"Some of it, and some of it I just threw together here." But nothing about it looked thrown together. It was a beautiful place. "Now, cream or sugar?"
"Neither, thank you. Black."
"That must be how you stay so thin." He glanced appreciatively at her narrow and dancer-graceful body as she let herself down in one of the blue chairs.
He was back in a few minutes with two steaming cups and a plate of cheese and fruit.
It was one thirty when she finally ran panic-stricken down the stairs to her car. What would Ivo say? And suddenly, this time, she was praying that he was asleep. As it turned out, her prayers were answered. He had waited till midnight, and then fallen asleep in their bed. Bettina felt a wild pang of guilt as she watched him, and then wondered why. All she had done was have coffee with a member of the cast. What harm could there be in that?
Chapter 16
"Did he beat you?" Anthony teased.
"Of course not. He's wonderful and understanding. He doesn't do things like that."
"Good. Then let's have coffee again sometime. As a matter of fact how about dinner tonight before the show?"
"We'll see." She was purposely vague. She wanted to call Ivo. Maybe they could have dinner quickly somewhere nearby. She hadn't even seen him this morning. When she'd woken up, he was gone. He had left her a note that he had an early appointment. She was beginning to feel that they never saw each other and she didn't like it at all.
But when she called Ivo, he wasn't home. Mattie said he had called to say he'd be out for dinner, and Anthony seemed to be waiting behind her to use the pay phone. He heard the entire conversation despite her best efforts to be discreet, and when she hung up, he smiled disarmingly.
"Can I stand in for dinner, Bettina?"
She was going to say no, but in the face of those blue eyes she found herself saying "Sure." They wound up going somewhere for soup and a sandwich, and talking more about the play. And then almost imperceptibly he switched the conversation to her. He wanted to know everything about her, where she came from, where she lived, even where she'd gone to school as a girl. She told him about her father, whose work he knew. He seemed fascinated by every detail she told him. At last they walked back to the theater, and they went their separate ways. But he found her quickly after the performance as she was preparing to leave. She had a feeling he was going to ask her for a lift again, so she hurried out to the car.
At home she found Ivo waiting up. They chatted for half an hour about their respective days, and at last went upstairs. Bettina undressed slowly as they talked.
"I feel as though I've hardly seen you lately." He looked at her with regret, but no reproach.
"I know." She looked mournful, but he was quick to walk to her side. And a moment later he was helping her to undress, and then quickly he followed her to the bed. Their lovemaking was slow and gentle and fulfilling, but as they lay quietly afterward Bettina found herself longing for their first fire. She turned to Ivo slowly, wanting to see a look of fresh passion lingering in his eyes. And instead she found him sleeping, his face turned to her and a small smile on his mouth. She lay on one elbow for a long time, watching him, and gently she kissed him on both eyes, but as she did so she realized her mind had strayed to Anthony, and relentlessly she dragged it back to the man at her side.
The friendship with Anthony continued to flourish as the success of the play went on. They had sandwiches together now and then backstage, and occasionally she had coffee with him in his loft. Several times a week he brought her small bouquets of flowers, but they were always presented to her casually, as though they meant nothing more than that he was her friend. Once or twice she tried to bring it up casually with Ivo, but it somehow never sounded quite right.
It was in the dead of winter when Ivo went back to see the play, as though he also needed to be there, to see, to try to reach out and grasp something that was nagging at the back of his mind. He had timed his entrance into the darkened theater perfectly, sitting anonymously in the next-to-last row. And then, as the curtain rose and he watched him, he thought he knew. Anthony had the grace of a long sleek black leopard, moving hypnotically through the motions of his part. Ivo barely heard the words he was speaking. He only watched him, and then, with a terrible sensation of betrayal and aching, he understood. The betrayal was not Bettina's, but that of the hands of time he had fought for so long.
It wasn't until spring that Bettina looked troubled. She had come home late one night, looking disturbed, and Ivo watched her, not sure whether to ask questions or leave her alone. Something was obviously bothering her, but for the first time in their marriage she didn't want to talk. She stared at Ivo absently, and eventually wandered upstairs alone. He found her staring out at the city from the terrace, frowning, with her hairbrush hanging useless in her hand.
"Something wrong, darling?"
But Bettina shook her head vaguely. "No." And then suddenly she turned to him, with a look of terror in her eyes. "Yes."
"What's the matter?"
"Oh, Ivo...." She sat down on a garden chair and stared at him, her eyes huge and luminous in the dark. Behind her was the soft light of the apartment, which caught the rich auburn glow of her hair. He thought that she had never looked more lovely, and he dreaded what she might have to say. All winter he had had a feeling of foreboding, and all winter he had been so dreadfully tired. It made him wonder sometimes if retiring had been a mistake. He had never felt that way while he had still worked.
"Darling, what is it?" He went to her, took her hand, and sat down. "Whatever it is, you can tell me. Above all, Bettina, we're friends."
"I know." She looked at him gratefully with her huge green eyes, and slowly they filled with tears. "They've asked me to tour."
"What?" He looked at her with relief and amusement. "Is that all?" Dumbly she nodded yes. "What's so awful about that?"
"But, Ivo, I'd be gone for four months! And what about you? I don't know ... I can't do it ... but--"
"But you want to?" His eyes never left hers, and with one hand she began to play with her hair.
"I'm not sure. They've ... oh, Jesus, it's crazy...." And then she looked at him, so unhappy, so obviously torn. "They've asked me to be the assistant director. Me, Ivo, the errand girl, the pusher of scenery, the nothing, after all these years."
"They're very smart. They know how much you've learned over the years. I'm proud of you, darling." He looked at her with a warm glow in his eyes. "Do you want to do it?"
"Oh, Ivo, I don't know ... what about you?"
"Never mind about me. We've been together for almost seven years. Don't you think we could weather four months? Besides, I could fly out to see you now and then. After all there are advantages to being married to a man who's retired."
She smiled bittersweetly and took a tight hold of his hand. "I don't want to leave you."
But he eyed her honestly. "Yes, you do, darling. And it's all right. I've had my life, you know, a full one. I have no right to expect you to spend all of yours sitting here with me."
"Would you miss me?" She looked up at him again with the face of a little girl.
"Outrageously. But if it's what you really need to do, Bettina"--there was a long pause as he looked at her--"then I understand. Why don't you think about it for a while? How soon do they want an answer?"
She gulped almost audibly. "Tomorrow."
"Anxious, aren't they?" He tried to sound light-hearted. "And how soon would you go?"
"In a month."
"With the original cast?"
"Partly. Anthony Pearce is going, and the female lead." She rambled on for a minute, but he didn't hear her, she had already told him all he wanted to know. He looked at her gently and shrugged softly in the warm night air. "Why don't you sleep on it and see how you feel in the morning. Is Steve going to be the director by the way?"
She shook her head slowly. "No. He got a job with a Broadway play." She sat there for a while, saying nothing, and at last
she got up and went inside. It was as though they both knew what was happening, but neither could speak. She left him there, on the terrace, drifting in his thoughts. Something had changed between them--without any warning, but it had. Suddenly she seemed so much younger, and he felt so old. Even their lovemaking had slowly changed over the past year. For a moment he wanted to rail at the fates for what was happening, it wasn't fair ... but then he knew. He had had seven years with her. It was more than he had a right to.
He wandered inside. He made no move to make love to her that evening. He didn't want to confuse her even more. On her side of the bed Bettina lay wondering if she should stay with Ivo, or go. At last she heard his soft breathing and turned to look at him, so gentle, so loving, asleep on his side. She touched his arm as she watched him, and then she turned away and wiped the tears from her eyes. In the morning she would have to tell him. She had to do it. Had to. She needed to do it. She had no choice.
Chapter 17
"Ivo ... you'll call me ... promise?" She looked at him in the airport, her huge green eyes filling with tears. "And I'll call you too. I swear ... every day ... and when you come for the weekend--" But suddenly she couldn't go on. All she could do was reach out to him, blindly, barely seeing through her veil of tears. "Oh, Ivo ... I'm so sorry...." She hated to go. But Ivo was there, holding her, comforting as always, his voice gentle in her ear.
"No, stop it, darling. I'll see you in a few weeks. Everything is going to be fine. And you'll write a beautiful play after this. I'll be so proud of you. You'll see." His voice was gentle and soothing as he held her in his arms.
"Do you really think so?" She looked at him, sniffing loudly, and then fresh tears came to her eyes. "But what about you?"
"We already discussed that, I'll be fine. Remember me? I lived a hell of a long time before I was lucky enough to have you. Now just be a good girl and enjoy it. Hell, this is your big chance, Madam Assistant Director." He was teasing now and she finally smiled. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her.
"Now, my little love, you have to go, or you'll miss your plane, and that is not the way to start a new job." They were starting in St. Louis, and the rest of the cast was already there. They had left that morning, but Bettina had wanted the last hours she could spare with Ivo in New York.
She glanced back at him as she ran toward the gate, feeling like a runaway child. Yet he was firm and kind and as loving as ever as he waved to her, and he stayed until he could see no more of the plane. As he left the airport Ivo Stewart walked slowly, thinking back to that morning, that summer, last year, and then the last twenty-five. A sudden tremor of panic ran through him as he wondered if this had just been good-bye.
Bettina landed in St. Louis at 4:03 that afternoon. It was cutting it a little close for their first performance, but they had rehearsed so often that the cast was as tight as could be, and the director had flown out from New York with them, so Bettina felt safe coming in as late as she did. As the plane touched down she sighed to herself, thinking of Ivo, and slowly she forced her mind back to work. She left the plane hurriedly, anxious to pick up her bags, drop them at the hotel, and get to the theater. She wanted to reconnoiter and make sure that everything was all right. She was already busy and distracted as she hurried past the other passengers on the way to her bags.
"Good God, lover, what's the rush? You're going to knock down an old lady if you don't slow down and watch out!" She started to turn in annoyance, and then suddenly she laughed.
"What are you doing here?" She grinned at Anthony in astonishment as she stopped in her tracks.
"Oh, let's see, I came out here to pick up a friend," he grinned at her, "who just happens to be the A.D. of our show. Anyone you know, green eyes?"
"Okay, smartass. Thanks." But despite the teasing and the exchanges she was immensely glad to see him. She had felt suddenly very lost and alone as she got off the plane. "How's everything going at the theater?"
"Who knows? I've been hanging out at the hotel all afternoon."
"Is everyone all right?" She looked genuinely concerned and he laughed.
"Yes, little mother, they're fine." As they picked up her valises, his gaiety was contagious, and by the time they caught a taxi into the city, they were both laughing like two kids. He was teasing and playing and being silly. It was the closest she'd ever come to acting like a child. He brought that out in her, and she enjoyed it. It was a salute to all the moments that had passed her by as a little girl.
"This is it?" She looked at the hotel as they disembarked. The road show had put them in what had to be the oldest, and certainly the ugliest, hotel in town.
"Didn't I tell you, love? They had San Quentin moved all the way to Saint Louis just for us." He looked delighted as he said it and Bettina cracked up.
"God, it's awful. Is it as bad inside?"
"No. Worse. Cockroaches as big as dogs. But not to worry, darlin', I bought a leash!"
"Anthony ... please ... it can't be that bad."
"Yes, it is." He reassured her with pleasure, and when she checked into her room, she realized that he was right. The walls were cracked, the paint was peeling, the bed was hard, the bedspreads looked dingy and gray. Even the water glasses in the bathroom were dirty. "Was I right?" He looked at her cheerfully as she dropped her suitcase on the floor.
"Well, you don't have to sound so cheerful about it." She smiled at him ruefully and sat down, but his spirits couldn't be dampened. He was a little boy on holiday as he jumped up and down next to her on the bed. "Stop it, Anthony! Don't you ever get tired for chrissake?" She was suddenly hot and tired and fed up and she couldn't remember why she had left Ivo in New York. Surely not to travel around the country with this madman and to stay in fleabag hotels.
"Of course I never get tired. Why should I? I'm young! But I'm also not as spoiled as you are, Bettina." His voice was caressing, and she turned to look at him.
"What do you mean'spoiled'?"
"I don't have a chauffeur or live in a penthouse. I've spent most of my life in dumps like this."
She wasn't sure if she should be sorry or angry, and she didn't know what to say. "So? Do you resent me for being married to a somewhat"--she hesitated-- "comfortable man?"
Anthony's eyes stared straight into hers. "No. But I resent you like hell for being married to a man almost three times your age."
This time her eyes flashed. "It's none of your business."
"Maybe I think it is."
Her heart pounded, and then she turned away. "I love him very much."
"Maybe you just love his money." His voice was insinuating, and she turned in fury at what he had just said.
"Don't you ever say that again. Ivo saved me, and he's the only human being who ever gave a damn about me." She had told Anthony the whole story about her father's debts one night as they shared coffee in the loft.
"That's no reason to have married him, for chrissake." Anthony actually looked irate.
"I told you, I love him. Do you understand?" Bettina was livid. "He's my husband and he's a wonderful man."
But suddenly Anthony's voice grew softer, almost caressing her with his words. "When I think of you married to a man forty-three years older than you are, it bloody breaks my heart." He looked at her mournfully and she stared.
"Why?" Despite the throbbing in her temples, she tried desperately to calm down.
"It's not natural. You should be married to someone younger. You should be young and silly. You should have kids."
She shrugged, and then sighed deeply, sinking into the uncomfortable bed. "Anthony, I've never been young and silly. And I've known Ivo all my life. He's the best thing that could have happened to me." But why was she doing this? Why was she justifying Ivo to him?
He looked at her sadly. "I wish someone would say that about me."
She smiled then, for the first time since they had started the discussion; her anger had begun to fade. "Maybe someday someone will. Now, can we make a deal please?"
"What's that?"
"No more nonsense about Ivo, no more harping on me because he's more than twice my age."
"All right, all right, it's a deal," he said begrudgingly, "but don't expect me to understand."
"I won't." But she did expect him to if he was her friend.
"Okay, now let's get the hell to the theater before we both get fired." And a few minutes later the bad feelings were gone. They had to be together too much to allow themselves the luxury of a fight.
They arrived together, they left together, they ate together, they talked together, they watched television in hotel rooms together, they fell asleep side by side in airports and ugly hotels waiting for rooms. They were inseparable. A tiny nucleus within a larger one. The entire cast and crew hung together as though they had been grafted, but within the group cliques and couples inevitably formed. Among them were Anthony and Bettina. No one quite understood, no one dared to ask questions, but after the first couple of weeks everyone knew that if you were looking for one, you'd find the other one too.
"Bettina?" He was pounding on her door early one morning. Usually now she let him have the spare key and he pounded her on the ass to wake her up, wherever they were. She was so exhausted that it almost took brutality to waken her. But the night before, in the hotel in Portland, she had forgotten to give him the key. "Bettina! Dammit! Bettina!"
"Kick it in!" One of the understudies smiled and walked by as Anthony muttered.
"For chrissake, woman, wake up!" Finally she staggered to the door with a yawn.
"Thanks. Did it take long?"
"Jesus." He rolled his eyes and sauntered in.
"Did you bring me coffee?"
"Would you believe they don't have any in this flophouse. We have to go two blocks down the street to the nearest coffee shop."
Bettina looked at him blearily. "My heart may stop before that."
"That's what I thought." He smiled at her mysteriously and returned to the hall. He was back a moment later with a small plastic tray with two cups of coffee and a stack of fresh Danish. "Oh, God, you're wonderful. Where did you get that?"
Loving (1981) Page 10