The Deer Park (32 page)

“It was a romance,” Dorothea said and gave her heavy chuckle. She squinted at Elena and added, “Have a good time, sweetie.”

They wandered through the den and spent some time talking
to Dorothea’s husband. Martin Pelley was delighted with Elena and kept drawing Eitel aside to inform him what a wonderful girl he had. “She’s a great kid,” Pelley said. He called to her. “Elaine,” Pelley said, “you’re marvelous, you’re sweet.”

Elena flushed and looked nervously at the press of people in Dorothea’s den. “It’s a very nice party, I think,” she said.

“You know, I’ve been wondering about the two of you,” Pelley went on. “Everybody’s wondering. When the hell are you going to get married?”

Elena’s face was without expression. Pelley clapped Eitel on the back. “A nice restful girl like this. You ought to marry her.”

“She won’t have me,” Eitel said.

“I’m going to get a drink,” Elena said, and walked away.

“This is a great night,” Pelley went on, and bent over to whisper with drunken intensity, “You ought to marry Elena.”

“Yes,” Eitel said. Pelley annoyed him. He was like every married man.

At the party they played Ghost, they played charades, a nest of men surrounded the slot machines in the hall between the den and the living room and played them continuously, feeding their quarters under the sign which read:
Dorothea O’Faye Retirement Fund
. Eitel lost sight of Elena. With gusto, he entered a game of charades and was easily the best man on his team. After an hour or two—he had lost count—he wearied of it, aware suddenly that he was drunk. Across the room he could see Elena standing uncomfortably at the edge of a group, but he had no thought of going to her rescue. Later, he watched Marion Faye talking to her, but it did not bother him. Nothing would come of that.

A man Eitel recognized immediately came up with Dorothea and said hello. The moment he heard the voice, he had a feeling of dread. It was Congressman Richard Selwyn Crane of the Subversive Committee, and Eitel had dreamed about Crane; often in the middle of a nightmare he could see Crane’s youthful face with its gray hair and ruddy cheeks, hear the Congressman’s soft
voice. “I’ll allow you two characters to discover each other,” Dorothea said, and left them alone.

“Quite a party tonight,” Crane said, “but then Dorothea always gives a good party.”

In the days when she had her column, it was regular once a week to find a reference to Crane; he was a great Congressman, Dorothea would tell her readers, and add that of all her friendships there was none she treasured more.

“I’m not familiar with Dorothea’s parties,” Eitel said. He spoke carefully, concerned to control his emotion.

“You’d like her if you knew her,” Crane said intimately. “Dottie … well, Dottie’s an old trouper. Theater people like you always take to such a girl.” A caterwaul of laughter from the charade players made Crane wince humorously. “Mr. Eitel,” he said, “I’d like to talk to you. Could we go upstairs?”

Eitel looked at him dumbly. When he could think of no answer to make—there were so many contradictory ones to choose from—he merely nodded, his heart beating, and followed down the hall. They ended in a maid’s room upstairs. There was a bottle on the table, and an unopened pack of cigarettes next to the ash tray.

The Congressman sat down on the bed and motioned Eitel to the single armchair in the room. Below them, partially muted, they could hear the eager avaricious noise of the party. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you for a long time,” Crane said.

“So I see,” Eitel answered with a look at the whisky on the table.

Crane sat back and studied him thoughtfully. “Mr. Eitel,” he said, “I know you don’t like me, but the curious thing is that the day I questioned you, I had the feeling we could be friends under other circumstances.”

“Isn’t it unwise for you to be seen with me?” Eitel interrupted, His pulse had calmed, but he felt honor-bound to keep his expression fixed.

“There’s always danger in politics,” Crane said, “but I don’t believe this would be misunderstood.”

“In other words the Committee knows you’re seeing me.”

“They know I’m interested in your case.”

“Why?”

“We all feel it’s a shame.”

“Oh, now really!”

“Mr. Eitel, you probably have the idea we’re interested in persecuting people. It happens not to be true. I personally can say I’m concerned enormously with the safety of this country, but none of us want to hurt people needlessly. You’d be amazed at the good work we do with some of the witnesses. I might say that it’s always been my belief there’s an uplifting element to all work. My father was a country preacher, you see,” he added intimately, and when Eitel failed to smile, Crane nodded coldly.

“At the time you appeared,” he went on, “we had information that you were a card-carrying member. Since that time we’ve learned otherwise.”

“Then why doesn’t the Committee say so?”

“Is that a reasonable demand?” Crane asked. “You said some pretty potent things.”

“I don’t understand why you’re interested in me.”

“We feel you could help us. If we were to go over some of your former associations, it’s possible you’d discover you have information you’re not even aware of.”

“Are you offering a secret session?”

“I can’t speak for the Committee, but that’s part of what I see for you.”

The temptation of a secret session had been in his mind, Eitel knew. Perhaps that was why he could not bring himself to be gracious. “Crane, if I should testify,” he said, “what will you do about the newspapers?”

“We don’t control them. You may smile, but we feel we’ve
been misrepresented by them.” Crane shrugged. “Perhaps you could get your lawyer or your public relations man to give a cocktail party. I understand it’s a fine way to soften up the press. Of course, I’m no expert on these matters.”

Eitel did smile. “Congressman, it’s hard to think of you as an amateur.”

“Mr. Eitel,” Crane said, “I don’t know if there’s much point in going on with our talk.”

“A politician must be used to a few insults,” Eitel said, “particularly at the beginning of his career.”

Crane chose to laugh. “Why do you resist me?” he said warmly. “I just want to help you.”

“I much prefer to help myself,” Eitel said, and then looked at him. “You talk to your Committee. It’s barely possible we can make some arrangement. Provided the session is secret of course.”

“We’ll think about it,” Crane said, “and let you know. I’m flying back to the East tomorrow, but here’s my office number any time you want to phone.” He smiled, patted Eitel on the back, and told a joke about a secret agent who masqueraded as a woman at a banquet. Then they went down to join the party. In the den they separated, and Eitel worked himself into a corner and began to drink again. He hardly knew if he was in a good mood or a savage mood.

Marion Faye stopped by to talk. “You lost me a girl,” he said.

“Elena?” Eitel said.

“Bobby.” Marion sipped at his cigarette. “I set up a deal with Collie Munshin when he was here last week.”

“What does Collie want with her?”

Faye shrugged. “He doesn’t. He wants her as a stock girl at Supreme.”

“The poor kid.”

“She’ll love it,” Marion said. “A career.” He smiled. “You know, Don Beda is here tonight.”

“Isn’t he supposed to be in Europe?” Eitel said.

Marion ignored this. “Don told me he digs Elena. He wants you to meet his wife and see if you dig her.”

“I thought Beda was divorced,” he said to Faye.

“He’s married again. Wait till you see his chick. An English model, don’t you know?”

Beda’s marriages were famous; no one could understand them. He had been married at different times to an actress, a colored singer, a Texas oil heiress with a European title—that had been a particular scandal—and to the madam of what was reported to be the most expensive brothel in South America. With it all, Beda had the reputation of giving the wildest parties in New York. They were legend; they were parties carried to conclusion; of the hard core who remained after the orchestra had gone and the curious and the college boys in for a week end, everybody who stayed got around to everybody. There was even a kind of chic to saying, “I was at one of Beda’s parties. Left early of course.”

The other fifty people had arrived by now and the press in the den was so great that Faye and Eitel stood breathing in each other’s faces. Somewhere, somebody was trying to sing a ditty, and Eitel wondered how many meetings had been arranged by Dorothea tonight. He hated matchmakers, he thought dizzily, overwhelmed by the crush of people and the liquor he had drunk. “I don’t know,” he said, “I think I’d just as soon not see Beda tonight.”

That was going to be impossible. Beda was working his way toward him, was shaking his hand. “Charley, you old ham,” he smiled.

The odd thing about Beda was that he looked like a satyr. He was handsome and a little heavy with a small scar on his cheek, a black mustache, and eyes which protruded; he carried himself with the confidence of a man who knows that people talk about him, and it was his boast that he would invite anybody to his parties. “You could never guess some of the long-shots who’ve
come in,” he would say with a laugh. “It’s my money brings them,” and then everyone would roar despite the fact that Beda was very wealthy. Eitel had told Elena about him once and she had been fascinated. “What does he do?” she had asked.

“Nobody knows. He’s a mystery. He’s made a fortune on the stock market, or at least they say so. I’ve heard he owns hotels, or maybe it’s night clubs. And then he seems to have something big to do with something or other in television.”

“He sounds like he has fifty fingers,” Elena remarked.

“Yes. He really is hard to figure out.”

At his elbow, Beda was saying, “Charley, that’s a lovely girl you have.”

Eitel nodded. “I hear you’re married again.”

“Inevitably,” Beda said, pointing to a tall woman in a red dress with chiseled features and a blank, haughty expression. “I’ve known them all,” he smiled, “but Zenlia is the most. I had to steal her from a certain fat king.”

“Very beautiful,” Eitel said. At the moment, drunk, close to being sick, he thought she was as beautiful as any woman he had ever seen, and it was such expensive beauty. To his annoyance he saw that Marion had slipped away.

“Well, man, do we connect?” Beda said. More and more he had come to talk this way. When Eitel had first known him ten years ago, Beda had been literary and even had a reputation as an essayist on various esoteric subjects. Beda had been living in the capital with his first wife, the actress. He was not so well known in those days and Eitel thought of him as a bit of a maverick, for Beda was using his own money to produce and direct a movie. When it came out it was a failure financially and critically, a movie with too much atmosphere and hints and allusions which no one could follow, all in all a poetic movie. Still, Eitel thought Beda had talent.

But who could remember him for his talent? One night on an evening at Beda’s house, Beda had offered him his wife. Eitel had been out with a girl he barely knew and Beda suggested they
switch for the night. It had been agreeable to all four, and Beda’s wife had said to Eitel, “I’d like to see you again.” So Eitel remembered it as an interesting night. It was Beda who had stayed away from him after that.

“Charley, I said, ‘Do we connect?’ ”

“What do you mean, do we connect?”

“I swear you’re drunk.” Beda looked at a woman who had been staring at him curiously, and when he winked, she turned away in embarrassment. “Oh, God, the tourists,” he said. “They’re ruining Desert D’Or. Zenlia was tired of New York and I promised her we’d find a ball here. ‘In the sun?’ she asked,” and Beda began to chuckle. “Look, Charley, you know we always dig each other’s taste. I’ve got a good idea of what Elena’s like. It’s that coarse sullen thing in her, just a touch of bawd and lots of energy. Am I right?”

They might have been discussing a local peasant wine. “You’re not quite right,” Eitel said, “there’s more than energy to Elena.” He did not know if he was defending her, or telling tales out of school. “Life gets confusing,” he had time to think.

“More than energy,” Beda repeated. “She
knows
, doesn’t she, Charley?” he asked, and answered himself, “Yes, now it comes through. She’s a very sensitive girl.” He laughed. “Charley, I tell you we have to get together. We’ll all know more when we’re done.”

“Stop pushing science,” Eitel wanted to say, but did not trust the inspiration. Using his drunkenness, he smiled enigmatically at Beda. “You know, Don,” he drawled, “in every gourmet there’s a lost philosopher.”

“Ha, ha. Ha, ha. As Munshin says, ‘I love you.’ ”

When Beda continued to grin at him, Eitel finally said, “Elena’s complicated.”

“What kind of talk is that?” Beda looked around the room. “I don’t know anybody who isn’t complicated. Why don’t we skip and go to my place?” When Eitel did not answer, Beda
began to count. “There’s the four of us,” he said, “you, me, Zenlia and Elena, and then Marion and a couple of his brood, have you seen them here?—one of them’s very nice—only Marion could bring a call girl to Dorothea’s party, and then I was thinking of Lulu, and any odd jacks I could invite. I’d love to proposition Dorothea, she’s gotten so respectable.”

“Dorothea wouldn’t go.”

“How about Lulu?”

“No, Lulu would turn you down too,” Eitel said to gain time.

“You positive?”

“She thinks,” Eitel said, “about things like raids.”

“Well, the rest of us then.”

Eitel started to back out of the corner. “Not tonight, Don,” he said, “really not.”

“Charley!”

What sort of apology could he give? “Don, you’ll have to excuse,” he said lamely, “but I’m under the weather tonight.”

Beda looked at him carefully, eyes twinkling. “You want to make it another night for the four of us?”

There was a card Eitel kept turning over in his pocket. Whose was it, he wondered, and then remembered. It was the card of Congressman Crane. “I don’t know, I don’t think so,” Eitel said. “If I change my mind, I’ll give you a ring.”