Authors: Madeleine L'engle
The Joys of Love (14 page)
“Have youâhave you got any of her records, Ben?”
“Dozens at home.” Ben gave a fierce swat at a mosquito.
“I tried to buy some while I was at college but they were all out of press or whatever it is. Of course Aunt Harriet wouldn't even have a Victrola, she was so afraid I'd get hold of some of Mother's records. She was always terribly angry if she was reminded of Mother in any wayâand I guess I was a constant reminder. Tell me more about her, Ben. What was she like as a person?”
Ben, with his arm still protectively around Elizabeth, said, “Well, the thing I remember most, and maybe just because it was the thing Mother talked about most, was the way your mother loved people, and the way she wanted love. She was affectionate to anybody and everybody, kind of like a baby or a kitten. When she'd sung particularly well she'd come offstage and fling her arms around Mother and kiss her. If Father was around she'd kiss him, too. She always had to have someone to love. And she always had to have someone hugging and kissing her. She couldn't seem to believe that anyone could really love
her
. She always thought it was because she was a star, not just
because of her herself, and she always had to be reassured. She kept asking Mother, âYou really do like me? You really are my friend?' And I think she was scared I loved her just because she played with me and brought me presents.”
her
. She always thought it was because she was a star, not just
because of her herself, and she always had to be reassured. She kept asking Mother, âYou really do like me? You really are my friend?' And I think she was scared I loved her just because she played with me and brought me presents.”
Elizabeth said softly, “You say it makes you understand Aunt Harriet better. It makes me understand things better, too.” All kinds of little pieces in the puzzling background of her parentage began to fall into place. Now she could imagine with clarity her father as he must have been when he left Aunt Harriet and the house in Jordan and went to live with his bride in the small town where he taught. Probably he was, in manner, something like Aunt Harriet then, reserved, undemonstrative. Elizabeth remembered his saying to her once, speaking the words with difficulty, “My darling, it is very hard for me to show people that I love them. But you know that I love you, don't you? Even though I can't put my arms around you so sweetly and kiss you the way you do me.”
So there was Robert Jerrold, probably even less able to show in the little affectionate ways his love for his wife than he was for his daughter, and there was Anna Larsen, young, volatile, filled with dreams of romantic, ideal love, and yet tragically, utterly unsure of her own desirability â¦
“My mother left my father to go to New York with another man,” Elizabeth said. “That was all I ever really knew. Father never talked about Mother. I always wanted to ask him about her, but I was afraid I'd hurt him if I did. Aunt Harriet only talked about her once when I first came to live with her. She told me my mother was a wicked woman and she was going to do her best to see that I didn't follow in her footsteps. And
once at school, one of the kids showed me a clipping in a magazine about Mother singing in a nightclub in New York. And then I didn't know anything again until she died when I was in college.”
once at school, one of the kids showed me a clipping in a magazine about Mother singing in a nightclub in New York. And then I didn't know anything again until she died when I was in college.”
“No matter what anybody said, no matter what she did, she was a wonderful person, a mother to be proud of. Don't ever forget that,” Ben said fiercely.
“No ⦠Benâthis is the second time in my life I've ever been able to talk about my mother to anybody.”
“When was the first?”
“Just after she died, when I went to the funeral. The woman who ran the boardinghouse where she died talked to me ⦠That was the only other time ⦠and then, of course, it was all too much like a bad dream ⦠and Mother had been ill the whole time she was there.”
“We'll talk about her as much as you like,” Ben said.
“After Father died I found a newspaper picture of Mother in with his papers. I have it in a frame on my bureau now. Haven't you ever noticed it, Ben?”
“What a blind fool I am,” Ben said. “You and Jane have your bureau so littered with pictures and there's always such a gang in there ⦠Let's go look at it now.”
“That's a fine idea,” Elizabeth said. “If I stay out here in the dark with you, I shall cry.”
“Well, why don't you, Liz? Might be a good idea.”
Elizabeth shook her head violently and stood up. “No. I don't want to cry.”
“I know,” Ben said. “It's okay.”
“Most of the time it's as though I'd never had a mother at
all.” Elizabeth pretended to be very busy slapping a mosquito. “We ought to have some citronella,” she said in a quivering voice. “We used to call it Cinderella when I was a kid. Mosquitoes don't usually bother me much, but they're certainly after me tonight. Let's go in, Ben.”
all.” Elizabeth pretended to be very busy slapping a mosquito. “We ought to have some citronella,” she said in a quivering voice. “We used to call it Cinderella when I was a kid. Mosquitoes don't usually bother me much, but they're certainly after me tonight. Let's go in, Ben.”
Ben followed her into the Cottage, letting the screen door slam behind them. The lights were all on and a group from the company was sitting around one of the long tables in the dining room playing poker. Mariella Hedeman in a lavender velvet gown was sitting regally at the head of the table and dealing.
Marian Hatfield looked up at Elizabeth and Ben and waved at them. “Come play,” she called. “This is Miss Hedeman's lucky night. She's cleaning the rest of us out.”
“What about Courtmont's party at Irving's?” Ben said.
“We left about an hour ago, but there are still people there.”
“Want to play, Liz?” Ben asked.
“No, thanks. I'm no good at cards. You go ahead.”
“I don't want to leave you if you're going to be lonely,” Ben said in a low voice.
“I want to work on my part, anyhow. You go on and play, Ben. I don't think I could talk any more tonight. It's silly to get so emotional, but I can't seem to help it. But can we talk about her again?”
“Anytime,” Ben said. “Now you get some sleep, Liz. You've got a hard day ahead of you tomorrow with dress rehearsal and everything, and you know you need plenty of sleep.”
“I'm going to bed in just a few minutes,” Elizabeth promised. “Have a good time and win lots.”
Elizabeth climbed the two flights of stairs to the third floor. The hall lights were on but all the rooms seemed to be dark; almost everybody went out on Saturday nights. Elizabeth switched on the bedroom light, went over to the bureau, and stared for a long time at her mother. All of a sudden the woman in the newspaper picture seemed to be a real person instead of an unhappy shadow constantly in the background of her life. It couldn't have been easy for you, either, she thought. And I'm glad Ben liked you.
Elizabeth flung herself down on her bed and concentrated on going over her lines. Later she would think about her mother; not now. After she had worked on her sides for a few minutes she undressed, took a shower, and pulled on her pajamas and a flannel bathrobe. She heard the sound of recorders coming up the stairs and John Peter and Jane entered.
“Hi,” John Peter said. “Where's Ben?”
“Downstairs playing poker, I think.”
“He wasn't just a minute ago.”
“He's probably gone to the party at Irving's then. I hope he behaves himself. He's too young to drink too much.”
“It's unattractive no matter how you slice it,” John Peter said. He sprawled out on Jane's bed and began to play
Plaisir d' Amour
.
Plaisir d' Amour
.
“Don't play that again, John Peter, please,” Elizabeth said.
“Why not? I thought you were so crazy about it.”
“I am. ItâI've just heard it enough tonight.”
“Listen, Liz,” John Peter said, suddenly putting down his recorder. “Why don't you give Ben a break?”
Elizabeth grew rigid. “What do you mean?”
“Are you such a dope you can't see he's in love with you?” John Peter asked.
“I think you're the dope,” Elizabeth said. “Of course he isn't in love with me.” She added faintly, “Is he, Jane?”
“I wouldn't know.”
“Sure,” John Peter said, “as though we hadn't been talking about it half the evening. For heaven's sake, Liz, your feelings are your own business, but either give Ben a break or don't keep him hanging around. I don't care what you do to that bastard Canitz, but I don't want to see Ben hurt.”
Elizabeth was trembling with rage and with horror. “John Peter Tollerâ” she started, her voice shaking. Then, “I haven't any words to say to you. What you've said is soâsoâ”
“I'm sorry,” John Peter said, the beakiness of his nose seeming to sharpen as it did when he was being stubborn, “but it's been on my mind and I had to get it out.”
“Ben knows how I feel. We're wonderful friends and that's all and that's that.” Elizabeth hoped she sounded more convincing to John Peter and to Jane than she did to herself. She was sure Ben knew that she loved Kurt; that was something she couldn't seem to hide from anybody, no matter how much she wanted to.
“Okay,” John Peter said. “If Ben really knows how you feel, then it's his own business, I guess.” He did not sound happy or convinced.
Jane dropped her hand lightly on Elizabeth's shoulder. “Don't be angry, Liz. I begged John Peter not to say anything.
It's only because we're so fond of you and Ben, both of youâ”
It's only because we're so fond of you and Ben, both of youâ”
“I don't think I'm angry anymore,” Elizabeth said. “I'm just appalled.”
“Well, forget it, will you? As long as everything's clear with you and Ben, that's all that matters.”
“Ben knows about Kurt,” Elizabeth said flatly.
“Knows what about Kurt?” John Peter asked.
“About how I feel about him.”
“Ben's been in the theatre a long time,” John Peter said. “He's known a lot of Kurts.”
“What do you mean?”
“Look, I shouldn't have brought it up. Jane was absolutely right. Forgive me and forget it. Please, Liz.”
“Okay.”
“And, Liz, honey,” Jane said. “One other thing.”
“What?”
“It was sweet of you this afternoon to say I was a better actress than you are and try to give me the part, but you shouldn't do things like that.”
“Why not? You are.”
“In the first place, I'm not; and in the second place it was entirely my own fault for staying out on the beach and being late for rehearsal.”
“Oh, piffle,” Elizabeth said.
John Peter clapped his hand over one of his cheeks and groaned.
“What's the matter?” Jane asked anxiously.
“My tooth,” John Peter said gloomily. “It still hurts.”
“You'd better go to a dentist on Monday, darling.”
“I'll have to if it isn't any better. But I hate to go here to someone I don't know. I'd much rather wait till I get back to New York. I don't know what makes my teeth so lousy. Every six months it's just as though a gremlin got in my mouth with a small but very effective machine gun.” He looked up as there was a sharp knock on the door. “Oh, come in, come in, if you fool you must,” he said.
Valborg Andersen stepped into the room and all three of them jumped up in confusion. Elizabeth backed up to the bureau to stand in front of the large picture of the actress herself.
“Miss Jerrold,” Valborg Andersen said.
“Yes, Miss Andersen?” Elizabeth reached behind her and put the picture down on its face. The actress saw and smiled slightly.
She looked around her. “Four of you in here? Seems like pretty close quarters. I'm sorry to come calling so very late. Miss Jerrold, might I speak to you for a moment?”
“Of course,” Elizabeth said, and followed her out into the hall.
Jane and John Peter looked at each other. “What do you suppose she wants?” John Peter asked.
Jane shook her head. “I don't know, but I'm afraid I can guess.”
“Dottie?”
“I'd bet my bottom button.”
John Peter looked at Elizabeth's picture of Miss Andersen lying flat on the bureau. “Now why on earth did Liz move the picture?”
“Oh, you know, sweet. I can't explain.” Jane gesticulated
vaguely. “It looks like asking for something. Oh, drat that Dottie for slitching things up for Liz.”
vaguely. “It looks like asking for something. Oh, drat that Dottie for slitching things up for Liz.”
“Maybe it isn't that.”
“What else?” Jane asked.
“Why don't you tell Liz?”
“Tell her what?”
“About Miss Andersen.”
“Why, John Peter?”
“I don't know. It might make her feel better or something.”
Jane shook her head slowly. “I don't know. I don't see why it would. And I said I wasn't going to tell anybody. I think I'd rather not. Not even Liz.”
“Okay,” John Peter said. “You do however you feel best about it.” Then he took advantage of the moment of privacy by kissing Jane. They drew apart as the door opened and Elizabeth came in quietly, crossed to her bed, and picked up the Gentlewoman's sides. Valborg Andersen stood in the doorway.
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