The Girl With the Glass Heart: A Novel (16 page)

He, Alec, was one of the few who had stuck. And why? Because of Max’s money and Annette’s help. He wasn’t any stronger than the rest of them. Take away Max’s support and in five years some job would have claimed him and all his dreams: Trock Estrella, Reverend Davidson and Henry the Fourth all seated at a desk making out invoices. He finished his drink and looked at Kesslinger’s painting. The girl looked completely trapped and indecisive in the shadows of the trees. Through the window the wind brought the steady far-off beat of the sea. That’s the only
music all the time
, Alec thought. Live within earshot of the sea and you would have
music all the time
. He was aware that he was being extraordinarily aloof this evening and he knew why. He was only a guest tonight. He belonged on a train heading for Colchester. If he had any roots at all, certainly they must be there—he was beginning to feel the drinks—certainly more there than with these people all waiting, like himself, for one good break.

Annette was at his side. “Hi,” she said. “Good party, even if you’re not with us.”

“I’m sorry. No, I’m not. It’s just one of those things.”

She pressed her shoulder against his. “Gee, he really plays, doesn’t he? It’s such a crime.”

He nodded. “A lot of things are crimes.”

“They sure are, and that’s something I wanted to talk about.”

“To me?”

“Yes. I want you to stop accepting those checks from Max every month.”

He looked at her. Then he took her face in his hands and said, “What do you mean, baby? What do you mean?”

“Just that. Look. Tonight you’re feeling pretty lousy because you didn’t help your brother and Elly out when you felt they needed you. Right? Just think a minute and question whether you would have gone if you weren’t taking money from Max and didn’t have to be afraid of his eternal questions about jobs and about that
shicksa
you live with.”

“Sweetheart, if you knew how funny you sound when you use Jewish words like that. What are you trying to prove, Anny?”

“That taking money from Max is lousing you up. That it’s building up a tension between the way he wants you to live and the way you want to live,”

Alec put his arm around her shoulder and pushed his long, skinny fingers into the hair at the back of her neck.

“You make Max seem like an ogre. Jeez, he’s so meek and mild! He never makes any demands.”

She held his hand tightly in the thick bush of her hair and said, “But you know just the same that if you marry me the money will suddenly and mysteriously dry up.”

Faced with an unanswerable truth, like the truth of his failure to join Max in Elly’s trouble, a truth at once unambiguous and many faceted, Alec felt the structure of months of self-deception crumble and was now flung headlong into the jungle of decision. She would have to be either answered or distracted and he knew Annette would never have put it to him so bluntly if she were not beyond the point where she could be distracted. He tried.

“Do you really believe that crazy idea of yours about why the house was broken into the other night? This is the twentieth century. I didn’t know the way we live was so upsetting to you. Of course I want to get married, but look where I am. Do you want us to live on your dance-class fees? Do you want me to give up like Jay? Get a job in an office? Go to college at thirty?”

“You see, you’re as stiff and rigid as Jay and you make me just as angry. When I was a kid I thought of people as categories—when you grew up you would be a fireman or a policeman or a doctor or an actor—”

“I think thief comes before doctor in the old rhyme.”

“Or a thief. And that’s the way you think. Either you’re all actor or all something else. You could get a job at this or that until the right parts and the breaks came along. Why must you think either Max supports you or you give up your chosen work?”

Max’s expression, he thought.
Chosen
field,
chosen
work,
chosen
profession, the emphasis on the fact that no one had asked him to be an actor, that he was self-appointed.

Now the past five years seemed like an odd dream—his living with Annette, a shimmering reflection in an imagined pool, becomes now quite insubstantial—and he saw himself with his older brother Max, disembarking at a station as a slender little Elly ran toward them, dress fluttering about her, the windy hair flying round her shoulders and back. He was aware that Annette was staring at him, that his fingers were still enmeshed in her hair, that the recording had ended and the noise of the party was rising again in a protective wave. A fear gripped him, one so strong that it could not be attributed simply to the idea of losing Max’s support or the idea of losing Annette—it was like the touch of a deep alien cold, as if to stop accepting money from his brother meant losing all contact with him and the family along with twenty years of his life—and, feeling a long finger of chill loneliness probe down beneath the liquids of the eyes and into the pumping heart, he grasped Annette tightly by the shoulders and kissed her on the cheek, saying, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, but I’m afraid.”

“Alec,” she whispered, “I’m thirty-one. When will we have children? I’d give up dancing at a moment’s notice for children…. How are you?” She smiled at a couple who danced slowly past and waved.

“People are noticing us arguing,” Alec said. “Let’s dance.” He put his arm around her and they danced slowly to the oozing dance music from the radio.

“Isn’t this nice?” Annette said as she moved her big body gracefully with Alec’s wide steps. “All the gang here and all.”

“Yes,” he said, “I’m glad we had them over and it’s good seeing Jay.”

“Give the money up, Alec. Max will never accept
me
. Aren’t I as beautiful as a monthly check?”

“Frankly—” He laughed and then sighed. “What to do, what to do.”

“You know, I’m sorry he made all this money lately. Maybe his wife would have cut you off after a while.”

“I never saw a girl so intent on taking the bread out of her own mouth. There’s Wally with some beer. I’d better put it on ice.”

He lugged the wet paper bag full of bottles into the kitchen. It was partly a bring-your-own-bottle party and Wally was pretty generous.

“How have you been, boy?” Wally was a big, loud actor who also directed their little-theater group.

“All right, Wally. I
heard
you were working. Keep it up. Someday you’ll be a director and we’ll all work.”

Wally laughed. “Someday. I heard your place was busted into. They get anything?”

“What have we got?” Alec shrugged and poured the foaming stuff into the glasses on a tray. “Be a good guy, will you, and distribute this evenly?”

Wally left and Alec stood there for a moment wiping his hand absently on an apron and listening to the muffled sound of conversation coming from the other room. Eleanor Rich came in looking for a bottle opener.

“Hey,” she said, “isn’t it nice?”

“What?” Alec asked.

“That I’m pregnant. Isn’t that nice?”

“Yes. I’m glad,” he said. “Everybody should have babies. It’s the answer to Communism.”

She knew he was truly glad, though. He rinsed some glasses after she left, not wanting to rejoin the party yet. The sink was full of broken glass. Someone was probably drunk. Alec scraped the glass up into a towel and deposited it in the can on the back steps. He made a messy job of it, spilling a few slivers on the ground and letting them lie there. He would never make a real home owner. He was real Hollywood material. Live in rented houses the rest of his life. He had never seen the fabulous house Max had built a year ago, the glass one. A John Marron Lang house. He shrugged. You never knew.

He washed his hands and, returning to the living room, saw a cluster of people gathered near the front door. He hadn’t heard the buzzer, but what was all the excitement? He couldn’t see Annette so he guessed she was in the center of the group. Then he heard a familiar voice—but that was impossible! Elly was two thousand miles away. But there she was, Annette holding her hand, her heavy topcoat draped over her arm, with no suitcase or anything—just herself, Elly, here in California.

“Elly,” he called and she ran to him, her eyes closed.

“I’m sorry, Alec,” she said as she hugged him. “I wanted to come so I came. I suppose you know all about everything.”

He nodded. “Does your father know where you are? Did he let you come all the way out here alone?”

“No—” she grinned, suddenly elated—“I got off the train at night. I left him a note, though.”

“That was nice of you. Give me your coat. It’s good you’re here. I don’t give a damn.”

“That’s just what I wanted you to say.”

“Come inside to the bedroom—I want to talk to you.”

He closed the door behind them and sat down on the bed which was strewn with ladies’ hats, a few fur pieces and a man’s hat, Jay’s Homburg.

“Well,” he said, “you’ve certainly done it, haven’t you? Who was he?”

“It doesn’t matter. Nobody special. I just couldn’t go home yet. Once I get back there now, I’m stuck for good.” She smoothed her rumpled hair. “I
flew
, Alec,” she said. “It was fantastic. I fell asleep (Mom would have a hemorrhage if she knew I flew) and when I woke up I looked out. I was sitting over the wing, and I looked up and couldn’t see anything, but I looked down and guess what I saw?” She paused. Alec threw his hands up in mock despair. “The stars.” She laughed. “The stars were underneath me—imagine it. It was fantastic.”

“Fantastic, fantastic. Everything’s fantastic,” Alec said. “Except the one really fantastic thing, and that is that you’re here of all places. What am I sitting here talking for? I’ve got to call Max and tell him you’re all right. I guess he hasn’t got the new phone number and it’s not listed.”

“Wait,” she said. “Please wait. Was that your girl, the big one?”

“That was her. How’d you like her?”

“She’s nice. Are you living together?”

“You little stinker! If you asked that then you know we are. Why? Has Daddy been talking about it?”

“Not so as I’m supposed to hear, but you know. You glad I came, Alec? I wanted somebody to be glad I’m somewhere.” And she was in tears so suddenly Alec could hardly assimilate the fact and move to comfort her. She came and sat next to him. She’s been pregnant, he thought in amazement. My little Elly has had the beginning of a child in her, has had a man. He pushed away the nagging thought that there might have been more than one man. He was angry with himself for thinking it and he held her in penance. She stopped crying almost immediately.

“I won’t ask you why you did it, Elly. You’ll probably get enough of that from your mother, but—”

“No, I won’t,” Elly said in triumph. “Dad hasn’t told her and he’s not going to. He never tells her anything he thinks will upset her. I’ll bet he’ll tell her
he
sent me here to you. You’ll see. If you call don’t say a word to Mom.”

Alec reached for the telephone. Elly came and sat on the floor in front of him and put her hand over his. “I’m not going back there, now,” she said quietly.

“What do you mean,
now
, baby?”

“I was thinking about it on the plane a long time. I want to go to New York first, for Christmas. Then I’ll go home. And if Daddy won’t let me, I’ll tell Mom what happened at school.”

Alec stared at her for a moment. He had never heard her utter threats before. She was changing. Or changed. It had been a long time since he had been this near to her. Letters couldn’t tell too much.

He shook his head. “After what’s happened I don’t think you’ve got much of a chance.”

A half-sullen look crossed her smile. “Won’t you help?” she said. “Won’t you tell them they should let me go?” The look vanished and she said, “Oh, listen, Alec!” She flung an arm outward. He heard nothing except the buzz of the party from the other room.

“That’s the ocean, isn’t it? I’ve never seen the sea.” She jumped to her feet and ran to the window. She flung the casement windows wide and stood there listening. “Doesn’t it ever stop?”

“Not so I’ve noticed,” Alec said.

Elly toyed with the buttons on her blouse. “I’m going to New York, Alec,” she said. “I’ve got to go. I’ve been thinking about it since I got off the train the other night. Please. Please!”

Alec dialed long distance while Elly roamed restlessly about the room, examining Annette’s possessions, squirting a little toilet water on her blouse front and every now and then pausing to cock her head sideways a little and listen to the sound of water on shore. She walked to Alec’s bureau while he was getting the number and pulled out drawer after drawer, rummaging aimlessly through them. Beneath a pile of underwear she found a box of cartridges. Did Alec own a gun? Perhaps you had to, living out here near the ocean far from the city. Beneath the little box, at the very bottom of the drawer, was a small, leather-covered notebook. She opened it. Scrawled on the first page was M
Y
J
OURNAL
—Elly Kaufman. Elly shivered a little, trying to remember what was in it. She remembered the circumstances of giving the diary to Alec, as if it had happened yesterday, but the contents of the book—that was something else again.

“Yes, I’ll wait, operator.” Alec cradled the phone against his cheek and, lighting a cigarette, saw Elly with the book in her hands. He turned his face quickly. Elly flipped a few pages and began to read.

“Hello, Max. This is Alec. Listen, Elly is here. Don’t be frightened—she’s all right. She’s fine.”

Sometimes you may wonder how it is with me on a holiday when I’m all alone in my room.

“She didn’t really know why. I suppose she’s upset by everything that’s happened. She just waited till you fell asleep. Yes, she flew. No, I won’t mention it to Rose. Don’t be hard on the kid.”

Hello—how are you?—I love you.

“Yes, I know, Max, but that’s silly. Never let her out of your sight again? Even if it was right it wouldn’t be possible.”

Snow and love and the sound of bells and hearing the phone ring and answering and wanting to hear someone say …

“Listen, Max. Elly wants to spend Christmas in New York. Oh, cut it out, will you? Well she wants to go and she
is
going to be at home from now on.”