"There's an ad in here, Ivo." Her eyes were full of meaning and he gave her his full attention.
"Is there? What kind of ad?"
"There's a new repertory group forming, off Broadway."
"How far off Broadway?" He was instantly suspicious. And when she gave him the address, he was more so. "Isn't that a little remote?" It was a grim neighborhood near the Bowery. One which Bettina had never even seen.
"What difference does that make? They're looking for people, actors, actresses, and technical people, all nonequity. Maybe they'd give me a chance."
"At doing what?" He felt dread crawl up his spine. He had been afraid of something like this. Twice he had reiterated his offer of a job at the paper, something nice, decent, and slightly overpaid. And both times she had refused. The last time with such vehemence that he no longer dared to mention the offer.
"Maybe I could get some kind of technical job, helping set up the scenery, working the curtain. Anything. I don't know. It would be a terrific opportunity to see how the inside of a theater works ... you know, for when I write my play."
For an instant he almost smiled. She was so incredibly childish at times. "Don't you think you'd learn more just going to see the successful shows on Broadway, like last night?"
"That's different. It doesn't show me how everything gets put together behind the scenes."
"And you feel you have to know that?" He was stalling and she knew it. She laughed gently.
"Yes, Ivo, I do." And then, without saying more, she went to the phone in his study across the hall, the paper still clutched in her hand. She was back five minutes later, beaming at him. "They said to come down today, around three."
Ivo sat back in his chair with a discouraged sigh. "I'll be back from lunch then. You can take the car."
"To this theater? Are you crazy? They'll never hire me if I show up in a limousine."
"That wouldn't be the worst news I'd heard all day, Bettina."
"Don't be silly." She leaned down to kiss his forehead and lightly touched his hair. "You worry too much. It'll be fine. And think, maybe I'll get a job out of it."
"Then what? You work in that horrendous neighborhood? How do you propose to get there every day?"
"On the subway, like the rest of the people who work in this town."
"Bettina--" He looked almost menacing, except that behind the menace was fear. Fear of what she was doing, where she was going, and of what it might mean for him.
"Now, Ivo...." She waggled a finger at him, blew a kiss, and disappeared into the kitchen to say something to Mathilde. Feeling very elderly, Ivo folded his newspaper, called out his good-byes, and left for work.
At two thirty that afternoon Bettina made her way to the subway, disappeared into its bowels, and stood waiting in the dank chill for a train to arrive. When it did, it was smelly, graffiti-covered, and half empty; the only other passengers seemed to be old women with curling hairs on their chins, thick elastic stockings, and shopping bags, filled with mysterious items, that seemed to pull at their frail shoulders like rocks. There were a few teen-aged boys wandering by, and here and there a man nodding off to sleep with his face buried in the collar of his coat. Bettina smiled to herself, thinking of what Ivo would say to all this. But he would have said a great deal more had he seen the theater at the address given in the ad. It was an old ramshackle building that had been a movie theater some twenty years before. In the interim it had often stood empty, housed some unsuccessful porno ventures, and at one time been turned into a church. Now it was being reinstated as a theater, but not in any grand style. The repertory group would do nothing to revive the exterior of the building, they needed the few pennies they had to put on their plays.
As Bettina entered the building with mixed emotions of awe, excitement, and fear, she looked around her. There seemed to be no one around but she heard her footsteps echoing on the bare wooden floors. Everything seemed to be intensely dusty and there was an odd smell that reminded her of an attic.
"Yeah?" A man in blue jeans and a T-shirt was looking her over, with cynical blue eyes and a full, sensual mouth. His hair sprang from his head in a profusion of tight blond curls and gave his face a softness belied by the toughness of his eyes. "What is it?"
"I--I came ... actually I called this morning ... I ... there was an ad in the paper...." She was so nervous, she could hardly speak, but she took a deep breath and went on. "My name is Bettina Daniels. I'm looking for a job." She held out a hand, almost as an offering, but he didn't shake it, he just kept his hands shoved into his jeans.
"I don't know who you talked to. It wasn't me, or I'd have told you not to bother coming down. We're full up. We cast the last female role this morning."
"I'm not an actress." She said it with radiant cheer, and for a minute the man with the blond curls almost laughed.
"At least you're the first one who's honest. Maybe we should have cast you. Anyway, kiddo, sorry." He shrugged and started to move away.
"No, wait ... really ... I wanted a job doing something else."
"Like what?" He looked her over unabashedly, and had Bettina been less anxious, she would have wanted to slap his face.
"Anything ... lights ... the curtain ... whatever you've got."
"You got any experience?"
Her chin went up just a fraction. "No. I don't. But I'm willing. I'd like to learn."
"Why?"
"I need the job."
"So how come you don't go to work as a secretary somewhere?"
"I don't want to do that. I want to work in the theater."
"Because it's glamorous?" The cynical eyes were laughing at her now and she was slowly getting angry.
"No, because I want to write a play."
"Oh, Jesus. So you're one of those. I suppose you went to Radcliffe, and now you think you're going to win a Tony in one year."
"No, I'm a dropout, and I just want a chance to work in a real theater. That's all." But she felt beaten. She knew that she had already lost. The guy hated her. She could tell.
He stood there watching her for a long time, then slowly he took a step closer to where she stood. "You know anything about lights?"
"A little." It was a lie but she was desperate now. She felt like it was her last chance.
"How little?" The eyes were boring into her own.
"Very little."
"In other words you don't know shit." He sighed and slumped hopelessly. "All right, so we'll train you. If you don't make a pain in the ass of yourself, I'd train you myself." And then in a sudden, unexpected motion he stuck out his hand. "I'm the stage manager. My name's Steve." She nodded her head, not sure of what he was saying to her. "Jesus, relax for chrissake, will you? You got the job."
"I did? Doing lights?"
"Working the dimmer board. You'll love it." She was to learn later that it was hot, boring, claustrophobic work, but at that moment in time it was the best news she had ever had.
She smiled at him radiantly. "Thank you so much."
"Don't worry about it. You just happen to be the first one who came for the job. If you're lousy, I'll fire you. No big deal."
"I won't be."
"Good. Then that's one headache I won't have. Be here tomorrow. I'll show you around. I don't have time today." As he said it he glanced at his watch. "Yeah, tomorrow. And once we go into rehearsals at the end of this week, that's it, kiddo, seven days a week."
"Seven?" She tried not to look shocked.
"You got kids?" She quickly shook her head. "Good. Then you don't have to worry. Your old man can come to see the plays at half price. And if we don't make it, you won't have to worry about working seven days a week. Right? Right." Nothing seemed to bother him. "Oh, by the way you know we don't pay you. You're lucky to have the job. We split the box office take."
Bettina was shocked again. She was going to have to be careful with the six thousand dollars she had left.
"So you'll be here tomorrow. Right, kid?" She nodded obedient
ly. "Good. If you're not, I'll give someone else the job."
"Thank you."
"You're welcome." He was making fun of her, but now there was something softer in his eyes. "I shouldn't tell you this, but I got started just like you. It's a bitch. Only at first I wanted to be an actor, and that's worse."
"And now?"
"I want to be a director." The camaraderie of the theater had already taken hold; they were making friends.
Bettina smiled at him with a burst of her old spirit. "If you're very nice to me, maybe I'll let you direct my play."
"Never mind the bullshit, kiddo. Get lost, I'll see you tomorrow." And then, as the heels of her boots clattered across the barren floor toward the door, he called out to her, "Hey, what did you say your name was?"
"Bettina."
"Right." He waved, turned away distractedly, and walked quickly through the theater toward the stage. For only an instant Bettina watched him, and then rushing back into the sunshine, she let out a whoop of delight. She had a job!
Chapter 11
"I keep forgetting that I don't have to look at the want ads anymore." Bettina looked at Ivo over the Sunday paper with a smile. It was the first time she had been able to sit down and relax in three weeks. It was Sunday morning and they had just taken their favorite seats, near a roaring fire. The play was "up," and Bettina had until the evening before she had to go downtown.
"Do you really like it?" He was still troubled. He hated the neighborhood, the idea, and the hours. And he didn't like the circles under her eyes. But that was mainly from the excitement. She had come home every night and been too wound up to go to bed much before three.
But she looked at him earnestly now, and he could see that she meant what she said. "Ivo, I love it. Last night I almost felt"--she seemed to hesitate--"like Daddy with his books. If I'm going to write for the theater and put together a decent play, I have to know everything about the theater. This is the only way that makes sense."
"I suppose so. But couldn't you just write novels like your father?" He sighed with a small wintry smile. "I worry about you coming home from the theater at night, in that stinking neighborhood, at that appalling hour."
"It's busy, and I'm safe. It never takes me more than a minute to find a cab." She didn't dare take the subway at those hours.
"I know, but--" He shook his head dubiously, and then threw up both hands. "What can I say?"
"Nothing. Just let me enjoy it. Because I am."
"How can I argue with anything that makes you that happy?" It was written all over her face. Even he had to admit it. And it had been that way for weeks.
"You can't, Ivo." And then she looked back at the paper again, but this time more pensively. "Now all I have to do is to find my own place."
"Already?" Ivo sounded shocked. "What's your rush?"
She looked up at him slowly. There was something very quiet in her eyes. She didn't want to leave either, but she knew it was time. "Aren't you getting a little tired of having me hang around?"
But Ivo shook his head sadly as she asked. "Never, Bettina. You know better than that." The very thought of her leaving weighed down his soul. But he had no right to hold on to her.
She didn't dare tell him that there were two apartments she thought she should see. She'd have to take a chance and let them wait until Monday. She at least owed him that. And it was obvious that her going out on her own upset him. Maybe he still felt he owed something more to her father. But he couldn't play nursemaid to her forever. She had gotten too comfortable living there. It was definitely time she moved on. It would be better that way really. It was too easy like this. She had even learned to control what she had at first felt for him. They were friends now, companions, but nothing more. She had understood that those odd stirrings of hers had had to be squelched.
They went for their usual Sunday walk, putting the conversation about her leaving behind them.
They stopped for a time, watching New Yorkers whirl around them, skating, bicycling, jogging in Central Park. She sat down on the grass and patted a spot next to her. "Sit down, Ivo." And then, after a time, "Something's bothering you. Can I ask what?"
But it was nothing he could tell her. That was the bitch of it. He avoided her eyes. "Business."
"You're lying. Now tell me the truth."
"Oh, Bettina...." He closed his eyes and sighed. I'm just tired. And once in a while"--he opened his eyes and smiled at her--"I feel very, very old." And then, not sure why he let himself tell her, he went on. "Some things are reserved to special ages. Having babies, getting married, getting gray hair, falling in love. And no matter how smoothly our lives run, now and then we find ourselves in the wrong time slot, the wrong age...."
She looked puzzled as she watched him. And then the light of teasing came gently to her eyes. "All right, Ivo. You're pregnant? Now tell me the truth." He had to laugh at her as she tenderly patted his hand.
And then, throwing caution to the wind, he told her as he watched her eyes. "All right. It's your moving out. Suddenly I can't imagine a life without you." And then he smiled at her. "Doesn't that sound strange? But you've spoiled me. I can't even remember how it was before."
"Neither can I." She played with the grass and spoke barely above a whisper before at last she looked back into his eyes. "I hate to leave you, but I have to."
And then he asked the question they both wondered about. "Why?"
"Because I should be independent, because now I have to grow up. Because I have to support myself. I can't just live in your house forever. That wouldn't be right. And it isn't very proper either, I suppose."
"What would make it right?" He was pushing. He wanted her to say it--but for the first time in years he was afraid.
"You could adopt me." They both smiled at that. And then he looked at her seriously again.
"You're going to think I'm crazy, and I probably shouldn't tell you, but when I was in Europe, I came up with what I thought was a splendid plan. In the meantime, of course, I've come to realize that I was out of my mind." He smiled down at her tensely, and then looked away. "Do you know what I was going to do, Bettina?" He said it almost to himself as he lay full length on the grass, leaning on his elbows and squinting at the sky. "I was going to ask you to marry me. In fact I was going to insist. But you were living in Justin's apartment then, and things were different Suddenly you moved into my place, and I felt as though you were at my mercy. I didn't want to take advantage of you. I didn't--" He stopped as he heard her sniff and he turned to see her looking at him in stupefaction, with tears running down her face. He smiled gently as he saw her and with one hand touched her wet cheek. "Don't be so horrified, Bettina. I didn't do it, did I, you big silly? Now stop crying."
"Why not?"
"Why not what?" He handed her his handkerchief and she dabbed at her eyes.
"Why didn't you ask me?"
"Are you serious? Because you're not quite twenty and I'm sixty-two. Isn't that enough reason? I shouldn't even be telling you this, but it's strange now, with you planning to leave suddenly. I suppose I want to hang on to you. I want to be able to tell you everything I think and feel, as I have in these last weeks, and I want you to be able to do the same."
"Why the hell didn't you ask me?" She jumped up then and stared down at him as he lay there, somewhat stunned.
"To marry me?" He was astonished. "Are you crazy? I told you. I'm too goddamn old." Ivo looked suddenly angry as he pulled his legs toward him and sat up straight.
She sank back down onto the grass next to him, staring at him with flashing eyes. "Couldn't you at least have given me a chance? Couldn't you have asked me how I felt? No, you're so busy treating me like a baby that you have to make all the decisions yourself. Well, I'm not a baby, you moron, I'm a woman and I have feelings too. And I've been in love with you since--since--goddamn it, forever. And do you ask me? No. Do you say anything? No! Ivo--" But he was grinning at her as they sat there, and he silenced her quickly with a long,
powerful kiss.
"Are you crazy, Bettina?"
But now she was smiling too. "Yes, I am, I'm crazy about you. Jesus, didn't you know it? Didn't you guess? New Year's Eve when you kissed me, everything fell into place. But then, well, you seemed to withdraw--that way."
"Do you mean to tell me, Bettina, that you love me? I mean really love me, not just as your father's old friend?"
"That is exactly what I mean. I love you. I love you...." And then she leaped to her feet and shouted it to the trees. "I LOVE YOU!"
"You're crazy!" He said it laughingly and tackled her to the ground. But she was lying next to him now and his eyes found her, and slowly his hands. "I love you ... oh, darling, I love you...." And then, gently, his mouth came down slowly on hers.
Chapter 12
They tiptoed back into the apartment like two thieves, but Bettina was giggling hopelessly as Ivo tried to help her off with her coat. And then he whispered at her hoarsely as they tiptoed up the stairs, "Mattie said she was going to visit her sister in Connecticut. I know she won't be back until tonight."
"What difference does it make?" She looked up at him teasingly with those green eyes, and he suddenly didn't give a damn who knew what he was feeling for her. He didn't even feel guilty. All he knew was that he wanted her, desperately, with every part of his body and soul. It was only when they stood in his bedroom that he came to his senses, and there was suddenly a gentler light in his eyes. She stood near the door, watching him, childlike, barefoot, in her blue jeans and red sweater. Carefully he walked toward her and took her by the hand. He led her back to a big deep red easy chair, where he sat down, and pulled her down slowly onto one of his knees. Fleetingly he thought it was not unlike the many times she had sat on his lap when she was a child.
"Bettina ... darling...." His voice was a caress as his hand touched her neck and his lips rapidly followed suit. But he pulled away from her quickly and looked into her eyes. "I want you to tell me something--and you have to be honest. Has there ever been a man?" She shook her head slowly, wearing a small smile.
"No. But that's all right, Ivo." She wanted to tell him that she wasn't afraid. That she had wanted him for so long, that every moment of pain would be worth it, and after the first time she would give him pleasure for the rest of his life. That was all she could think of. What she would do for him.
Loving (1981) Page 7
