Kaleidoscope (8 page)

“He's a damn fool. He's thirty-one years old and he's got the world by the tail … and a wife most men would give their right arm for.”

“What would I do with a right arm?” She smiled at him philosophically, looking very Gallic. “I want his heart, not his arm … or all that expensive jewelry. I always know when something is wrong, he comes home with boxes full of diamonds.”

“I know.” Arthur frowned. He still advised Sam on his business affairs, and for some time now he had been urging Sam to save money. But Sam was still playing, and enjoying the initial impact of his success. He was buying and buying and buying … toys for the girls … furs and jewels for his wife … clothes for himself … and expensive presents for the women he got involved with. There had been several Arthur knew about, and he disapproved of them all, and he always hoped that Solange knew nothing about it. But he sensed that this time was different.
This was the first time he'd had the feeling she was really unhappy.

“I don't know what to do, Arthur. I don't know if I should make a scene, tell him I know what's going on, or sit back quietly and wait for it to be over. Because it will be over soon. It always is with Sam … and then he comes home to me.” She smiled a smile that would have brought Arthur to his knees, if he'd been standing, and if it had been meant for him, but it wasn't.

“You're a very sensible woman, Solange. Most Americans aren't. Most women in this country go crazy if they think their husband is having an affair. They hire detectives, sue for divorce, take him for everything he's worth …” She was amazing.

But she only smiled at him again, that wise little smile that said she was a thousand years old, even if she only looked twenty. “I don't want 'things,' Arthur. I only want my husband.” It was obvious that she adored him. And Arthur envied his friend, though not for the first time. He had always wondered what would have happened if he had pursued Solange, if he had spoken to her that day on the rue d'Arcole … what if? … it was something he would foolishly ask himself for a lifetime. And it didn't matter now. Sam was the lucky one. Luckier than he knew. The bastard.

“I suppose he'll quiet down again.” Solange sighed and finished her wine. “With each leading lady now we have a little problem, and then eventually he gets tired of them. It's hard for him, he becomes so involved in the play … the theater is a hard life for him. It's so extremely demanding.” She looked as though she genuinely believed what she said, but Arthur shook his head.

“It's not that demanding. He's spoiled. Spoiled by success, by the women he meets … and by you, Solange. You treat him like a god for heaven's sake.”

“He is … to me … He means everything to me.” Her huge eyes reached out to Arthur as her words cut him to the quick.

“Then sit tight. He'll come home again. He's just playing, Solange. As long as you understand that, perhaps it isn't so important.”

She nodded. It was good advice. And she was always prepared to sit it out. She would rather have died than lose him.

The affair went on for six months finally, and then ended brutally, with the attempted suicide of his leading lady. After which she left the play, for reasons of “ill health,” and Sam's life returned to normal. It was callous of him in some ways, but Solange was relieved to see it. For now, the threat was over. It was 1954 by then, and he stayed with the play for another year and as usual returned to his wife and children. It was the longest run he had ever had in any play, and they were both sad when it was over. He took her and the girls to Europe after that for a summer in Saint-Tropez. It was something he had always talked about. He had been there during the war, though only for a day, and he had always wanted to go back there.

They sent Arthur a postcard from Saint-Tropez and another from Cannes, and then they went on a little pilgrimage to Paris, and Solange showed the children where she had lived as a child. It was emotional for her going back. It was nine years since she had left, and there were painful memories for her there, but happy ones too. Hilary was only five years old, but Solange hoped she would enjoy the trip, and Alexandra
was still only a baby. They had brought along a nurse to help them with the children. It was a far cry from the way Solange had left France, with her steamship ticket in her pocket and barely enough money to eat. She had left owning three dresses and two pairs of shoes, and the hat on her head, and an old worn-out coat that had been her mother's. And now here she was with trunks of clothes. They had arrived traveling first class on the
Liberté
, and they stayed at the Ritz in Paris. Sam took her to Givenchy and Chanel and Dior to buy her clothes, and to Cartier where he insisted on buying her a new diamond bracelet.

“But I don't need it, Sam!” she protested laughingly as he forced it on her arm. He was as loving as he had always been, and he had been spoiling her as though she were a new mistress. He had gotten some expensive habits in recent years, and sometimes it frightened Solange. Like Arthur, she wanted him to start saving money for their children.

“Every girl needs a diamond bracelet, Solange.”

“But I have three!” She pulled her arm away with a grin and shook her head. “
Non, chéri! Je ne le veux pas!
I want you to save our money.” He looked momentarily annoyed as he glanced at her.

“You sound just like Arthur.”

“Well, he's right. We have to start thinking of the children.”

“Fine.” He pointed to another bracelet in the case, indicating for the salesgirl to take it out. “We'll take two of them.”

“
Ah, non
, Sam!
Quand même ooyons!
” Since returning to Paris, she had slipped back into French again, and it pleased her to hear Hilary speaking to people easily. She spoke only French with the two girls, and Hilary
was completely bilingual. Alexandra didn't speak yet at all, but when she would, she would speak French too. In some ways, Solange had not totally renounced her homeland. And it felt good to be back again. There were places and memories that still warmed her heart and as they walked into the Place Vendôme at night, with the lights and the statue of Napoleon, she felt her heart soar in a way that it hadn't since she'd left Paris.

They had dinner at Maxim's that night, and at La Tour d'Argent the following day, and the day they left Paris, Sam gave her both diamond bracelets, and a new ring. Solange tried to discourage him, but she knew it was hopeless, and as they sailed back to the States, she thought about what a lovely trip it had been. It had felt good to go back, and good to go home again as they returned. New York was home now. She had lived there for nine years and it meant a great deal to her. They had an apartment on Sutton Place now, with a spectacular view of the river, and lovely rooms for the girls. It was a duplex that allowed them to entertain lavishly, and Marilyn Monroe had an apartment nearby. She was a good friend of Sam's, and always spent time with him when she was in New York, but Solange knew they had never had an affair. And she liked Marilyn very much, she was an amusing girl, and she kept telling Solange she should be in movies, which only made Solange laugh.

“One star in the family is enough!” she always said, with her still noticeable French accent.

Sam was offered a part in a new play that fall and he turned it down. He didn't think it was challenging enough for him. And he surprised everyone by agreeing to make a movie. They went to Hollywood for the film, and Solange found it a completely amazing place,
filled with remarkable people who couldn't tell the difference between fantasy and real life. They lived in a “bungalow” at the Beverly Hills Hotel, with another smaller one for the children and the nurse, and for a year it was a totally unreal existence. Solange thought the movie was very good, but Sam was not pleased and he was relieved to get back to New York and start rehearsals for a new play in January of 1956. He became totally involved in his craft again, and within two months he was also involved with his leading lady. And this time, Solange was seriously annoyed. She had lunch with Arthur regularly, and more often than she liked, she found herself crying on his shoulder. His marriage was in form only. Marjorie was always occupied elsewhere, and his mother had died while they were in California the year before. He seemed terribly alone suddenly, just as alone as Solange felt, despite Sam's denials and constant gifts, and he was always especially nice to his daughters when he felt guilty.

“Why? Why do you do this to me?” She waved the gossip column at him one morning at breakfast.

“You're imagining things again, Solange. You do this every time I start work on a new play.”

“Ah …” She threw the paper in the sink, “it's because you sleep with your leading lady
every
time you start work on a new play. Do you have to work on the leading lady too? Couldn't one of the other actors do that? Your understudy perhaps. Couldn't that be one of his duties?”

Sam laughed at her and pulled her close to him, pulling her down on his lap and nuzzling the mane of resplendent red hair that was more beautiful than ever. “I love you, crazy one.”

“Don't call me crazy. I only know you too well, Mr. Walker. You cannot fool me. Not at all!” She wagged a finger at him, but somehow she always forgave him. He drank too much, and when he did was sometimes hostile and threatening when he came home. It was impossible for her to stay angry at him. She loved him too much. Too much for her own good, Arthur said, and maybe he was right. But it was the only thing about Sam she would have changed. His other women. The rest she loved just as it was. That spring she got pregnant again, and the baby was born just after Christmas when Sam was in California. It was another little girl and they named her Megan. Once again Arthur took her to the hospital and it took Solange two days to track Sam down in California. She had heard the rumors again, and she knew what he was doing in Hollywood. And this time she was fed up and she told him so when he came back to New York, when the baby was three weeks old. She even threatened to divorce him, which was totally unlike her.

“You humiliate me to the entire world … you make a fool out of me, and you expect me to sit here and take it. I want a divorce, Sam.”

“You're out of your mind. You're imagining things. Who've you been talking to again? Arthur?” But he looked worried.

“Arthur has nothing to do with this. And all you have to do is read the newspapers. It's in every column from here to L.A., Sam. Every year, every month, every movie, every play, it's a new showgirl, a new leading lady, a new woman. You've done it for too long. You've done nothing but play, and you're so impressed with yourself that you think you owe it to yourself. Then fine, okay, but I owe myself something
too. I owe myself a husband who loves me and is willing to be faithful too.”

“And you?” He tried to turn the tables on her, even though he knew how desperately devoted she had been. “What about all your goddam lunches with Arthur?”

“I have no one else to talk to, Sam. At least he won't call the papers and tell them what I say.” They both knew that everyone else would. She wasn't wrong. She was Sam Walker's wife after all. And he was a star now. “At least I can cry on his shoulder.”

“While he cries in your soup. You're the most pathetic pair I've ever heard of. And remember what I told you, Solange. I will not give you a divorce. Period. Amen. So don't ask me again.”

“I don't have to ask you.” It was the first time she had openly threatened him.

“Oh no?” There was a thin trace of fear in his voice, carefully masked, but she knew it.

“All I have to do is have you followed. I could have divorced you fifty times by now.”

He had slammed out of the house without saying another word, and he had left for California again the next day. It had delayed rehearsals of his play by a month, but they always forgave Sam Walker.

When he returned things were just as stormy with Solange. She knew whom he had taken to the West Coast and she was finally fed up with him. When he returned one night she was waiting for him. When she confronted him their fighting was so loud that it woke Hilary. Alexandra's room was farther down the hall, and Megan was only eight months old then. But Hilary was eight years old. And she remembered everything. The ambulances and the police … the sirens
… and her mother being taken out in a sheet … she remembered what they had said … and her father crying as they led him away. He hadn't even seen her standing near the door, watching. And then she remembered the nurse calling Uncle Arthur.

He had come almost at once, his face gray. He couldn't believe what they had told him. There had to be some mistake … had to be … it wasn't possible. He knew they had been having problems for a while, but Sam adored her, just as she loved him. It was a love that had often gone well beyond reason, a love that forgave him everything, a love that had led him to follow her doggedly down the rue d'Arcole right from the beginning. It was a love that touched everyone who came near them … a love that … He just couldn't understand it as he sat in their apartment as the dawn came and the doorman brought the paper upstairs and knocked discreetly on their front door. But it was all there, as Arthur held out a trembling hand and took the paper. It was all there … the end of a dream … the end of a life … Sam had killed her.

PART TWO
Hilary

Chapter 5

The door to the holding cell slammed hard behind Arthur as he waited to see him. Sam was being held at the 17th Precinct on East Fifty-first Street and it was after noon before they let Arthur in to see him. They had interrogated him until then, for hours and hours, although they had no need to. He had admitted everything. He had sobbed. He had stared glassy-eyed … he had remembered every minute of those first hours in Paris. He didn't understand why he had done it … he knew he'd been drunk … she had frightened him by saying she was leaving. But still … he couldn't understand why he'd done it except that he didn't want to lose her and she had said … she had said … With a look of despair he stared up at Arthur when they led him in. And Sam seemed almost not to see him.