“Don’t shit me, sweetheart. I know you’ve got a hard on for that play, but it’s not that big. You just haven’t been answering your phone. Listen—”
“Yes?”
“About your screen test — you got a pencil?”
“Wait a minute.”
He found a pencil on his desk, and a scrap of paper, and returned to the phone.
“Go ahead, Harman.”
“You’re not going to the Coast. It’s fixed up for you to do it here. You know where the Allied Studios are?”
“Yes, naturally.”
“Well, it’s set for Wednesday morning. Allied, at ten. Listen. Can you have lunch with me tomorrow?”
“Yes. I’d love to.”
“Good. I’ll fill you in on all the details. Downey’s okay?”
“Right. What time?”
“One o’clock. Now — you still with me?”
“All ears, baby.”
“Well, we finally got that meshugena of a broken-down movie star in town and the rehearsal date is definitely set for a week from tomorrow.”
“Next week?”
“Right.”
“Wonderful. God, I’ll be so glad to be working again.”
Vivaldo came out of the bathroom, seeming unutterably huge in his blank, white nakedness, and walked into the kitchen. He looked critically at the coffee pot, came back into the room, and threw himself into the bed.
“You’re going to be working from now on, Eric. You’re on your way, sweetheart; you’re going to go right over the top, and, baby, I couldn’t be more delighted.”
“Thanks, Harman. I certainly hope you’re right.”
“I’ve been in the business longer than you’ve been in the world, Eric. I know a winner when I see one and I’ve never made a mistake, not about that. You be good now, I’ll see you tomorrow. Good-bye.”
“Good-bye.”
He put down the receiver, filled with a fugitive excitement.
“Good news?”
“That was my agent. We’re going into rehearsal next week and we’re doing my screen test Wednesday.” Then his triumph blazed up in him and he turned to Vivaldo. “Isn’t that fantastic?”
Vivaldo watched him, smiling. “I think we ought to drink to that, baby.” He watched as Eric picked up the empty bottle from the floor. “Ah. Too sad.”
“But I’ve got a little bourbon,” Eric said.
“Crazy.”
Eric poured two bourbons and lowered the flame under the coffee. “Bourbon’s really much more fitting,” he said, happily, “since that’s what they drink in the South, where I come from.”
He sat on the bed again, and they touched glasses.
“To your first Oscar,” said Vivaldo.
Eric laughed. “That’s touching. To your Nobel prize.”
“That’s very touching.” Eric pulled the sheet up to his navel. Vivaldo watched him. “You’re going to be very lonely,” he said, suddenly.
Eric looked over at Vivaldo, and shrugged. “So are you, if it comes to that. If it comes to that,” he added, after a moment, “I’m lonely now.”
Vivaldo was silent for a moment. When he spoke, he sounded very sad and gentle. “Are you? Will you be — when your boy gets here?”
Then Eric was silent. “No,” he said, finally. He hesitated. “Well — yes and no.” Then he looked at Vivaldo. “Are you lonely with Ida?”
Vivaldo looked down. “I’ve been thinking about that — or I’ve been trying not to think about that — all morning.” He raised his eyes to Eric’s eyes. “I hope you don’t mind my saying — well, hell, anyway, you know it — that I’m sort of hiding in your bed now, hiding even in your arms maybe — from Ida, in a way. I’m trying to get something straight in my mind about my life with Ida.” He looked down again. “I keep feeling that it’s up to me to resolve it, one way or another. But I don’t seem to have the guts. I don’t know how. I’m afraid to force anything because I’m afraid to lose her.” He seemed to flounder in the depths of Eric’s silence. “Do you know what I mean? Does it make any sense to you?”
“Oh, yes,” said Eric, bleakly, “it makes sense, all right.” He looked over at Vivaldo with a smile, and dared to say, “Maybe, at this very moment, while both of us are huddled here, hiding from things which frighten us — maybe you love me and I love you as well as we’ll ever love, or be loved, in this world.”
Vivaldo said, “I don’t know if I can accept that, not yet. Not yet. As well—maybe. Well, surely.” He looked up at Eric. “But it’s not, really, is it? very complete. Look. This day is almost over. How long will it be before such a day comes for us again? Because we’re not kids, we know what life is like, and how time just vanishes, runs away — I can’t, really, like from moment to moment, day to day, month to month, make you less lonely. Or you, me. We aren’t driven in the same directions and I can’t help that, any more than you can.” He paused, watching Eric with enormous, tormented eyes. He smiled. “It would be wonderful if it could be like that; you’re very beautiful, Eric. But I don’t, really, dig you the way I guess you must dig me. You know? And if we tried to arrange it, prolong it, control it, if we tried to take more than what we’ve — by some miracle, some miracle, I swear — stumbled on, then I’d just become a parasite and we’d both shrivel. So what can we really do for each other except — just love each other and be each other’s witness? And haven’t we got the right to hope — for more? So that we can really stretch into whoever we really are? Don’t you think so?” And, before Eric could answer, he took a large swallow of his whiskey and said in a different tone, a lower voice, “Because, you know, when I was in the bathroom, I was thinking that, yes, I loved being in your arms, holding you”—he flushed and looked up into Eric’s face again—“why not, it’s warm, I’m sensual, I like — you — the way you love me, but”—he looked down again—“it’s not my battle, not my thing, and I know it, and I can’t give up my battle. If I do, I’ll die and if I die”—and now he looked up at Eric with a rueful, juvenile grin—“you won’t love me any more. And I want you to love me all my life.”
Eric reached out and touched Vivaldo’s face. After a moment, Vivaldo grabbed his hand. “For you, the moon, baby,” Eric said. His voice, to his surprise, was a grave, hoarse whisper. He cleared his throat. “Do you want some coffee now?”
Vivaldo shook his head. He emptied his glass and put it on the table.
“Drink up,” he said to Eric.
Eric finished his drink. Vivaldo took the glass from him and set it down.
“I don’t want any coffee now,” he said. He opened his arms. “Let’s make the most of our little day.”
By ten minutes to four, Eric was, somehow, showered, shaved, and dressed, with his raincoat and his rain cap on. The coffee was too hot, he only managed to drink half a cup. Vivaldo was still undressed.
“You go on,” he said. “I’ll clean up a little and I’ll lock the door.”
“All right.” But Eric dreaded leaving in the same way that Vivaldo dreaded getting dressed. “I’ll leave you the cigarettes, I’ll buy some.”
“That’s big of you. Go on, now. Give my love to Cass.”
“Give my love,” he said, “to Ida.”
They both grinned. “I’m going to call her,” Vivaldo said, “just as soon as you get your ass out of here.”
“Okay, I’m gone.” Yet, at the door, he stopped, looking at Vivaldo, who stood in the center of the room, holding a cup of coffee. He stared at the floor with a harsh bewilderment in his face. Then he felt Eric’s eyes and looked up. He put down his coffee cup and walked to the door. He kissed Eric on the mouth and looked into his eyes.