Loving (26 page)

"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 began 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.

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.

"I'm very impressed, Norton. But I don't know all the details yet."

"You will, Bettina, you will."

And by the next day she did. A remarkable sum of money, the best backers on Broadway, a producer people killed or died for, and a theater that was nothing less than a dream.

It was one of those rare events in the theater when absolutely everything falls into place. Normally her play wouldn't have been put on until at least six months later, but because of the simplicity of the production, the availability of the theater, the backers, and the producer, everything was set to roll within three months. The producer was almost certain he could get the actors he wanted. The only thing lacking now was Bettina's okay. It all hinged on her.

"Well?" Norton asked her at the end of a grueling day. "Shall we sign it today and give everyone the green light, madam?" He beamed at her and waved at the mountain of contract forms on his desk. Technically she understood almost none of what was happening, all she knew was that if she agreed to accept a vast sum of money and come to New York until the play opened and the kinks had been worked out, and then kept an eye on what was happening with it for a little while, her play was in business and would open before Christmas. It was as simple as that. But she looked exhausted and nervous as she faced Norton across his desk. "What's the problem?"

"I don't know, Norton ... I ... have to talk to my husband. I don't know what I'd do with the baby.... " She looked terrified and he looked startled. The baby? She had a baby?

"The baby?"

She laughed nervously. "My three-year-old son."

Norton waved a casual hand and smiled again. "Bring the baby with you, put him in school in New York for three or four months, and after Christmas you all go home. Hell, if you want to bring your husband. For God's sake, they're paying you enough to bring all your friends."

"I know ... I know ... and I don't mean to sound ungrateful. I'm not, it's just that ... my husband can't come, he's a doctor, and--" She stopped, staring at Norton. "I don't know, for Cod's sake. I'm scared. What the hell do I know about Broadway? I wrote a play, and now I wonder what I've done."

"What have you done?" He looked at her for a moment with hard, beady eyes. "You have done nothing. Zero. Zilch. You have written a play. But if you don't let someone produce it, if you don't take your chance when you get it, then, my dear, you haven't done shit. Maybe what you'd like better"--he paused for a moment, and then went on--"is to take your play back to California and have it put on by some local playhouse, where no one will ever hear of it, or you again." The silence in the room was deafening after his brief speech. "Is that what you want, Bettina? I'm sure if he could see it, it would make your father very proud." He smiled at her benignly, unprepared for what happened next so that he jumped slightly when she slammed a fist down on his desk.

"Screw my father, Norton. And Ivo. And John. Everyone is always wanting me to do what suits their purpose, and invoking whatever names they have to to get whatever they want done. Well, I'm not doing this for my father, or my husband, or Ivo, or you. If I do it, I'm doing it for me, Norton, for me, do you hear me, and just maybe for my son. And the fact is I can't give you an answer and I'm not going to sign a damn thing today. I'm going to go back to my hotel and think it over. And in the morning I'm going to go home. And when I've thought it out clearly, I'll call you."