white box from one arm to the other. She had lunched with Lezenski the next day and regretfully informed her of her decision to remain with her husband. The celebrated dramatic coach calmly fitted another cigarette into her holder and lighted it with care. She exhaled plumes of smoke and nodded curtly. “This is a large decision to make. You are not impulsive, you are level-headed, this is good. If you change your mind, Sonia will welcome you with open arms.” Julie wondered if she had made a grave mistake—Nora would think her mad for passing up an opportunity like this, Carol would, too—but five weeks later she started to feel queasy and realized she had missed her last period. Yes, she thought as the light changed, I made the right decision. Crossing the street, she headed toward the campus, passing the shabby second-run theater where
Daughter of France
was playing.