by Rob Summers
Chapter 14 You May
Pride tugged with a forefinger at the collar of his tuxedo, while taking in the mansion of Mr. Power and the impressive clothing of the party guests. He must not, he knew, let this evening’s opportunity slip away. The competition was roving about. Already, he had spotted at least two of the mock suitors who had been in Mr. Influence’s waiting room.
Passing from one enormous and decadently furnished room into another, he made an observation post of a shadowy area behind an overstuffed chair. Momentarily, Mr. Power himself strode near, accompanied by another man. Power was one of the best known men in town. Tall, broad shouldered, humorless, and about fifty; he was said to control even the mayor and the city council.
The other man was considerably younger but balding prematurely; mustachioed, well dressed; looking world weary, even dissipated. Pride recognized him as the man most seen in Fame’s presence of late, a lawyer new to the City but with political ambitions.
“Of course, I’m not offended,” he told Power. (He sounded offended to Pride.) “I’m just surprised that she didn’t tell me herself. I suppose she’s found someone new and doesn’t want to face me with it?”
“I’m not saying that,” said Power. “Her tastes do change regularly, as everyone knows. You’re a mature man. You must have known it couldn’t last.”
“I just want to have a word with her before I leave. Just for a minute.”
“I’ve had your car brought up to the door,” said Power.
“I’ll leave after I’ve seen her one last time.”
Power gripped the man’s shoulder and spoke to him in a low voice. In a moment the younger man’s face paled. He backed away.
“Sure, someone like you would do that,” he said, “and I could never prove myself innocent. It would ruin me. OK, I’ll go! But I’m not finished yet. I’ll win her back somehow, you can bet on it. Even you can’t—”
Power interrupted him by rudely snapping his fingers in the man’s face. He jerked his thumb in the direction of the front entrance. Obediently, the young man stumbled through the nearest doorway and went off in the direction indicated.
Power now noticed Pride for the first time, and his sneer turned into a look of cold suspicion. “Get out from behind that chair,” he ordered. Pride obeyed, reluctantly facing the man.
He looked Pride over like a boxer sizing up an opponent.
“Hello there,” Pride began, “My name is—”
“I know who you are,” said Power. “Neglect’s boy, a City boy. Unemployed, but a regular at the country club. You bought yourself an invitation here from Influence, and now you want a break with Fame, right?”
Pride nodded as if he had palsy.
“Well,” said Power, considering, “you’re married: the press would go for that. They’d go for someone from the City, too. A good change of pace. The question is, are you any smarter than that tail-wagger I just got rid of? When she’s tired of you, are you going to make a nuisance of yourself? Will you cash in your chips when I give you the nod?”
Pride hoped he understood. Seemingly, it was Power’s responsibility to inform Fame’s boyfriends when she no longer wished to go out with them. But that would not happen in his own case, for he and Fame were fated for each other. He smiled knowingly. “I hope that I’m a gentleman. I wouldn’t press my attentions on her if she didn’t want me to.”
“Good, you know how to play the game. Go stand by the door over there and wait.”
Pride obeyed, hardly knowing what it meant.
Power called a waiter, spoke to him, and sent him away. In a minute the waiter reappeared, bringing her with him. Of course, it was she. He had stared at a thousand magazine pictures of her, had watched her on commercials and in videotaped interviews; and her picture was on the cover of her slim biography, which had become his favorite, his only, reading matter.
Fame wore a blue, sequined gown; her flaming hair was done up in jeweled bands; her face and figure were the perfect expression of this year’s ideals. She listened impassively while Power spoke to her briefly. When Power glanced in Pride’s direction, her eyes seemed to turn Pride’s way for a moment.
Then she was coming toward him, and Pride forgot Mr. Power immediately. His hands trembled and the blood rushed to his face. Now she stood only a few steps away. She turned her large, gray eyes toward him.
“Hello, I’m Fame,” she said softly.
“Pride, Mr. Pride,” he said.
She immediately consulted a card which she carried in her gloved hand and which appeared to be a printed guest list.
“You have a House of Scholarship,” she read. “And I have a note here that your servant who takes the courses did brilliantly in the summer session. Congratulations.”
He thanked her. A pause would surely have followed, had he not rehearsed himself thoroughly for this moment. He explained to her that he was not merely another of her admirers, but someone who wanted to know her as a person. He suggested that among her many friends only a handful would make the effort to truly understand her. Then he gathered himself for the crisis of his life.
“May I,” he asked, “take you out this weekend and begin to really get to know you?”
Smiling, she said, “You may.”
For this Pride had not rehearsed sufficiently. He stumbled over the remark he had planned in case of immediate acceptance. Fame, however, rescued him with questions and suggestions about the details of their night out, and they swiftly settled on seven o’clock Saturday, with Fame to determine the evening’s itinerary. Then she excused herself from his company in order to talk to someone across the room.
The rest of the evening was anticlimax. Fame drifted here and there, chatting with her many acquaintances; but she seemed to have no interest in further conversation with Pride. At first he hung on the edge of whatever group she was in, but this proving rather depressing, he spent some hours just wandering about with nothing to do and no one to talk to. When at last he noticed some guests departing, he followed them out. He could not say goodby to Fame: she was unapproachable at the center of a large group of guests, resting her hand casually on the sleeve of Mr. Power.
Outside, the September evening was hot, and the white gravel underfoot marked up his perfectly polished shoes.
He cheered up on the drive home.
“I’m dating Fame!” he shouted with the wind pouring through the windows. “Unbelievable. She likes me, she accepts me. What a life!”
