Winning is Everything (53 page)

“We have plenty of time to worry about that, Kip.”

“How much?”

“Oh, about seven and a half months.”

“I suppose we ought to think about getting married, huh?”

Ellenor stiffened. “If that’s a proposal of marriage, Kip Bramer, the answer is no.” She began emptying groceries from A&P bags.

“But why not?” Kip asked, walking over, standing behind her.

“Why not?” Ellenor repeated. “Because nobody gets married anymore. Especially Hollywood stars. You want to disappoint your fans?”

“What do I care about my fans!?”

“You care pu-lenty!” insisted Ellenor, tossing him a roll of paper towels to put away. “I’m still your undeclared manager, remember, and I say no marriage. We’ll raise our little flower child with love and understanding, like every other fun couple in America.”

“Well,” said Kip, still uncertain, “we still have time to talk about that, too.”

A week later, Kip called his mother.

“This is it, Ma,” he told her. “I want you to take the train into New York day after tomorrow. I’ve got a surprise for you.”

“For me?” asked Jean Bramer. “What is it?”

“It’s a surprise is what it is. You catch the nine-forty-five
-A.M.
express and I’ll meet you at Grand Central.”

“Don’t be silly, Kip,” said Jean Bramer. “I haven’t been on public transportation in twenty-two years.”

“No problem,” said Kip. “You’ll be perfectly comfortable. Nothing’s changed in that time.”

“But the babies,” said Jean Bramer.

“The dogs will be fine,” said Kip. “I’ll get you back home before dark.”

“I don’t think I’m strong enough,” complained Jean Bramer.

“I’m sure you are. Grand Central Station. Twelve-ten. Day after tomorrow. Thursday. I’ll be there waiting for you. I’ll have a white carnation in my teeth, so you’ll recognize me.”

“Silly.” Jean Bramer giggled. “I’d know you anywhere!”

Kip got to the train station on Thursday, and as he stood at the end of the platform waiting for his mother’s train to come in, he wondered if perhaps he hadn’t made a mistake. Maybe she wasn’t strong enough yet to travel alone. Maybe the hectic activity of Manhattan would be too much for someone in her condition.

“Excuse me,” said a voice behind him. “I’m looking for a young man with a white carnation between his teeth.”

Kip hugged his mother hello.

“The train was early,” said Jean Bramer. “I was about to do something mad like go shopping for panty hose, but then I noticed you at the end of the platform. Okay, tell me. I’m a big girl, what’s the surprise?”

Kip took his mother by the hand and led her from the train station. Outside he hailed a taxi and asked to be taken to the Columbia building on Fifth Avenue.

“What’s going on?” asked Jean Bramer as Kip led her into a small comfortable theater off the lobby.

“Have a seat.”

“But what is it?”

Kip walked over to a console at the back of the screening room, flipped a switch, and spoke into an intercom. “Whenever you’re ready,” he said.

Moments later, as the room darkened, Jean Bramer turned to Kip. “You mean you had me come all the way to New York just to see a movie?”

“Not just any movie, Mom,” said Kip. “My movie.”

“No!”

“Yes!”

“Oh, Kip, it’s too exciting.”

“Now, don’t be too critical,” said Kip. “This is just a work print, a rough cut. They haven’t even put music on the soundtrack yet. But I figured as long as you can look at me, you won’t care much what kind of music is playing.”

The movie began and Jean Bramer sat back and relished each moment.

Afterward she could have flown back to Philadelphia on sheer elation.

“I never thought I’d miss your father,” said Jean Bramer, wiping a small tear from her eye. “But I’m awfully sorry he isn’t here now to see this. He’d be so very proud.”

Kip and his mother met Ellenor for a late lunch at the Box Tree. It was elegant and expensive, but as far as Jean Bramer was concerned, after the movie she would have been perfectly content with a glass of orange juice at Nedick’s. Kip and Ellenor took her back to Grand Central in time to catch the 5:45.

“You take care of yourself, now,” Kip told his mother as he kissed her good-bye.

“I will,” said Jean. “You’ll see. I’m going to get a lot better.”

“I believe it,” said Kip. “You’re going to be fine. There’s no one to be crazy for anymore. Now you can be yourself.”

“Sounds like a rather novel way to live one’s life.”

Jean Bramer stepped onto the train, found herself a seat, and, exhausted, closed her eyes to take a short nap.

It had been the greatest day of her life.

101 

The real-estate broker led Gary and Michael through still another apartment, this one three blocks away from Gramercy Park.

“Too expensive,” Gary told the broker.

“Too small,” said Michael.

The broker told them she had three other simply
fabulous
apartments to show them later on in the week.

“That’s what you’ve been telling us for the last fifteen apartments,” said Gary.

“I know,” said the agent. “But these new listings just came in. I
know
there’ll be something in there for you!”

They all rode down in the elevator together and left the apartment building. The broker hailed a taxi and headed back uptown for another appointment, and Gary and Michael headed for the coolness of a nearby pub.

Ron had just moved into his Laurel Canyon home in California; Kip and Ellenor were moving up to Connecticut; and the building Gary was living in was about to go co-op. Michael’s apartment was too small for the two of them, so they had decided to look for someplace new.

On Friday they learned the broker had indeed been telling the truth. She had found a fabulous floor-through apartment on West Eighty-third Street. The boys had only to spend two minutes in the place before they knew it was just what they wanted and were prepared to sign a two-year lease.

“And what happens if we break up?” Michael asked even before the ink on their rental agreement had a chance to dry.

“Easy.” Gary shrugged. “I get the children through the fall and winter months. You can have them summers and Christmases. I’ll take the Rolls-Royce, you get the Chagalls and Picassos.”

“What if I want the Rolls?” asked Michael.

“Fine. Take it,” said Gary. “I’m not about to start arguing material possessions with you. All I care about is that whatever happens, you remain my editor.”

“Hey, kid, you can rely on that!” said Michael with a smile. “I’m not so stupid as to give away anyone with your talent.”

“Zinelli Films!” the voice answered the phone.

“Is Ron there?”

“Mr. Zinelli is on two other lines, I’m afraid. Who may I say is calling?”

“Kip Bramer.”

“Kip Bramer!
Hey, Mr. Bramer, I saw a sneak of your film last week. You’re terrific!”

“Thank you.”

“My name is Ken Thompson. I’m Mr. Zinelli’s executive assistant. He speaks of you often.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. He constantly tells people how he talked you into becoming an actor. How he discovered you.”

“That’s my Ron.” Kip laughed. “Well, you mind telling Mr. Zinelli to get off his duff and talk to me?”

“Right away, Mr. Bramer. Boy, when he hears it’s you on the phone!”

Kip waited not seven seconds before Ron clicked into the line. “Kip! I can’t believe it! What a nice surprise!”

“How are you?”

“Not bad,” said Ron casually. “Just taking over Hollywood.”

“Good for you!”

“And from what I hear, you’re about to, also.”

“I sure hope so,” said Kip.

“Wouldn’t it be great if we could work together on a project soon? Actually, I’ve got just the thing. My detective story. I already sent the script to your agent.”

“Really? I’ve been reading twelve scripts a week. But Phyliss hasn’t sent me anything from you. I’ll ask her about it.”

“Please do,” said Ron as he scribbled a fast note to remind himself to call Phyliss Dodge again. “It might just be perfect for your next project.”

“Listen, enough Hollywood bullshit,” said Kip. “Tell you why I called. As you know, we’ve given up the Sixty-seventh Street apartment. You can’t believe how much junk accumulated over the years. We’re giving everything we don’t take with us to Goodwill. Wanted to know if you wanted any of your old stuff saved or sent or what?”

“How ‘bout burned?” asked Ron. “Everything in that apartment is out of my poverty period, thank you. I think I’d prefer to forget about those years.”

“Whatever you say…. Oh, by the way, we’re moving out Thursday afternoon. Right after lunch at the Four Seasons. It’s the first day of autumn. Shame you can’t join us.”

“Hold on a minute,” Ron insisted. “Just so happens I’m winging to Gotham on Wednesday. My movie opens at the Rivoli on Friday. Studio’s putting me up at Hampshire House for five days. I’ve been setting my schedule. What time is your lunch?”

“One o’clock,” said Kip.

“Sounds civilized,” said Ron. “Tell you what. I’m not promising or anything, but if it’s at all possible, you just may see me there.”

“We’d be honored,” said Kip.

“I know,” said Ron. “I promised myself I mustn’t forget the little people. Listen, I gotta go. My assistant’s bugging me, my secretary’s out with the flu, and my phone lines are lighting up like a Hanukkah bush. You must be nice to everyone in this business, Kip. Remember, you meet the same people on the way down as you do on the way up. It’s a dog race. I love it. ‘Bye!”

Kip hung up and then dialed Chestnut Hill. His mother answered the phone.

“How you doing, Mom?”

“Who has time to think about how I’m doing?” asked Jean Bramer. “I’m running off to rehearsal.”

“Rehearsal?” asked Kip. “What for?”

“Oh, it’s the local community theater group, the Chestnut Hill Players. I’ve been helping out with the props.”

“No kidding?” said Kip. “That’s great. When did all this come about?”

“Last few weeks,” said Jean Bramer. “I figured I’ve got all this time on my hands now, don’t know what all to do. Figured the best way to stay out of trouble is to get active in something. An item in the local paper mentioned the players were looking for volunteers, so I went down, signed up. Haven’t had a moment to myself since.”

“You’re enjoying it, then?”

“Having a fine old time,” Jean Bramer said with a smile. “Actors are real crazy people, so we get along perfectly. I’m trying to screw up my courage to audition for a part in their next production.”

“That’s great, Mom. Just great.”

“Well, I figured, like son, like mother.”

“I’m proud of you, Mom, really I am.”

“Good,” said Jean Bramer. “Maybe if I get a part in a play, you’ll come down and see me perform.”

“Can’t think of anything I’d rather do,” said Kip.

“Yeah, who knows, maybe they’ll let me play the lead if they ever put on a production of
The Madwoman of Chaillot.”