The Slipper (42 page)

With April and her contract renewal looming, the producers of
This Life of Ours
, fearful of losing her, were willing to do everything possible to keep her contented. Let her have her little fling off Broadway, they reasoned, keep her happy, make things easy for her. The play will probably open and close before it's time to sign her name on the dotted line. Consequently, Meg was grazed by a bullet when gunfire erupted at the old Chinese warehouse, was rushed to River City Hospital and went into a deep coma. Julie only had to report to the studio three mornings a week, working only till noon then, lying comatose in a hospital bed with bandaged head while Steve or Jane wrung their hands or talked to the doctor about her chances of recovery. Rehearsals for
At the Robert E. Lee
went wonderfully well, and Julie was thrilled to discover that Larry Blyden was cast as Jake, Eileen Herlie as Lavinia. The play was to open at the Theater de Lys on March 10th, and it had all the makings of a huge success.

One Tuesday in mid-February Jim picked Julie up outside the television studio and whisked her down to the Village on his bike for lunch. She didn't have to report for rehearsals until one-thirty, so they had ample time for a leisurely meal at one of his favorite restaurants. There was sawdust on the floor and red-and-white checked cloths on the tables and a hand-printed menu taped to the front window. For roughly a third of the price they would have paid at one of the chic restaurants uptown they had a meal twice as tasty: London broil steak, baked potatoes, green salad, homemade rolls. Working as hard as they did, both believed in eating a hearty lunch. The place was filled with a raffish village crowd who recognized both Julie and Jim and politely ignored them. Jim sighed deeply, pushing his plate back.

“What time'd you say you have to report to rehearsal?”

“One-thirty.”

He glanced at the clock hanging over the door. “Better hurry up and finish your steak. I'll walk you to the theater and come back for my bike later. You're finished? Want some apple pie?”

Julie shook her head and they left a few minutes later and began to stroll toward the theater which was only a few blocks away. It was a lovely day, warm for February, Julie in a gray-and-violet plaid wool skirt and a violet sweater, Jim in his brown leather jacket and a black wool turtleneck. He took her hand, and she smiled, so comfortable with him, as comfortable as she would be with an affectionate older brother, she reflected. They strolled past a used-book shop and a leather goods shop featuring handmade purses and belts and gloves. Julie loved the Village. Despite the influx of tourists and its self-conscious artiness, it had a relaxed, friendly ambience found no place else in the city.

“Got some news,” Jim said.

“Oh?”

“David has posted the closing notice.
An Easy Murder
bites the dust after Saturday night's performance.”

“Jim, I—I'm so sorry.”

“I'm not.” He grinned, squeezing her hand. “We've had a nice long run, and, if you wanna know the truth, I was getting kinda tired of playing a psychopathic killer. I'm ready to play something else—like a dashing young private eye, for example.”

“A private eye?”

“With a sexy, slightly daffy blonde secretary named Bingo and a streetwise teenaged sidekick who talks tough, knows judo and helps me out of a lot of jams every week.”

“That sounds like—”

“Sounds like
77 Sunset Strip, Hawaiian Eye, Bourbon Street Beat
and a host of other Warner Brothers' series. Mine'll be a bit jazzier, a bit less staid, more sex, more violence, a sure-fire smash, they tell me. I signed the contract yesterday. You won't believe the salary, I couldn't believe it myself. I also get a shot at feature films—they've already lined me up to costar with Natalie Wood during my summer hiatus.”

They paused for a red light. Julie felt a sharp pang inside.

“That—that means you'll be leaving for California,” she said.

“End of the month, babe.”

The light changed. They crossed the street. “I—I'm very happy for you, Jim,” she said.

“I'm pretty excited about it. It's a dream of a deal and a steppingstone to better things out there. There's just one hitch.”

“What's that?”

“You and Danny won't be with me,” he said.

Julie didn't say anything. They passed a handmade-jewelry shop, a gay bar, a paper company, an antique store, a shop featuring East Indian artifacts and a boisterous Irish tavern. Jim was still holding her hand, and he pulled her to a stop in front of another used-book store, remaindered André Gide novels piled behind the dusty glass windows. His handsome face was grave. He looked terribly uneasy, as though afraid to speak.

“I—uh—look, I got something to say. We've been best buddies for—for a long time now, babe, and I—uh—well, to tell you the truth I guess you and Danny mean the world to me. Danny's like—I couldn't love my own kid any more than I love him.”

“He loves you, too,” Julie said quietly.

“I never thought I'd want a kid, not until Danny came along, and—I never thought I'd wanna get married until—Damn! I wish I had some brilliant scriptwriter right now. He'd provide the perfect words, and I'd provide the feeling. What I'm trying to say, babe, is—I guess I'm in love with you, I guess I have been for quite a while.”

“Jim—”

“I never said anything. I didn't want to frighten you. I didn't want to risk spoiling our friendship. I knew you'd had a rotten time with your husband and I knew you must be pretty well turned off men after what you'd been through and I figured—well, with time you might decide we weren't all bastards, might even—might even grow to care for me a little.”

“I—Jim, I—don't know what to—”

“I guess this isn't very romantic standing here in front of a hundred copies of
Lafcadio's Adventure
and
Strait Is the Gate
, but—I'd like to marry you, Julie. I'd like you and Danny to come to California with me.”

There were tears in Julie's eyes. She had rarely been so touched, and she had rarely been so torn. She did care for him. She loved him in a very special way. She dreamed of a man who would love her and Danny and give them a secure, settled life, but Jim wasn't that man. He did love her, Julie had known that for months, and he loved Danny, too, but Jim was dedicated to his art, and she knew instinctively that acting and his career would always come first. The life Jim could give them would be heady and exciting and full of ups and downs, full of love, too, but it would not be settled. While she did love him, it was in no way sexual, and—and Jim deserved far more.

“You could go ahead with the play,” he said, and there was an edge of desperation in his voice. “You and Danny could fly out and join me after the run. I love you, Julie.”

“And I love you.”

Jim saw the sadness in her eyes, and he knew, and the pain and disappointment in his own eyes was terrible to behold. Nevertheless, he managed a jaunty grin. He shook his head.

“But not in that way,” he said.

“Not in that way,” she told him. “I—I hope you will always be my dear friend, Jim.”

“You know I will, babe. If you ever want anyone killed, just let me know. I'll always be there for you, come what may.”

He pulled her into his arms then and kissed her gently on the lips, and he held her close for several long moments there in front of the bookshop. Julie touched the back of his neck, so sad, wishing things could have been different. She was so grateful this wonderful man was a part of her life, so sorry he wasn't the right one. Jim released her and stepped back and grinned another jaunty grin and they walked on, hand in hand, finally stopping in front of the Theater de Lys. Larry Blyden was just arriving. He waved. A taxi rumbled down the street. New York noises made a jangling background to the emotions both of them were feeling.

“Knock 'em dead this afternoon, babe,” he said.

“I will.”

“How 'bout a late dinner tonight, after I finish wowin' 'em? I'll stop by the Gingko Tree and pick up a couple of their specials.”

Julie shook her head. “I'll make your favorite pasta instead. I have all the ingredients.”

“Sure you wanna go to all that trouble?”

“Quite sure.”

He gave her another quick hug and then turned and walked briskly back down the street, his leather jacket flapping, the bright afternoon sunlight burnishing his dark hair. Another tear trailed slowly down her cheek as Julie watched him leave. It glistened there for a long moment before she finally brushed it away and went inside to work.

Jim left the first of March, and Julie missed him dreadfully. She hadn't realized before just how much his friendship meant to her or just how much she had come to depend on him. Nothing seemed the same without Jim. The city was bleaker, and there was a great void. It was even harder on Danny. Julie had her rehearsals, the play was opening in less than two weeks, she was frantically busy, but Danny couldn't understand why his rowdy chum, his buddy, his playmate since infancy was no longer there. Julie explained that he was in California with Auntie No-No and Danny asked if he would be back and she hesitated and told him he would be gone for some time and great tears welled in Danny's eyes, spilling over his lashes.

The play demanded every minute of her time, and she was able to spend even less time with Danny than before. Julie felt guilty about that. She knew Danny needed her now, needed reassurance, needed to know she wasn't going to disappear from his life, too, like Jim, but there was nothing she could do about it, not until the play opened. If it was a success, as she had every reason to believe it would be, she'd make it up to him. She'd be able to give up the soap and spend every day with him. That was some consolation as she took the subway down to the Village early every morning and returned late in the evening, totally depleted, weary through and through.

Julie was a nervous wreck the afternoon before the opening. Hank had told them all to stay home, rest, relax, unwind, store up their energy, but she wasn't able to relax. Danny was with Hannah—she couldn't possibly cope with him this afternoon, not in the state she was in—and Julie paced the living room, smoking one cigarette after another, desperately wanting a drink but not daring to pour one. If only Nora were here to hold her hand, but Nora was in California with Terry Wood, the script finished now, casting begun. Julie crushed out her thirtieth cigarette and lighted yet another and when the telephone rang she actually cried out. Taking a deep breath, brushing a silvery-brown strand from her brow, she picked up the receiver with trembling hand.

“Hello,” she said.

“One moment please.” A nasal voice. Static. “Julie?” another voice inquired. The static rose like a wave, crested, vanished, and suddenly the line was clear. “Julie, is that you?”

“Carol?”

“It's me, darling. I just wanted to call and wish you well tonight. You must be terribly nervous—I know I would be—but I know you're going to be a smash.”

“Carol, it—it's so good to hear your voice.”

“The play sounds marvelous, darling. I do so wish I could be there with you tonight, but I've just started a new film, started it day before yesterday actually, and everything's wildly disorganized here. I think I must be out of my mind agreeing to work on a film with a director who's never made a film before and a costar who's never been in front of a camera in his life.”

“You're doing the Guy Masson film?”

“The man's insane, darling. We're shooting in the park and he's using a hand-held camera. You'd think we were making a home movie, and the salary is nonexistent. I furnish my own wardrobe—jeans and a tight jersey—and I'm supposed to symbolize innocence or something, the whole film's full of symbolism.”

“It—it sounds exciting nevertheless.”

“It is,” Carol confessed. “We're having a ball. We may not have a
movie
when we're finished, but we'll have had a riotous good time.”

“You'll be marvelous.”

“And so will you, Julie. I want you to know I'll be rooting for you tonight. I'll be there in spirit if not in the flesh. I'll write you a letter and tell you all about
Le Bois
, and you must write back and tell me all about the opening.”

“I will,” Julie promised.

“Give Danny a hug for me. I miss you.”

“I miss you, too.”

Julie felt better after Carol's call. She had one small glass of white wine and calmed herself down and finally left the apartment and took the subway down to Christopher Street. Larry gave her a hug and wished her well and Hank grinned and told her they were going to kill 'em tonight and she went to her dressing room to discover a plethora of telegrams and half a dozen lovely bouquets of flowers, from Nora, from Jim, from Carol, from Bob Shippley, from her producers and a small, touching bouquet from Hannah and Danny. Julie sat down at the dressing table and applied Cassie's garish makeup and put on the short, curly blond wig and then donned the sleazy red-and-purple nylon dress Cassie wore in the first act. Her nerves were frayed. She was terrified and knew she wouldn't remember a single line, knew she was going to disgrace herself the minute she stepped onstage. She made her way into the wings. Larry squeezed her hand. He was trembling himself. Eileen took her position behind the desk onstage, a battered ledger before her, wooden pigeon holes behind. She looked like someone about to face a firing squad. They could hear a muffled rumble beyond the closed curtains as the audience settled down. Julie longed to flee the theater.

The lights went out. The curtain came up. The shabby lobby of the Robert E. Lee was bathed in a bright glow as Eileen turned a page of the ledger, humming to herself, reaching for her glass of pink gin. Two of the ladies of the evening sauntered in, bickering about a john, and Eileen gave them a fond look and Julie felt nauseous, knew she was going to throw up, knew she couldn't possibly go on, and she closed her eyes and her cue came and Julie disappeared and Cassie swaggered boisterously into the lobby and looked around and put her hands on her hips and sighed with disgust and said, “It ain't much but it's home!” and the laughter came. She was safe. She was home free. It was going to be all right.