Another Country (20 page)

But this was his day, apparently— he seemed to be coming to the end of the tunnel in which he had been traveling so long. “A pest!” she cried, and laughed. “If you aren’t the cutest thing.” Then, soberly, “I was the one who was the
pest
— but I just couldn’t help it.”

They turned into a gray, anonymous building which had two functionless pillars on either side of the door and an immense plain of imitation marble and leather beyond it. And he suddenly remembered— it had gone entirely out of his mind— that this lunch was for the purpose of celebrating the publication of Richard’s first novel. He said to Ida, “You know, this lunch is a celebration and I forgot to bring anything.”

The elevator man rose from his chair, looking at them dubiously, and Vivaldo gave him the floor number and then, as the man still seemed to hesitate, the number of the apartment. He closed the door and the elevator began to move upward.

“What are we celebrating?” Ida asked.

“You and me. We finally have a real date together. You didn’t call to break it at the last minute and you haven’t said you’ve got to rush right home after just
one
drink.” He grinned at Ida, but he was aware that he was speaking partly for the benefit of the elevator man, whom he had never noticed before. But he disliked him intensely now.

“No, come on, now, what are we
really
celebrating? Or maybe I should say what are Richard and Cass celebrating?”

“Richard’s novel. It’s published. It’ll be in all the bookstores Monday.”

“Oh, Vivaldo,” she said, “that’s wonderful. He must feel
wonderful
. A real, honest-to-God published writer.”

“Yes,” he said, “one of our boys made it.” He was touched by her enthusiasm. And he was aware, at the same time, that she had also been speaking for the benefit of the elevator man.

“It must be wonderful for Cass, too,” she said. “And for
you,
he’s your friend.” She looked at him. “When are you going to bring out
your
novel?”

This question, and even more her way of asking it, seemed to contain implications he scarcely dared to trust. “One of these days,” he muttered; and he blushed. The elevator stopped and they walked into a corridor. Richard’s door was to the left of them. “It looks like I’ve got my hands full right now.”

“What do you mean? It’s not working the way you want it to?”

“The novel, you mean?”

“Yes.” Then, as they faced each other before the door, “What did you think I meant?”

“Oh, that’s what I thought you meant, all right.” He thought,
Now listen, don’t spoil it, don’t rush it, you stupid bastard, don’t spoil it
. “It’s just that it’s not exactly what
I
meant.”

“What
did
you mean?” She was smiling.

“I meant— I hoped I’m going to have my hands full now, with you.” She called part of her smile back, but she still looked amused. She watched him. “You know— dinners and lunches and— walks— and movies and things— with you. With you.” He dropped his eyes. “You know what I mean?” Then, in the warm, electrical silence, he raised his eyes to hers, and he said, “You know what I mean.”

“Well,” she said, “let’s talk about it after lunch, okay?” She turned from him and faced the door. He did not move. She looked at him with her eyes very wide. “Aren’t you going to ring the bell?”

“Sure.” They watched each other. Ida reached out and touched him on the cheek. He grabbed her hand and held it for a moment against his face. Very gently, she pulled her hand away. “You are the cutest thing I’ve ever seen,” she said, “you
are
. Go on and ring that bell, I’m hungry.”

He laughed and pressed the button. They heard the sour buzzing inside the apartment, then confusion, a slammed door, and footsteps. He took one of Ida’s hands in both of his. “I want to be with you,” he said. “I want you to be with me. I want that more than I’ve ever wanted anything in the world.”

Then the door opened and Cass stood before them, dressed in a rusty orange frock, her hair pulled back and falling around her shoulders. She held a cigarette in one hand, with which she made a gesture of exaggerated welcome.

“Come in, children,” she said, “I’m delighted to see you, but there’s absolute chaos in this house today. Everything’s gone wrong.” She closed the door behind them. They heard a child screaming somewhere in the apartment, and Richard’s voice raised in anger. Cass listened for a moment, her forehead wrinkled with worry. “That’s Michael,” she said, helplessly, “He’s been impossible all day— fighting with his brother, with his father, with me. Richard finally gave him a spanking and I guess he’s going to leave him in his room.” Michael’s screams diminished and they heard the voices of Michael and his father working out, apparently, the terms of a truce. Cass lifted her head. “Well. I’m sorry to keep you standing in the hall. Take off your things, I’ll show you into the living room and give you things to drink and to nibble on— you’ll need them, lunch is going to be late, of course. Ida, how are you? I haven’t seen you in God knows when.” She took Ida’s coat and shawl. “Do you mind if I don’t hang them up? I’ll just dump them in the bedroom, other people are coming over after lunch.” They followed her into the large bedroom. Ida immediately walked over to the large, full-length mirror and worriedly patted her hair and applied new lipstick.

“I’m just fine, Cass,” she said, “but you’re the one—! You got a famous husband all of a sudden. How does it feel?”

“He’s not even famous
yet,
” said Cass, “and, already I can’t stand it. Somehow, it just seems to reduce itself to having drinks and dinners with lots of people you certainly wouldn’t be talking to if they weren’t”— she coughed— “in the
profession
. God, what a profession. I had no idea.” Then she laughed. They started toward the living room. “Try to persuade Vivaldo to become a plumber.”

“No, dear,” said Ida, “I wouldn’t trust Vivaldo with no tools whatever. This boy is just as clumsy as they come. I’m always expecting him to fall over those front feet he’s got. Never saw anybody with so
many
front feet.” The living room was down two steps and the wide windows opened on a view of the river. Ida seemed checked, but only for an instant by the view of the river. She walked into the center of the room. “This is wonderful. You people have really got some space.”

“We were really very lucky,” Cass said. “The people who had it had been here for years and years and they finally decided to move to Connecticut— or someplace like that. I don’t remember. Anyway, since they’d been here so long the rent hadn’t gone up much, you know? So it’s really a lot cheaper than most things like this in the city.” She looked over at Ida. “You know, you look wonderful, you really do. I’m so glad to see you.”

“I’m glad to see you,” said Ida, “and I feel fine, I feel better than I’ve felt, oh, in years.” She crossed to the bar, and stood facing Cass. “Look like you people done got serious about your drinking, too,” she said, in a raucous, whiskey voice. “Let me have a taste of that there Gutty Sark.”

Cass laughed, “I thought you were a bourbon woman.” She dropped some ice in a glass.

“When it comes to liquor,” Ida said, “I’s
anybody’s
woman.” And she laughed, looking exactly like a little girl. “Let me have some water in that, sugar, I don’t want to get carried away here this afternoon.” She looked toward Vivaldo, who stood on the steps, watching her. She leaned toward Cass. “Honey, who’s that funny-looking number standing in the do’way?”

“Oh, he drops by from time to time. He always looks that way. He’s harmless.”

“I’ll have the same thing the lady’s drinking,” said Vivaldo, and joined them at the bar.

“Well, I’m glad you told me he’s harmless,” Ida said, and winked at him, and drummed her long fingernails on the bar.

“I’ll have a short drink with you,” said Cass, “and then I’m simply going to have to vanish. I’ve got to finish fixing lunch— and we have to
eat
it— and I’m not even dressed yet.”

“Well, I’ll help you in the kitchen,” Ida said. “What time are all these other people coming over?”

“About five, I guess. There’s this TV producer coming, he’s supposed to be very bright and liberal— Steve Ellis, does that sound right?—”

“Oh, yes,” said Ida, “he’s supposed to be very good, that man. He’s
very
well known.” She mentioned a show of his she had seen some months ago, which utilized Negroes, and which had won a great many awards. “Wow.” She wiggled her shoulders. “Who else is coming?”

“Well. Ellis. And Richard’s editor. And some other writer whose name I can’t remember. And I guess they’re bringing their wives.” She sipped her drink, looking rather weary. “I can’t imagine why we’re doing this. I guess it’s mainly on account of the TV man. But Richard’s publishers are giving Richard a small party Monday— in their offices— and he could just as well see all those people then.”

“Buck up, old girl,” said Vivaldo. “You’re just going to have to get used to it.”

“I expect so.” She gave them a quick, mischievous grin, and whispered, “But they seem so silly—! those I’ve met. And they’re so
serious,
they just
shine
with it.”

Vivaldo laughed. “That’s treason, Cass. Be careful.”

“I know. They really are getting behind the book, though; they have great hopes for it. You haven’t seen it yet, have you?” She walked over to the sofa, where books and papers were scattered and picked the book up, thoughtfully. She crossed the room again. “Here it is.”

She put the book down on the bar between Ida and Vivaldo. “It’s had great advance notices. You know, ‘literate,’ ‘adult,’ ‘thrilling’— that sort of thing. Richard’ll show them to you. It’s even been compared to
Crime and Punishment
— because they both have such a simple story line, I guess.” Vivaldo looked at her sharply. “Well. I’m only quoting.”

The sun broke free of a passing cloud and filled the room. They squinted down at the book on the bar. Cass stood quietly behind them.

The book jacket was very simple, jagged red letters on a dark blue ground:
The Strangled Men. A novel of murder, by Richard Silenski
. He looked at the jacket flap which described the story and then turned the book over to find himself looking into Richard’s open, good-natured face. The paragraph beneath the picture summed up Richard’s life, from his birth to the present:
Mr. Silenski is married and is the father of two sons, Paul (11) and Michael (8). He makes his home in New York City
.

He put the book down. Ida picked it up.

“It’s wonderful,” he said to Cass. “You must be proud.” He took her face between his hands and kissed her on the forehead. He picked up his drink. “There’s always something wonderful about a book, you know?— when its really, all of a sudden, a book, and it’s there between covers. And there’s your name on it. It must be a great feeling.”

“Yes,” said Cass.

“You’ll know that feeling soon,” said Ida. She was examining the book intently. She looked up with a grin. “I bet I just found out something you never knew,” she said to Vivaldo.

“Impossible,” said Vivaldo. “I’m sure I know everything Richard knows.”

“
I
wouldn’t be so sure,” said Cass.

“I bet you don’t know Cass’s real name.”

Cass laughed. “He does, but he’s forgotten it.”

He looked at her. “That’s true, I have. What
is
your real name—? I know you hate it, that’s why nobody ever uses it.”

“Richard just did,” she said. “I think he did it just to tease me.”

Ida showed him the book’s dedication page, which read
for Clarissa, my wife
. “That’s cute, isn’t it?” She looked at Cass. “You sure had me fooled, baby; you just don’t seem to be the Clarissa
type
.”

“As it turned out,” said Cass, with a smile. Then she looked at Vivaldo. “Ah,” she said, “did you happen to note a very small note in today’s theatrical section?” She went to the sofa and picked up one of the newspapers and returned to Vivaldo. “Look. Eric’s coming home.”

“Who’s Eric?” Ida asked.

“Eric Jones,” Cass said. “He’s an actor friend of ours who’s been living in France for the last couple of years. But he’s been signed to do a play on Broadway this fall.”

Vivaldo read.
Lee Bronson has signed Eric Jones, who last appeared locally three seasons ago in the short-lived
Kingdom of the Blind,
for the role of the elder son in the Lane Smith drama,
Happy Hunting Ground,
which opens here in November
.

“Son of a bitch,” said Vivaldo, looking very pleased. He turned to Cass. “Have you heard from him?”

“Oh, no,” said Cass, “not for a very long time.”

“It’ll be nice to see him again,” Vivaldo said. He looked at Ida. “You’ll like him. Rufus knew him, we were all very good friends.” He folded the paper and dropped it on the bar. “Everybody’s famous, goddamnit, except me.”

Richard came into the room, looking harried and boyish, wearing an old gray sweater over a white T-shirt and carrying his belt in his hands.

“It’s easy to see what you’ve been doing,” said Vivaldo, smiling. “We heard it all the way in here.”

Richard looked at the belt shamefacedly and threw it on the sofa. “I didn’t really use it on him. I just made believe I was going to. I probably should have whaled the daylights out of him.” He said to Cass, “What’s the matter with him all of a sudden? He’s never acted like this before.”

“I’ve already told you what I think it is. It’s the new house and kind of new excitement, and he doesn’t see as much of you as he’s used to, and he’s reacted to all of this very badly. He’ll get over it, but it’s going to take a little time.”

“Paul’s not like that. Hell, he’s gone out and made friends already. He’s having a ball.”

“Richard, Paul and Michael are not at all
alike
.”

He stared at her and shook his head. “That’s true. Sorry.” He turned to Ida and Vivaldo. “Excuse us. We’re fascinated by our offspring. We sometimes sit around and talk about them for hours. Ida, you look wonderful, it’s great to see you.” He took her hand in his, looking into her eyes. “Are you all right?”