Don't Speak to Strange Girls (17 page)

It didn’t help to curse himself, or to question himself. There was a simple explanation for all this. He loved her and he could not stand the thought of losing her. It didn’t matter what a liar she was, what she had done to him. He did not see how he could go home until he had seen her again. It would be all right if he could just talk to her.

He started the engine, turned the car and drove up the hill. He parked across the street from her apartment. He sat there gripping the steering wheel. He told himself to go get a couple of drinks and forget it. He couldn’t forget it and he couldn’t keep a drink on his stomach. He was going to stay right there where he was, not because he wanted to, but because he couldn’t help himself.

He had to see her.

He waited. Time moved slowly, painfully slowly. He sank back against the seat rest but could not relax. His eyes burned but he did not close them. He checked his dash clock. Twelve. One. Two.

The street grew quiet and still. A police cruiser rolled slowly past, going downhill. The lights raked across Clay’s windshield. Clay slumped into the shadows, holding his breath.

The cruiser did not stop. Clay exhaled.

He watched car lights rim-light the crest of the hill. His stomach muscles tightened. Instinctively, he knew. She was in this car. It rolled over the hilltop and moved down the narrow street toward him. It pulled into the curb directly in front of her apartment building, its rear fins and bumpers jutting out into the street.

They sat there a long time. Clay felt the tightness in his chest. It was difficult to breathe. At last they got out. Joanne was laughing. She slapped at her skirts, straightening them.

The man walked with her to the foyer door. They kissed under the light. Clay got out of his car, crossed the street, staying in the shadows. The man came out of the forecourt, got into his car, reversed and roared away. Clay hurried, hoping to catch her before she got into the elevator.

She was in the foyer. He called her name.

She turned, frowning. When he walked through the door, she smiled at him.

“Well,” she said. “What in the world are you doing around here?”

“I was waiting for you, Joanne. I wanted to see you.”

“I’m glad you did.”

“I came by. Early. I missed you.”

“I’m so sorry, Clay. That was Jeff. Jeff Gordon. You know him. He’s directing my picture. There were some things he wanted to go over with me. I couldn’t say no — could I?”

“No. It’s all right. Will you — come out and sit in the car with me — a few minutes? It’s been — quite a time since I’ve seen you.”

“Is your car out there, Clay? I didn’t see it.”

“I know.”

“Clay, don’t be angry.”

“Let’s don’t stand here like this, Joanne. Please, let’s go out to the car.”

“Clay. My goodness. It’s so late. I’ve an eight o’clock call in the morning.”

“Have you?”

“It’s all going so well, Clay. Jeff is very pleased. He says this is just the beginning.”

“I’m glad.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy, Clay. I don’t think people have ever treated me so beautifully.”

“I’ve missed you, Joanne.”

“Have you, darling? I’ve missed you. Have you started your new picture yet?”

“No. Not yet.”

“You ought to, darling.”

“I guess I don’t get the same charge working in a picture that you do.”

“Oh, it’s so exciting. Seems we spend most of our time though just sitting around waiting.”

“Joanne. Please. Come with me. Just for a little while.”

“Clay, you know I can’t. Don’t be selfish, darling. I’ve got to get some sleep. I’m dead for sleep.”

“Joanne. I love you. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

“I love you, darling. But I’m tired.”

“Joanne, you can’t treat me like this.”

“Darling, how am I treating you? I’m not doing anything to you. Why, you’re doing it to yourself. You’re only hurting yourself … I’ve got to work. I can’t help being what I am. I can’t help wanting the things I want … You can’t stand in my way.”

He drew the back of his hand across his mouth, staring at her, unable to believe she’d said those words. She laughed nervously. “Oh. darling,” she said. “We’re just both tired. We’re saying things we don’t mean … please. I’ll call you.”

“Will you?”

“Tomorrow, Clay. The minute I leave the set. I swear I will.”

He nodded, backing to the door. He felt as though he had been slugged, kicked in the groin. For the moment he was almost glad to escape her. He couldn’t take any more. Not right now.

“All right, Joanne,” he said. “Sure.”

• • •

By six-thirty the next afternoon, he admitted aloud to himself what he’d known all day. She wasn’t going to call. She’d said she would? Sure. She’d have promised him a left arm to get rid of him last night. What had happened to him that he would want to be near anyone who wanted him so little?

He prowled the house, unable to sit still. He denied he was still waiting for that phone to ring. Damn her, she wasn’t going to call. She had never intended calling. They had both known that when she said it. Probably she was out right now with one of them.

If he wanted to see her there was one thing he could do. This was clear. He could get over there, knock on her door until she answered, drag her out before she could leave the place with some date. It was a damned fool thing to do, but it was the only thing left to do. He couldn’t sit around here, bitter and futile and empty with rage.

Anyhow, he would be moving. He could stand it as long as he was moving. He dressed hurriedly, hands shaking. He went down the steps, face set, and fists clenched.

He met Marc Shatner coming in the front door.

“No,” Clay said. “I’m going out.”

“Clay. I want to talk to you. For just a few minutes.”

“All right. A very few.”

He strode into the sunroom. The shadows had lengthened in here, there was a haze over everything. He did not snap on the light. He did not think he could stand the glare of light against his eyes. He waited for Shatner to protest, but Shatner did not mention the lights. For this he was thankful.

Clay sat on the piano bench. He glared at Marc. He said, “Keep it brief.”

“Afraid it’s nothing we can keep brief, Clay. I was talking to Hoff. We’re worried about you. You got a problem. All right. We’re both willing to admit that. But, I think you got to see it this way, Clay. With you, it’s like a sickness. Like alcoholism is sickness. You got to go through the withdrawal. It’s not going to be easy. But for yourself. For your own good. You got to make the effort. You got to get her out of your mind.”

Stuart nodded. “What do you want me to say?”

“Hell, that you’ll try.”

“I’ll try.”

Shatner paced the room. “Not for me. Not for any of us, Clay. Hell, for you.”

Stuart tried to smile. “I know you’re right, Marc. You understand? I know I’ve got to get rid of her and I know I’ve got to get her out of my mind … And somehow, I’m going to do it. It’ll take time.”

“Why, Clay? Tell yourself the cold truth. She’s a tramp. You’ve got to face this sooner or later.”

“You don’t know much, Marc, if you think that matters.”

“All right. Make an effort then. I sound like Hoff. But I say this. Get back to work.”

“Making a picture?”

“You do some other kind of work?”

“I couldn’t keep my mind on making a picture.”

“You don’t have to. Believe me. If you’ll just let us handle it. I’ll stay up here with you. I’ll be around if you want to talk. I’ll keep you busy. You okay the script on
Man of the Desert.
We’ll let Creek get started on it. We can run down to Palm Springs until time to set your wardrobe.”

Stuart shook his head. “I can’t.”

“Why can’t you? Maybe I’m dense. But the way to get well from this kind of sickness is to put it out of your mind, get around people who’ll talk to you whether you want to talk or not. Keep her off your mind. That’s what you’ve got to do. Start to work.”

“No.”

For a moment Shatner paced. “You going to sit around here and stare at your navel for the next six months?”

“I might. I don’t know.”

“For God’s sake, Clay. You’ve got to make an effort.”

“But that’s what I’m trying to explain to you. I can’t help myself. I know better than to do the things I do, but I do them. If you’ve never felt like this, I can’t explain it to you. I can envy you but I can’t make you see how it is.”

Marc Shatner’s nostrils flared. “Try.”

Clay got up and walked to the window, watching it grow dark in the valley. “All right,” he said after a long time. “I don’t know how good this will be. But here goes. Right now, Marc, as of this moment, today, I’m existing, that’s all — sort of living in a vacuum.”

“I know that. I’m trying to get you out of it.”

“But I don’t want to get out of it like that. Can’t I make you see that? It would hurt too bad. It would take too much effort and hurt too goddamn much.”

“You enjoy moping around like this?”

Clay shrugged. “It’s all I can do. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. I can live one day at a time, that’s all. I can get up in the morning and shave and eat breakfast and tell myself I’m not going to see her today, then resign myself to that, to getting through this one day. I can eat lunch and maybe sleep all afternoon — anything to pass the time, get through this one day. I like to sleep. If I can get to sleep, I’ve got it made. Almost another whole day shot to hell. Well, this I can do. Oh, I never have to see her again. I can get along fine. I can get through one day. But that’s it, Marc. One day at a time. That’s all. That’s the best I can do.”

Shatner exhaled. He stared at Clay. “All right. Then that will have to do. That’s fine. Put
Man of the Desert
into some of the hours of these days. It will help.”

“No. That’s where you’re wrong.” Clay’s face was gray and lined with the agony. “That would ruin everything. Can’t you understand? I cannot plan ahead. Not a day or a week. I’m sorry, but that would tear it all down. I can’t start on
anything
that stretches out ahead of me into the future because that would mean I would have to look ahead further than one day. One day. That would mean I’ve got to admit to myself there are days and weeks and months ahead of me when I’m not going to see her again. And I can’t do that, Marc. I can’t do it. As long as I don’t have to look ahead more than one day, I’m all right. But if I started something that meant I had to look ahead into the weeks ahead without her, I couldn’t stand it. I swear. I think I’d cut my throat.”

“You’re talking wild.”

“Sure I am. I haven’t got the guts to cut my throat. But if I had, I’d do it. But that also means I haven’t got the guts to face the rest of my life without her, too. No. The only way I can exist at all is to cut it sharp, keep it down to one day at a time … I’m sorry.”

“It don’t make sense.”

“I told you I couldn’t make you see how it was.”

“I don’t believe anybody in God’s world would understand it.”

“All right. I’m not trying to explain it to anybody. I’m just telling you how it is with me. How it is whether I want it to be or not. One day at a time. One hour at a time. That’s all I can do. That’s all I will do.”

chapter nineteen

S
HATNER WALKED
along the third-floor corridor, nostrils distended. He glanced around, mouth pulled with the contempt he felt and then pressed on the buzzer. After a moment Flo opened the door.

They looked each other over. Shatner said, “Is Stark here?”

“Joanne?”

“Yeah. Tell her Marc Shatner would like to talk to her.”

“I think she’s getting dressed. She’s going out on a date.”

“Sure she is. You tell her anyhow.” Shatner pushed the door out of Flo’s hand and entered the apartment. He went through the small kitchenette to the front room where a record-player blared. He snapped off the music, tossed his hat on a table.

He sat down in an easy chair and looked the place over.

After a moment, Joanne came from the bedroom. She wore a wilted bathrobe. She looked as if she’d just stepped from a shower. She did not smile. “Imagine meeting you here,” she said.

He gave the room a glance. “Yeah.”

“Did — Clay send you?”

“Why would he do a thing like that?”

“Well … you never liked me. I can’t imagine you coming here because you wanted to.”

“That’s where you could be wrong. I never liked you. I still don’t like you. I still don’t see what it is you’ve got. But you’re wrong. I came because I wanted to.”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to excuse me. I’m dressing for a date.”

“Anyone you know?”

Her head tilted. “Smart cracks won’t get you anything, either.”

“I don’t want anything.”

“Then excuse me. I’ve got to get dressed.”

But she did not turn away. He held his gaze on hers. “I want to know what you want,” he said.

“I want this job I’ve got. I want others like it.”

He shrugged. “All right. I’ll buy that. But why couldn’t you stay with Clay — and still keep this job? Looks to me like a big star could help you in a lot of ways.”

She did not speak. A muscle pulled in her cheek near her nostrils.

Shatner laughed. “Or has he already helped you? You think what he did was all he could do?”

Still she did not say anything.

He exhaled. “Or do you think you got all you could from him — and now he’d be in your way?”

The muscle twitched again. Her voice was flat. “There’s no sense getting things all snarled up,” she said.

“Oh? You’re on your way, is that it? You’re moving fast. Onward and upward. Can’t be bothered with anything that might slow you down?”

“What does that mean?”

“It doesn’t mean anything. It just means that you might be short-sighted, walking out on him. He could smooth a lot of rough spots.”

“You didn’t talk this way a few weeks ago,” she said. He shrugged and she laughed, pleased. “Now you want me to go back to him?”

“I think you could do yourself some good.”

“And I don’t. He’s not really interested in a career for me. Sure, he got it for me, just like he’d have bought me a mink coat if I asked him to. What he wants is for me to stay around there — as long as he wants me. And when he doesn’t want me any more — what?”