He had worked his way through the Times to the television section and was on his third cup of coffee when Peter sat down at his table. He folded his paper and sighed.
“I’m sorry about that, Warren.”
“You’ve no reason. I just hope that didn’t precipitate a scene.”
“It didn’t. We gave Robin a bath and put her in for a nap, and Gretch was tired and decided to take a nap herself. So I thought I’d see if you were still here.”
“And here I am.”
“And here you are. What was all of that about?”
“It’s too long to go into, and it’s ancient history anyway. I hope you didn’t ask her.”
“I wanted to but she acted as though nothing had happened, and I thought it would be uncool to bring it up.”
“Wise of you. She looks good, by the way.”
“She’s been good.”
“I can see it, and I’m glad for her. And for you. I take it she’s working.”
“Not too many hours a day. The important thing is staying clean. But she’s working.”
“That’s very important. And you too are working, which is also important, and I believe you were telling me with a certain amount of glee that the show stank.”
“You haven’t seen it?”
“I played the album just last night. I saw it on Broadway with Merman. A solid show. Not much book, but the music and lyrics are more than enough to carry it. Of course,” he added casually, “you do need a star.”
“That sums it up.”
“Vanessa, I take it, shall not a Merman make.”
“I never even heard the album, let alone saw show. The thing is, it doesn’t matter whether she’s good or not. She has everybody around so uptight that they can barely walk on and off the stage. Either she’s coming on to you with this phony sugary routine or she’s screaming like I don’t know what.”
“Like a fishwife, perhaps?”
“I guess. She has Tanya just about ready to give up show business for life, and Tanya’s hardly in the fucking play. I don’t know how she found an excuse to give the kid hell, but she did.”
“Oh, dear. Tanya does not deserve that sort of treatment. I suppose you get your share of abuse.”
“It doesn’t bother me. It’s a pain in the ass but she acts that way to everybody so I can’t see taking it personally.”
“You’re wise.”
“She isn’t always yelling at me. The rest of the time she’s groping for my cock.”
“I think I’d rather be yelled at.” He shook his head. “I would not work with that bitch in a royal command performance. I worked with her once the summer before last. She deliberately made me look bad four times on opening night. Cheap tricks, Peter. She came in as a big name star and had to feed her ego with the tackiest sort of bits. Things you learn how to do in high school drama groups, and then in college you learn not to do them. She went from one lucky Broadway role to Hollywood, and if she knew anything about acting she forgot it out there. Now she’s too old to stand close-ups and too rotten to make it on Broadway, so she plays the circuit and everybody wants to see her because she’s a Big Star. They see her on talk shows and think they know her.”
“She certainly sells tickets.”
“So do a ton of name people who are also human beings. Her outstanding feature is that Tony can get her cheap because so many places won’t touch her with a rake. She gave me the treatment opening night and waited to see what I’d do. I did nothing. Pretended I didn’t notice. So she did it again the next night, and I let her get away with it. Eight shows, and each time the cunt was waiting for a reaction. By the last performance she was blowing her own lines. She was that tense to see what I was saving up for her. Nothing. Nothing on the stage, nothing after the show. It was a truly difficult piece of acting, and I doubt she got the point, but I was trying to teach her a trick she never heard of. Restraint.”
“I think that was too subtle for her.”
“I’m sure it was, but I like to think I made her uncomfortable. Tony wanted me to play opposite against her last summer. What was the play? Mame. I took the script home and didn’t open it. I brought it back the next day. I told him I couldn’t handle the part. He said it would be a cinch for me. ‘I just can’t do it,’ I told him. ‘I haven’t got the talent.’ Of course he knew why I wouldn’t do it and he knew better than to push. This time he wanted me for Mr. Goldstone. Well, you walk on and you walk off. Anybody can do it who can wear a suit, and you don’t have to wear it particularly well. ‘I don’t have the talent, Tony.’ He had to stand there and take it. Somehow I couldn’t sympathize with him.”
“He’s been getting it pretty good from Vanessa himself.”
“He knew what to expect. He tried to tell me I thought bit parts were beneath me. I would have liked a bit part. It’s a pleasure every now and then to be part of a production without the strain of a demanding role. Next week we get going on The Man Who Came to Dinner. I’ve played that so many times I don’t think I’ll have to refer to the script, but even so it’s a taxing part. A bit part before that would have been pleasant. Well, it’s even more pleasant to be at liberty. I even like the phrase. It’s a delicious euphemism, and one can’t object to the state when it’s only going to last for a week. Peter? I’m glad to see Gretchen looking herself again. I think you’re very good for her.”
“We’re good for each other.”
“May I presume for a moment? Please don’t take this the wrong way.”
“What?”
“Just that you shouldn’t expect miracles.”
“I hardly ever do.”
“She’s gotten better before. It’s what she does when she’s not getting worse.”
“I know.
Six
On the first of May, Hugh Markarian got up at daybreak. He showered, shaved the stubble from his neck and cheekbones, and noted that his beard needed a trim. He habitually trimmed his own beard, never having found a local barber to whom he would trust the job. But beard trimming was methodical work, certainly not to be undertaken first thing in the morning.
He got the Times from the front stoop and scanned the front page while his eggs fried in the cast-iron saucepan. He read as much as he cared to of the paper while he ate his breakfast, and in the course of it noticed the date.
A line of doggerel ran through his head:
Well, it would have to start without him, he thought, because he had other things to do. He generally began the annual novel at about this time and had already decided that today would be his first day on the book. If things went well he would turn it in by Christmas; even if they didn’t, he would have a final manuscript on his publisher’s desk in time for the book to appear the following fall.
He was at his desk with the door closed before his housekeeper arrived. Mrs. Kleinschmidt was a garrulous sort, pleasant enough company when he was in the mood but a pain in the neck when he wasn’t. When she had come to work for the Markarians fifteen years ago he had given her strict instructions: when he was in his study with the door closed she was not to disturb him unless the house was on fire.
She had taken these instructions to heart, and he suspected she might let the house burn almost to the foundation before intruding on his privacy. During the windstorms in August of ‘55 there had been heavy flooding in the front rooms of the old house, with heavy damage to the wide board floors. He did not learn of the situation until he left his desk at five o’clock. Mrs. Kleinschmidt, coping herself with the situation, had not even considered interrupting him. To her, his work was sacred.