Boys & Girls Together (107 page)

“Obviously,” Carmella said.

That night Branch asked, “What’s the matter with you?”

Rudy rubbed his eyes. “I’m not doing well? I’m sorry.”

“No-no-no; you’re wonderful. Even Walt says so. But you look, so tired.”

“I don’t know why that should be,” Rudy said.

Aaron and Jenny walked slowly through Riverside Park. “So what happened after you broke up?” Aaron asked.

Jenny squinted at the moon. “Oh, we made up the next day. It was all very funny. His wife made up with him that same day too.”

“If I’d been Fiske, I’d have married you,” Aaron said. “I think.”

Jenny laughed. “That’s the way his mind worked too. ‘Yes, I’ll do it, maybe.’ ”

“Go on,” Aaron said.

“No. It only got uglier and uglier. Just before I got this part, the week before, Charley and I got invited out as a couple. This other editor, Archie, he had a place and so, I guess out of desperation, Charley asked could he use it and Archie was delighted. We’d fooled him for so long, he just loved it that we were sneaking around. He thought it was funny, us sneaking around and all the time pretending to be so moral and upright. He used to ride me about it in the office. Leave little notes for me, things like that. Then, the week before I got this part, Archie invited Charley and me out as a couple. As soon as I heard the invitation, I broke out crying. Isn’t that terrible?”

Aaron said nothing.

“I just couldn’t help it, though. All I saw for myself was this lifetime of sneaking around, forever, and I bawled like a baby.”

“Poor Jenny,” Aaron said.

“Someone else said that to me once: ‘Poor Jenny” She shrugged.

“It’s got to be good,” Aaron said.

“We’ll know in ten days,” Jenny told him.

“I’ll know who to blame if it isn’t.”

“Oh, Aaron.”

“I hate him.”

“Why? He’s good in the play and you know it.”

“When I was a kid,” Aaron said, “my mother used to let me pick one food each year I didn’t have to eat. Squash, turnips, spinach, goddam brussels sprouts. Every year I got to hate any one food I wanted to and whenever it was served I didn’t have to eat it. My hate food, we called it. Well, I’m that way with people too. Every year I get to hate one person free. I don’t have to give out any reason. All I have to do is hate, O.K.? Well, Rudy—this year, he’s
mine
.”

“Poor Aaron,” Jenny said.

“I’ll tell you something: if this play bombs ...” He took Jenny’s hand. “What do you know about me?”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh dammit, Jenny, answer my question.”

“You mean with girls? Yes.”

“Well, I must tell you something. I like you. You don’t know how funny that is, coming from me, but just take my word. You see, my
condition
, it does not of necessity fill me with joy.”

“I really don’t want to hear this.”

“Shut up. It’s not what you think—I’m not going to tell you about some priest seducing me in the sacristy, for crissakes.” He tightened his hold on her hand and they stopped, close in the darkness. “But from when I was young I made an
assumption
about myself. I
assumed
I was gifted, one of the chosen, a
spécialité de la maison
. There is already some indication that I may have erred in my assumption. This play, if it is bad, would make it more than an indication. I would more or less have to take it as proof of my mistake. And if I were mistaken, if it turns out after all that I am nothing but a common garden-variety faggot—”

“Aaron—”

“Shut up, I said. I like you.
Listen to me
. Well, if that is the case, I don’t think I can face it, at least not alone, so therefore I would have to do my best to initiate general suffering, you understand? This is an apology, Jenny. In advance. I will not enjoy hurting you. Because you’re very honest and I care. I almost wish I were straight or you weren’t—” He made a smile. “Smile at me,” he said.

Jenny looked at him instead. “You would hurt me? Even though you care?”

“Alas.”

Two nights later Tony appeared down at the theater, arriving just exactly when Walt had told her to, and Walt, on seeing her, stretched and said “Take off, everybody,” and he couldn’t help smiling when he said it, because it was nice to think things revolve around your whims, even though it was time to quit anyway. Being the boss didn’t knock him out all that much, except sometimes it was nice to remind yourself just who was who. He took Tony by the hand and introduced her around.

Aaron took one good, long, close look at her.

Then he beamed ...

The next day Walt took Aaron and Jenny and Rudy aside, and he told them that they had better get ready to
work
, really
work
now, because there wasn’t much time left, and the scene they were going to work on more than any other was the long last scene, the scene where Loretta is about to go off by herself when her brother tells her how he feels and they talk and finally, at the end, they touch hands and go on out the door together, and Walt explained that the crucial thing wasn’t that they were brother and sister, what really mattered was that by the time the play was over they would both have done incredible things, the boy and the girl, for love, and people do incredible things, and if the audience didn’t come to understand and feel that, then the whole play had been for nothing, and Rudy and Jenny nodded and Aaron jammed a fresh cigarette into the corner of his mouth and the meeting broke up and then they
worked
. Everybody. They ran the play once a day all the way through without stopping and then Walt worked on the individual scenes, but mostly on that long last one with Jenny and Rudy, and he had them change roles and he had them sing the scene as if it was an opera and not a play, and then he had them do the scene in gibberish, and when they did that their bodies began moving differently because the words weren’t there, and he had them race the scene, saying the words justasfastastheycould, and then he had them mime the scene, and then he had them speak again, but as slowly as they could without going crazy, and then he had them play it as if it were all the funniest scene in the world and Rudy was looking terribly tired now but he was playing, Walt thought, remarkably well and Jenny was so fine he sometimes could only watch her work and nod and when there were six days to go he took her aside and told her to get everybody she ever knew down to see her and fast and she said yes she would do that, thank you, and then the sets came and everybody got nervous and then the costumes and everybody got more nervous and when there were three days left Walt announced that there would be a complete run-through at noon on the day of the first preview and then Branch announced that there would be a little party for the cast from four to seven the day of the first preview, at his apartment on Seventy-second Street, and bring your friends, just so they buy tickets for later, and then they had to start work all over again, with the sets and costumes making everything different and strange and one blurred morning Jenny remembered that it had been Stagpole who had said “Poor Jenny” and then she wondered if he might come down and see her and then she wondered, if he would, would he come to the party beforehand, so she asked Branch if it would be all right to ask and he said “My God, certainly,” so she called a secretary at Kingsway and found who Stagpole’s agent was and then she called the agent and left the complete message, both invitations, to the play and the party beforehand, but as she gave the message to the agent’s secretary she felt sort of like a fool, and she told the secretary to sign the message “Jenny Devers, the Algonquin, friend of Mr. Alden,” and that made her feel like such a fool she almost yelled “Forget the whole thing,” except she didn’t, and later at the theater, she and Rudy worked again, so hard, with Walt driving them, and Rudy was quiet now, never talking, and then all of a terrible sudden it was the first of August, August the first, preview day.

And a scorcher.

Branch woke early, walked into the living room, found Rudy there, staring. “Come down to the theater with me? Of course you will.”

Rudy made no motion.

“Sleep well?”

Rudy nodded. Yes.

“Nervous?”

Rudy shook his head. No.

“Don’t be.” Branch came toward him. “This is our day. Your day and mine and nothing can go wrong.”

They taxied to the theater, arriving before ten, and Branch got busy on the phone. Rudy sat alone in a corner of the theater, his eyes closed, staying like that until the box-office man appeared, calling his name, and then Rudy followed the box-office man out of the theater into the lobby where someone was waiting. Rudy saw who, stopped, leaned against the wall and the wall whispered, “
Have you had enough? Are you ready now?
”

“Son,” Sid said.

The day was to his father’s advantage.

In the sweltering lobby Rudy stared at his father, who, natty in a blue suit, dapper in a straw hat, innocent blue eyes brighter than stars, smiled through the heat.

“Son,” Sid said again, his voice lower, dropping still more into a whisper. “Rudy, my Rudy, my only son.”

Rudy stood still, his arms down.

Sid embraced him. “After all these years. The prodigal father. The beautiful son. Someone should paint a picture. Yes ... yes ...”

Rudy began to cry.

Branch walked in.

Sid held out a hand. “Sid Miller. Father of the star.” He smiled.

Branch muttered his name, stared at Rudy.

“He’s fine,” Sid said. “Overcome with emotion. We haven’t seen each other. I came a thousand miles for this, would you believe it, Mr. Scudder?”

Branch reached for Rudy. “He shouldn’t get upset. Not today.”

Sid held tight to his son. “I tell you he’s fine. It’s just the surprise. Can I talk to my son alone, Mr. Scudder? It’s been years and—”

Branch looked at his watch. “There’s a run-through at noon.”

“It’s not ten yet,” Sid said. “I’ll have him back, I swear.”

“Rudy,” Branch said. “Do you want to go?”

“I’ve come
a thousand miles
. Can you refuse your father when he’s come a thousand miles?”

Rudy wiped his eyes, shook his head.

“Come,” Sid said, and he led him out of the lobby into the sun. “Hot,” Sid said. “The heat is no place for a father and son.” They walked up Greenwich to Seventh and Sid hailed a cab, said “Sherry-Netherland” to the driver. “You know what, Rudy? I got a suite in that hotel. Me—a suite in the Sherry-Netherland, pretty snazzy? What do you think of your old man, kid? I got a view of Central Park would knock your eyes out.” He put his arm around his son. “Rudy, Rudy,” Sid crooned. “We’re back together, thank God, thank God, you and me.”

Rudy closed his eyes, his head on his father’s shoulder. “I’m very tired,” he whispered.

Sid stroked him. “That’s all right, it’s all right, you’re safe now.”

“So tired. So ... don’t please ... don’t ask ... not for anything.”

“All I want is to be with my son,” Sid said. He began to croon again, “Safe and sound ... safe and sound ... my little deaf baby’s all safe and sound ...”

When Rudy opened his eyes again, they were at the Sherry-Netherland.

Sid paid the driver and they stood a moment on the sidewalk. “You know what I would enjoy to do?” Sid said. “More than anything else in the world right now?”

Rudy shook his head.

“Walk in the park with my son. Would you do that, Rudy? Would you walk in the park with your father?”

The boy nodded.

“Good. Goddam hotel room, the air-conditioning’s enough to freeze you. Look.” He gestured across the street to Central Park. “Doesn’t that look cool, Rudy? Shadows and trees and nice sweet wind. Come.” They crossed the street into the park. “This is for us, Rudy; this is for my son and me. Yes?”

They started to walk.

“How you been?” Sid said.

“Fine,” Rudy said. “How is mother?”

Sid shrugged. “Esther we can talk about later. Now is our time. How you been? You look so tired, Rudy.” Sid stopped. “Aw, isn’t that pretty?” He pointed down toward the lagoon. “Is that a swan, do you think? Look at it glide, Rudy. Aw, isn’t that something to see?”

“How did you find me?” Rudy said.

“A father plays golf, a golfing partner reads papers from New York. There’s a certain similarity in names. The father is interested. He makes inquiries. The play is about a deaf boy. A father can put together two and two. Smile for me, Rudy. Don’t make me feel a bad father. I’ve changed, Rudy. I’m a different man. See me as I am now and smile.”

“And you came all this way ... ?”

“To see my son. To walk in the park. To watch you smile.” They turned slowly away from the lagoon, started walking again, uptown. “Why did you leave?”

“It seemed best.”

“That was all a mistake, Rudy. That terrible Lou Marks—forgive me for speaking ill of the dead, but it’s true—he lied. He admitted it. The whole thing. He forced his wife into going along. They had a terrible marriage, Rudy. You were the one who suffered for it.”

“It seemed best,” Rudy said again. He wiped his forehead clear of perspiration, but before his hand had dropped, his brow was wet again.

“Omigod look, Rudy—” Sid pointed—“a pony ride. A pony ride. Isn’t that a wonderful thing? Do you want a pony ride? I’ll buy you one. I’ll buy you a thousand pony rides. You—” Sid called to the attendant—“how much for a thousand pony rides?”

Rudy smiled.

“See my Rudy smile?” Sid said. “Oh yes. Oh yes.”

They continued to walk, slowly, slowly through the heat.

“The zoo!” Sid cried. “What a wonderful city to have a zoo in its middle. This I have heard of, Rudy—the zoo and the carousel—those I must see.” They stopped by the first cage. “Hello, Yak,” Sid said. He looked at his watch. “You must not be late getting back,” he explained. “I promised. Such an ugly animal. How is your play?”

“We’ll know tonight.”

“And you? I wanted you to be an actor once. But for me, you chose not to perform. Well, life goes on, we change. Tell me about these years, Rudy. What have you done?”

Rudy shrugged. “You?”

“I have made money,” Sid said. They moved down a couple of cages. “A camel in the park,” Sid said. “How amazing.” Then he smiled. “Though why a camel in the park is more amazing than a yak in the park I can’t imagine. Sometimes I’m such a fool. I play golf, now. Bad. I’m on the board at Greentree. Big deal. Ten, fifteen years ago I would have sold my soul. This fall I’m going to ask them to replace me. Dull. Bores me. I’m worth a lot of money, Rudy, would you believe it? It’s all for you when I die. This suit cost two hundred. A summer suit! What do you think of that?”