SHE walked slowly back across the room and sat down on the sofa. Her face, always responsive, showed many things at once: a curious pity for Isabel, tiredness, guilt, anger and utter embarrassment. Neither of us said anything for a few moments, and Val lit herself a cigarette and sat there blowing the smoke out of her mouth, as though nothing bothered her at all. I wondered if she was going to cry, but she looked too exhausted for even that, as though she was beyond tears. What can I say? I wondered frantically. Can I tell her what I think of her mother, tell her to get out of here and never come back, tell her again what Wimpole told her last night? Or have I any influence over her at all, anymore? But even as I wondered, I felt that if I was ever going to win Val back to her senses—back to Emma, back to Henry, and back to me—now was the moment to do it; and if I didn’t, Val would be whisked away from me to a clattering world of dancing, writhing around in dark rooms, and Isabel. Isabel will make her grow up wrong, I thought. She needs to be a child longer, and if I say the right things right now, I might be able to keep her that way.
The silence became hard and glassy, and I was afraid to break it. Finally she turned and looked at me. I must have been glowering, for she gave a tiny smile.
“Well, Gilbert,” she said, “now you know all about my happy family. You started asking questions the day we met, and now you know all about it. Got any statements?”
She was annoyingly calm, and I said angrily:
“You’re damn right I have a statement. Why did you sit there like a dope, and let her go on believing you’d met Henry? Why didn’t you tell her the truth? You could have made her believe it.”
“Oh, Gilbert.” Val sighed and got up, then started pacing up and down. “She was hysterical. It didn’t make any difference what I said.”
“You got her hysterical. You could have gotten her unhysterical again.”
“How?” she asked. “A nice bucket of cold water?”
“By telling the truth! That never occurs to you, does it?”
She glanced at me. “Thanks for putting in your two cents,” she said, “and telling Isabel what a liar I am...”
“I never said that. I just said...”
“That sometimes I don’t tell the truth. That’s enough for her. She lights on things and carries them to the end, and you can’t change her mind.”
“Even Henry said he’d never met you. If you’d said so too, as though you meant it, she would have had to believe it.”
“Henry...” She smiled faintly. “Henry laughed. Henry laughed that a little thirteen-year-old is in love with him...more in love than anybody else will ever be.” She flung herself on the sofa, face down, rested her chin on her hands, and brooded. “You know, this might sound funny, but it’s kind of a relief.”
“What? That Henry knows about you at last?”
“Sort of. It’s the beginning of the end. It’s like a balloon that the air is just beginning to go out of—fzzz-fzzz.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I mean that I’m not going to be in love with him very much longer. All the excitement has gone out of it.”
“Oh, don’t be a jerk!” I raged. “If you had any sense, you’d be more in love than ever! Obviously, he’s fascinated by the very idea of you.” I splashed some cold tea into my empty cup and gulped it down. It was dreadful, so I lit a cigarette too. “Val,” I said slowly, “just get up and walk into Isabel’s room, and quietly tell her the truth. Tell her about Boothy and Valentino, and me and Gregory Peck.”
She looked over at me. “Gilbert, she won’t believe a word I say. Can’t you understand that? I lied about Joe Bird.” Her eyes dropped, and she began picking the tobacco out of her cigarette. “I didn’t dare tell you, either. I knew you’d think I was awful. I didn’t let him kiss me very much. He tried to do more, and I wouldn’t let him. Then he went and told her out of revenge, I suppose. He wasn’t very happy about being rebuffed. She thinks that since I did that, I must have gone and thrown myself at Henry, too.” She looked over at me again. “Don’t you see? She’s all mixed up. Now she thinks Pop is going to dump her out in the street, and she feels inferior because of what I did. That’s how her mind works. Her home-making spree hasn’t worked. Now the whole cycle will start all over again.” She rubbed her eyes. “Some new pal. Don’t ask me who. Maybe Joe Bird, though he’s past history.”
“You mean...you mean she’ll go out and...”
“That’s right. Maybe she has already. She always does, when she gets in this state.”
“How do you know,” I asked, “when you’ve seen her so little?”
“I’ve seen her enough.”
“But...if she wants to keep Arthur, why does she act this way?”
“She thinks she isn’t good enough for him. It’s true, she isn’t. She tries some gambit or other, and gets discouraged, and goes out to make up for it.”
“But...”
“Oh, Gilbert, don’t be so thick. It’s hopeless. I know her better than you. All I can do is sit it out. If I try and mess around with her life...” She shook her head. “It’s like trying to move the rock of Gibraltar.”
“So you’re just going to sit here and let her think...all the things she thinks.”
“That’s right. It won’t last. In a week or two, after she’s made herself feel better, she’ll come bouncing back and casually say she’s sorry she didn’t believe me.”
I put out the cigarette in a huge glass ash tray. It was too easy. Val seemed willing to let it go at that, while I wanted violent action. I hated Isabel; I felt like going in and slitting her throat. She had humiliated Val, and if Val didn’t care, I did. As I watched her lying on the sofa, her hand with the cigarette trailing on the floor, I fancied I saw her slipping away, very slowly, forgiving and forgetting, accepting accusations and hypocrisy, accepting wrongness, giving herself up. There must be some way. There must be...
“Val,” I said slowly, “you know there’s one thing in all this that I should think would bother you to death.”
“What’s that?”
“What Henry must think about you.”
“He thinks I’m a fool. It doesn’t matter. I told you, it isn’t going to last very long.”
I shrugged. “Well, if you don’t care about him anymore which you apparently don’t, I suppose there’s no point in worrying about it.”
“I didn’t say I don’t care about him,” Val said, rising up on one elbow, “I said I won’t, before long.”
“Well, then I suppose you don’t care what he thinks of you. If Isabel hadn’t gone to him, that would be one thing. But it seems too bad just to let it end like this, on a sour note.”
‘“What kind of a note should it end on?” Val asked suspiciously.
“Oh, I’d say...a dramatic note. I mean, after all, we’ve spent weeks being dramatic about Henry, and making pacts, and racing around to his haunts. It seems too bad to let it just fizzle. But,” I sighed elaborately, “if it must fizzle, I suppose there’s no point in trying to do anything about it.”
Val bounced off the sofa and stood in front of me. “Gilbert,” she said warily, “what are you driving at?”
“Driving at? Absolutely nothing. I’m just making a point, that’s all. I like consistency.” I lit another cigarette. “It’s just that you’re being out of character, Val. After all, you usually don’t do anything in a dull way. Usually you’re so much fun because you make things interesting. You add glamour to things. Oh, dear,” I said, smiling in what I fancied was a coy manner, “I guess I’ve just gotten your habits, that’s all.”
Val began hopping up and down. “Gilbert,” she shouted, “come off it. You sound like Kafritz when she’s working up to imparting a prize piece of dirt. Come out and say it, will you?”
“I’m saying it,” I said, “if you’ll only let me finish.” I felt a little more groundwork was necessary. “I just hate to think of all the time and effort wasted, all the information, all the knowledge we’ve acquired. I hate to think of your character left with a smudge on it. Just think...think of the night of that first concert, when Henry came walking out on the stage. Think of his red hair. Think of his coattails. Think of the way you felt! Honestly, Val, you were transported that night. You glowed. You looked gorgeous. You were in love.” She didn’t say anything, but kept watching me. “Ever since then,” I went on in a rhapsodical voice, “you’ve built something, and I’ve helped. We made the world of Henry Orient. I’ve never had such a good time, and neither have you. And think of all we accomplished! All the research! Think of it from the standpoint of pure efficiency. Think how we organized our activity around something as ethereal as love, beautiful love! Love and efficiency! Doesn’t that prove anything to you?”
She sat down on the coffee table and eyed me. “It proves that you hate to see all this wasted. Right?” I nodded, and she stared down at the floor. Then she smiled and shook her head. “Gilbert, it was all great while it lasted, but...”
“So, it’s still lasting, isn’t it? What’s the one thing you want to do more than anything—even though you’ve always denied it? What would be the only way to finish it off, with the proper flourish?” I leaned forward, breathlessly. “Val, you have just a moment left to take advantage of the best thing that’s ever happened to you. The moment is now. Well?”
We both sat there, watching each other; the room was deadly silent. Slowly, very slowly, she began to grin. She said:
“You want me to meet Henry.”
“Absolutely!” I said triumphantly. “Can you think of anything more divine?”
She sat there, looking at me, wondering whether or not to be convinced. Suddenly she groaned and collapsed on the sofa. “Oh, Gilbert, I couldn’t, I just couldn’t! I’d die in my tracks. I’d be dazzled by his shining presence...”
“I thought you practically weren’t in love with him any longer,” I interrupted sternly, trying to hide my delight at her reaction. “For somebody almost not in love, you’re certainly wiggling around.”
“Oh, I don’t mean...but I...meet him! See him face to face! Oh, so what? What do I care about...”
“Listen, Val,” I began excitedly, tired of being elusive, “you know we could find him at any hour of the day or night. We have all the facts. We have his concert schedule...night would be the best time. We could track him along the street, catch him at a likely spot, and talk to him.”
“What would we say?” She was sitting on the edge of the sofa, cracking her knuckles.
“Oh, all sorts of things. We could show you to him as you really are, not as he thinks you are from talking to Isabel. We could tell him what we think of his playing...”
“Oh, no!” shrieked Val. “He’d be insulted!”
“He’d be glad we’re so honest. We could tell him all about how you love him, not in the ordinary way...”
“Gilbert, you have such gall!”
“We could apologize for Isabel, and explain that she gets carried away...just think of standing there in front of him, talking to him! Just think!”
“I’m thinking,” said Val, “and the thought simply gives me the heebie-jeebies.” She got up and began to prance about. “Oh, I couldn’t! I’m too frightened! I’m a coward! After all this time!”
“So, this is the time to prove yourself. You know what I’ll even do? I’ll approach him first, and you can hide in a doorway or something till I’ve got him talking, and you can emerge when the spirit moves you. How’s that? If that isn’t friendship, nothing is.”
“Nothing is,” echoed Val. “When shall we go?”
“Tonight!” I said, afraid she’d change her mind.
“Oh, now, Gilbert. You have to give me a couple of days to work up to it. After all, this is going to be the most momentous moment of my life.”
“I know, but in a couple of days you might...”
“Well, so I might. But I don’t think so. Now that you’ve thought of it, I couldn’t bear not to meet him.”
“Are you sure?” I asked, relieved.
“Fairly sure. A month ago, I didn’t want to. But now I feel we’ve reached a new stage.”
“Right!” I cried. “A new era! We’ll enter it in the Bible. We’ll write it in purple and gold..., the era when Val met Henry.”
She lay on her back, kicking her feet. “Oh, my God,” she moaned. “It’s all too much. I need some beer. I need Henry. O honorable Henry! O Cherry Blossom! In a couple of days...let’s make it Saturday night, after his concert. I’m sure he has one then, at Carnegie. I need the time to writhe around in ecstasy. By then, I’ll be in the proper state...”
“Right! Surging with love and devotion! Palpitating! All worked up!”
“Carried away! At the end of my rope! Oh, Gilbert, where do you get these hideous marvelous ideas?”
“It just came. In my role as aider and abettor, I just felt the psychological moment had come.”
She got up and began to whirl around, chanting, “O honorable Cherry Blossom high omnipotent samurai what Confucius sayeth goeth,” and so forth, until I grabbed her and threw her back on the sofa. “Okay,” she said, “we’ll have to make plans and lists, and draw up statements and documents, and make out our will, in case we die on the spot. In fact, we have enough to do to fill a week, but I can’t wait that long.” She grinned.
“Okay,” I said, “let’s get to work. Oh, Val, the most fabulous thing is going to happen to us.”
We spent most of the next day shut up in my room in front of the fire, making entries into the Bible, renewing the pact in blood, and drawing a map of Henry’s route on the proposed night. In the afternoon we decided to have a sacred ceremony and burn somebody in effigy in the fireplace. I suggested Isabel, but Val said that was a little mean; Lilian Kafritz didn’t seem worth the trouble, and Val was afraid that if we did Dr. Braintree, her brain would fall out on the spot. Finally we decided to burn the corrupt part of Val’s soul, which would be magically purged on Saturday night. We drew her on cardboard, cut her out, and put her in the fire.
“I hope the rest of me doesn’t get burned by mistake,” Val said nervously.
“Nonsense,” I said. “We’re only casting out your devils.” We did some tribal dancing and chanted sayings from Confucius, which I found in a book, then ended up by singing Khatchaturian in loud and penetrating voices. In the middle of this, Boothy poked her head in, a pair of plaid glasses on the end of her nose.
“I haven’t been able to do a bit of work,” she said. “My God, are you two joining the Shriners?”
We explained, and asked her if she’d like to participate.
“Thanks,” she said. “I only stick pins in fetishes, myself.”
“Boothy,” I asked casually, “are you going out Saturday night? Is Wimpole?”
“We’re going to a party with two bibulous old tax attorneys,” she said, “from which we plan to return early. Why?”
“I was just wondering,” I said.
“O shining moon of Hong Kong, bow to the apricot stars,” sang Val.
“I’m leaving,” Boothy said. “It’s too weird in here for me. Now, please try and keep it down. I’m earning my bread.”
She closed the door behind her, and Val said:
“Good. My parents are going out too that night, so nobody will be around to ask us where we’re going.” She sat down on the floor. “I’d better go soon. I’m trying to keep on Isabel’s good side, even though I haven’t seen her since yesterday, and probably won’t for another few days.”
“What’s she doing?”
“Compensating,” Val said. “But just in case she blows in, I’d like to be around being daughterly.”
“I think it’s silly,” I said. “I don’t see why you don’t go back to Emma’s.”
“I might, if things get rough. But I’ll stick it for the time being. Boy, we’ve gotten a lot accomplished today. Shall I come over in the morning?”
“Sure,” I said. “Then we can relax on Saturday, and see a movie or something, to make the time pass.”
“Right.” She got up. “Don’t bother to come down. I’ll just amble home.”
By the end of the next day, we had an enormous pile of documents, wills, lists, maps, planned conversations, and relevant material. It was a stroke of luck that all our parents were to be out that night; if they had not, we would have changed the day. We knew perfectly well that we would get into trouble, no matter when we did it. But if they were out we would be able to leave our houses without difficulty, knowing they would not discover our absence until eleven or so, when they would probably start some sort of ignominious search for us. In spite of the amount of freedom we had, we knew instinctively that we were about to go too far and kept scrupulously quiet about the plan. Val had moments of doubt and terror, but on the whole, she held up quite well. I prodded her periodically, painting glorious pictures of Henry and how he would look walking along Fifty-seventh Street, and how Val would feel when she met him, face to face. I got a little tired of coaxing Val’s temperament along, and was glad when it was Saturday afternoon and I had nothing to do but wait it out till the appointed hour.
A few minutes before leaving, I sat in the kitchen eating leftover oyster soufflé and turkey hash, mentally checking over the plan. Val had taken some of our documents, including the Bible, down to Emma’s, and put them under the floor-vent. The rest we were going to take along. I was dressed as though we were going on a pack trip in the Alps. I wore a heavy coat, which had a removable lining, and inside were maps, papers, wills, a couple of tennis balls, candy bars, two broken cigarettes, a dollar, a copy of Great Expectations, a sealed envelope containing the ashes of Val’s contaminated soul, and a few old keys, rubber bands and fountain pens I had found lying around the house. It took a little extra effort to move, and the bottom of my coat swung heavily back and forth like a stage curtain. I felt a little nervous, quite elated, and somewhat reckless; I felt that no power on earth could stop me from doing what I was going to do, no matter what anybody thought or said the next day. I vaguely felt that this attitude was not a good thing, and if it didn’t get me into trouble that night, it might well in the future; but I reminded myself that it was, after all, for a good cause. It was the only way to keep Val in love with Henry, and save her from the life of vice her mother would lead her into. So, convinced that we were about to do a fine and noble thing, I poked the remains of my dinner back in the icebox and went out to meet Val.
Fifty-seventh Street looked wide and expensive, lined with show windows of paintings, sofas and cocktail dresses. I stopped at Fifth and looked around with satisfaction. It was a cold, clear evening, and my breath made a slight fog in the air in front of me. It was almost eight o’clock, and taxis were moving westward. I hurried across the street and walked on. A few people lingered in front of Carnegie Hall, looking at the posters, shielding a flickering match behind one hand, waiting in the ticket line. I looked up at the picture of Henry, and he stared proudly over my head. Just wait, I told him. We’ll rout you out. We’ll make you know the truth. You can’t go on believing a lie. I walked on, and one or two people turned to stare as my coat rustled and clanked against my legs. I felt a little silly, but walked bravely on. It was darker near Seventh Avenue, and I began to feel the atmosphere of intrigue. According to plan, I walked slowly to the corner drugstore, turned, and walked twenty paces beyond. Then I stopped. The drugstore clock said exactly eight. I said, “Confucius!” in a low voice. Then I waited. Nothing happened, and two women with a great deal of make-up stared at me curiously.
“Confucius!” I said again.
“Cherry Blossom!” came the reply from a dark doorway, and Val appeared. She was dressed similarly to me, except that her supplies were in her pockets—her coat had four of them—and every one bulged. She had an odd-looking knitted hat pulled down to her eyebrows.
“O sacred fount of wisdom, enlighten humble Hong Kong servant,” she said.
“O apricot stars of China, shine on poor kowtowing slave,” I replied.
“Boy, I thought I’d never make it,” Val said. “They aren’t going out till later, so I finally had to sneak out through the kitchen and go down the back stairs to the eighteenth floor. She’s probably having a fit.”
“Have you got everything?”
“All here. Let’s go in and perform the first ritual.”
We went into the drugstore and sat down. This particular drugstore had been reported by Henry Orient to have the best fruit cup in town, so we ordered two fruit cups. We were the only customers, and a yawning soda jerk opened a can of fruit cup and dumped some into two dishes.
“What’s so great about this?” I asked, looking at small pallid squares of peach and grapefruit.
“Never mind,” said Val, “eat it. Henry likes it, and that’s what counts.” The drugstore was dim, gloomy and dirty. A surly-looking man came in and sat down at the other end of the counter, eyeing us suspiciously. We gulped down our fruit cup and paid.
“That was awful,” I said. “Let’s go on to Operation Harmon.”
“Onward!” said Val, and we left.
We sidled along the wall to the corner, then crept into Carnegie Hall.
“Through the back,” Val said, who knew the place like the back of her hand. “Follow me.” We went through a side door, down a long hallway, and after a good deal of scuttling about, found ourselves backstage. There were several musicians around, impressive in starched shirts and tails, and we felt somewhat out of place. There was a buzz of voices and music, and someone onstage was plinking at the piano. Val began to glow: She played arpeggios on her lapels and hummed. Nobody seemed very interested in us, which was lucky, for the last thing we wanted was to be escorted out. We found Harmon in the far wing, reading a newspaper. He grinned when he saw us.
“Thought you two might be along tonight,” he said. “What’s the matter, spend all your allowances?”
“Can we listen from back here, Harmon?” Val asked, smiling winningly.
“Last time you were here, somebody saw you and asked who you were,” Harmon said. “I don’t want to lose my job.”
“Harmon, this is a very important night,” I said. “You know how Val is in love with Mr. Orient.”
“Shut up, blabbermouth,” said Val sharply. “It has nothing to do with that. I admire his playing, that’s all.”
“Aw, rats,” said Harmon. “If you’re the musician I think you are, you wouldn’t waste your time. How’d you like that score your little friend gave you?”
Val turned red, then grinned. “Can we stay?”
“Oh, sure. I’ll put you over in the corner there, and no monkeying around. Just listen and go when he’s finished.”
“Harmon, you’re the greatest,” Val said, and we went over and sat in two camp chairs he set up for us.
“Don’t you dare try to talk to him, or anything,” Harmon admonished. “The musicians don’t like little teen-agers hanging around for autographs.”
“We’re not teen-agers,” I said.
“You’re not, eh? What are you, then?”
“We’re just...music students,” I said feebly.
“Well, study hard. I’ll see you.” He went off onto the stage.
We sat there looking out of our dark corner eagerly, watching every tuxedo that passed by.
“Of course, he won’t come till the last minute,” Val whispered. “He stays in his dressing room chewing lemons, and then comes out and walks straight onto the stage.” We couldn’t see out into the hall, but we could hear the murmur of voices and rustle of programs. The musicians gradually took their places on the stage and began to tune up. Val sat on the edge of her chair and bounced up and down, occasionally remarking that the cello was flat or that someone was spitting into his horn. She seemed a world away from me, and I sat there watching her. It occurred to me that my interest in Henry had taken on a different color; I was bored with the prospect of sitting through the concert, and wanted to get on to the dramatic moment. Before Isabel, this part of the evening would have been a delightful prelude to what was going to come. But now I couldn’t rest until I saw what happened to Val when she met Henry, face to face, and knew for sure whether I had won or lost. And down beneath it all, I felt something give in. Not from anything particularly discouraging in Val’s attitude, but just a simple, logical realization that I was fighting a lost battle. The era of Henry was over, and there was nothing I or anyone else could do about it. The odds were all against me, but I knew I had to keep at it to salvage what I could, and hope against hope that some sort of magic would take us back to where we had been before life got so vastly complicated.
The lights lowered in front, and our wing emptied out. I saw Harmon over by the door, the light shining on his white hair. There was a hush, and then the conductor went onstage. Val’s hand reached out and grabbed my arm, and all at once Henry appeared. He hovered for a moment, rubbing his hands. He stood very straight, staring ahead at nothing in particular. His hair, the color of copper, glinted in the dim light. Then he walked toward the stage, passing so close to us that I could hear one trouser leg scrape against the other and smell the odor of his clothes. I noticed his hands as he went by; white, cared-for hands. In a moment he had passed us and gone onto the stage, and a moment after that the music began.
Val spent the next hour writhing in her chair, gasping, and going through appropriately lover-like contortions. I tried to force myself to enjoy it, to savor what would probably be the last concert. But my mind went ahead of me, wondering and speculating. During the intermission Henry passed us again on his way to his dressing room, and Val and I impatiently ate a chocolate bar. For the last half he played the Khachaturian concerto, which I knew and liked. When the third movement started, Harmon came over and whispered:
“You kids better leave before the end. I don’t want you around here when they come offstage.” We agreed, having expected this. Five minutes before the end he signaled to us, and we crept out the door into the alley, showering him with gratitude. We went a little way back, away from the street, to a nook that Val knew of. We could hear the last strains of the music, and then the burst of applause.
“He played better tonight than I’ve ever heard him,” Val said, “but still not good enough. He isn’t great, and he never will be. He’ll never be a Rubinstein, or even an Oscar Levant. That’s why I won’t go into it, Gilbert. I won’t be like Henry.”
“How do you know you aren’t great?” I asked.
“If my music were in another person, maybe it could be great,” she said. “But unfortunately, it’s in me, and I’ll keep getting in the way of it.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Look at the kind of person Henry is, and you’ll see what I mean. He’s a jerk. He’s a hypocrite and a liar and nobody likes him, except some women, I suppose. I don’t want to be like that. He knows he’ll never make it, and that’s the trouble with him. The least I can do is try and live a decent life, and forget about music, if it comes to that.” She looked at me, and the light from the door shone on her face. A few people were starting to trail out. “I suppose that’s why I’ve been in love with him. He’s just me, in a man’s body.”
“You’re much better than he is,” I said defensively. Neither of us had any illusions about Henry.
“Right now, yes,” she said. “But I might not be, sometime.” Several musicians came out the door. “Gilbert,” she said, “I feel really fantastic this evening. I feel as though I’ve gotten to the top of the mountain, and now I’ll be able to look out and see everything.”
I felt a little clutch of fear. “What do you think you’ll see?” I asked.
She grinned. “The big wide world,” she said. “What else?” She looked toward the door. “In a minute, he’ll come out. He’s had time to change. In just a minute...it will start.” She hopped around the alleyway. “Humble servant of Shanghai awaits shining moon of Hong Kong! Eternal enlightenment and sublime wisdom!”
“Shhh,” I hissed. “Come back, you idiot.”
“Oh, my God, he’s coming!” She ran over and clutched my arm. “Gilbert, don’t desert me! I think I’m going to die!”
“Pull yourself together,” I whispered, “and shut up. Now when he starts down the alley, we have to keep a way behind him. We won’t even start after him till he’s out in the street...”
“Gilbert, stop being so damn practical. This is it. This is the moment we’ve...”
She stopped dead and stared over at the doorway. There, with a half-smoked cigarette hanging out of his mouth, stood Henry Orient.