So there is to be no vacation, or not much of one.
It takes them an hour to navigate passage from the boat to the train.
At Waterloo Station, the police and staff are unable to keep the crowds back, and so surrender to the collective force of many wills. In Leicester Square, a cordon has to be formed to funnel them from their car to the theater. Later, upon leaving, the hordes rush them and tear a door from the vehicle as they make their escape.
He meets A.J. and A.J.’s new wife, but he cannot be alone in his old haunts.
He cannot be alone anywhere but in his hotel room.
At Edinburgh, a thousand people.
At Leeds, two thousand people.
At Glasgow, eight thousand people.
At Birmingham, ten thousand people.
Babe plays one round of golf, at Gleneagles. It is, Babe says, a very good round of golf, but a long way to come for it.
Babe buys a tartan umbrella.
Babe buys tartan socks and tartan suspenders.
Babe considers a kilt, but decides that the courage to wear it may be lacking.
Mercifully, the publicity tour ends. He and Babe attempt an escape to the Continent, but if anything the attention is worse there, so they return to England and make the best of their circumstances.
Babe plays more golf.
He spends time with A.J.
Everywhere he goes, people stare and call him by name.
I don’t know what was so wrong with your old name, says A.J. It was a perfectly good name. It never did me wrong.
He has no explanation for A.J., or none that might satisfy. His old identity has been discarded, and his new identity is to be found only on the screen. In the expanse between these two poles lies the reality of the self.
By September, he and Babe are back in Los Angeles.
By October they are back on the lot.
Henry Ginsberg greets them. Henry Ginsberg invites them into his office.
For taking a vacation, Henry Ginsberg deducts $19,200 from his salary, and Henry Ginsberg deducts $15,200 from Babe’s salary.
They wipe the dust of Henry Ginsberg’s office from their feet as they leave.
I should, says Babe, have played more golf.