She did not look at him; and she said nothing; said nothing for a block or more. The theater came closer and closer. Cass and Eric were standing under the marquee, and they waved. “What I don’t understand,” she said, slowly, “is how you can talk about love when you don’t want to know what’s happening. And that’s not my fault. How can you say you loved Rufus when there was so much about him you didn’t want to know? How can I believe you love me?” And, with a curious helplessness, she took his arm. “How can you love somebody you don’t know anything about? You don’t know where I’ve been. You don’t know what life is like for me.”
“But I’m willing,” he said, “to spend the rest of my life finding out.”
She threw back her head and laughed. “Oh, Vivaldo. You may spend the rest of your life finding out — but it won’t be because you’re willing.” And then, with ferocity, “And it won’t be me you’ll be finding out about. Oh, Lord.” She dropped his arm. She gave him a strange side glance; he could not read it, it seemed both pitying and cold. “I’m sorry to have hurt your feelings, I’m not trying to kill you. I know you’re not responsible for — for the world. And, listen: I don’t blame you for not being willing. I’m not willing, nobody’s willing. Nobody’s willing to pay their dues.”
Then she moved forward, smiling, to greet Eric and Cass.
“Hello, kids,” she said — and Vivaldo watched her, that urchin grin, those flashing eyes—“how you been making it?” She tapped Eric lightly on the cheek. “They tell me you’re beginning to enjoy New York almost as much as you enjoyed Paris. How about that? We’re not so bad over here, now, are we?”
Eric blushed, and humorously pursued his lips. “I’d enjoy it a whole lot more if you’d put your rivers and bridges in the middle of the city instead of having them all pushed off on the edges this way. You can’t breathe in this city in the summertime; it’s frightening.” He looked at Vivaldo. “I don’t know how you barbarians stand it.”
“If it wasn’t for us barbarians,” said Vivaldo, “you mandarins would be in one hell of a fix.” He kissed Cass on the forehead, and struck Eric lightly on the back of the neck. “It’s good to see you, anyway.”
“We’ve got good news,” said Cass, “though I guess I really ought to let Eric tell it.”
“Well, we’re not absolutely certain that it’s good news,” said Eric. He looked at Ida and Vivaldo. “Anyway, I think we ought to keep them in suspense for awhile. If they don’t think I’m the greatest thing they ever saw in this movie, why, then, I think we just ought to let them find out what’s happening when the general public finds out.” And he threw his chin in the air and swaggered toward the box office.
“Oh, Eric,” cried Cass, “can’t I tell them?” She said, to Ida and Vivaldo, “It’s got something to do with this movie we’re going to see.”
“Well, you’ve got to tell us,” Ida said, “or we simply won’t go in.” She raised her voice in the direction of Eric’s back: “We do know other actors.”
“Come on, Cass,” said Vivaldo, “you’ve got to tell us now.”
But Cass looked again in Eric’s direction, with a small, frowning smile. “Let me tell them, sweetheart.”
He turned, smiling, with the tickets in his hand. “I don’t know how to stop you,” he said. He moved over to Cass, and put one arm around her shoulder.
“Well,” said Cass, smaller than ever, and more radiant — and, as she spoke, Eric watched her with an amused and loving smile—“Eric doesn’t have much of a part in this movie, he only appears in one or two scenes and he’s only got a couple of lines—”
“Three scenes,” said Eric, “one line. If one of you sneezes, you die.”
“—but on the strength of this—” cried Cass.
“Well, not only on the strength of this,” said Eric. “Will you let the girl talk?” asked Vivaldo. “Go on, Cass.”
“—on the strength of this particular performance”—
“—exposure,” said Eric.
“Oh, shit,” cried Vivaldo.
“He’s a perfectionist.” Cass said.
“He’s going to be a dead one, too,” said Ida, “If he doesn’t stop hogging this scene. Lord, would I hate to work with you. Please go on, Cass.”
“Well, telegrams and phone calls have been coming out of Hollywood asking Eric if he will play—” and she looked up at Eric.
“Well, don’t stop now,” cried Ida.
Eric, now, was very pale. “They’ve got some wild idea out there of making a movie version of The Possessed—”
“The Dostoievski novel,” said Cass.
“Thanks,” said Vivaldo, “and—?”
“They want me to play Stavrogin,” said Eric.
A total silence fell, and they all stared at Eric, who looked uneasily back at them. There gleamed a small crown of sweat on his forehead, just below the hairline. Vivaldo felt a mighty tug of jealousy and fear. “Wow!” he said. Eric looked at him, seeming to see into his heart; and his brow puckered slightly, as though he were stiffening himself for a quarrel.
“It’s probably going to be an awful movie,” he said, “can you imagine them doing The Possessed? I didn’t really take it seriously until my agent called me. And then Bronson called me, too, because, you see, there’s going to be a kind of conflict with Happy Hunting Ground. Were set to go into rehearsal next month, and, who knows? maybe it’ll be a hit. So we’ve got to iron that out.”
“But they’re willing to do almost anything to get Eric,” Cass said.
“That’s not entirely true,” said Eric, “don’t listen to her. They’re just very interested, that’s all. I don’t believe anything until it happens.” He took a blue handkerchief out of his back pocket and wiped his face. “Let’s go in,” he said.
“Baby,” said Vivaldo, “you’re going to be a star.” He kissed Eric on the forehead. “You son of a bitch.”
“Nothing is set,” said Eric, and he looked at Cass. He grinned. “I’m really part of an economy drive. They can get me cheap, you know, and they’ve got almost everybody you ever heard of lined up for the other roles — so my agent explained to me that my name goes below the title—”
“But in equal size,” said Cass.
One of those and introducing deals,” said Eric, and laughed. He looked pleased about his good news for the first time.
“Well, baby, it looks like you’ve made it now,” said Ida. “Congratulations.”
“Your clairvoyant Frenchman,” Cass said, “was right.”
“Only what are they going to do about that ante-bellum accent?” asked Vivaldo.
“Look,” said Eric, “let’s go see this movie. I speak French in it.” He threw an arm around Vivaldo’s shoulder. “Impeccably.”
“Hell,” Vivaldo said, “I don’t really feel like seeing a movie. I’d much rather take you out and get you stinking drunk.”