“You always find a way to sway opinion no matter how outrageous—and you win, don’t you?”
Raj Bhavnani shrugged his shoulders which was the peak of his ability to appear humble. “I haven’t always won. I’ve missed a few but—even then—I just waited. Eventually what I first think I miss comes along again.”
“Are you talking about me?”
“Oh, no. Not you. Why do you ask? Did I lose you once? I don’t recall. Isn’t that what Americans always say in court? They don’t recall? I love America and now I live in America so I don’t recall.” And then he added a very loud, “Now! You want another Margarita? Or some other drink?”
“I never do anything that someone asks me to do if they precede the request by saying ‘Now’!”
“Why does that bother you?”
“Because they say ‘Now!’ to change the subject as if what I said is so wrong and stupid that it isn’t worthy of a response and so they say ‘Now!’ to emphasize their statement of intellect is just ahead—in which they simply change the subject to the one they choose.”
Raj gave another shrug and quickly picked up his glass of a Cuba Libre and said, “Now!” before taking a big gulp.
Savannah shook her head, smiled, and reached for his free hand. “You don’t listen, do you?”
“Of course not. Another Margarita or something else? What would you like?”
She laughed; and she released her hand from his. “Let me try what you’re drinking. I hear that Cuba Libre’s are good—and I’m game for that.”
“Some of life should be a game! Here! For you the game is a Cuba Libre!” He passed his drink to her and he repeated, “A Cube Libre!”
She squinted her eyes while she weakly nodded and then she tested the Cuba Libre and this new nod was strong. “It’s very good. I’ll keep it.” She put her hand back on his hand and this time she left it there.
That second touch was the interrupting reminder that was on both of their minds, but so far undiscussed. It was that he hadn’t looked for her, nor would he be with her if she hadn’t looked for him, although he didn’t yet know if that was intended or that she somehow stumbled across him.
He watched her sip the Cuba Libre and the moment seemed right for him to ask, “How on earth did you ever find me?”
“It wasn’t easy, Mister Bhavnani. You are very elusive. I tried to phone you at the Algonquin where you told me you lived and the hotel operator didn’t know who you were. And—”
“A trick!” he interrupted. “My trick! I told the Algonquin’s telephone operator’s not to put anyone through unless I have given them the person’s name in advance. It is my trick so as not to be bothered by strangers.”
She passed by that highly doubtful explanation. “And so I talked to the manager. Mr. Bodne. Do you know him?”
He gave a combination of a Hindu sideways shake of his head with an American shrug of his shoulders while pursing his lips like a Frenchman.
“Among other things he told me that you went upstate to the School of Hotel Administration. It turned out it was outside of Rochester and I tried to get hold of you there but they didn’t know who you were. I was told ‘No Bhavnani.’ How sad.”
In response, Raj Bhavnani who was proving he was the master of ignoring remarks that were not complimentary about him, changed her question into his question: “But why did you want to get hold of me and how did you finally succeed?”
“I thought you were rich and influential.”
“And that is why you set out to find me?”
“Yes. Because I wanted you to give me a hand in helping another person.”
“Who?”
“Someone.”
“Who? Are you in love with me?”
“Oh God, no! That doesn’t make any sense! You’re hopeless! You’re not even listening to me! I wanted your money and power to help a friend but I found out I had my own ability to influence.”
“But how did you find me?”
“Your Embassy.”
“What Embassy?
“India! Your Embassy!”
Her temper was interrupted by two women who had been having dinner across from their side of the restaurant aisle and the two women were now standing by their table. “Are you Savannah Lane?” one of them asked.
Savannah gave a quick look at Raj and then smiled and nodded to the interrupting woman. “I am.”
“See?” the interrupting woman said to her friend. “I told you!” She turned back to Savannah and laughed as though something was funny. She simply recognized Savannah and that was flattering—not funny. “Would you sign my menu?”
“Of course. But you better make sure they’ll let you have the menu. It’s so big! We didn’t eat here. I didn’t think I had the strength to hold one of their menus, so—”
“I will ask them!” the woman interrupted. “I will! I’ll buy the menu from them if they insist. Here,” and she placed the menu and a ball-point pen on the table near Savannah’s Cuba Libre.
Savannah asked, “What’s your name? I want to personalize it; not just sign it. I need your first name.”
“How kind! My name is Darleen.”
Savannah acted like she was writing a book in personalization. When she was done with her inscription she handed the menu and pen back to the woman.
“Now,” the woman asked with some hesitation, “Would you mind, Miss Lane, would you mind if my friend takes a picture of the two of us?”
Raj was totally stunned by all this, not having any idea what prompted such adoration heaped on Savannah who was now putting her arm around the stranger’s shoulder while the stranger’s friend was clicking a switch on a Spartus camera that caused a brilliant flash bulb to go off and then two more repeats of new flash bulbs in slow sequence with two more successive pushes of the camera-knob to advance each frame of film with the whole procedure being an unexpected time-consumer, but a pleasant one for Savannah and a confusing one for Raj.
“There!” the posing stranger said, “One of them ought to turn out! Thank you so much, Miss Lane!”
“Thank you for asking, Marlene.”
“Darleen,” the woman corrected and Darleen and her friend walked toward the hallway from the restaurant.
Raj gave a forced closed-mouth smile. “What was all that about? Are you a celebrity or whatever you call important people?”
“I’m not a celebrity. But yes, I am important and that’s because everybody’s an important person,” Savannah said in a reprise of what Christopher had told her that his father told him.
“You were saying to me that you had enough influence all by yourself. If that’s true, why did you persist in finding me and arrange to meet me here?”
She was stumped. “That’s my business.”
“Who did you want to help?”
“Christopher Straw! That’s who!” She said it as though the Salk vaccine to end polio had been nothing more than a minor story in comparison with this revelation.
Raj, with a casual nod, and without any signal of jealousy of Christopher Straw, said, “Now! How did those women know your name? Why did they want your signature and photograph?”
“‘Gemstone!’” Savannah answered.
“Yes, yes, Gemstone. That’s why. Gemstone.”
“Do you know what ‘Gemstone’ is?”
“Of course. What do you think it is?”
“A television series.”
“You are a great teacher of English! A great teacher of America! I did not know that it was a television series. Gemstone is a television series! Wonderful! Good news! It’s about time!”
Savannah gave a short laugh. “I’ve been doing bit-player roles saying one or two lines in musicals and often singing and dancing since I was a little girl and no one ever paid attention. Then just a couple months ago I got on television in ‘Gemstone’ and they even give me screen-credit. It’s a weekly series with some great stars. Not me, but great ones!” And her eyebrows went up as she said that. “And
since I’ve been on, every once in a while someone recognizes me on the street or something. It’s nice of people and I like it. They never recognized me from the movies. See? Movies aren’t ‘better than ever!’ That was a slogan that was invented so people wouldn’t give up movies for television!”
“Yes, yes. Television is better. Better than ever. Not movies. Television,” he repeated as though she needed a clarification of some of television’s basic selling virtues. “Through the wires! Through the wires it goes! Wires under the ground and in the sky and into your homes.”
“How informative! I think you’re right.”
“Yes, yes.”
His innocence and lack of knowledge combined with his assumption that he could be thought of as an expert on any and everything had great appeal to her, just as it did during some moments at Mama Leone’s, and this time maybe the Cuba Libre had been given a bit-player role in supporting her as a leading player in the Top of the Sixes. “And you should know that acting is only temporary. ‘Gemstone’ is wonderful and depending on my schedule of shows, when I am given time off I come here to New York. I get to travel between shows some time or between seasons. But not too long. Too long can be dangerous because of what has happened to some others when they’re not wanted anymore. When that happens the studio stops calling actors and actresses with a new season or a new contract—and they’re out of a job. Happily that hasn’t happened to me but I’ve learned from those who have been through it to at least be prepared! When we haven’t been called we just tell people that we are ‘between pictures.’ That’s what we say, ‘between pictures.’”
“That’s very good; very smart; very good! Saves embarrassment! Now, let’s go,” Raj said. “Let’s go up to the 42nd floor.”
“The 42nd floor? But I thought this was the top floor and it was the 41st one.”
“But those are only the floors of a building! I am talking about the floors of longing and passion and desire reached and then contentment. Ahhh, there will then be contentment—even perhaps with American cigarettes with filters on them.”
She gave a wide smile along with a heavier grasp of her hand on his hand and then she gave a nod. “Let’s go!” she said. “Let’s go to the 42nd floor but only to see it! And nothing more than that. And that’s an order!”
“Ah, yes. Let us get up there!”
He wouldn’t have known in advance but the floor of the 42nd floor was very close to the ceiling of the 42nd floor causing both Raj and Savannah to bend over just to walk to a reasonable destination up there through what seemed like fields of heavy grime and dust. And there were a lot of boxes all over the floor with the larger ones leaning against the walls. Not only all that but there was a lot of creaking when either of them walked or even moved slightly and there were large whiffs of something that probably never saw any movement of anything for years or, perhaps, decades until this night.
Since the most stimulating chapters of life, as most find out, are dependent on the vacancy of any other thoughts than the central absorption from the minds of the participants—both of the minds present on the 42nd floor of the Top of the Sixes were prevented from such total immersion by being unfortunately occupied with a crowd of unappealing and irritating thoughts that got in the way, so that the whole reason for this visit upstairs that night was a dud.
Other than all that, the 42nd floor was just fine.
THEME FOURTEEN
TRANSITIONS
IT FINALLY HIT CHRISTOPHER. Without any proof of fact or even a hint of confirmation, Chris knew that Anna was with Raj. No evidence. Just instinct and instinct supersedes evidence. Chris’ only question was whether or not she would tell him. Surely her conscience would bother her and she would phone him to at least attempt to explain. But Anna Lane was not one to have done what would have been expected of her by Christopher Straw. She would always have done and would continue to do what her own unlikely thinking process dictated.
After that night at the Top of the Sixes, Raj Bhavnani disappeared again. This time the interval of his invisibility was not for a period of four months as he had chosen to vanish from the January night at the Ceylon India Inn to the May night at the Top of the Sixes. This time his interval of disappearance would be four years. When less than one week had passed Anna Lane admitted to her actress confidant, Lorna Whitley, on the set of ‘Gemstone’ at the television station’s studios, “I was a fool! There’s not a semblance of proof that he even exists anymore and not a semblance of evidence that he cares if he sees me again. And I don’t want to see Mr. Raj Bhavnani again. I was such a fool!”
Lorna Whitley shook her head. “You are not a fool, Anna; you are making such a common error: you are not using the mind that God gave you. You looked for a detour from the paved road. Do you know how you can tell in advance that you’re at risk of being—of being fooled?”
It was easy to answer this one. “No.”
“Ask yourself if you would advise your daughter to do what you were thinking of doing yourself.”
“I don’t have a daughter. I’m not married.”
“Anna! I know that but just imagine it! It’s a valuable hypothetical. A hypothetical. Just imagine it and think of what you would do.”
Anna nodded because she knew that agreeing was probably best since she was suddenly being presented with a word of five vowels. “He is such a fool! And so am I!”
“Don’t call yourself names, Anna. Did you tell your—your Christopher what you did that night?”
“I haven’t even called him.”
“Has he called you?”
“No.”
“Oh, that’s not a good sign. You should call him and tell him what you did.”
“Are you crazy? And take a chance on losing him?”
“You already decided to risk that on your way to your rendezvous at the Top of the Fives.”
“Sixes,” she corrected.
“Anna! Pay no attention to the insignificant when it is so urgent to pay attention to the important things.”
Anna wasn’t listening. At this moment she was staring at Lorna’s necklace. “I never noticed that before.”
“Never noticed what?”
“Your necklace, Lorna. It’s beautiful.”
“Oh. Thank you. You never noticed it because I always wear it under my blouse so I don’t forget and let it show on the Sound Stage when the camera’s on. That isn’t for the camera. It’s for my soul. Sometimes I let it be seen at breaks in the filming when the camera’s off. It’s not meant for my imaginary role. It’s for my living role.”
“It’s a Crucifix, isn’t it?”
“The Christian Cross. I’m Catholic, Anna.”
“Oh.” She nodded. At this point, it seemed like the right response but not quite long enough and so she added to it by saying “It’s beautiful” again.
That’s when the loud call of Freddie, the Assistant Director was heard by everyone on Sound Stage 10: “Let’s go! Page 37!” Lorna smiled and put the Christian Cross back under her blouse as the call of “Let’s go. Page 37” meant it’s time for Lorna’s role starting, in this case, on Page 37 of the Shooting Script and not the living script between her and Anna or her and Savannah as Anna was called by everyone else on the set.
Chris had earlier told Anna that after D.C. he would be going to Bermuda that would start another of his around-the-world trips to inspect the progress of NASA’s tracking posts for coming Mercury orbital flights of Astronauts. He itemized every potential stop and date and phone number of his international itinerary. “You can either phone me or send a letter to me in care of any American Express office in those cities. I’ll always check with them. They do that; they hold mail for visitors.”
On the second morning of his trip to Bermuda he was eating Raisin Bran in the dining room of the island’s massive stone hill-top Castle Harbour Hotel when a waiter told him there was a telephone call for him “from the States.”
Chris’ joyful excitement from the comment c
aused him to let go of his spoon in the cereal bowl and that created a splash of milk over his royal blue shirt. “A girl?”
“A man.”
All that remained of the delivery of the clarifying message was milk dripping down Chris’ shirt in three straight paths and the directions from the waiter of where Chris could walk to and locate the off-the-hook telephone receiver with the holding caller on the other end.
Although he was angry that the phone call wasn’t from Anna, he couldn’t be angry that the phone call was from his boss at Western Electric, Mr. D’Agostino, who told Chris to cut his trip so as to come back home when he finished his inspection of Bermuda’s tracking site because “you’ve been requested by the powers at NASA Headquarters for you to hurry back to the States and locate yourself in San Diego right away coordinating with General Dynamics Astronautics. You’re going to be part of the rest of Project Mercury—probably including a quick trip to the Cape when John Glenn’s orbital flight is launched—then back to San Diego—all on NASA’s nickel—and likely the project that Kennedy talked about last Thursday night—the moon project. Sorry; you aren’t going to the moon, my friend, but you’ll likely be in on the rest of its history. That’s not bad, you know. It’s pretty close to what you always wanted, isn’t it?”
“You bet.”
After their short conversation, Chris returned to his table. He re-spooned some Raisin Brans that were now sagging in softness after they rested too long in milk. It didn’t matter. It gave him an opportunity for his mind to go back and forth between anger and enthusiasm; between the silent Anna for his anger and most of all, the thrill of enthusiasm from the magnificent message about NASA’s request for him to join General Dynamics Astronautics in San Diego including going to the Cape for the first orbital launch of U.S. Astronaut, John Glenn.
Raising the Baton Page 12