Don't Speak to Strange Girls

by Whittington, Harry

  He got up now and paced the library, sweating. God, the things you could let yourself into. Reva had gone home with a bloody mouth, two black eyes and a thousand dollars. What was the matter with him? He’d never behaved like this in his life. There was no sense asking what was the matter with him.

  He knew what was the matter with him, all right.

  “Clay.”

  It was Joanne.

  He heeled around, standing in the center of the room staring at her. He felt the sudden hot burning at the rims of his eyes, the constriction in his solar-plexus. He wanted to run to her. He wanted to grab her in his arms and kiss her and never stop kissing her. He wanted to smash his fist in her face, the way he had smashed his fist into Reva’s face for no reason at all. Only he had a reason. He had to see the agony in her face that he felt inside… . He wanted to grab her and hold her and never let her go.

  He did not move.

  “I called,” Joanne said. Her face was pale, she was watching him uncertainly. “I’ve called ever since you left the other night — you didn’t even say goodbye.”

  “Sorry.”

  “McEsters said you were in Palm Springs.”

  “I was.”

  “He said that when I called today.”

  “Did he?”

  “Stop hating me, Clay.”

  “I don’t hate you.”

  She smiled. “May I come in?”

  “Do you want to?”

  “I’m up here. I came all the way … to you, Clay. Please don’t treat me like this.”

  “All right. What do you want?”

  She straightened. “Don’t talk this way, Clay. If you want me to get out, you don’t have to treat me like this. You can say so. I know what you think of me. I know what you think I am. You and your friends showed me plainly enough the last time I was here … But you did come back to me … Remember?”

  “I remember all of it. I remember a headache. I remember an all-night party. I remember a guy named Johnny.”

  “Oh. Johnny. For goodness sake. He’s just a boy I know. He means nothing to me.”

  “I believe that. I’d like to know. What does mean something to you?”

  “You do.”

  “You have hellish ways to show it.”

  Again her head tilted. She had never looked lovelier, more lost to him. “Maybe I’m not used to being treated the way you — and your friends treated me, Clay. Maybe I don’t get over it so easily — even when I want to.”

  He put out his arms. She ran to him, pressed herself against him. He held her head in his hands, turned her face up. He kissed her, tasting the salt of her tears. His need for her was all snarled in anger and confusion. He did not know what to believe.

  He drew her with him to the divan, kicked the script half across the room.

  She lay in his arms.

  He stroked her hair, drew his fingers across the smoothness of her cheeks and throat.

  “We can’t do this, Joanne. So help me. This on and off. Hot and cold. Sorry. I’m not made that way. I can’t turn it on and off. I’ve wanted you — wanted to love you since the first time you walked in here. I know I’m a damned fool, but I can’t stand knowing about Johnny.”

  “Oh, darling. Forget him. He means nothing to me.”

  “Still. He’s your age … I’m not. I think about him holding you in his arms like this. I get sick.”

  She did not say anything, pressed closer to him.

  “Does he love you like this?” He could not help asking it.

  “Not very often.”

  “Not very often! Jesus Christ. Jesus H. Christ. Not very often. What’s often? How many times is often? Three times a week? Four? Five? My God.” He felt as though a steel bar was wedged between his belt and his throat.

  “Don’t talk about it, darling. Don’t torture yourself. He doesn’t mean anything.”

  He wiped the chilled sweat from his forehead. “He doesn’t mean anything and he — loves you half a dozen times a week. What about the ones that mean something? Christ. What about them?”

  “You mean something.” Her voice sounded low, far away.

  “Sure. A nice old man.”

  “Don’t say that.”

  “Why not? I’m old enough to be your father. Why don’t we admit it? Why don’t you get out of here?”

  She twisted in his arms, pressing her body against him. He felt the excitement in the very way she was made.

  She kissed his throat. “I know what’s the matter with you,” she whispered. “You’re jealous.”

  “Oh my God. This is news?”

  “You’re jealous of the people I know. Did you think I knew nobody? Darling, did you think I came to you from a world where there were no other people?”

  “Maybe that isn’t the way I think — but I reckon it’s the way I’d want it.”

  “You don’t want me to see Johnny again. I won’t. It’s that simple.” She was moving her hands along his neck, caressing him.

  He felt chilled. He did not want to ask her to promise not to see the young guy again, and he would not. He found himself suddenly not bothering to wish she would drop Johnny, but that he himself would not be sucked into believing she meant it when she said she would.

  Her voice remained gentle, throaty and warm, half-teasing. “I don’t think you like my friends.”

  “You might say that. Understatement is always good.”

  She laughed.

  “You didn’t like Flo’s party.”

  “Not very much. Reckon it’s not my kind of party.”

  She was silent. The silence stretched longer. He frowned, looking down at her. “What’s the matter, Joanne?”

  “You don’t like my friends. You never take me anywhere with yours … but you get mad with me — I’m not supposed to get mad.” She said it without heat. She was stating a fact. He felt his face grow hot.

  “Joanne.” He exhaled heavily. “I’m sorry. It’s just that since I found you, I’ve wanted you all to myself.”

  “It’s all right.”

  “Look. I’ll take you. Where do you want to go? Whom do you want to meet?” He reclined there, caressing her, holding her, trying to think where he could take her that she would enjoy. His voice was puzzled. “Hell, Joanne. Reckon I have no friends … I’ve tried to think. Looks like Ruth handled that department of my life, too. Anybody I know is too old for you — hell, they’re as old as I am.”

  “All right.”

  “Stop acting like this. Whatever has happened between us is past. I reckon I can learn to like your friends, if they can stand me. If you want to meet the people I know, I’ll introduce you. From now on, it’s what you want.”

  “You know what I want.”

  He stood up, swinging her into his arms. He crossed the foyer, carrying her, went up the stairs. From the rear of the house were sounds the servants made, distantly below them were the sounds of the town. He carried her up the stairs, driven by the anxious need to hold her and love her the way he had dreamed of holding her and loving her in his loneliness. She was very light, the weight was nothing. He felt the crazy piston-knock in his heart. The hell with that. He would never let her learn of that. This was just another proof he was too old for her. Too old? Hell, right now he was younger than she was, younger than she had ever been. He went along the hall and in his bedroom he undressed her, and it was as he had dreamed, only more wonderful, and it was much better because for the first time he believed he could keep her with him.

  chapter fourteen

  ABOUT SEVEN o’clock that evening he woke up and felt Joanne lying close against him across his bed. He opened his eyes and the first thing he saw was her face above his. She was propped on her hand, studying him. He had the uncomfortable feeling she had been like this, looking at his face for a long time. There was still afternoon light in the room; it would not be full dark for almost another hour. Her face moved nearer, her red-gold hair tumbled on each side of his head cutting out the daylight. Her m
outh crushed against his.

  “I thought you’d never wake up.”

  “The first time I’ve slept in God knows when.”

  “Funny, I can’t sleep when you’re with me.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  Joanne trailed her lips across his face, moving her heated body across his body. “You know what?”

  “I know I love you.”

  “I never knew what loving was like. Not until I knew you. I knew everybody did it. But I didn’t know why.”

  He smiled. “All my life. All of it, I’ve wanted someone like you. Maybe I spent years denying it — never even admitted it to myself. But it’s true. I never knew how true until right now.”

  She raised her head, stared at the clock on the table at the head of his bed. “I’ve got to go.”

  “Are you crazy?”

  “No. I work for a living.”

  “You can’t leave me. I won’t let you go.”

  “I’ll come back.”

  “Will you? You’ve said that before.”

  “You can’t be a pig.”

  “I’m a pig. Didn’t you know that?”

  “I’m beginning to suspect it. But I’ve got to work. I’ve got to live.”

  “How much do you make at that place on Wilshire?”

  She was silent a moment, and then she told him.

  “All right. From tonight you’re making twice that.”

  “You can’t pay me. I told you. I won’t let you. It makes me feel like a whore. I don’t mind being a whore. But I hate to feel like one.”

  “You want me to hit you?”

  “No.”

  “Then don’t ever say that again. Don’t ever say it around me. You want a job? Okay … you can read to me. There’s a book I can’t stand. You can read it to me.”

  She smiled, thinking about this, accepting it. “How do you know I can read?”

  “Oh, Lord. Stop thinking up obstacles.”

  She laughed and covered his mouth with hers. “I’ll read to you all the time.”

  “I’m damned if you will. You’re working for me. You’ll read when I want you to. I’ll tell Hoff in the morning. He’ll put you on the payroll.”

  “Hoff. He’ll go through the ceiling.”

  His voice was chilled. “He’ll go through the window if he opens his damned mouth.”

  • • •

  When Hoff and Shatner arrived in the library two days later, Joanne was standing perfectly straight in the center of the room. Clay stood before her, gaze fixed on hers. His voice was pitched so low they could not hear him, but they could feel the tension in it. He waved at them to keep quiet.

  “Hypnotism,” Shatner said with a wry glance at Hoff. “His great love. Thirty years an actor, all the time what he wanted was to be a hypnotist.”

  “He used to try to get me to let him hypnotize me,” Hoff said. “Hell with that noise.”

  “She’s not being hypnotized, either,” Shatner said, voice tinged with anger. “She’s just going along with the gag.”

  “She goes along with all the gags,” Hoff said. He made a downward gesture. “Wouldn’t you? If you had found a good think like this? Wouldn’t you?”

  “You want to get us thrown out of here?”

  “Again?” Hoff lifted his shoulders. “I wouldn’t lift my voice against her if she set the place on fire.”

  “I’d hold the torch for her.”

  They watched Stuart hold Joanne’s left arm extended out from her body. They moved nearer, listening. He was telling her it was locked tightly at the elbow, that all her strength had flowed into her left arm and it was so strong that nobody could move her arm, that she could not move it no matter how hard she tried.

  Suddenly Joanne’s lips moved, her face pulled. She cried out, “I can’t move it!”

  Amazed, Hoff and Shatner inched forward. They stared into Joanne’s face. There was no doubt she was in at least a light stage of hypnosis. Her arm remained rigid, out from her body.

  Clay laughed, pleased. He spoke to Joanne. “Your arm will relax now, and you will wake up, feeling fine, feeling better than you’ve ever felt in your life.”

  After a moment, Joanne’s arm fell to her side and her eyes cleared. She saw Hoff and Shatner for the first time. She threw her arms around Stuart.

  “You’re wonderful,” she told him.

  “He’s wonderful,” Shatner said to Hoff.

  “This makes headlines?” Hoff asked.

  She ignored them. There was pleasure and excitement in her voice. “I didn’t really believe you could do it. It was just a game, and I was going along with you, and suddenly — my arm — I couldn’t move my arm.”

  Clay laughed, holding her. “That’s where a hypnotist always gets you,” he said. “You think, he’s a nice guy, I’ll go along with him — and by the time you find out he’s not a nice guy — it’s too late.”

  “All of a sudden I realized I’d do what you told me.”

  “Sure.”

  “Now I’m afraid of you.”

  “Why?”

  “I’ll be in your power — have to do what you tell me.”

  “Oh, no. No hypnotist can make you do anything you truly don’t want to do.”

  She laughed. “But that’s it, how do I know what I truly don’t want to do?”

  “That’s a good question,” Shatner said, clapping a folded newspaper across his hand. “Could we talk to you a moment, Clay?”

  “Go ahead.”

  Shatner glanced at Stuart. He moved his gaze meaningfully toward Joanne.

  “Don’t start that again,” Stuart warned him.

  Shatner shrugged. “Louella’s column,” he said. “You made it. I quote: ‘Good to see Clay Stuart out again. At the Pantages première last night, old long and lanky was there, and the fans gave him a huge welcome. First time anyone has seen him in public since his lovely Ruth died. And who in the world is the lovely red-head with him?’ Unquote.”

  “So?” Stuart stared at them, daring them to speak. “Joanne wanted to go. So we went.”

  The première? For hell’s sake, why not? He had thought it would amuse her. Maybe you’ll be amused, he’d said. Amused? She’d been chilled with enchantment, hands cold and eyes starry. He thought about the way it had been with Joanne, the way he’d hoped to be infected by her entrancement, and the way he had not been. He’d tried to see it with her eyes; her eyes had glowed. There was for her more than the intoxication of being present, there was the elation of suddenly finding herself part of the glamour, part of the elite going along the plush carpeting, photographed and interviewed and stared at. Suddenly she was on the inside of the ropes. But it had been impossible to contract her fever even when she clung to his arm: he’d seen too many of these carneys — if they’d ever held any thrill for him, it was long dead. It seemed to him, and he cursed himself for this sign of senility: looking backward — it seemed to him the old time première had magic no longer possible. Those early spectators had been truly enchanted, wide-eyed and expectant, as if they were on a carnival midway back home in Iowa believing everything the barkers said because they wanted to believe, deceiving themselves because it was such pleasurable self-deception. Nowadays — and last night — it was all phony and contrived, even the bleacherites recognized this phoniness. Producers had advertised each new product as colossal until the word meant no more than darling, and out here everyone was darling, even those you hated, especially those you hated, and everything new was colossal, especially the dog. There was no longer any sense of glory, everybody was hep to the phony atmosphere, everybody had become sophisticated, cynical; they were all in the know, and even if they experienced an honest emotion they’d have concealed it as they would a communicable disease. He supposed for a few minutes last night there had been a sense of actual, electric excitement. This was when the remaining few super-stars arrived, the glamorous, the notorious, the odd. The onlookers forgot themselves enough to press forward, staring at the
super-stars, remembering them, cataloguing them. wondering where they’d been before they arrived here, where they’d go afterwards. They had stared at these few faces with peeping-tom intensity, looking for a secret there, secret happiness, hidden despair, signs of deterioration and decay.

  Shatner looked ill. He glanced at Hoff, but he shrugged. Shatner tossed the newspaper on the table. “All right, Clay. I — got to get back to the office. I’ll see you. Okay?”

  “Sure,” Clay said. “Any time.”

  He let them get to the door. “Shatner?”

  They paused. Shatner turned, but Hoff remained with his back to the room, poised. “Yeah?”

  “Do me a favor?”

  “Sure.”

  “Call Dick Creek at Warners.”

  Hoff spun around. His face was pulled into a hopeful smile. “You’re going to star in Creek’s production of Man of the Desert?”

  “That’s not why I want you to call him,” Clay said. “I want him to set up a screen test for Joanne.”

  Neither Shatner nor Hoff spoke for a moment. When Shatner spoke, he sounded as if he were going to cry.

  “Okay, Clay. I’ll ask him.”

  Clay said, “Tell him she’s pretty good. I’ve been teaching her what I know — but tell Dick he can undo that in a few hours.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Yeah. Tell Dick I’d consider it a real earthy favor if he directed the test himself.”

  • • •

  Kay Ringling drove slowly up the hill. She could hear the party when she was two blocks from the house, but she could not believe it until she found a place to park in the drive and entered the wide-open front door.

  Most of the cars parked in Stuart’s drive were foreign models, either shining with care, or studiously neglected.

  She walked across the veranda. Several couples were dancing out here and she could hear others swimming and diving in the pool. No one paid any attention to her and she stood a long time in the doorway, looking for Clay. Young people brushed past her with a glance, but none spoke to her. She was afraid she wouldn’t have understood their language if they had. Looking at them made her feel very old, like something that had gone out of style.