I Could Go on Singing (14 page)

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“See if you can get her to come talk to me, Brownie.”

“I’ll see if I can get her to let you come talk to her. That would be a little more gracious, Jenny.”

“I … I guess you’re right.”

He went down the corridor and tapped on Lois’s door. She came close to the door and said, “Who is it?”

“Jason.”

“Go away.”

“Please. Let me talk to you.”

After several moments the latch clicked and the door was flung open. She walked to the chest of drawers and carried a stack of clothing to the open suitcase on the bed.

“Hey! What is this?”

“What does it look like?”

He went over to a chair and sat down. “It looks like a bad time to walk out.”

“She didn’t leave me any choice. She was brutal and savage and vicious. Apparently anybody who doesn’t share her standards is abnormal.” She packed more things into the suitcase.

“Hasn’t she ever climbed you before?”

She turned and stared at him. Her face was white and her eyes were reddened. “In two and a half years? Of course.”

“And made you feel bad?”

“Yes.”

“Why is this so different?”

“It was so personal.”

“Wasn’t it personal the other times?”

“Yes, Jason. But not like this. Believe me. Not like this.”

“She’s in tears too.”

“Now isn’t that just too damn bad!”

“Maybe you could stop to think that she isn’t in terrific shape either right now. Her nerves are pretty well shot.”

“She seems happy enough.”

“You’re leaving George in a hell of a spot.”

“I’m sorry about that. I told you, though. She left me no choice. She said those things in front of George and Ida. I can’t face any of them again. Do you know what she said?”

“I’ve got a general idea. Lois, honey, why …”

“Don’t
honey
me! All you people cheapen everything.”

“All us bawdy, rancid showbiz types?”

“Not you, Jason. I’m sorry I said that.”

“Will you do one thing for me?”

“Like?”

“Give her a chance to say she’s sorry.”

“I don’t want to see her again. It won’t do her the least bit of good.”

“At least she’ll be able to say she tried to patch it up.”

“Why should I do that much for Jenny Bowman?”

“Because you’ll always wish you had, Lois. You have a nasty streak of fairness in you.”

She hesitated and said, “Well … it won’t do any good, but if she wants to come here and apologize, I’ll at least listen to her.”

He went back to the suite. Jenny looked strained and unhappy. “She’ll listen to you but she says it won’t do any good. She’s packing.”

“Ida said she would be. I didn’t believe it. Gee, I was awful, Brownie.”

“You’re a star. And I think you’re going to need all the talent you’ve got.”

Jenny hurried to Lois’s room. George came wandering in, glass in hand. Jason told him Lois was packing. George sat down limply and hit himself in the forehead with the heel of his hand. They waited. They had drinks and they waited.
A half hour. Forty-five minutes. An hour. An hour and twenty minutes.

Jenny drifted in. She stopped and stood, swaying slightly, wearing a beatific smile. She focused on them with apparent effort. “Scoun’rels all of you,” she said in a dreamy voice. “Anything in pants, classified as rat. No. Everything wears pants. Even pork chops. Anything that can grow a beard, basically rat.”

“Jenny love,” George said, “you are smashed.”

“Mmmm,” she said.

“How’s Lois?” Jason asked.

“Equiv … equivalently smashed.”

“What happened?”

She aimed herself vaguely at the bedroom door. “Happened? Oh, we hugged and cried and talked about broken hearts. Men are lousy. Boy, what a stinker she stuck with for too long. And, here and there, to and fro, round and about, we had us a couple little knocks. Where’s Ida? Oh, there you are! Sweety bun, see if you can get a steak into me before I fall asleep.”

As she disappeared into the bedroom, George yelled, “Is Lois leaving?”

She stuck her head back out and gave him an owlish look. “Leaving? Where she want to go. She wants to go out and hell around, count me out, please. I am a very tired girl. Very very tired.” She shut the door.

“Best thing in the world,” George said contentedly. “She’ll sleep around the clock. She’ll sleep right through the hangover. Tomorrow night she’ll swing. Ready to go eat, Jase?”

“I think I’ll check on Lois.”

“I’m not about to wait for you, pal.”

Jason went back down the hall. Lois’s door was ajar. He pushed it open and called her name. She made a strangled sound. He went in and found her sitting on the low sill of an open window, holding her head out into the night air. He ran to her and took hold of her shoulder.

She looked up at him with an agonized expression. “Laid down and the bed went around and around. Oh, Jason, I feel terrible!”

He found flat-heeled shoes and put them on her. He put her jacket on. He hung her tweed cape around her shoulders. He found the room key and put it in his pocket. As he
walked her out the door she said, listlessly, “Where we going?”

“To get you some air.”

“Don’t let me fall down. Please don’t let me fall down in front of anybody.”

“I won’t let you.”

He got her down in the elevator and out through the lobby without incident. It was a misty night, the street lamps haloed. He put his arm around her waist under the cape and walked her down Park Lane to Piccadilly and west on Piccadilly. He set a reasonably fast pace. Her round hip bumped clumsily against him. He felt the stretch of the warm muscles of her slender waist against his hand. The mist made droplets in her shining hair. He could hear her taking deep breaths.

“Drink to trying to understand each other,” she muttered, “and then drink to getting to understand each other, and drink to really understanding each other.”

“Do you?” Jason asked.

“She’s a lovely lovely person,” Lois said solemnly. “She’s a lovely
sad
person. She’s had a sad terrible wonderful life.”

“Yes she has.”

“But things happening. You know? Enough crammed into one life for three or four people. She really really knows she’s alive.”

“She’s as alive as anybody I’ve ever known.”

“You’re right! You’re so right!” She stopped suddenly and turned and faced him. She put her hands on his shoulders and looked at him with an almost cross-eyed intensity. “You are specially sweet. You know? She told me that. We cried because you are especially sweet, Jason Mason. Of everybody to be scared of, not you. Huh? Do you want to unscare me?”

“I want to walk you, Lois.”

“Hah!” she said. “Pretty dull proposition. Okay. Walk me. Walk me good.”

As her coordination began to improve, he lengthened his stride, and soon she no longer needed his arm around her. She began to swing along adequately, holding her chin high, taking deep breaths. He walked her down to The Mall, around the Victoria Memorial and back Constitution Hill and started her down Grosvenor Place. She kept the pace grimly and silently for a long time and finally stopped and walked over and leaned against a wrought-iron fence and
said faintly, gasping, “What are you trying to do to me anyway?”

“How do you feel?”

“Well … offhand, I feel persecuted.”

“Do you feel sober?”

“I think so, Jason. I have a very ugly little headache right smack between my eyes, and my mouth tastes foul, and I don’t really think I can walk another step. What time is it?”

“Quarter after midnight.”

“Have I made a terrible fool of myself?”

“People seldom go through the lobby of the Park Lane on their hands and knees.”

“Oh my God!”

“No, Lois. You were fine. Really.”

She looked at him, wan in the night lights, “Did I say any strange things to you?”

“No.”

“I like that crumply old hat you wear.”

“It’s a new hat. The day after I buy them, they look like this.”

“I’m not drunk but I feel silly. Even with a headache and a bad taste I feel silly.”

“Now we take the next steps, Lois. Coffee, supper, wine, and a slow walk and good night.”

“Do you have the steps written out on a little card?”

“At this hour the food thing may need a little organizing. Come on, and we’ll find a phone.”

“Will my legs work?”

“Let’s find out.”

He found one of the ludicrously ornate public phone booths, got Tommy Bird’s card out of his wallet, phoned Tommy’s residence number and stated his problem. As he talked, Lois leaned against the glass and peered in at him. Tommy was professionally affable, gave him an address on St. James Street and said he would phone ahead. Anything Jase wanted, anything at all, just pick up the phone any time, buddy.

It was a private club. He spoke into a tube. The latch buzzed and he pushed the door open and they went up to the second floor. It was all very hushed and luxurious and courteous. They were ushered to a small private dining room where candles burned on a table set for two. It was more like a small apartment than a dining room, with low lamps, a broad low couch, lavatory, gentle music piped in at an almost
inaudible pitch. It was rather more than Jason had anticipated. When the waiter took the coffee order and went softly out and closed the paneled door, the tiny click of the latch made Lois leap slightly, like a doe hearing a gun being cocked. She went into the bath. She was still in there when the coffee came. The waiter knocked at the door and waited permission before opening it.

“When you are ready to order, sir, if you would press the button beside the door, sir.”

“Thank you.”

The waiter leaned a bit closer. “There is bedding, sir, in the cabinet at the foot of the couch.”

“Uh … thank you. I don’t think we will need …”

“Mr. Bird asked that you be made comfortable, sir.”

“Everything is fine. Just fine,” Jason said heartily.

“Very well, sir,” the waiter said and glided out.

Lois came out in a few moments. She looked wary and jumpy. She slid into the chair opposite his and he poured her coffee. Her hair was brushed to a silken gleam in the candlelight, the diagonal bangs lying evenly across her smooth brow.

She sipped her coffee and said, “I don’t think I’m hungry.”

“You should eat.”

“I think I better drink this and you take me home.”

“I think you ought to try to eat.”

“Jason … what kind of a place is this?”

“Listen to me, Lois. Look at me. I know what it looks like. I know what you’re thinking. I swear to you, I asked Bird to tell me a good place to have supper at this hour, and I said I had a lady with me. And that is
all
I said.”

The gray eyes stared at him, slightly narrowed. And then she smiled and gave a little nod and said, “I am ravenous! I could eat the tablecloth and the candles.”

They had very thick slices of rare roast beef, steaming baked potatoes with chives and sour cream, icy lettuce with oil and wine vinegar, a bottle of a rich and full-bodied Burgundy. They ate with hunger and talked well. She was flushed and relaxed, her face softened, her eyes unguarded. They seemed to be able to make each other laugh very easily. The candles dwindled and the music was an unobtrusive background. She was a very lovely woman, and when she forgot her tensions her voice was softer, and lower in pitch.

But ten minutes after the last of the food and the wine was gone, they both started to say something at the same time. They paused, did it again, laughed, and unexpectedly all the constraint was back.

He sought to break it. “We’re important, Lois. Do you sense what I mean? Of no importance to the world at large. But together … something special.”

“This is bigger than both of us?” she said acidly.

“You knew about touching the stone. You know about a lot of things.”

“If you buzz for that little man, we can pay him, Jason.”

He hesitated. “Of course,” he said. He got up and walked toward the door.

“Jason?” her voice was strained and thin. He turned and looked at her. She stood up and came to him, looked frightened and white and sacrificial. She stood close to him and closed her eyes. He put his arms around her. Her lips were cold and compressed. Her body was taut and tremorous. She rested her hands on his shoulders, slack-wristed, as light and unemphatic as a touch of bird wings.

“I’ll take you home,” he said.

“If you give me a little …”

“It’s very late. I’ll take you home.”

She backed away. “Too late, perhaps.”

“Perhaps.”

The waiter came. He said they were Mr. Bird’s guests. When Jason reached for pound notes, he said gratuities were not permitted. They went down the stairway and out into the chilly empty street. He strolled her up to Piccadilly and west to Park Lane. She walked silently beside him for a long time. At last she took his arm and said, “Forgive me. I’m such a damned mess.”

“You’re fine, Lois.”

“Oh, sure. So many of the things Jenny said were true. That was what made it so bad. But … I am what I am. Like … a damned big bowl of waxed fruit. You see, I had to teach myself not to respond. That was the hold he had. And I had to break it. And I taught myself too good. When finally there was nothing he could do that meant anything, when I could feel absolutely nothing at all, then I was free of him. It was survival, Jason. I had to fight for it. Otherwise I was lost forever. It … it’s the price I paid, I guess. And it’s the bargain I have to live with.”

“I can understand.”

“Such a strange thing to do to oneself,” she said. “I was so much one way, and then I turned myself into the complete opposite. It’s as if I broke something. Or more like a machine, and you just take out one little wheel and lose it, and it doesn’t work any more.”

“We believe we’re so very very stabilized and functional,” he said, “until something happens and we find out that the whole mechanism was in a very precarious state of balance all the time. I thought I could always work, no matter what. I could do the hack jobs, rough carpentry on scripts. Thank God I’d been reasonably bright about money and taxes. After Joyce died, I’d put paper in the machine and I couldn’t even write, ‘I see the cat.’ I’d look at the paper and my stomach would knot up and my vision would blur. I tried a hundred little tricks. I copied whole books. I copied old stuff I’d written. But I couldn’t make up a new sentence. I couldn’t even write letters to friends. One year and four months it went on. I cashed in everything I’d put aside. I lost my reputation for reliability. Then one day it started again. A little bit on the slow side. But it started.”