“You saw what he was doing,” I accused. “It wasn’t right. He was doing everything to make me look stupid.”
I had nothing more to say so I began to cry. “Okay. I never said I was an actress. I’ll go.”
Guy’s voice was quiet. “No. I’ll decide that. I’m the director.”
“It’s the best thing for the play,” I sobbed. “He hates me. You won’t have any trouble with another girl.”
“Beau is right,” Guy said. “You were changing the lines on him. Why?”
“He had no right to do what he was doing.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“You didn’t answer mine,” I retorted.
“I don’t have to. I wasn’t tampering with the author’s lines.”
“If you objected to it, why didn’t you say something?”
“Because it wasn’t time. What I want to know is why you did it.”
“It was the only way I could get him to let me play my part.”
Guy and Walter exchanged a communicative glance. “That’s not a good enough reason,” Guy said.
Suddenly I was no longer intimidated. “Then how about this one? There was no way I could get myself to say those lines and still be the seventeen-year-old girl you want me to be. Those lines are written for a thirty-year-old woman. I don’t know any kids who talk like that.”
For a moment there was silence, then I caught a glimpse of Walter’s set and guarded face. “Oh, Walter, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like it sounded. I—”
“It’s all right,” he said stiffly. Abruptly he turned and walked off the stage.
I started after him but Guy held out a hand. “Let him go.”
“What are you talking about? That’s my husband walking out.”
“Not your husband. The playwright.”
“I hurt him. I’m going after him.”
“No, you’re not. He’s a pro, he’ll get over it.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Someone had to tell him. The lines weren’t right. It was becoming more obvious every day. If the dialogue were right, Beau would not have had the chance to do what he did. He’d be too busy working on his own part.”
Over Guy’s shoulder I saw Beau coming out of the wings. He seemed relaxed as he approached us. “Everything okay?” he asked in a casual voice.
“Fine, now,” Guy answered as if nothing had happened.
Suddenly I understood and I felt the anger surging within me. “You set me up for this,” I accused. “Because none of you had the nerve to tell him the truth.”
“You were the only one he would take it from,” Guy said. “Now he’ll go back and rewrite until he gets those lines right.”
“You’re a shit!” I snapped.
“I never said I was a saint.”
“The truth,” I said. “Can’t any of you tell the truth? Do you always have to manipulate others into doing your dirty work for you when the truth is so much simpler?”
“That’s show business,” Guy said glibly.
“I don’t like it,” I said.
“You better get used to it if you’re going to stay in it.”
“I have no intention of doing that either.”
“If you plan to stay married to Walter, you’ll get used to it whether you like it or not. Because he’s going to be around for a long time. This is the only life he knows or wants.” He started for the wings without waiting for a reply. “Rehearsal at two o’clock tomorrow,” he called back over his shoulder.
Beau and I were left alone on the stage. He smiled slowly. “Just you and me, baby.”
“I don’t think that’s funny.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for it to get so rough.”
When I didn’t answer, a look of contrition came over his face. “I couldn’t help it. I guess I’m a better actor than I thought.”
That broke the ice. I began to smile. “You’re pretty good,” I said. “But you’re also a prick.”
He grinned. “I’ve been called worse. But it’s all for a good cause. Can I buy you a drink just to show there’s no hard feelings?”
“I don’t drink,” I said. “But you can buy me a cup of coffee.”
It all worked the way they had planned it. By the time I got home that night Walter was working on the rewrite. He didn’t come to bed at all and the next morning when I came down for breakfast there was a note on the table.
Dearest,
Have gone to Guy’s for breakfast to go over the new lines. See you at rehearsal. Love,
Walter.
P.S. Please forgive me but I had to use your lines. They were better than anything I could dream up.
W.
I felt the warm glow of approval, and later in rehearsal I noticed that the changes had already been incorporated. For the first time we were all together.
It wasn’t until long afterward that I realized what that afternoon had cost me. By that time Beau and I had already picked up our Tonys for best actor and supporting actress, even though the award for the best play had gone to another writer. It happened the week the play closed on Broadway after a year’s run.
I had a suggestion to make to Walter about his new script and went into his study to give it to him. He listened to me impassively. When I finished he reached for the script I still held in my hand.
“You weren’t supposed to read this,” he said.
“I didn’t know that, Walter. I picked up the copy in the bedroom.”
“I forgot it.”
“I was only trying to help.”
“When I want help I’ll ask for it.”
It was not until then that I really believed they had found the only way to get him to make the changes. He didn’t care any more for the truth than the others in the business. All they were really interested in was their own egos.
“I’m sorry,” I said stiffly. “It won’t happen again.”
“I don’t mean to sound harsh. But you can’t know what it is until you do it yourself. You have some idea how difficult it is. You tried to write once yourself.”
“Then I’ll find out,” I said. “Now that the play is closed and I have the time to spare, I have an idea of my own that I want to try.
“Good. If you have any problems you can talk to me about it.”
I didn’t answer. But when I left the room my mind was already made up. He was the last person in the world I was going to go to for help.
That had been four years ago and the beginning of the end of our marriage. After that in a thousand subtle ways I became aware that he felt challenged. Now it was over. I hoped that he was no longer threatened.
I heard the telephone begin to ring downstairs and glanced at my watch. It was after two in the morning. I had been sitting at the window for over an hour. An impulse made me go downstairs to answer it. My parents were old-fashioned enough to believe that extension telephones were a needless extravagance.
The voice on the phone was harsh and strangely familiar. “Veronica?”
“No. This is JeriLee.”
“JeriLee, I didn’t know you were home. This is Chief Roberts. Do you own a blue Jaguar?”
My heart began to pound but I tried to keep my voice calm. “Yes.”
“There’s been an accident.”
“Oh, no!”
My parents had suddenly appeared behind me. My father reached and took the telephone from my hand. “This is John Randall.”
He listened for a moment, then his face went white. “We better get dressed,” he said as he put down the phone. “There’s been an accident and Bobby’s in the hospital at Jefferson.”
Chapter 5
My brother never went to Vietnam. The car went off the road on the same curve that killed my father fifteen years before. He lived only long enough to apologize to my mother.
“I’m sorry, Ma,” he whispered through the maze of tubes that ran in and out of his body. “I guess I had too much to drink.” Then he turned hi
s head away and went to sleep. And never woke up.
Mother seemed to turn to stone. For her it must have been like a nightmare revisited. No matter what we said or tried to do we received no response. The only question she addressed to Chief Roberts. “Was he alone in the car?”
“Yes, Veronica. He dropped Anne off at her house fifteen minutes earlier. She said she asked him to stay and have a cup of coffee before he went home but he said he wanted to get JeriLee’s car home so that she wouldn’t worry about it.”
She nodded without speaking.
“Anne said they were planning to get married before he went off to training camp,” he said. “Did you know she was pregnant?”
My mother stared at him.
“He hadn’t said anything to us,” my father said.
“She said he was going to tell you this morning.”
“You spoke to her?” my father asked.
The chief nodded. “The accident went out on the one o’clock news flash on the Jefferson radio station. She called here and I spoke to her. She’s pretty broken up.”
“The poor kid,” I said. “She’s got to be scared to death.”
My mother turned on me angrily. “Don’t feel sorry for that slut! I warned Bobby that she would do anything to trap him.”
“I don’t know the girl,” I said. “But it can’t be—”
“I do,” my mother cut in in an icy voice. “I’m almost glad that he’s beyond her reach.”
I felt my heart swell up and almost choke me. Suddenly I realized something I had never known before. I had never seen my mother cry. Never. Not even now. I couldn’t stop the words. “Don’t you know how to cry, Mother?”
She looked at me for a moment, then turned to my father. Her tone was almost normal. It was as if I had said nothing. “We’ll have to make arrangements for the funeral, John…”
I couldn’t stand it. I forced myself between them and looked deep into her eyes. The tears were running down my cheeks. “Bobby’s dead, Mother. Your only son is dead. Can’t you spare him any tears?”
Mother’s voice was cold and calm. “You have no right to speak like that, JeriLee. It’s your fault this happened. You shouldn’t have given him the car.”
It was too much for me. In tears, I turned and walked down the short flight of stairs to the main floor, then out of the front door.
The dawn was breaking in the east. The morning air was cold. I shivered but it wasn’t from the cold. I fished a cigarette from my purse and was about to light it when a large calloused hand held a burning match for me. It was Chief Roberts.
“I’m sorry, JeriLee,” he said. There was genuine sympathy in his voice.
“I know.”
“I don’t like to bother you at a time like this, but there are certain questions that have to be answered.”
“I understand. Go ahead.”
“The car registered and insured to you?”
“Yes.”
“You’ll have to notify your insurance company. I ordered it towed to Clancy’s garage on Main Street.”
I looked at him.
“It’s totaled. There won’t be anything they can do with it.”
I was silent.
“I can come by the house later and you can sign the accident report. You don’t have to come down to the station.”
“Thank you.”
“Chief Roberts,” I called as he started to turn away.
“Yes?”
“That girl, Anne?”
He nodded.
“Tell her to call me. Maybe there’s something I can do.”
“I’ll do that, JeriLee,” he said. “I’ve known her as long as I’ve known you. Since she was a baby. She’s a right nice girl.”
“She has to be if my brother loved her.”
He nodded again, then looked up at the sky. “It’s going to be clear today.”
“Yes,” I said and watched the pudgy figure in the baby-blue uniform walk away from me.
He was right, I thought as I looked up. It would be a clear day. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky.
***
The funeral was on Tuesday. Walter sent flowers from London and Guy came to hold my hand. When we came home afterward, Mother went right up to her room and closed the door. “I guess I’ll pack,” I said to my father. “Guy offered to drive me back to the city.”
“I guess so,” he said. He looked tired. It had not been easy for him. He loved Bobby too.
“If you want me to stay, I will.”
“No. We can manage. It will be all right.”
“But will you be all right?” I asked pointedly.
He got the nuance. “I’ll be fine.” He hesitated a moment. “Don’t be angry with your mother. She’s gone through a great deal.”
“I’m not angry. I just don’t understand.”
“Then be charitable. Don’t push her away. You’re all she has left now.”
“I can’t get through to her, Daddy,” I said. “You know how many times I’ve tried. We don’t think or feel alike about anything.”
“Keep trying,” he said. “That’s what love is about.”
I went over and put my arms around him. “You never stop trying, do you, Daddy? You must love her very much.”
“I do. I see her faults. But they don’t matter. I also see the good things about her. The strength and courage she had to go on with you two children after your father died. Do you know she said she wouldn’t marry me unless you approved? That she would never do anything that would make you unhappy?”
“I didn’t know that.”
“Your aunt and uncle wanted to take you both off her hands so that she could be free to make a new life for herself. She wouldn’t do it. She told them that you were her children, her responsibility, and that she was going to take care of you. The first thing she asked me about when I proposed was how I felt about the two of you.”
I kissed his cheek. He was lovely. And naïve. But then he loved her. He said so himself. So how could I expect him to see that all these wonderful things she said and did were not because she loved but because she thought they were the right things to do? I kissed his cheek again. “I’ll try to remember what you said, Daddy.”
The telephone rang. He picked it up, then held it out to me. “For you.”
I took the phone from his hand. “Give Guy a drink, will you, Daddy? I have a feeling he’s dying of thirst.”
“I’m okay,” Guy said quickly.
Father took his arm and led him into the living room. “I think I could use a whiskey myself,” he said.
“Hello,” I said into the phone.
The voice was soft and young and tired. “Mrs. Thornton?”
“Yes.”
“Anne Laren. Chief Roberts gave me your message. I wanted to call and thank you.”
“I meant it. If there is anything I can do…”
“No,” she said quickly. “Nothing.” She hesitated a moment. “Was everything all right?” My flowers get there?”
“Yes. They were lovely.” I remembered. A blanket of yellow roses with just the small card and her name on it.
“I wanted to go, but the doctor wouldn’t let me get out of bed.”
“Are you okay?”
“I am now,” she said. Again the moment’s hesitation. “I lost the baby, you know.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Maybe it’s for the best,” she said. “At least that’s what everyone says.”
“I guess so,” I said.
She began to cry softly. “But I wanted his baby. I really loved him.”
“I know.”
She stopped crying. I felt the control in her voice. “I’m sorry. It’s bad enough for you. I didn’t want to make it any worse. I just wanted to thank you.”
“Anne,” I said, “when you’re feeling better, give me a call and come into the city. We’ll have lunch. I’d love to meet you.”
“I’d like that,” she said. “I will.”
&
nbsp; My mother was standing at the foot of the stairs when I put down the telephone. “Who were you talking to?” she asked.
“Anne.”
Her lips tightened slightly. “Did you thank her for the flowers?”
“I thought you would do that.”
“If she loved him as much as she said she did, why didn’t she come to the funeral?”
“Why didn’t you ask her?”
Mother’s eyes met mine. “I called. But she wouldn’t speak to me. I guess she was too ashamed of what she had done.”
“That wasn’t the reason, Mother.”
“Then what was the reason?”
“She was probably too sick. She lost the baby.”
My mother’s face suddenly went white and she seemed to stagger. I put out a hand to steady her. “I’m sorry, JeriLee, I really am.”
I didn’t speak but I could see the color slowly coming back into her face. A very strong lady, my mother. “Now he’s really gone,” she said.
We looked at each other for a long moment, then she took a tentative step toward me. I opened my arms. She came into them as if she were the child, and the tears finally came.
Chapter 6
It was Wednesday, matinee day, and Sardi’s was already crowded with ladies from the suburbs.
The bar was crowded too, but mostly with regulars. I nodded to several of them and the maitre d’ came up to me. “Mrs. Thornton.” He bowed. “So nice to see you again. Mr. Fannon is expecting you.”
I followed him to Fannon’s usual table. It was back against the wall separating the restaurant from the Little Bar—the most important location in the place. Everyone coming in or going out could see or be seen. I had heard he hadn’t missed a weekday lunch there for fifteen years, except when he had been in the hospital, and then they had catered his meals.
He was sitting on the banquette. As I approached he tried to rise but his potbelly pressing against the table forced him to remain in a half crouch until I sat down next to him. He sank back into his seat with a sigh and kissed my cheek.
“You look beautiful, my dear,” he said in his hoarse voice.
“Thank you, Mr. Fannon.”
“Adolph, my dear,” he said. “Call me Adolph. After all, we’re old friends.”
I nodded. We had known each other almost two years. That was a long run on Broadway, even for friendship. “Thank you, Adolph.”
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