The Lord Won't Mind (The Peter & Charlie Trilogy) (18 page)

Peter telephoned him at the office and received a guarded version of the news so that he was waiting with whoops of joy when Charlie got home.

“I’m not going to class tonight. I don’t have to, do I? I’ve got everything for dinner. Including a bottle of wine. Oh, darling, this is the best day ever.”

Charlie told the story of his midday rendezvous over and over. Peter plied him with questions. They weighed every word of the deathless dialogue with Meyer Rapper and agreed that there was nothing left but to sign the contract. After dinner they rushed into bed for what Peter described as a “luck fuck.” He was delighted with the expression and repeated it with roars of laughter.

“Look at me,” he said later. “In bed with a big star. Oh, lord, the whole world’s going to be madly in love with you and you’re mine.”

By eleven they were both dressed again and ready to go. Peter accompanied him to the Waldorf Towers, and then they walked up and down Park Avenue, killing time. When the moment came, Peter gave his arm a secret squeeze.

“OK, darling. I’ll be praying. Hurry home. I’ll be waiting for you.”

Charlie went in and pronounced Meyer Rapper’s name. He gave his own with brisk authority, feeling almost like the big star Peter insisted he already was. He was bowed to the elevator. He walked down a long corridor and rang at the number indicated. He was admitted by a uniformed manservant, who took his coat. The apartment was overwhelmingly opulent. Charlie had always moved in comfortable surroundings, but this was his first experience of the fabled world of celebrity and he felt suddenly underprivileged. This was the way it should be. Everything he had known was drab by comparison. Meyer Rapper was standing in the living room waiting for him. Charlie was struck once more by the glitter of gold. Great windows behind him looked out onto the sparkling city.

“Ah, there, sport. I’ve been looking forward to you after a harrowing evening with that great lady of stage and screen, Miss Charlotte Harris. What’ll you have to drink?”

Charlie asked for a whiskey, and they sat side by side on a sofa. “I know you want to talk about the play, and I won’t keep you in suspense. Bad for the digestion. Frankly, it’s not much of a part, but it has a couple of showy little scenes. People would see you. It could lead to Hollywood.”

“I’m really not much interested in Hollywood,” Charlie said. This line, which he had always offered in one form or another as evidence of his dedication, now sounded fatuous.

“Let me give you a word of advice,” Meyer Rapper said. “Take success where you find it. With success, you’re your own master.” He waved his glass at the room. “This is success. It’s extraordinarily agreeable. You’re very good-looking, but you have something much more rare. You have class. Ty Power has it. Have you seen him? He’s already becoming a big star.”

The manservant wheeled in a table set for two. Meyer Rapper rose. Charlie found that the suspense had in no way diminished. Had he been told he could definitely have the part? The tenses seemed wrong. Perhaps there were implications he was missing.

“I hope you like smoked salmon. It’s lox called by another name, but smells as sweet. Bring your drink. Unless you’d prefer wine. Champagne perhaps?”

Charlie declined and joined him at table.

“Hank gives very good reports of you. I make it a rule to hire untried actors whenever I can. It’s one of the rewards of having a free hand, finding youngsters, starting them on their way. I’ll have you read for me again when we’ve had some nourishment. I thought you did very well today.”

The smoked salmon was followed by lobster in a rich cream sauce. Charlie began to get the uncomfortable impression that he was being toyed with. Meyer Rapper remained tantalizingly oblique. The definitive word had not been said. His mind was bursting with questions, but he had little chance of inserting a word into the easy flow of the playwright’s monologue. When they had eaten, the manservant replenished their drinks and rolled the table away. Meyer Rapper crossed the room to a desk and returned with a copy of his typescript.

“The play’s about rich people on Long Island. You look the part. On stage, you’ll look younger than you actually do. I want it full of youth. The boy is in love as only the young can be. I want it to be incandescent. It’s all in that breathtaking smile of yours. Of course, we can’t have you grinning all the time. We’ll have to find ways to convey it. Will it make you self-conscious to stand? I can get a better idea that way.”

Charlie stood with the typescript in his hand. When ordered to, he read. Meyer Rapper fed him cues from memory. He went all the way through the scene this time, and when he was finished Meyer Rapper nodded. “You could do it. It needs work, of course, but Hank was right. You have a lovely quality.” Meyer Rapper paused and his satanic features sharpened as he went on, “Now Charles, I’m afraid you’ll have to learn right from the start what a sordid business the theater is. I want to go to bed with you.”

Charlie’s knees sagged. He almost dropped the script. He stared at Meyer Rapper without seeing him. Surely he hadn’t heard correctly. “What?” he said faintly.

“You’re quite free to say goodnight and go now.”

“But what about the play?” Charlie was amazed that he was able to speak.

“I’m sorry to make it sound so cold-blooded. But my analyst would never speak to me again if I went into rehearsal with this situation unresolved. I might easily have a breakdown. It wouldn’t be fair to my backers.”

“But you say I’m right for the part.”

“At my office, I have a list of at least a dozen youngsters who could do it just as well. They have an advantage over you. I don’t want to go to bed with them.”

Charlie was outraged by the unfairness of the proposition. If he had seized him and kissed him, if he had waited till they were sitting together and groped him, acquiescence might have been possible, but to have the terms stated so baldly denied him any choice. To accept would be outright whoring.

“What would Hank say if he knew about this?” Charlie asked, to give himself time.

Meyer Rapper smiled his charming smile. “We have few secrets from each other in the theater. Hank warned me not to expect anything. He needn’t have bothered. One has only to look at you to see that you can’t be bought.”

“Then why did you have me up here? What’s it been all about?”

Meyer Rapper’s smile turned faintly melancholy. “One is egotistical enough to hope. You might not have found me repulsive.”

“But I don’t. It’s not that at all. I just don’t go in for that sort of thing. I mean—” Charlie thought of Peter. He thought of all that this meant to both of them. What difference did it make if someone handled his body? “I mean—Well, if we got to know each other, if it just sort of happened. I mean, who knows what might happen?”

“That’s exactly the risk I can’t take. It wouldn’t be convenient for me to fall in love with you. I doubt if I would be a demanding lover. Once would probably suffice. My analyst would take charge thereafter.”

“It just isn’t possible,” Charlie said helplessly. It was inconceivable that he could lose so much by saying a few simple words. Why hadn’t the man taken him by force? Why hadn’t he put him in a position from which he couldn’t extricate himself without looking ridiculous?

“Of course not. As I said, it’s not much of a part. If you really want the theater, you’ll undoubtedly have better opportunities. Perhaps our friend Hank will give you a start without asking anything in return, although I don’t believe it for a minute. Let this be a lesson to you. We live in an ugly world, and the theater is a particularly ugly part of it.”

“So that’s that?”

“I think so. I’ve enjoyed very much looking at you. If you’ll permit me one more word of advice, stick to publishing.” He rose and took the script from Charlie and escorted him to the hall. Charlie’s coat was waiting for him. Meyer Rapper shook his hand, smiled with great charm, and closed the door on him.

Charlie wanted a drink. He wanted lots of drinks. He couldn’t bear the thought of facing Peter. There was no way of presenting the story without feeling dirty or, worse, stupid. Nobody had been interested in his talent. He had been only a body to be bargained for. Why hadn’t he beaten them at their own game? He could have let Rapper do whatever he wanted to do. He wouldn’t have had to respond. He could have signed a contract and spat in his eye. The thought of going to work at the office the next morning filled him with desolation. He had been so nearly free of it. If only Rapper had given him time to think. Even as he wished it otherwise, he knew he could never have submitted. He went into a bar on Lexington Avenue and had two drinks in quick succession.

As soon as he saw him, Peter knew it had been a disaster. “Oh damn, damn, damn,” he said as he took his coat. Charlie staggered slightly as he made his way to a chair.

“Give me a drink.”

“Sure, darling. Right away. I guess I’d better have one too.”

Charlie told his story and held out his glass to be refilled.

“The shit. The dirty shit,” Peter exclaimed with fury. “I’d like to go beat the hell out of him. I’d kill him. Who in hell does he think he is, even thinking he could put his dirty hands on you. I wish you’d socked him one.”

“I probably would have if he’d tried to touch me.”

“Thank God he didn’t. The lousy fucker. With you of all people. To try a thing like that. I really could kill him.”

Charlie had a third drink. When he had finished it, he couldn’t move. Peter had to undress him and put him to bed.

ALTHOUGH he made a determined effort to erase it from his mind, the episode continued to nag him in the days that followed. He couldn’t help wondering whether it could have happened to anybody or if Rapper had somehow detected in him a flaw, a weakness, a tendency that was there to be exploited. He tried to surprise himself in an effeminate gesture or falling into an unmanly pose. He listened to his voice for similar signals.

He had no taste for telling Hank Forbes what had happened, but when Forbes called again he had obviously heard the story from Rapper. “Don’t be too upset. These things happen sometimes.”

“Well, I hope they don’t happen to me. I don’t go in for that stuff.” He said it in the slightly toughened accents he had adopted, and was glad of the opportunity to forestall any notions Hank might have been nurturing.

“Well, fella, I’ll keep my eye out for you. I’m sorry there’s nothing in the script I’m supposed to be doing next. Tell Hattie to give me a call.”

He began to see more of Hattie; they became almost nightly companions. She took him to meet some of the more immediate members of her family, and he was cordially received. She cooked dinner for him more and more frequently, and they became an established couple at the bars where they went to see theater people. She knew everybody and believed in constant exposure to further her career. He grew to rely on her cutting him off from the men who were obviously attracted to him. She saved him a lot of trouble. If Rapper had known about her, in the way that more and more people did as their names were linked, he probably wouldn’t have dared to make his proposition. He never told Hattie the true story; he made up something about not being right for the part. Hattie heard all about it, of course, from Hank Forbes and thought him insane to have lost such a chance, but she never said anything. She had learned he had limits beyond which it was not wise to stray.

At her suggestion, they started to rehearse a scene from a Barry play, so that, as she pointed out, they would have something to do if they ever had a chance to do an audition together. It was, of course, a love scene, and at one point they were called upon to kiss. After they had rehearsed it awkwardly several times, Hattie burst into hoots of laughter.

“Oh, really. Let’s get it right. How
do
people kiss, anyway?”

They stood in front of each other. Charlie shrugged. “Like this, I guess.” He drew her to him, and their mouths met. She felt almost dangerously frail in his arms, as if she might break. She opened her mouth and eagerly explored his with her tongue. His sex stirred in response. He broke from her as it risked becoming obvious. The mockery was gone from her face, and it glowed softly, uncharacteristically defenseless and vulnerable.

“OK?” he asked.

“Much better,” she said with a return of mocking laughter, which failed to completely obliterate the effect Charlie saw he had had on her. She was ready for him to carry it further. He had no intention of doing so; it suggested too many complications. Peter would never forgive him if anything occured between them here in the apartment. If she were like all the others and there was some unpleasantness, even C. B. might find the Donaldsons rather a handful. It was something to hold in reserve, evidence of his masculinity.

Peter frequently found them together when he came home from class. He quickly lost his first enthusiasm for her. She had ways of making him feel an intruder that went unnoticed by Charlie. As far as Charlie was concerned, they were all good friends. That was the way he wanted to think of them; at times, he came quite close to convincing himself that there was little difference between his relationship with Peter and his elected role as constant escort to Hattie. His selfconsciouness had extended to Peter; he reverted to his former caution about the use of endearments. He never said “baby” except in moments of extreme intimacy. He saw effeminate mannerisms growing in Peter every time he moved, and he badgered him about them. Once, he brought him close to tears by calling him a “silly little queen.”