“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.”
Peter found C. B. a great comfort. She was the link with the magical summer days of discovery, an assurance that the bonds they had forged then were indestructable. She enjoyed talking about Charlie as much as he did. They indulged themselves freely.
“Is he still seeing a great deal of Hattie?” she asked one day when he had dropped by in time to have tea with her.
“Yes,” Peter admitted without enthusiasm. “Practically every day.”
“I wonder if he might be getting serious about her.”
“Oh, no.” He brightened at being able to make the denial. “Nothing like that. They’re just pals. He takes her around to all her theatrical hangouts. They’re rehearsing a scene together.” Realizing that this might give her ideas, he added, “You know, he’s helping her prepare it. She wants to have something to do at auditions.”
“I see. You know, of course, that it was one of the greatest frights of my life when I discovered a few years ago what an extraordinary actor he is. It seemed inevitable that he would want to go on with it.”
“I wish I’d seen him. He really is all that good?”
“Extraordinary, Such magnetism and authority. I hadn’t the slightest doubt he would be a great success. That’s what was so frightening.”
“I don’t understand. Why are you so opposed? It wouldn’t be like starving in a garret.”
“Oh, my darling. The life. So sordid. All very well for poor little Sapphire. I’m delighted she got a job in her show. But Charlie has so many gifts. I’ve always wanted him to use them all to make a really worthwhile life for himself.”
“But I should think the only way to use a talent like you say he has for acting is to be an actor.”
China clashed against silver as she set down her cup. This was dangerous ground he had dared tread once before and again he felt the ice of her disapproval. “Is that the sort of advice you give him?” she asked, with a tolerant smile.
“Oh, C. B.,” he protested with flustered laughter. “You know he doesn’t need any advice from me. You know Charlie. He just sails along and everything falls into his lap.”
“Are you suggesting that he still entertains some thoughts about the stage?”
“Of course not. I mean, you’d know as much about that as I would. He always talks to you about everything.”
“That’s the way it has always been. We’ve always talked to each other, even when he was tiny.”
Peter’s laughter was genuine now. “I can’t imagine him being tiny. But that’s just it. He’d never do anything without talking to you first. You’re the only person who has any real influence on him.”
“I hope you’re right, my darling.”
He detected lurking doubts. Thinking of Charlie, wanting to prepare the ground for him in some small way, he dared add, “You know I am. It’s just that if he ever did have a chance to do something in the theater, I hope you wouldn’t think it’s too awful.”
“I think I’m a better judge of that than you. I know the world.” She pushed the tea table from her. “You’ve depressed me, my darling. I had thought that that danger had been disposed of once and for all. You’ve given me a great deal to think about. I’m glad, at least, that you think we have nothing to fear from Hattie.”
“Absolutely not. He was maybe sort of fascinated by her at first, but now they’re just friends.”
“I’m glad. I don’t find her really suitable. You know, I’d like to feel I could count on you to warn me if this theater thing should ever crop up again. Perhaps I shouldn’t. Male solidarity. You’re a faithful creature. In your eyes, I dare say, Charlie could never do any wrong.”
“That’s the way you feel about him too, isn’t it?”
“He has needed guidance, as the young always do. Perhaps he still does. We shall see.”
He was obliged to leave before he had quite succeeded in reestablishing the loving flow of understanding between them that was the basis of his devotion to her. He knew he had blundered badly. Next time, he must avoid anything controversial, follow her lead, say only the things she wanted him to say. He didn’t report the conversation to Charlie.
SOON after, a day came when C. B. called Charlie at his office. This was not in itself unusual, but her tone was—as was the urgency with which she asked him to stop by on his way home from work. He went, curious and uneasy, but with no real presentiment of catastrophe. When she rose to receive him in her living room, all his guards were immediately alerted. Her kiss was ominously restrained. She flicked a scrap of handkerchief at a chair.
“I don’t think this is an occasion for offering you a drink.” She sat very straight, her hands on her knees. Charlie sat opposite her. She looked him gravely in the eye. “Peter was here earlier. What I have to say is very painful to me. I think the sooner it’s said the better. He has confessed his love for you.”
At mention of Peter’s name, Charlie’s heart leaped up violently and now the room reeled. There was a roaring in his head. His face felt numb. He found himself gripping the arms of the chair. “What?” he gasped.
“Does it come as such a surprise to you?” She continued to fix his eyes with hers.
“I just don’t know what you’re talking about.” He felt his cheeks burning. He didn’t know how he could meet her level stare, but his practiced controls took charge and he managed to face her. His mind whirled and clung to a single formula. Deny it. Deny everything. Deny.
“I’m afraid he left no room for misunderstanding. He seemed deeply troubled, and naturally I asked
him why. He confessed that he was in love with you—criminally in love with you. He made no attempt to equivocate.”
“He must have gone out of his mind. Did he suggest that I—that we—”
“He made no suggestion that anything improper had occurred. I wouldn’t have permitted him to, in any event. Is it possible that you’ve had no inkling of this?”
Charlie drew his first easy breath. The question gave him all the opportunity he needed to save himself. He thought of the drawings. She had obviously never known anything about them. He had always known that her innocence would bar her from any real understanding of the things she often seemed to be referring to. “How could I have any inkling?” he protested, reminding himself that innocence would be conveyed more effectively by bewilderment than outrage. “Do you suppose I’d have allowed it to go on? I still don’t understand exactly what he said.”
“Just what I’ve told you. I prefer not to repeat it. He seemed to reproach you for not sharing his unspeakable passion.”
“Sharing it? I don’t know anything about it.” The scene that must have occurred between C. B. and Peter was beginning to come clear to him. Peter must have been carrying on about not ever seeing him. C. B. would take this to mean that he had rejected him. It wasn’t as bad as he had feared, but there was only one way out. He thought only of protecting himself with C. B., not of the consequences for Peter. “As you know, I’ve—well, I’ve been pretty involved with Hattie lately. I’ve hardly seen Peter for the last month.”
“And the poor soul has been consumed with jealousy. I suppose that must be the way of it. It did strike me that he wasn’t quite himself. It’s been obvious how devoted he was to you. I understand all about Platonic love, but the other—the physical—one cannot think of it.”
“Certainly not. It’s absolutely impossible. Are you sure he meant it that way? Are you sure he wasn’t just hysterical or something?”
“His words were, ‘I love him in every way possible. Passionately. The way men and women love each other.’ He insisted on it, as if he were proud of it.”
The Peter & Charlie Trilogy Page 14