The Paper Dragon (64 page)

"Well," the operator said, and hesitated. "Just a moment, sir."

He waited. He owed it to Julie to consult her on her own eradication. Too many things in life got eradicated without consent, 'what had ever happened to the Sunday feasts at his grandfather's house, who had ever decided
that
issue without a vote?

"Sir?" the operator said.

"Yes?"

"Sir, Minnesota is on Central Standard."

"What does that mean?"

"They're an hour behind us, sir."

"Well, what time is it there?"

"It's almost midnight here, sir, so I would imagine it's almost eleven there."

"I see. Thank you."

"Did you wish to place your call, sir?"

"Well, I don't know yet," he said. "Thank you."

He hung up. Eleven o'clock, he thought. That wasn't really so late, but Julie probably went to bed early, houseful of kids to get off to school, besides
everybody
probably went to bed early in Minnesota. I really should call her, though, he thought, how can I change her without first getting her permission? They want me to make you a social worker, Julie, he thought, I know you'll get a laugh out of that, it's really pretty comical when you think of it. A social worker who practices the flute in her bedroom next door with the pink curtains on the window and the beware vicious dog sign tacked crookedly on the white-painted wood, I don't know, Julie.

They told me nothing, Julie.

I thought they'd tell me something in that courtroom.

They told me nothing.

Julie, do you remember once, do you remember when we were walking to the library together one night? and you asked me not to walk quite so fast, my legs aren't as long as
yours
, do you remember that? and I said I'm in a hurry, do you remember? I was in a hurry to get there, Julie, to get where the words were, all the words.

Julie, honey, I never got there.

Julie, they told me nothing, I was hoping they'd tell me something.

Look, we've got to discuss this. Look, what's the sense, we've just got to discuss this.

He reached for the telephone.

What's the sense? he thought.

He waited, his head bent, his hand resting on the telephone. He sighed and lifted the receiver. Rapidly, he dialed. He heard the ringing on the other end, once, twice, and quickly he hung up. He stared at the phone a moment longer, his heart beating wildly, and then he reached for the bottle of scotch and poured himself another drink.

He placed his call at one-thirty a.m. He was very drunk by that time. "Hello!" he shouted into the mouthpiece.

"What? Who's this?"

"Well, I've been sleeping on it," he said.

"What? Who's this?"

"This is Edward Albee. Don't you recognize my voice?"

"Listen, who
is
this?"

"Every writer has a voice, didn't you know that?"

"Arthur?"

"Yes, very good, this is Arthur Miller."

"What is it, Arthur? Are you drunk, Arthur?"

"Why, Stuart, what a thing to say to a man of my talents and respect, what a thing to say. Would you say such a thing to Tenafly New Jersey?"

"I've been trying to get you all day," Stuart said. "Have you decided, Arthur? Is that it?"

"I have decided."

"What have you decided?"

"I have decided to sell out," Arthur said.

"What do you mean?"

"Again," Arthur said.

"I still don't know what you mean."

"I have decided, Stuart, to sell out again, I have decided to sell out because I'm afraid."

"Arthur, that's no attitude to…"

"I'm afraid I'll lose the case, Stuart, and I'm afraid if I don't grab Hester then Osborne'll get her, and I'm afraid my sweet little play'll die, Stuart, it'll curl up and die stillborn, never see the light of day, never have a chance to breathe at all. So I'm selling out, I'll do whatever the pants pressers want me to do, make any revisions they want, change little Julie to a whore with a line of sailors waiting outside her bedroom…"

"Julie?"

"
Carol
, whatever the hell her name is, who cares?"

"Look, Arthur…"

"Tell Mitzi Starke she just bought herself a writer."

"Arthur…"

"Tell Hester I'll fit the part to her like a tailored suit from wherever it is fine actresses like Hester Miers buy their tailored suits, tell them they got themselves a tailor, and when I finish the garment they can press it. Tell them."

"Arthur?"

"What?"

"Arthur, are you crying?"

"No," he said.