“Craig Edgers?” Janey said, looking from Craig to Selden. “Selden,” she scolded. “Why didn’t you
tell
me you knew Craig Edgers?” And then, in a tone of blatant flattery that was almost embarrassing, she said to Craig, “
You
are a great writer. I’ve read all of your books, even before you became a best-seller. I think you’re a genius . . .”
On the one hand, Selden thought, he had to hand it to her: This was the last reaction Craig Edgers had ever expected, and it showed. His aggression, always just under the surface, had shriveled like a cold penis, and Selden could suddenly see why he clung to it so fiercely—without it he was reduced to a fumbling nerd. He made a motion as if to push a pair of glasses up onto his nose, but remembering that he had replaced his glasses with contact lenses, rubbed the bridge of his nose instead. “Well,” he said. “You’re not in the minority there, at least not now!” And Janey said, “I’m so happy for you. It must be wonderful when everyone else finally realizes how talented you are!” And Selden added quickly: “Don’t give him too much credit, Janey. If you’d known Craig for as long as I have, you’d probably just think he was annoying . . .” At which point both Janey and Craig looked at him like he was a stranger who had suddenly interrupted their tête-à-tête.
“Selden,” Janey said sweetly, “would you mind getting me a drink?”
“Sure,” he said. He wandered into the kitchen, thinking,
On the other hand
. . .
But on the other hand, what? Was he envious? Of Craig Edgers? Was that what he was feeling? If he hadn’t known better, he would have been under the impression that Janey was trying to seduce Craig. That intense way she had about her, of focusing all her energy on a person—he had thought that was reserved only for
him
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maybe, he thought, pouring vodka into a glass and adding some orange juice, it
was
for him. Maybe this whole display was for his benefit—naturally, she
would
think that he wanted his old college roommate to like her; still, he didn’t see that it was necessary for her to make Craig fall
in love
with her.
It was just such a surprise, he thought, to discover that his wife had been nurs-ing a secret, ten-year obsession with the works of Craig Edgers. But even now, now that Craig was getting the popular attention he’d always craved, Selden still couldn’t understand the hoopla over Craig’s “lyrical” writing talents. Craig had sent him his first two books and several short stories over the years, hoping to interest Selden in purchasing them for the movies, but Selden had found his work pretentious and navel-gazing. He would never say that to Craig’s face, but he had no problem telling other people on the few occasions when Craig’s name had come up in conversation.
But maybe he was being too severe about Craig’s talents. Maybe this harsh-ness arose from jealousy. Picking up Janey’s cocktail, he reminded himself that he had no reason to be jealous of Craig’s work; after all, on the final scorecard—
money—he was so far ahead, Craig would never be able to catch up. No, he was annoyed because the simple truth was that Craig wasn’t a great writer, and he couldn’t believe that his own wife didn’t have the intellect or the discernment to realize it.
But that was vicious, he thought, forcing himself to smile as he handed Janey her cocktail. Janey wasn’t educated; she’d barely finished high school. It wasn’t fair to expect that kind of perspicuity from her. But as she took her drink, barely looking at him, he shuddered inwardly. She was perched on the edge of the couch, staring at Craig with adoring eyes. “But that’s outrageous,” she was saying. “Don’t they understand the value of the writer? Who knows the work better? . . . Who knows more what it
should
be, understands its inherent meaning . . . ?” He had to put an end to this conversation, he thought, taking a seat on the armchair across from them. He’d heard those very words from the mouths of his
“intellectual” friends, and knew that she and Craig were having the usual conversation about the indignities suffered by the author in Hollywood. But somehow, hearing those words coming from her mouth devalued those opinions and made them seem trite. “Come on, darling,” he said, sharply. “I’m sure Craig’s had this discussion often enough . . .”
She turned to him with an expression of hurt pride, and he suddenly felt guilty.
Who was he to control her conversation? And yet, it was just so disconcerting to hear these uninformed opinions coming out of her mouth and to see Craig greedily eating them up, for the sole reason that a pretty girl was finally paying attention to him. If only Janey would save her intellectual precociousness for him, he thought.
At least that way he could guide her opinions . . .
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Craig must have caught a whiff of his discomfort, because he leaned against the side of the couch and folded his arms in amusement, nodding at Selden. “So far, you’re right about everything, Janey,” he said. “But you should be directing your complaints to your husband. He’s partly responsible for the state of entertainment today.”
“You’re giving me way too much credit,” Selden snorted.
“But Selden,” Janey said, her voice rising slightly in outrage, “you are in a position to do something. Did you know that one of the people who’s bid on Craig’s new book is Comstock Dibble?”
“He knows what he’s doing.”
“But Comstock Dibble?” Janey said. She turned to Craig. “Did you know that his father was a plumber? And he got his start by selling pornographic videotapes?
I mean, what does he know about art?”
Selden laughed and idly stirred the ice in his glass. “That’s just a rumor,” he said, playing devil’s advocate. “If Comstock Dibble wants to buy Craig’s book, I’m sure he’ll do a good job with it.”
“But he doesn’t want Craig to write the screenplay,” Janey said.
“He’s smart, then.”
“Oh Selden,” Janey sighed. “How can you not ask a brilliant writer to write the screenplay from his best-selling book?”
Selden stared angrily from Janey to Craig. He suddenly felt as if he might lose his temper, and knew if he did, he would certainly lose face. The reason why Comstock, indeed, why
no one,
would want Craig to write the screenplay was that Craig’s work didn’t contain any discernable plot, and as painful as that was for the artiste to comprehend, movies were all about plot. But if he entered into that kind of discussion with Craig now, Craig would never leave, and Selden suddenly wanted him gone. “Well,” he said slowly, swirling the ice in his drink, “maybe Craig should be happy that someone wants to buy his book. They’re hardly buying anything in Hollywood right now.”
“That’s a bunch of crap, Selden Rose, and you know it,” Janey cried out. Glancing at Craig, she said, “That’s what Hollywood people always say and you know it’s a lie.” She lowered her eyes and, completely changing her tack, stared up at Selden seductively. “You’re
so
brilliant, darling . . . I told Craig that you should buy his book and turn it into an original movie for MovieTime!” This was delivered with the confident presumption that here was an idea Selden was unlikely to think of himself, and Selden stared at her in surprise. She really was different tonight, he thought. Until that moment she had always been content to take a backseat when it came to his business discussions—she listened, and, he believed, learned, but she never made an actual suggestion herself.
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“Well, what do you think, Rose?” Craig asked.
“I think I have to think about it,” Selden said stiffly.
The two men locked eyes, like opponents about to engage in a fight, as Janey suddenly stood up, emitting a twittering laugh like that of a gay little bird. The effect, Selden noted with slight annoyance, was to immediately divert both his and Craig’s attention back to her.
Conscious of their eyes on her, she crossed the room and slid into the armchair with Selden, so that she was practically sitting on his lap. He shifted his hips to the side to make room for her, thinking that it was about time she paid some real attention to him. He caught Craig’s eye and, without betraying any emotion, smiled.
Craig nodded slowly, his mouth turned down in a sour expression, as if he suddenly realized that he’d been cheated, although he wasn’t sure why. But Selden understood: Craig had believed that Janey’s intimate attentions had meant something; that she was actually interested in him, but now he saw that Selden was the only one she
really
cared about . . .
“Have your agent send me your book,” Selden said, thinking that as order had been restored to his universe, he could afford to be generous.
Craig picked up the hint and stood up. “I guess I should be going. Lorraine will have the dogs out.”
Janey rose languidly, as if her mind and her body were already occupied elsewhere, and held out her slim hand, leaning forward to kiss Craig on each cheek.
“We will see you again, won’t we? I’d love to have dinner, just the four of us, including your wife . . .”
As if reminded of the social gulf between the two couples, Craig said, “Oh, Lorraine hardly goes to the kinds of restaurants I’m sure Selden takes you to . . .” and Janey impulsively took his arm.
“Don’t be silly,” she said warmly, walking him toward the door while glancing back at Selden. “If we had our choice, we’d probably eat at hot dog stands. Isn’t that right, Selden?”
And Selden, feeling a sense of relief, as if some unnamed danger had passed, said, “Sure . . .”
When the door had closed behind Craig, Selden turned to Janey and pulled her to him. “Sorry,” he said, with a knowing laugh. “Craig is such a crashing bore. He hasn’t changed a bit since we were at Harvard together.” He expected her to agree with him, but instead she drew back and slipped out of his grasp, wandering toward the living room.
“Boring?” she said hesitantly. “I didn’t think he was boring at all. In fact, I thought that was one of our more interesting evenings.”
“Did you?” he said, genuinely surprised. He was again reminded of their differ-18947_ch01.qxd 4/14/03 11:23 PM Page 195
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ence of opinion regarding Craig’s work, and he frowned. “Well, he certainly seemed to like you . . . and Craig doesn’t like anybody.”
“Well!” she said, with a little laugh. She crossed the living room to the window, looking down on Sixty-third Street. “I wish . . .”
“Yes?” he said.
She turned, leaning against the windowsill as if she were suddenly weary. “I just wish we spent more time with people like Craig. He’s so smart . . . and has such a real understanding of life . . .”
“Ha,” he said dismissively, suddenly bored with the topic of Craig Edgers. He picked up the manila envelope from the writing desk, and took a seat on the edge.
“In any case, we’ve got much more important things to discuss. I hired a private detective . . .”
At the words “private detective” she looked at him in horror, and he wondered what was going through her mind to make her so frightened. He held up the manila envelope and shook it. “This contains some astounding information . . .”
“On what?” she cried.
He looked at her, not comprehending her reaction. “On Patty and Digger,” he said. “You’re going to be very pleased with me. It turns out that Marielle Dubrosey is married . . .”
Janey looked at him in astonishment, relief flooding her face. “She is?”
“It’s great news,” Selden said confidently. “It means that the baby probably isn’t Digger’s . . .”
He thought she would be thrilled with this information, but she suddenly frowned and turned back to the window. “Oh,” she said. “But I thought . . .”
“Should we call Patty now and tell her?” he asked. “I thought we might do it together.”
“Oh no,” she said, taking a step toward him. “It’ll be late in Europe . . . past midnight, and . . .” She bit her finger, as if to stop herself from crying.
Her gesture released his tender feelings for her, and he stood up, taking her in his arms. “What is it, my darling?” he asked. “I thought you’d be pleased. You should have seen this private detective, he was exactly like something out of central casting . . .”
“It’s nothing,” she said, turning her head away. “It’s just that I told Mimi that Zizi had to move out so Patty could move in . . . I thought she and Digger weren’t getting along, and now Mimi will be angry with me . . .”
“But why should Mimi care where Zizi lives?” he asked, turning her face toward him with his hand. “You’re not saying . . .”
“Oh God, no!” Janey said vehemently. “They’re just friends . . .” She took a step back, covering the pearls with her hand.
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He laughed, thinking he suddenly understood the source of her behavior.
“You’re frightened, aren’t you?” he asked, and she nodded. “Frightened that I’m going to be angry about the pearls . . .”
Her eyes suddenly grew wide and filled with tears. “I couldn’t help myself,” she cried. “Especially with Mimi buying a diamond necklace for a hundred and fifty thousand . . .”
“Can I at least see what I bought you?” he asked, pulling her hand away from her neck. She stood uncomfortably, tilting her head back slightly and arching her neck, like a little girl who knows she’s about to be punished and is determined to maintain her dignity.
He touched the pearls with his finger and then drew her toward him. “I’ll tell you what,” he said, whispering in her ear. “I’ll let you keep the pearls, if you promise to look at that house in Connecticut . . .”
For a moment, her eyes darkened as if she’d been unexpectedly thwarted. But then she sighed and nodded. And he would have been perfectly happy with her response, he thought, if it weren’t for the completely blank expression on her face.
That Janey Wilcox could really be quite a bitch,
Mimi thought angrily, pulling on a pair of short suede boots with beige mink cuffs. She heard the maid moving about in the bedroom, and she called out to her.