“It’s your script,” Norman said. “You said so yourself.”
Charlie began to bang his list into the palm of his hand again. “What would you do? In my position, I mean.”
“You need the money.”
Charlie stood pensively by the window again. “There are other things beside my pride. Joey, for instance. Maybe I should be practical for once.”
“I think so.”
“If you hadn’t come in when you did I would have been on the phone to Winkleman already. Isn’t that true?”
“Yes.”
“O.K. I’ll do it. I’m grateful to you, too, for the idea.”
“Stop worrying,” Norman said. “Where’s Joey? I’m starved.”
Charlie outlined two plots and an idea for a comedy series to Norman. “Hell,” he said. “I’ve got all the faults of genius. I’m poor like O’Casey. I’m dirtier than Balzac. I’m just as crazy about women as Byron ever was. Why, I’ve even got piles as bad as Marx ever had them, so why am I so emotionally unsuccessful?”
Joey arrived before Norman could reply. “Hiya,” she said, waving a bottle of whisky in the air. “Hiya.”
“I guess you and Bob have been working pretty hard,” Charlie said coldly. “You must be tired.”
Joey flopped into a chair and kicked off her shoes. “Pour me a big one, lover,” she said to Norman. “Pour yourself one too.” Then she turned to Charlie. “Let’s eat out tonight. Bob gave me a bonus for working late. I’m rolling.”
“I bought salad,” Charlie said. “You left me a note asking me to buy salad.”
“We can eat salad tomorrow,” Joey said, “for breakfast.”
“Big joke.”
“I think Joey’s got a good idea,” Norman said. “Let’s eat out.”
“We’re going to eat at home.”
“Home is where you hang yourself,” Joey said. “That’s one of Bob’s jokes. I typed it three times.”
“Ha, ha, ha,” Charlie said.
“Charlie darling,” Joey seemed genuinely surprised. “What is it?”
“The Winkleman deal went through. We’re sure of a production. I also sold a half-hour to Cameo today.”
“Aren’t you the big success,” Joey said ambiguously.
“I came rushing home to tell you and you weren’t here. I had intended to start work on my play this afternoon. Instead I had to go out and do the shopping.”
“Not another word. I’m going to make dinner.”
“We can eat out,” Charlie said. “We can celebrate.”
“Celebrate? No,” she said, “we’ll eat right here,” and turning to Norman she added, “with our patron.”
Charlie had a lot to drink at dinner. Always a gifted storyteller tonight he really shone. Norman and Joey did not see a fat balding man with foxy brown eyes before them. Once more they were in New York. Once more the cold-water flat and the hack work were, as Charlie put it then, fodder for the sensational autobiography he would write afterwards, like Sean O’Casey. They had believed him at the time because he had been laughing at himself when he had given his letters catalogue numbers. But when younger men had begun to make their reputations the jokes had ceased and, instead, when somebody wrote a hit play Charlie had asked, “How old is he?” Tonight, however, Charlie was happy and successful.
Norman, a little drunk himself, remembered the Charlie of the old days. Looking across the table he saw an angry young man shaking an empty Chase & Sanborn coffee tin, crudely labelled “SPAIN,” under the faces of first-nighters on Broadway, where someone younger than him had just opened with a smash.
“You’re good, Charlie,” Norman said. “Very good.”
Charlie wiped back his horseshoe of hair. “I’ve just made a decision,” he said. “No more hackery. First thing tomorrow I’m getting down to my play.”
“Wonderful,” Norman said.
“Wonderful. Sure, sure. You’re convinced I’ll never write it. You too, Joey. You don’t think I’ve got the talent. You think Norman is more intelligent than I am.”
Norman rubbed the back of his neck uneasily.
“We’ve known each other for nearly twenty years now,” Charlie said, “but we’ve yet to sit down and speak frankly. You wrote my wife love letters, but she preferred me to you. You’ve never forgiven me that. And you,” he said to Joey, “you’re probably sorry now. Take tonight, for instance. This will sound petty to you, I know, but it’s pretty significant. Norman’s steak was twice the size of mine. Go ahead, laugh. But you do that every time he comes here.”
“Please,” Joey said, her voice severe, “let’s not always make a spectacle of ourselves. If you –”
“Better this,” Charlie said, “than scrabble.”
“– if you must have this out, Charlie, let’s wait until we’re alone.”
“Look here, Miss Daily Worker Bazaar of 1932, Norman isn’t above patronizing a little Nazi thug for the sake of a girl, so I’m sure he won’t lose his virginity if he sits in on a quarrel which concerns him.”
“Charlie,” Norman said, precisely polite, “if you don’t stop this I’m going to get up and go. You won’t see me again, either.”
“You’re both afraid of the truth,” Charlie said, “that’s what.”
“Please, darling. We have more to thank Norman for than you know of.”
“And just what do you mean by that?”
Norman looked sharply at Joey.
“Nothing,” she said.
Charlie glared, he coughed, and then suddenly he smiled widely and winked. “I’m a choice son-of-a-bitch,” he said, “aren’t I? Trouble is I should have been a great artist. A big, primitive power, like Agatha Christie. Instead.…” He got up and filled their glasses. “All About Mary,” he said, “is the most sensational property Winkleman ever mortgaged. Landis here, Landis there. I’m the guy who’s putting Rinky-Dinky back on his feet as a producer here.”
“Let’s talk about something else,” Joey said.
“Why? Aren’t you pleased?”
“I’m thrilled,” Joey said coldly. “Honestly, darling.”
“Why that tone of voice, then?”
“Ask Norman.”
Norman’s face darkened.
“Go ahead. Ask him.”
“Joey’s making a joke,” Norman said, “and it’s not a very good one.”
“Well, she ought to be thrilled,” Charlie began meekly. “I told her on the ship coming over, Norman. London is going to be lucky, I said. I had that feeling.”
They drank some more. Joey moved to the arm of Norman’s chair and gradually, as though by accident, she slid on to his lap.
“There must be more comfortable –”
“Go ahead,” Charlie said with forced cheerfulness, “help yourself.”
“Joey,” Norman said. “Come on. You’re not that drunk. Get up.”
“One morning I’ll wake up and discover that Charlie’s only interested in young girls. Like you.”
“Joey!”
“Don’t ‘Joey’ me, brother.”
Charlie laughed desperately. “That would be a plot,” he said. “That would make a fine half-hour. Friend of the family cuckolds the –”
“It’s too corny,” Norman said sharply.
“The corny plots,” Joey said, “always sell. Ask Charlie.”
Joey embraced Norman.
“Hey,” Charlie said, “stop that. You’re humiliating me.”
Joey held on to Norman with a frightening force.
“I know this is only a joke,” Charlie began, “but.…”
Norman struggled with Joey. She was unmovable.
“Hey,” Charlie said, “hey.…”
Charlie seized Joey by the arm and pulled her off Norman. Joey stumbled.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Charlie said.
Joey banged against the wall and then sank like a wreck to the bottom of the room.
“I’m sorry.”
Charlie’s face was coming undone.
“Ask Norman about the script.”
“What’s going on here,” Charlie yelled. “Will somebody please tell me what’s going on?”
“I was the guy who worked on the script for Winkleman,” Norman said wearily.
“Winkleman told Bob Landis that he never would have bought your script if Norman hadn’t promised to work on it. He overpaid you – that’s exactly what Winkleman said – because of Norman.”
Stuck again and again by their banderillas Charlie shook his head thickly, he glared, he coughed, but, even as the other two waited for his last long bellow, all he did was to sigh deeply.
“I want you to go, Norman,” he said in a small voice, “and never come back here again.”
Charlie’s pride, Joey thought – the fear bursting like a boil inside her – means more to him than I do. He never would have thrown Norman out because of me.
“I want to die,” she said. “I want to die.”
Charlie couldn’t resist it. “Go ahead and die,” he said.
Norman got up. His back ached where Joey’s fingernails had cut deeply.
“Now I know why you tried to talk me out of phoning Winkleman,” Charlie said. “You betrayed me.”
“Your wife’s forehead is cut. Why don’t you attend to it?”
Charlie’s laughter came out solid like a stone. “I should have guessed that you were a bum,” he said, “when you started running after Joey behind my back.”
“You should have, but you didn’t.”
“Before I even knew that it was you who had worked on the script didn’t I say that it had been ruined?”
“Joey’s going to be sick in a minute. Get her into bed.”
“My friend Norman.” Joey passed out.
“If you needed money so badly,” Charlie said, “couldn’t you have come to me instead of plotting with Winkleman behind my back?”
“She’s fainted.”
“Keep your filthy hands off her.”
Norman put on his jacket.
“Just one thing before you go, Iago. Do you understand why you did it at least?”
“No. You tell me.”
“You wanted to belittle me before my wife,” Charlie applied his hand to his forehead like a poultice. “I’m sending Winkleman his money back in the morning. It’s your script. You take the credit and the money.”
“This is all a bad dream,” Norman said. “I’ll wake up and none of it will have happened.”
“Bring in the violins. Go ahead. Try to put me in the wrong.”
Joey began to groan.
“Jesus,” Norman said. “Good night.”
“Good night and good bye.”
XVII
When Ernst got home around eleven that night Sally was still sitting up in bed. Her eyes were burnt dry, and she was pale. Ernst kissed her streaky blond hair and then rested with his head on her lap. She kissed the scar on the back of his neck again and again. She lay with her hot cheek against his head. Ernst kissed her fingers one by one.
“Mrs. Buller phoned. She wants you to build some bookcases. She asked if you could come round early Monday morning.”
“What did you say?”
“I said I thought you were free.”
“She’s nice.”
“Mrs. Buller? Isn’t she the one who complained about your work?”
“No. That’s Mrs. Hellman.”
Norman was typing late. They could hear him.
“Tired?”
“Yeah. I’m tired.”
“Me too.”
He went to the window and took down the curtains. “They’re dirty,” he said. “I think I’ll wash them.”
The noise of the tap briefly drowned out the typewriter downstairs, but soon the rat-tat-tat was with them again. Ernst hung up the curtains to dry over the back of a chair.
“Are you hungry?”
“No,” he said. “I ate.”
Norman’s door slammed, but he had only gone to the toilet. The typing started up again.
“Play something on the guitar,” she said.
“What will we drown him out with tomorrow night,” he asked, “the record player?” He sat down on a pillow with his guitar. “I didn’t intend to come back.”
“You’re here. I’m glad you’re here.”
“You are beautiful,” he said. “I love you.”
“The world outside,” she said. “Their world. It’s not much good.” She told him about the old man and his electronically controlled ship. “I went up to the Heath,” she said.
“I was in Soho. I looked at all the movie posters.”
“Oh, my darling love. Oh, my darling.”
“It’s not fair to you. I shouldn’t have come back.”
The typewriter stopped, stopped for five full minutes, and then began again.
“Tap on the floor,” she said.
“No.”
“He said we should do that any time he disturbed us.”
“No.”
“Go ahead. He won’t mind.”
“NO.”
“I would have died if you hadn’t come back.”
“I would like to tell you about it. I want you to know exactly how it happened.”
“No,” she said. “Some other time.”
He told her that he had run away from the refugee camp at Sandbostel with the idea of robbing an American soldier of his identity papers and making his way to Paris. He had met three soldiers in a bar in Munich. One of them, a Jew, had not liked him. The second he could hardly remember. The third had been Nicky. The trouble, he said, had started when the four of them had gone to the jazz cellar.
“I liked Nicky,” Ernst said, “and I was looking for a way to show him how I felt. When the other boy – not the Jew – began to feel sick I took him down to the toilet with me. I took his wallet. But I wasn’t stealing. I thought that I would return it to Nicky later and tell him that one of the whores in the cellar had stolen it from him. I thought it would make a good impression. But the Jew –”
“Don’t keep saying the ‘Jew’. The boy must have a name.”
“I forget it.”
“Call him Harry.”
“No. I’ll call him Lester. That was more like it.”
“Anything, but not the ‘Jew’.”
“O.K. But Lester found out about the wallet first. When I returned it to Nicky later he didn’t believe my story; he turned against me.”
He told her about the party. Nancy, and the room upstairs.
“I didn’t want to fight with Nicky. I swear it. I just wanted to get out before the M.P.s came. But he wouldn’t let me go. He came at me with a broken bottle in his hand. I didn’t want to be scarred. I’m handsome, it is one of the few things I have, and I need it.” Ernst averted his eyes. “So I took out my knife. He came at me like a madman and –”
“Never mind the details.”
“… afterwards I stole his identity papers. That’s all. That’s the whole story.”
Sally made no comment.
“Perhaps,” he said wearily, “it would be best if I left.”
“No,” she said, “I –”
“I would understand. Please don’t try to make me stay if.…”
“How can I let you go?”
Norman stopped typing. They heard him go out.
“I’ll sleep on the floor tonight.” She protested.
“Please,” he said, “don’t argue. It’s just something I feel.”
“But –”
“The floor will be fine. I’ll spread my coat under me.”
“All right,” she said. “If you insist.”
Both of them were still awake when Norman returned about an hour later. He was quiet, he seemed to be walking on tip-toe, but they both heard him.
“Ernst, I just remembered something awful.”
Sally told him that Norman had been to Canada House. There would be a check on him, she said.
“We’ll have to leave here,” Ernst said.<
br />
“We’ll give Karp our notice tomorrow afternoon,” she said. “As soon as I get home from work.”
“It has been a long day,” Ernst said.
They would have to flee to another country, Sally thought. They would have to hide. “What?” she asked.
“It has been a long Sunday.”
Fugitives, she thought. “Ernst,” she asked, “do you remember our first day together?”
“Of course,” he said. “I slept on the floor that night too.”
“Do you know why I asked you to stay?”
“No,” he said.
“It was because of the way you came up from behind to kiss me when I was washing my blouse. I had never been kissed like that before.”
“Good night,” he said. “I love you.”
“Good night, my darling.”
XVIII
With manifest skill Karp injected a ham with a hypodermic of brandy, massaged the ham’s surface with honey, stuck cloves in here and there, and eased the pan into the oven. He hadn’t had anything to eat all day; he was famished. Karp decided to begin his meal with an artichoke and to eat the ham with sweet potatoes and corn fritters. Following that, perhaps, he would have a Chinese lettuce with lemon sauce and cheese cake and coffee. Karp washed his hands and rubbed them with cold cream. He slipped into his dressing gown and sat down in his living room with a glass of sherry. Then there came a loud knock at the door.
“I’ve been expecting you,” Karp said.
Ernst nodded. Sally managed a sour smile.
“Come,” he said, “one should feel free to call on one’s landlord at any time.”
They sat down uneasily as Karp filled their glasses.
“You must come to visit more often,” Karp directed his smile at Ernst. “You ought to take better care of her. Only the other day I was saying to myself what a lovely creature Sally is.”
“Thank you.”
“I hope,” Karp said, “that there has been no repetition of last night’s fainting spell.”
Ernst looked surprised.
“Oh, I feel fine,” Sally said. “Really I do.” She looked down at the thickly carpeted floor. “We’ve come to give you our notice.”
A Choice of Enemies Page 14