Loving

by Steel, Danielle

  "Hardly." She looked at him and felt her legs tremble. "It represents nine months of work."

  "What is it?"

  "It's a play."

  "Couldn't you have found something better to do with your time, Betty? The women's auxiliary at the hospital needs a chairman, your son likes going to the beach with you, I can think of a dozen things you could have done with yourself instead of that."

  "Why?" It was the first time she had challenged him.

  He laughed derisively at her. "This thing is probably drivel." And then in a sudden burst of fury, he threw it at her. "Don't give me this trash!" And then, without saying anything further, he slammed the bedroom door and hurried down the stairs, and a moment later she heard him slam out of the house. From their bedroom window she watched him drive away and wondered what he was going to do now. Probably drive for a while, or go for a walk somewhere, and then he'd come home and they wouldn't discuss it ever again. He'd never read it, never mention it. The subject would be taboo. But what if she sold it, she wondered, then what would happen? What would he do? Depressingly she realized that she'd probably never have to face that possibility, but it was still nice to dream.

  Chapter 33

  Right after the Labor Day weekend Alexander went back to school. The neighborhood was suddenly oddly quiet. At least Mary had the baby, but Bettina had nothing to do. True to her silent prediction, John had never again mentioned her play, and the edition she had had bound for him in blue leather had been stuck back in her drawer for two months. He had never seen the dedication to Alexander and him. It had been two months since Bettina had sent it to the agent, and Ivo said it might take months before there was any news. But what news was there going to be? That someone had bought it? That there were a dozen backers? That the show was ready to go into production any day? She grinned at the unlikelihood of any of that happening and went down to the kitchen and put the dishes in the machine. From her kitchen window she could see Mary putting the baby in the carriage and she smiled to herself as she watched. Maybe Mary had the right idea. Because now that her play was written Bettina wondered what she was going to do with herself. As she put the last of the dishes mournfully in the dishwasher, she heard the phone ring.

  "Hello?"

  "Bettina?"

  "Yes." She smiled happily out the window. It was Ivo. "I haven't heard from you in weeks." She felt dishonest talking to him now and never telling John, but there was no harm in it and she knew that. There were some things she decided that she had a right to do without telling him. And what could she tell John anyway? That Ivo was calling to discuss her play?

  "I just got back from the South of France. And Norton was going to call you." Her heart skipped a beat. Norton Hess was his agent and now, of course, hers. "But I told him that I wanted to call you myself."

  "What about?" She tried to sound nonchalant as she sat down on a chair.

  But at his end Ivo was grinning. "What do you think it's about, little one? The weather in California?" She chuckled and so did he. "Not exactly, darling. As a matter of fact"--he drawled out the words and she almost groaned--"it's about your brilliant little play."

  "And?"

  "Not so impatient!"

  "Ivo! Come on!"

  "All right, all right. Norton has what looks like an army of backers. Some fluke happened and there's apparently an available theater and it sounds almost impossible but they're talking about opening in late November or early December.... " He was laughing happily. "Need I say more? Norton wants you to come to New York on the next plane. You can discuss it all with him when you arrive."

  "Are you serious?"

  "Of course I am. Never more so."

  "Oh, Ivo. ..." In all her writing and hoping and praying she had never really anticipated this. "What am I going to do now?" She didn't know if she should laugh or cry. But Ivo understood immediately.

  "You mean about your husband?"

  "Yes. What'll I tell him?"

  "That you wrote a play, there's a producer on Broadway who's interested, and with any luck at all it's going to be a smash."

  "Be serious."

  "I am being serious."

  "How soon do I really have to come?"

  "The sooner the better. Norton will talk to you after I do, I'm sure. I just wanted the pleasure of breaking the news. But the fact is we're talking about an almost impossible opening date here, I gather. The only reason it's possible is because something happened to free this one theater, and your piece requires almost no costumes and scenery, so it only becomes a question of the financial backing, casting, and rehearsing. But the longer you drag your feet out there, the longer it will take to open here. How about coming tomorrow?"

  "Tomorrow?" She looked stunned. "To New York?" She hadn't been there in five and a half years. There was a long moment of silence on the phone while Ivo let her digest it.

  "It's up to you, little one. But you'd better pull yourself together right now."

  "I'll talk to John tonight, and I'll discuss it with Norton tomorrow."

  But Norton was not as gentle as Ivo. He called her half an hour later and insisted that she take the redeye that night. "I can't, that's ridiculous. I have a husband and a small child. I have to make arrangements, I have to.... " He had finally settled on her arriving the next day, but that meant she had to reach John and tell him as soon as she could. She thought about going to see him at his office, but eventually she decided to wait until he came home. She wore something pretty, gave him a drink, and put Alexander to bed as soon as she could.

  "What's on your mind, pretty lady?" He eyed her with interest and they both smiled, but Bettina's face grew rapidly serious as she put down her drink.

  "There's something I have to discuss with you, darling. And no matter what you may think of it, I want you to know that I love you." She faltered for a moment as she looked at him, dreading having to tell him about the play. "Because I do love you very, very much. And this has nothing to do with loving you, it has to do with me."

  "And what does all this mean? Let me guess." He was in a teasing mood tonight. "You want to bleach your hair blond."

  But she shook her head somberly. "No, John, it's about my play."

  "Is that what it is? What about it?" His face was instantly tense.

  She couldn't tell him that Ivo had sent it to an agent, because she hadn't told him that she had seen Ivo again. "I sent it to an agent."

  "When?"

  "Last July. No, actually before that, and he asked me to make some corrections and I did."

  "Why?"

  She closed her eyes for a minute, and then she looked at him. "Because I want to sell it, John. It's just ... it's something I've always wanted to do. I had to. For myself, for my father. And in a funny way for you and Alexander too."

  "Bullshit! All you have to do for me and Alexander is be here for us, in this house."

  "Is that all you want from me?" She looked at him with enormous sad eyes.

  "Yes, it is. You think that's a respectable profession, Madam Playwright? Well, it isn't. Just look at your father, the illustrious novelist. Do you think he was a respectable man?"

  "He was a genius." She was quick to defend him. "He may not have been what you call 'respectable,' but he was brilliant and interesting, and he left contributions that millions have enjoyed."

  "And what did he leave you, sweetheart? His lecherous old friend? His buddy? That old fart who married you when you were nineteen?"

  "You don't know what you're saying," She was pale as she stared at him. "John this isn't the issue. The issue is my play."

  "Horseshit. The issue is my wife and the mother of my son. Do you think I want you traipsing around with people like that? What do you think that does to me?"

  "But I don't have to go 'traipsing.' I can go to New York, sell it, and come home. I live here with you and Alexander, and three thousand miles away in New York they put on my play. You never even have to see it." But as she heard herself begging she be
gan to hate him for what he made her do. Why would she have to tell him that he would never have to see her play? Why wouldn't he want to see it? "Why are you so opposed to it? I don't understand." She looked at him unhappily and tried to force herself to calm down.

  "The reason you don't understand is because you had such a lousy, fucked-up upbringing, and that's not what I want for my son. I want him to be normal."

  She looked at him bitterly. "Like you? Is that the only thing that's normal?"

  He was quick to answer. "That's right."

  And suddenly she was on her feet. "In that case, John Fields, I'm not going to waste my time arguing with you. My God, you don't even understand where I come from, the fine people, the great minds. I spent my life before this among people that others would give their right arm to know. All except you, because you're frightened and threatened. Look at you, you won't even go to New York. What are you afraid of? Well, I am going back there now, tomorrow, to sell my play and come home. And if you can't accept that, then to hell with you, because by this weekend I will be right back here, doing what I always do, cooking your meals, making your bed, and taking care of our child."

  He stayed in his study for the rest of the evening and he said nothing to her when he came to bed. The next morning she explained to Alexander that she had to go away to New York. She told him why and she told him about his grandfather. And the little boy was fascinated and awed.

  "Did he write story books for children?" He looked at her with the same huge green eyes as hers.

  "No, he didn't, sweetheart."

  "Do your?"

  "Not yet. I just wrote the play."

  "What's that?" He sat down and looked at her in fascination.

  "It's like a story that people act out on a big stage. One day I'll take you to a play for children. Would you like that?" He nodded, and then his eyes filled with tears and he reached out and clung to her legs.

  "I don't want you to go, Mommy."

  "I won't be gone for very long, sweetheart. Just a few days. And how about if I bring you a present?" He nodded, and she dried his tears as she disengaged herself from his grip on her thighs.

  "Will you call me when I come home from school?"

  "Every day. I promise."

  And then, mournfully, "How many days?"

  She held up two fingers, praying that would be all. "Two."

  And then, sniffling loudly, he nodded and held out his hand. "It's a deal." He pulled her down toward him so he could kiss her cheek. "You can go." And together they walked out of the room hand in hand. She took him over to play at Mary's until the car came to take him to school, and half an hour after she left him, she was on her way to the airport alone in the cab. John had never discussed the matter with her further. And she left him a note, saving that she would be back in two or three days and leaving the name of her hotel. What she would never know was that when he got home that night he crumpled the note and threw it into the trash.

  Chapter 34

  She hurried off the plane with the others, wearing a black suit and a pair of pearl and onyx earrings she hadn't worn in years. They had been her mother's and they were large and handsome, as of course was the choker Ivo had given her so many years before. Ivo was there to meet her, wearing tweeds and a smile. And she sighed with relief as she saw him. She had been tense during the whole flight. She couldn't imagine what it would be like to be in New York again, if it would be a nightmare or a dream. As the plane had forged through the skies crossing the country, a thousand memories had danced in her head ... with her father ... with Ivo ... at the theaters ... at parties ... with Anthony in the loft. It had been an endless film she hadn't been able to turn off. But now seeing Ivo in the crowded terminal came as a relief. At least it was real.

  "Tired, darling?"

  "Not really. Only nervous. How soon am I seeing Norton?"

  He smiled at her. "As soon as I get you to your hotel." But there was no nuance, no impropriety. Ivo had long since relinquished his old role. He was back to being a friend of her father's, who in a way now stood in her father's stead. "Are you very excited?" But he only had to look at her to know. She nodded nervously, and then giggled, and they waited for her bags.

  "I can hardly stand it, Ivo. I don't even know what it all means."

  "It means that you're going to have a play on Broadway, Bettina." He smiled happily with her, and then looked at her gently. "What did your husband say?"

  For an instant she looked serious, and then she shrugged and smiled again. "Nothing."

  "Nothing? You mean he didn't mind?"

  But Bettina shook her head and this time she chuckled. "I mean he wouldn't speak to me from the time I told him until I left."

  "And your son?"

  "He was much more understanding than his father." Ivo nodded, not wanting to say more, but he had been wondering what Bettina planned to do with Alexander. If the play went into production, she would have to come to New York for several months. Would she bring the boy or leave him with his father? Ivo wondered, but he didn't want to stir up problems before the deal was closed. Instead they made idle chitchat as her bags turned up on the turntable and a porter took them out to Ivo's car. He had a new driver.

  "Does it look very different?" He was watching her as they crossed the bridge, but she shook her head.

  "Not at all."

  "I didn't think it would." And then he smiled at her. "I'm glad." He wanted her to find it familiar, to feel at home in her old town. For too many years she had lived like a foreigner with people who didn't understand what she came from, and with an almost alien man. Without knowing him, Ivo didn't like him. He didn't like the feelings he had bred in her, her distaste for her background, her father, her history, and herself.

  As they sped up Third Avenue and then Park Bettina watched the crowds, the cars, the people, the action swirling about them in the early evening, people leaving offices, going to parties or dinner, hurrying toward restaurants, or hastening home. There was a kind of electric excitement that, even in the sanctuary of the limousine, they could both feel.

  "There's nothing like it, is there?" He looked around him proudly and she shook her head, and then smiled at him.

  "You haven't changed a bit, Ivo. You still sound like the publisher of the New York Mail."

  "In my heart I still am."

  "Do you miss it a lot?"

  He nodded slowly, and then shrugged. "But eventually everything has to change." She wanted to tell him Like us, but she didn't. She sat very still, and a few minutes later the car swooped around the island of shrubbery and stopped at her hotel.

  The facade was mainly gilt and marble, the doorman covered in brown wool and gold braid, the front desk marble, the concierge obsequious in the extreme. Only moments later Bettina was ushered upstairs and into her suite. She looked around her in astonishment. It was years since she had been anywhere like this.

  "Bettina?" A short heavyset man with bright blue eyes and a fringe of gray hair walked toward her. He wasn't handsome, but dignified, as he rose from the chair in her living room and held out a hand.

  "Norton?" He nodded. "I'm so glad to meet you after all these months on the phone." They shook hands warmly. She saw that her bag was deposited in the bedroom and that Ivo tipped the porter, so she called room service and ordered drinks.

  And then Norton smiled at her. "If you're not too tired, I'd love to take you to dinner, Bettina." He looked at her questioningly with a warm smile. "And I apologize for intruding on you so quickly, but we have a lot to discuss tonight. And I know how anxious you are to get home. Tomorrow we have meetings with backers, the producer, and I want some time with you to myself.... " He looked apologetic and she held up a hand.

  "I understand. That's perfect. And you're right. I want to do what I have to and get home." For a moment his eyes traveled to Ivo's. He wondered if she realized that she was going to have to spend several months in New York. But there was no point pushing her on the first evening. That
much would become plain to her the next day. "As for dinner, I'd love it. Ivo, you too?"

  I'd be delighted."

  The three of them smiled at each other, and Bettina sat down for a minute in one of the comfortable Louis XV chairs. It seemed extraordinary to be back in these surroundings after all those years. It looked like every hotel she had ever stayed in with her father. The only difference was that now they were there because of her. They chatted comfortably over white wine for Bettina and martinis for them, and an hour later she changed and ran a comb through her short chestnut hair. She once again wore her mother's pearl-and-onyx earrings, but this time she wore a new black silk dress. Seeing the new dress, Ivo noticed how plain her taste had become. The dress was good-looking, but compared to her old panache with a wardrobe, the little black silk dress was very dull.

  At ten o'clock they went to La Grenouille for dinner, and as they sat down Bettina breathed a deep sigh of relief. It was as though for years she had lived in another atmosphere and now at last she was home. Ivo was thrilled as he watched her, and all she did was smile at him with her eyes. They all had caviar to begin with, rack of lamb, asparagus hollandaise, and souffle for dessert. At the end of the meal both men ordered cognac and coffee and lit Cuban cigars. Bettina sat back and watched them, enjoying the sights around her and the familiar smells. It seemed years since she had eaten a dinner like this one or smelled the rich aroma of Cuban cigars. And as she looked around her for the hundredth time that evening, she marveled again at the women, their makeup, their jewelry, their costumes, and their hair. Everything was put together to perfection, everything was designed to capture the eye and keep it both pleased and aware. They were a pleasure to look at, and beside them Bettina felt unbearably plain. Suddenly she realized more than ever how much she had changed in five years.

  It wasn't until after the cognac that Norton seriously brought up the play.

  "Well, Bettina, what do you think of our little deal?" He looked at her with satisfaction, clearly a man who had succeeded and was well pleased. He had a right to be. What had fallen together for Bettina was a most remarkable deal.