Boys & Girls Together (103 page)

Tony went into the bathroom for her Grand Marnier glass, emptied it, went to the kitchen and filled it again. She carried it to bed and sipped it, staring at the darkness. In time, the glass was empty. Tony felt languid. She set the glass down and fluffed her pillow. She lay very still. With what energy remained to her she said, “
It means nothing!
” again, louder than before.

That night she dreamt of diamonds.

Walt neither dreamt nor slept.

By one in the morning he had the play read and, stopping only to heat a cup of consommé he started all over again, Act One, Scene One, taking notes this time, jotting down things in the margin. This was a slower reading, and it was almost five o’clock before he finally put the manuscript down. He turned off the lights and lay quiet for a moment before switching the lights back on. Sleep was out of the question, because maybe it wasn’t a brilliant play; maybe it wasn’t even good.

But, goddammit, I can make it work!

I can, I think. I think I can I think lean I thinkIcan IthinkIcanI thinkIcan.

“I got a play!” Walt shouted.

Madonna with Child
, directed by Walt Kirkaby. Directed by E. Walters Kirkaby. Directed by Egbert Walters Kirkaby. Directed by Egbert Goddam Walters Kirkaby. Directed by
Me
.

“Me-me-me-me-me,” Walt sang. “Do-re-me-fah-me-me-me-me-
me-me
!” He looked at his watch. Five-ten. What were the odds on old Branchereeno being up at ten past five? About the same as
anybody
being up at ten past five. Crummy. Walt pushed his glasses up snug against the bridge of his nose with his left thumb. Then he whirled from bed, threw on some clothes and took off out the door. He had gone half a block before he began to sneeze, and that made him remember his cold, so he dashed back to his apartment and grabbed a scarf and tied it around his neck. Then he took off for outside again, sneezing as soon as he hit the street, but now his conscience was clear.

Hands in pockets, Walt skipped his way through Greenwich Village.

Good morning, all you failures and faggots and fugitives from Bennington and Haverford and Swarthmore and Smith and Harvard and for crissakes Rutgers, this is Kirkaby giving you the word. And the word for today is goodbye. I’m leaving, I’m paying my dues, I’m kissing you one and all a big fat so long, because I
got a play
. I ain’t like you no more. I ain’t gonna sit around and piss and moan, not no more, on account of I’m going to work.
I got a play
. I am joining the ranks of the ex-unemployed. I am about to earn the right to fail. Or succeed. Or any little old spot along the way.

“I got a play!” Walt shouted.

He began to shiver. It was really stupid, coming out in the practically freezing dawn when you’re already dying with a common cold, but it wasn’t every day somebody trusted you. Took a chance that maybe, just possibly, don’t quote me, boys, but it is within the realm of possibility that you might have: t?-a?-l?-e?-n?-t? Wouldn’t that be wonderful? Walt thought. After all these years of crapping around wouldn’t it be just the most fantastic thing?

“Goodbye,” he said then, waving at the Village buildings. “I can’t visit witcha no longer.” Because that was what you did to the Village: you visited it, for the sole and only purpose of staying like a youngster. One year of kindergarten not enough for ya? Dissatisfied with eight years of grammar school and four years of high school and four years of college? Tell ya what I’m gonna do. I’ll let you live in Greenwich town, and if you’re lucky you can stay a student seventy, maybe eighty years. Never grow up, never age, just stay as sweet as you are, sucking from the book of life.

“How’s that for an image, ya bastards?” Walt shouted down the street. Then he looked at his watch, saw it was almost six and cut left at the next corner, heading for Angie’s. Angie ran the stationery store nearest Walt’s apartment. He was a fat Italian, probably old and he made the best egg creams, if he liked you, south of 23rd Street. Walt picked up a
News
and a
Times
and walked inside the store, fishing in his pocket for change. “Morning, Ange,” Walt said.

Angie was looking at a girlie magazine. He held up a large picture for Walt to see. “Willya looka them boobs?” Angie said.

“Jesus, Ange, how can you look at boobs at this hour of the morning?”

Angie appeared genuinely puzzled. “Whatsa time gotta do with lookinat boobs?”

“
Times
and
News
” Walt said.

Angie went back to the magazine. “Putter onna counter.”

Walt nodded, put his change down. “So it looks like I’m gonna direct a play,” he said.

Angie glanced up. “Yeah?”

Walt shrugged.

“Goodfuckin’luck, buddy,” Angie said.

“Thanks, Ange,” Walt said, and he tucked the
Times
under his arm and opened the
News
. Some people could read the
Times
on their feet, but he had never been able to master the art. “I only read the
Times
while sedentary,” says E. Walters Kirkaby, famed director.

Walt started sneezing again, so he broke into a run back down the block to his place, and when he got there he took two aspirins and set a pan of water to boiling on the stove. Then he lay down in bed, turned quick to the
Times
theater section, read it and flipped to James Reston. By the time he was finished, not only was he infinitely wiser but the. water was boiling, so he poured it into a cup, heaped in too much instant, blew on it as he took it back to bed with him. He read the entire entertainment section, skimmed the sports, dented as much of the front page as he could, interspersing it all with trips to the kitchen for more of whatever you called what he was drinking. After his fourth cup he looked at his watch. Eight minutes of seven. For a moment he hesitated. His father had always been an early riser, but just to be on the safe side, wait till seven on the nose. Walt reopened the
Times
, closed it and went to the kitchen and turned on some more water, came back, glanced through the
News
, went back to the kitchen because he just couldn’t stomach any more of that stuff he was drinking, wondered what was on the television, decided nothing probably any good, lay down, stretched out, relaxed, whistled a little, tossed his pillow to the ceiling and at 6:56 put in a call to St. Louis.

“Hey, Dad,” he said when he heard P.T.’s voice.

“Arnold?”

“It’s me, Dad. Walt.”

“
Walt?
”

“I got good news, Dad. I’ve got this play.”

“That you, Walt?”

“Dad, didja hear?”

“You’re in New York, right?”

“That’s right. Dad—”

“Walt, it’s five-fifty-nine here. What the hell’s going on?”

“Nuts,” Walt said. “I woke you, huh?”

“Just gimme a sec.”

“Dad, I forgot about the lousy time change. I’m sorry.”

“I’m gonna go put some cold water on my face, O.K.?”

“O.K., Dad.” He tucked the phone under his chin. “ ‘I only forget the time change while sedentary,’ says E. Walters Kirkaby, internationally renowned—”

“What is it, kid?”

“I got a play, Dad. To direct. How about that?”

“A real play?”

“A real play.”

“Well, God damn,” P.T. said. “Wouldn’t your mother be proud.”

“I bet you never thought I’d get one, didja? I don’t blame you, I guess. I bet you thought I was just wasting all my time here, huh?”

“I’m really glad, Walt.”

“Just thought I’d let you know.”

“Don’t run off.”

“I got a lot to do,” Walt said.

“Course you do. Walt?”

“Huh?”

“Call me sometime?”

“Sure.”

“Call me?”

Walt blinked.

“A real play,” P.T. said. “How about that?”

After they’d hung up, Walt began to shiver from the cold, so he slipped under his quilt and stared at his bullfight poster. He began to sneeze again, and when the seizure was over he ran to the kitchen and took two more aspirins. Then he hopped back into bed and dialed Branch. “Jiggles?”

“Walt?”

“I am genuinely enthusiastic. Now go back to sleep.” He hung up.

A moment later the phone rang. “That
was you
? Branch said. “ ’Twas.”

“And you’re—”

“I am.”

“Lovely,” Branch said. “Let’s both go back to sleep.”

Walt hung up, shook his head, dialed. “Hey, I’m sorry to bother you and this is my last phone call, but let’s get together sometime like soon.”

“This afternoon?”

“I’ll be here sneezing.” Walt hung up, dialed again. “Branch?” he said.

“Yes, Walt.”

“This is really the last time, but I thought you might set up a meeting between me and the author in the not so distant future.”

“It will be done.”

“Good. S’long.” Walt hung up and pulled the quilt under his chin. He was shivering again and he touched the back of his hand to his forehead, but he had never been able to tell his temperature that way, so he picked up the phone and dialed Branch again. “Whenever I’m really excited I act like a horse’s ass,” he said.

“Yes, Walt.”

“I just wanted to tell you that I understand this play. I mean that. I can make it work. I just know I can.”

“I just know it too.”

“S’long, Branch.”

“Bye, Walt.”

“Isn’t this just something,” Walt said, and he hung up. His head was aching now, and he decided to take his temperature, but then he remembered that he didn’t have a thermometer because before it didn’t matter if he was sick or not but now it did, now it mattered like hell, so he threw on some clothes again and ran outside and around the corner but it was not quite seven-thirty and the drugstore didn’t open till eight and he was disgusted with himself until he remembered that Tony always set her alarm for seven-thirty and that if he ran like crazy he could call her before she was back asleep.

Walt ran like crazy.

When he heard Tony’s voice on the other end of the phone he said, “I’m waking up everybody this morning, so you’re nothing special to me.”

“You didn’t wake me. I was dreaming and then the alarm went off. I was just resetting it when you called. I miss you.”

“I gotta catch your act in the morning more often,” Walt said. “Tell me that again.”

“I miss you,” Tony said. “I thought about you all last night, lying there sniffling.”

Walt sneezed.

“Did you sleep well?” Tony said.

“Not a wink,” Walt whispered. “Tony, Tony, it’s happened.”

“What?”

“It’s happened, it’s happened, I’m gonna direct a play.” He waited. “Well?”

“Just getting a cigarette, dopey.”

“I read it, and then I read it again, and I’ve talked with Branch, and the thing is
I’ve got a play
, Tony, isn’t that—you’re not interrupting me.”

“Why should I do that?”

“No reason—just that you usually interrupt me a lot. Not criticizing, you understand—I mean, I interrupt you too a lot—say something.”

“Don’t get excited.”

“I am excited. Don’t tell me not to get excited, just say something—”

“I did, honey. ‘Don’t get excited.’ That was a specific statement, not a general overall comment.”

“I don’t get you,” Walt said.

“All I mean, Walt, is that if you don’t get so excited now, you may not be so disappointed later.”

“Later? Later? Why would I be disappointed? I’m not saying it’s
Salesman
or
Streetcar
. All I’m saying is that if we cast it halfway decent and if I’m worth a damn, we might just have something.”

“What about money?”

“
The money’s all raised
, don’t you understand? This is a cinch thing. It’s going to happen.”

“I just don’t want you to be disappointed in case—”

“Goddammit, there’s nothing that can disappoint me.”

“Walt, I’m sorry, it’s just too fishy. I mean, why would this package just drop
boom
in your lap? There are other directors and it just doesn’t sound right and I don’t want you getting disappointed—”

“I know there are other directors—don’t you think I’m aware of—what the hell’s the matter with you anyway?”

“Nothing’s the matter with me.”

“Why are you all the time so damn destructive?”

“I just don’t want you getting hurt, that’s all.”

“I was so excited when I called you and—”

“Calm down.”

“Every time I ever get excited about anything you have to come along and knock the props out—”

“I said calm down.”

“
You always do this
.”

“You’re getting incoherent.”

“You just go to hell, huh?”

“This conversation was just terminated,” Tony said.

“You’re too late,” Walt told her, “I’m hanging up on you.”

“You hang up on me and you’re going to be very sorry—”

“So long, kiddo.”

“I mean it, Walt. I can be very stubborn. I’ll never call you again—”

“I’m gonna hang up now.”

“You’ll come crawling back inside five minutes,” Tony said. “You always do.”

Walt slammed the phone down on her laughter.

His throat felt dry and he really wished he knew exactly what you were looking for when you put the back of your hand to your forehead, because if he got sick now, well, he just wouldn’t and that was all there was—
damn her!
He should have known she’d put him down before he ever called her. He understood Tony. Every time they were together and he got excited over a movie or a painting or a great-looking mother walking with a baby—every time anything like that happened she’d put him down. Cut at him, draw blood some way, any way. She had to. Walt understood Tony.
She
had to be what caused excitement, whether by use of her body or her mind, and the minute anything else crept in, she had to kill it. Like last night, when he’d wondered why Branch was coming down and had started getting excited, she’d made herself almost available to him, got him hot and bothered, the juices flowing like crazy, until he’d begged her to stay, until she was back in stage center again. Hell, he understood her all right.

He just couldn’t do anything about it.

Walt sighed, listening to the echoes of Tony saying, “You’ll come crawling like you always do.” Walt nodded. “Like always,” he said. He knew she’d never call him, not ever again, or make any kind of appearance until he called; she was that stubborn. God, she could get to him. Walt ran his hand over his eyes. He felt really rotten and he would have loved not to call her, loved to finesse crawling just once, but what had to be done had to be done, so he reached for the phone and was halfway through dialing before he wondered if maybe the last scene of the play, the one where the brother Clare goes off with the pregnant sister, Loretta, oughtn’t be longer, a fuller scene. Walt scrambled out of bed for a yellow pad and pencil and made five column headings at the top of a blank page, one for each of the five characters in the play. Then he wrote, “Who wants what and why?” and began noting down answers for the five people until his eyes really hurt and he put his pencil down and in a second he was asleep.