—
That’s when Aunt Peg walked in, bundled up in her plaid flannel bathrobe, her hair pointing in every direction.
“Pegsy!” cried Billy, leaping up from the table. His face was instantly bright with joy. All the nonchalance was gone in a heartbeat.
“Forgive me, sir, but your name escapes me,” said Peg.
But she was smiling, too, and in the next moment they were embracing. It wasn’t a romantic embrace, I would say, but it was robust. This was an embrace of love—or at least very strong feeling. They pulled back from the embrace and just looked at each other for a while, holding each other lightly by the forearms. When they stood like that together, I could see something profoundly unexpected, for the first time: I could see that Peg was kind of beautiful. I’d never noticed it before. She had such a shine on her face, looking at Billy, that it changed her whole countenance. (It wasn’t merely the reflected light off his good looks, either.) Standing in his radius, she looked like a different woman. I could see in her face a hint of the brave young girl who went off to France to be a nurse during the war. I could see the adventurer who’d spent a decade on the road with a cheap theatrical touring company. It wasn’t only that she suddenly looked ten years younger; she also looked like the most fun gal in town.
“I thought I’d pay you a visit, honey,” Billy said.
“So Olive informed me. You might have let me know.”
“I didn’t want to bother you. And I didn’t want you to tell me not to come. I figured it’d be best if I made my own arrangements. I have a secretary now, who takes care of everything for me. She made all the travel plans. Jean-Marie is her name. She’s bright, efficient, devoted. You’d love her, Peg. She’s like a female version of Olive.”
Peg pulled away from him. “Jesus, Billy, you never quit.”
“Hey, don’t be sore at me! I’m just teasing. You know I can’t help it. I’m just nervous, Pegsy. I’m afraid you’ll throw me out, honey, and I just got here.”
Mr. Herbert stood up from the kitchen table, said, “I’m going somewhere else now,” and left.
Peg took Mr. Herbert’s seat and helped herself to a sip of his cold Sanka. She frowned at the cup, so I got up to make her a fresh cup of coffee. I wasn’t sure if I should even be in the kitchen at this sensitive moment, but then Peg said, “Good morning, Vivian. Did you enjoy your birthday celebration?”
“A bit too much,” I said.
“And you’ve met your Uncle Billy?”
“Yes, we’ve been talking.”
“Oh, dear. Be careful not to absorb anything he tells you.”
“Peg,” said Billy, “you look gorgeous.”
She ran a hand through her cropped hair and smiled—a big smile that settled deeply into her lined face. “That’s quite a compliment, for a woman like me.”
“There is no woman like you. I’ve checked into it. Doesn’t exist.”
“Billy,” she said, “give it a rest.”
“Never.”
“So what are you doing here, Billy? Do you have a job in the city?”
“No job. I’m on civilian furlough. I couldn’t resist making the trip when you told me Edna was here, and that you’re trying to make a good show for her. I haven’t seen Edna since 1919. Christ, I’d love to see her. I adore that woman. And when you told me you’d enlisted Donald Herbert to write the script, of all people, I knew I had to come back east and rescue you.”
“Thank you. That’s terribly kind of you. But if I needed rescue, Billy, I’d let you know. I promise. You’d be the fourteenth or fifteenth person I’d call.”
He grinned. “But still on the list!”
Peg lit a cigarette and handed it to me, then lit another one for herself. “What are you working on out there in Hollywood?”
“A bunch of nothing. Everything I write is proudly stamped NSA—No Significance Attempted. I’m bored. But they pay me well. Enough to keep me comfortable. Me and my simple needs.”
Peg burst out laughing. “Your simple needs. Your famously simple needs. Yes, Billy, you’re quite the renunciate. Practically a monk.”
“I’m a man of humble tastes, as you know,” said Billy.
“Himself, who comes to the breakfast table dressed like he’s about to be knighted. Himself, with his house in Malibu. How many swimming pools do you have now?”
“None. I just borrow Joan Fontaine’s.”
“And what does Joan get out of that arrangement?”
“The pleasure of my company.”
“Jesus, Billy, she’s married. She’s Brian’s wife. He’s your friend.”
“I love married women, Peg. You know that. Ideally, happily married ones. A happily married woman is the most solid friend a man could ever have. Don’t worry, Pegsy—Joan is just a pal. Brian Aherne is in no danger from the likes of me.”
I could not stop looking from Peg to Billy and back again, trying to imagine these two as a romantic couple. They didn’t look like they belonged together physically—but their conversation flickered so bright and sharp. The teasing, the jabs of knowing, the fullness of the attention they gave each other. The intimacy was more than obvious, but what were they, within that intimacy? Lovers? Friends? Siblings? Rivals? Who knew? I gave up trying to figure it out and just watched the lightning flash between them.
“I’d like to spend some time with you while I’m here, Pegsy,” he said. “It’s been too long.”
“Who is she?” Peg asked.
“Who is who?”
“The woman who just left you, which has caused you to feel so suddenly nostalgic and lonely for me. Come on, spill it: who was the latest Miss Billy to leave your side?”
“I’m insulted. You think you know me so well.”
Peg just gazed at him, waiting.
“If you must know,” said Billy, “her name was Camilla.”
“A dancer, I boldly predict,” said Peg.
“Ha! There’s where you’re wrong! A swimmer! She works in a mermaid show. We had a pretty serious thing going for a few weeks, but then she decided to take another path in life, and she no longer comes around.”
Peg started laughing. “A pretty serious thing, for a few weeks. Listen to you.”
“Let’s go out together while I’m here, Pegsy. Just you and me. Let’s go out and allow some jazz musicians to waste their talents on us. Let’s go to some of those bars we used to like, that close at eight o’clock in the morning. It’s no fun going out without you. I went to El Morocco last night and I found it so disappointing—filled with all the same people as ever, making all the same conversation as ever.”
Peg smiled. “Lucky for you that you live in Hollywood, where the conversation is so much more varied and engaging! But no, no, no. We shan’t be going out, Billy. I don’t have that kind of durability anymore. That kind of drinking isn’t good for me, anyhow. You know that.”
“Really? You’re telling me you and Olive don’t get drunk together?”
“You’re joking, but since you asked—no. Here’s how it works around here now: I try to get drunk and Olive tries to stop it from happening. It’s a good arrangement for me. Not sure what Olive gets out of it, but I’m awfully glad she’s there to be my guard dog.”
“Listen, Peg—at least let me help you with the show. You know that this pile of pages is a long way from being a script.” Billy tapped a manicured finger on Mr. Herbert’s dismal notebook. “And you know Donald can’t get it any closer to being a script, no matter how hard he tries. You can’t squeeze this out of him. So let me go at it with my typewriter and my big blue pencil. You know I can do this. Let’s make a great play. Let’s give Edna something worthy of her talents.”
“Shush.” Peg had put her hands over her face.
“Come on, Peg. Take a risk.”
“Hush,” she said. “I’m thinking at the top of my lungs.”