Winning is Everything (40 page)

“Who knows?” asked Audrey. “Leave a girl from Seattle alone long enough in the big city, you can bet an awful lot of sophistication is bound to sink in.”

“I guess so,” Kip agreed.

“Ellenor and I are partners,” said Audrey. “We run the Quilting Bee, an antique-quilt shop in the East Village, which is, thank you, fairly successful.”

“Quilts?” asked Kip, accepting their drinks from the bartender. “Who buys quilts?”

“Who doesn’t?” Audrey laughed. “We got ‘em all—just off the loom, spanking new; museum-quality quilts; or old well-preserved early-American comforters.”

“How can I get in touch with Ellenor?”

“Call her tomorrow,” said Audrey. “She’s staying at my apartment until she finds a place of her own, away from Mr. Wrong.”

“Fine,” said Kip. “What’s the number?”

Audrey opened her purse, removed a pen and a small pad, scribbled down her phone number. “Here!” She handed Kip the small piece of paper. “For someone who never gave Ellenor the time of day, you sure seem anxious to catch up with her again.”

“Hello, Ellenor?”

“Yes?”

“It’s me … Kip!”

“How are you?”

“Fine, fine … sorry I missed you last night at Jimmy Ray’s.”

“I just wasn’t in the mood for staying out,” said Ellenor. “I had a headache and figured rather than be a total drag, I’d just back off. Audrey said she and you had a pleasant-enough time.”

“We did,” Kip agreed. “But the person I was looking forward to seeing was you.”

“Me?”

“Yeah. I was disappointed when you didn’t show.”

“Oh, well.” Ellenor sighed with disinterest. “Maybe some other time.”

“How ‘bout right now?”

“Now?”

“Yeah … I’m down here in the Village. Just got out of a movie. Maybe you’d like to have a late dinner?”

“I just had dinner.”

“Well, then … maybe you’d like to meet me for a drink?”

“Not tonight, thanks. I’m sewing together an ancient quilt I promised I’d have for a customer first thing tomorrow.”

“Well, that ought to keep you in stitches.” Kip laughed, hoping to break the ice,

“No doubt,” said Ellenor, unamused.

“Okay, how about if I visit with you while you work on your quilt?”

“Impossible,” said Ellenor. “Audrey’s the world’s biggest slob and I’m constantly embarrassed by it. I couldn’t entertain anyone in this mess.”

“All right, then—here’s my last shot. Meet me for a drink. One, that’s all. You choose the saloon.”

“Can’t drink tonight,” said Ellenor. “It would throw me off my sewing hand. I’d probably stitch my pinky and index fingers together.”

“Fair enough,” said Kip. “A coffee shop, then, okay?”

“I can’t, Kip. I’m too busy.”

“Bring the quilt with you!”

“Some other time, huh?”

“Look … just give me ten minutes of your time, all right. You gotta take a break sometime. All that stitching’s bad for the eyes.”

“Well …”

“Come on, Ellenor. We haven’t seen each other in ages. We got a lot of catching up to do. Don’t you want to hear what’s happened to Ron and Gary?”

“Of course,” said Ellenor. “Can’t you tell me over the phone?”

“Certainly not,” claimed Kip. “It would lose all its dramatic impact.”

“All right, Kip,” she said at last. “You talked me into it. But for ten minutes only. One quick cup of peppermint tea, and it’s back to the quilting business. Is it a deal?”

“It’s a deal.”

“Meet you at the Café Figaro in fifteen minutes. You know where it is?”

“No.”

“Bleecker … at MacDougal.”

“I’m on my way!” said Kip with a smile as he hung up the phone.

Kip had been sitting at a table near the back of Café Figaro for close to twenty minutes, nursing his second cup of cappuccino, when Ellenor finally showed up.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” she said as she stood behind the chair next to him. “I got engrossed in the stitching I was doing and forgot all about the time. Where’s that cup of peppermint tea you promised?”

“Would you like to drink it standing up?” Kip asked as he signaled to a waitress.

Ellenor pulled out the chair and sat down. “So! What brought you down to the Village?”

“I came down for an audition, and stayed to take in a movie,” said Kip.

“How’d you do?” asked Ellenor.

“The usual bullshit,” Kip said as the waitress arrived at the table. “Thank you very much. We’re glad you came down. Don’t call us, we’ll call you.’”

“I see,” said Ellenor.

“Bring my friend a cup of peppermint tea, please,” Kip asked the waitress, then turned to Ellenor. “Anything else? Some dessert, maybe?”

“Nothing, thanks. Took me seventeen months to take the weight off. I aim to keep it off.”

“You certainly look good,” said Kip.

“I ought to,” snapped Ellenor. “Sure cost me enough. Look at me: forty pounds thinner. I go to exercise class daily. I’ve stopped making my own clothes and now buy right off the rack. Why shouldn’t I look good? And what about you? How come you haven’t faded to blubbery jowls and suburban hips?”

“Starving actors rarely have problems with blubbery jowls,” said Kip.

The waitress delivered the peppermint tea in a small pot, with an accompanying cup and saucer. “Sugar or honey?” she asked.

“Nothing, thanks,” said Ellenor, pouring the tea into the cup. “I’m in training.”

“Anything else?” asked the waitress.

“The check, please,” said Kip.

Ellenor took a sip of tea. “What happened to your plans to become Laurence Olivier?”

“Nothing,” said Kip. “I’m still working on it. You don’t believe I’m serious about acting, do you?”

“I do,” said Ellenor. “Do you?”

“Sure!”

“Fine. Then get some work. My actor friends tell me the best way to learn to act is to get up there and do it. Find work. Study with someone until you do. Practice, develop, grow. That’s what real acting’s about.”

“Thanks for the lecture,” said Kip.

“Don’t mention it,” said Ellenor, taking a small gulp of her tea. “How’s my friend Gary?”

“Taking over the movie industry in New York,” said Kip.

“And Ron?”

“Taking over the movie industry in Hollywood.”

“Imagine!” said Ellenor, taking a final slug of tea. “Well, thanks for the drink. Hit the spot. I gotta go.”

“Can’t you stay longer?”

“Can’t. My needle beckons. Some other time, maybe.”

“When?” Kip asked without hesitation.

“Oh … I don’t know. Maybe after I’ve finished the quilt.”

“Fine. How ‘bout dinner Thursday?”

“Sounds reasonable,” said Ellenor.

“Fine. It’s my night off. We’ll eat at my place. We’re still on East Sixty-seventh Street. I’ll cook. Of course, that means we open a can of Franco-American Spaghetti-O’s and call it haute cuisine.”

“Tell you what,” said Ellenor. “Let’s eat at your place, but
I’ll
cook. But only if you reimburse me for the grocery bill.”

“Now you’re talking!” Kip smiled.

“I gotta go.” Ellenor stood up. “So … guess I’ll see you Thursday. Your place. Sevenish okay with you?”

“Sevenish is fine.”

“Tell me something …”

“Anything.”

“That dimple in the middle of your chin—you ever cut yourself there while shaving?”

“I’ve been known to,” said Kip, stroking a couple of fingers over the bottom of his chin.

“Now I know,” said Ellenor with a satisfied grin. “I often meant to ask you at the World’s Fair, but I was always too tongue-tied. I always promised myself that if the opportunity ever came up again and I ran into you, I would quench my curiosity and find out.”

“Would you care to watch me shave?” asked Kip.

“Let’s first get through dinner Thursday night, okay? Take it one step at a time.” Ellenor turned to leave. “Thanks again for that cup of tea. It was most refreshing.”

82

Thursday evening, Ellenor arrived at the apartment carrying in each arm a large brown paper shopping bag filled with groceries.

“Caterer’s here!” she announced, walking through the front door, past Kip, as she headed straight for the kitchen.

“Please …” said Kip, following her. “Let me give you a hand with those.”

“Nonsense,” said Ellenor. “You do any work now, and I know you’ll disappear when it comes time for doing the dishes.”

“No, I won’t,” said Kip. “I know a bargain when I see one. You cook the meal. I clean.”

“It’s a deal!” stated Ellenor, placing the bags down on the kitchen counter.

She seasoned a small roast, popped it in a pan, and stuck it into the oven. She cut up potatoes, onions, and carrots and laced the edge of the roast with the vegetables. She washed greens for a salad and opened a section of Brie cheese to let it get runny.

“I trust you like your roast beef rare?” she asked an hour later while peeking into the stove to see how the meat was doing.

They talked about the days at the fair and Kip filled Ellenor in on how Ron went to Hollywood and Gary’s job at Olympus.

Ellenor listened with great interest.

After the main course, she served fresh strawberries with freshly whipped cream. When Kip got up to do the dishes, Ellenor followed.

“I was going to bake something for dessert,” Ellenor told Kip. “But I was out most of the day, combing lower Manhattan, looking for a place to live. You can’t believe what’s happened to rentals in this city. Skyrocket! Still, I have to get out of Audrey’s. It’s so filthy, I feel like I’m living in Dogpatch, USA.”

“Hold it!” said Kip, pounding the top of the kitchen counter for emphasis. “I’ve got just the place for you. Talk about timing! Gary and I have been thinking about getting someone to replace Ron right here. Why don’t you come uptown, to the East Side, room with us?”

“Me
room with
you?
You’re joking!”

“I’m not,” said Kip. “It’s a terrific idea. You like the apartment. It’s real comfortable. And you and Gary always got along great. He’s hardly ever here anyway, always staying down at his girlfriend Nora’s. What do you think?”

Ellenor thought a moment, trying to remain in full control, wondering if, once again, she was setting herself up for disappointment. “I don’t know.” She shrugged. “Sounds too crazy—”

“Of course it sounds crazy,” said Kip. “That’s why it’s such a good idea. You can have my room. I’ll share the main bedroom with Gary. As I said, he’s never there anyway.”