“And what’s it about?”
“What’s it about?”
“That’s right.”
“Well, that’s a little difficult to put into words, so—”
“You’re making this up as you go along. Admit it.”
“Love!” Aaron cried. “Love!”
“Boy, that’s an original theme,” Branch said. “That’s what I call breaking new ground.”
“Five characters, one set. Five people. Two men, three women. The men don’t count for much. One of them’s a make-out man, the other’s kind of a backward rich kid. The women have the big parts. Two of them anyway. The two young ones.”
“I’m already confused.”
“Well, shut up and maybe you won’t be. The three women live in this apartment, O.K.? A mother, her daughter and a boarder. The daughter’s name is Loretta—her mother named her after Loretta Young. Her mother had great plans for her, O.K.? But the daughter didn’t turn out quite pretty enough. Oh, she’s attractive, Loretta is, but not the knockout her mother needed. See the mother, she lives all the time in the sweet by and by, when she was belle of the ball, before she got married and her looks started going and her hair turned gray—”
“Dreamy mother with big plans for her daughter. Aaron, come on, it’s The Glass Menagerie.”
“Like hell it is. Listen. The daughter’s one main character: lonely Loretta. Can’t stand being alone. And the boarder’s the other main character. Lemme tell you about her. Name’s Claire. A young old maid, but great: bright and funny and smart and not really ugly except she’s a cripple. Clubfoot. Clubfoot Claire. She and Loretta, they’re like good sisters: close.
And they all work around the Columbia campus. Claire, she works in a bookshop. And Loretta, she waits table in a little restaurant. The mother—she’s got no name, just the mother—she works in a dress shop—women’s clothing. So there’s the people, Scudder—five of ’em. The animal make-out man, the rich-kid grad student, the mother and lonely Loretta—and Clubfoot Claire.”
“I can hardly keep my eyes open,” Branch said.
“You’re gonna pay for your lip, Scudder—” Aaron sat limp in the chair, arms dangling, eyes closed—“but right now it’s Act One and we meet the girls! Dinner’s over, Loretta’s getting ready for a date, Claire’s teasing her, and the mother’s blabbing on about when she was a girl. And here we get the mother’s big word: eligible. I told you how she had big plans for Loretta? Well, her plans are marriage and marriage with an eligible man. For eligible read loaded. And in comes the animal. He’s a grease-ball and no genius, but handsome, and it’s obvious Loretta’s got the hots for him, and the mother, she almost tosses her cookies after they’re gone. He’s a poor Dago Catholic, three strikes is out. And she goes into this big spiel to Claire about eligibility. And suddenly we realize that she may be an old bag, the mother, but on this subject, at least, there’s passion left. Her daughter will marry an eligible man—she means it. That night, when the animal brings Loretta home, they neck a little—a dash of sex for the butter-and-egg man, Scudder—and the animal paws her and every time he touches her body she writhes. She’s like a bitch in heat when he fingers her flesh, and when he takes off, Loretta goes and gets Claire out of bed and they chitchat about how crazy Loretta is for the animal and how the old lady is agin’ it, but mostly what you get here is how close the girls are—they read each other, they care. Kind of a sweet scene. And then, late afternoon a couple of weeks later, in comes the mother like gangbusters because it has happened! He has come! The eligible man has appeared! This rich-kid grad student, he walked into the shop to buy his mother a birthday present and they started to talking and he’s very shy but nice-looking and loaded and—surprise—she’s invited him to dinner. That night! Well, there’s surprise, all right, and irritation, but the mother rides roughshod through it all and then the doorbell rings and in comes this richie—Frank Fink in the flesh. Shy and not very handsome and what they have is cocktails without liquor. It’s a really funny scene except it’s all sort of horrible to Loretta, who’s acting kind of out of it, and then, as the mother continues pumping the rich kid about his background and explaining what a fabulous catch any daughter of hers would be, Loretta comes down to the very front of the stage with Claire and the lights start to fade and in the background the mother is going at it hot and heavy and maybe some sweet wistful music starts to play and Claire says, ‘You don’t have to tell me, I know,’ and Loretta starts maybe a little to weep and Claire says, ‘How far gone are you?’ and Loretta says ‘A month’ and then the mother and the richie come swooping down on them, laughing and happy and noisemaking like crazy and we have an intermission.”
“That’s a good curtain,” Branch said. “But there better not be—”
“Good curtain! You ass, the whole thing’s marvelous.”
“There better not be a big abortion scene—I’m bored with them already.”
“Yours is a common mind, Scudder. Get me a drink.”
“Get it yourself.”
Aaron threw back his head and howled. “Such pain he’s going to suffer; my heart bleeds.” Then he got up and made himself a drink. “So we come up on Loretta and the animal.” Aaron gestured with his glass, pacing around, glancing out the window at the black Hudson. “Loretta tells him how she really cares for him but that means nothing, he’s used to adoration, and then she tells him again how she’s swelling with his carelessness, and he says tough. He’s been through this kind of thing before and he’s cool as hell. They don’t even talk about abortion, Scudder—he never even goes so far as to make an offer—and Loretta’s terribly shook by all this and she says how he’s got to marry her and he says how he’s on to whores like her and then he says there’s probably twenty guys at least who might be the little old papa and she’s sorta hysterical by now and swears he’s the first, which is corny but true, and he only laughs and then he really pours on the venom and reduces her to rubble and then Claire and the old lady come in from the flicks and the old lady doesn’t know why they’re fighting but she jumps right in and chews the animal up and down and tells him never to come back and this strikes him as being the funniest joke of all time and he gives his love to everybody and takes off. And the mother says thank God he’s gone because things have been going really well between Loretta and the richie—he’s taken her out a couple of times the past week—and the mother just knows that everything is gonna work out great and Loretta says she’s pregnant and without a word the mother whips a hand across her daughter’s face. Loretta just sits there like a lump, she’s that far gone. Whip! The mother creams her again, harder. Whip! Whip! Whip! She slaps on and on and probably she would’ve killed her kid if Claire hadn’t pulled her off. Then there follows this looonnnnnnng pause, and then the mother says that she is just stunned and furious that the rich kid would knock up her daughter. Loretta tells her it wasn’t the rich kid but the animal and the mother says no, it was the richie, and Loretta says it wasn’t the richie and the mother says how can you be sure and Loretta says on account of he’s never touched me and then the mother says, ‘That can be remedied!’—and whammo, we’re off into this fantastic scene where the mother says screw with the richie and Loretta says no, no, no, and she’s really hysterical when in from left field dashes Claire—and on the mother’s side—and that’s the clincher. Claire convinces Loretta to do it and finally Loretta just nods and nods and the mother is smiling and saying over and over and over, ‘Love will find a way. Love will find a way.’ ”
“What a wild idea,” Branch said. “Where do you get ideas like that?”
“I’m a writer, Scudder. I got imagination. Catch this next scene: the seduction. Loretta alone in the house. Nervous and scared. In comes the richie. They talk. The talk gets personal. Loretta says that she thinks that maybe they oughta break up and he says why and she explains that she thinks he’s attractive but obviously he doesn’t find her that way and that that’s no basis for a relationship so maybe they
ought to just stop seeing each other now before she gets hurt. And he says, no-no, he finds her fantastically attractive but he was afraid she’d rebuff him and that’s why he hasn’t made a pass. And she says then that maybe they shouldn’t break up after all and that’s great with him and they talk a little and she says that she’s found out something: her mother keeps a bottle. Really? he says. They quick go get it and have a few schlugs and he asks a few what he thinks are clever questions trying to find out where the others are. When he learns they’re alone, he grabs her and kisses her and she like melts in his arms and he kisses her again and again and then he tears around, dousing the lights until there’s just one left on, and then he comes back and kisses her some more. Then very slow and nervous, they start to undress. Loretta’s upset as hell and the richie’s scared to death and nobody sees Claire as she steps out of the shadows. Nobody knows she’s there. She watches as they kiss and touch and undress. Loretta’s standing by the couch with not very much on and the richie comes up and they sink slowly down but just before he grabs her Claire—back in the darkness—she holds out her empty arms to Loretta and like a ball bat you know she loves her, Claire loves Loretta, really loves her, and when I say love, Scudder, I mean love, curtain.”
“Lesbians,” Branch said. “Jesus.”
“Sensational?”
“Go on.”
“Now he wants me to go on. Before he was all lip, but now he’s interested. Maybe I don’t feel like going on, Scudder. Get me a drink.”
Branch hurried up and got Aaron a drink.
Aaron took it and laughed.
“Shut up. Go on, go on.”
“Curtain up on the three ladies sitting! It’s weeks later. Doorbell rings. In comes the richie. Claire and the old lady leave Loretta alone with him. She tells him. She’s pregnant and he better do something and at first he’s stunned, then he starts to argue that not enough time has gone by and, besides that, is she sure she’s pregnant and is she sure it’s him because he’s a very careful fella and Loretta isn’t doing any too great when in comes the cavalry, Claire and the old lady, both spitting fire, and they roll over the richie like an avalanche and just before the blackout he mumbles that he’ll marry her. Lights up and they’re hot to trot to city hall. Loretta’s ready and so’s the old lady and the richie’s at his place getting ready too and Claire gets on stage alone and she picks up the phone and dials and then she says, in a crazy, strange voice, ‘She lies. She lies. It isn’t your baby. It isn’t your baby!’ ”
“God,” Branch said. “What a thing to do. Where’d you ever get—”
“I told you, I’m a writer, shut up. Because what happens now is the other two come in and sit down and wait. And wait. And the lights dim and then come up bright and then dim and time is passing, time is passing, and the richie hasn’t come and the mother keeps trying to joke it off but terrible things are beginning to show on her face and the lights keep dimming and getting bright and then finally a telegram comes from the richie and Loretta reads it out loud and it says that he’s never coming because it isn’t his baby and Loretta puts the wire down and says ‘I’m almost glad’ and the mother snaps, ‘Glad! Glad! You goddam whorechild!’ and she takes off in a frenzy, control gone, and Loretta just sits there and takes it because she’s too tired to move and the vituperation builds and builds and the mother goes out screaming that if Loretta’s there when she comes back she’ll kill her dead and invite the flies in for a feast and we black out for a second, but then we’re bright again and Loretta has a suitcase in her hand and is looking around like a little lost sheep when in comes old Clubfoot Claire, all packed too, and Loretta says ‘Where are you going?’ and Claire says ‘With you’ and Loretta says ‘Why?’ and Claire says ‘Because the child will need a father, love,’ and Loretta just gapes and Claire says ‘Come to me, love,’ and Loretta bolts for the door and her hand’s on the knob when Claire cries ‘You’ll die out there alone!’ Loretta freezes and Claire starts to talk in this crazy whisper about loneliness and how some people die of it and how Loretta’s one of those people, and it’s true, and Loretta just stands there while Claire goes on about being alone and pregnant in the city and slowly dying and then she talks about how strong her love is, and how long it’s lasted already and how it would always last, always, always, and finally she comes to a stop and just says one more word: ‘Well?’ Loretta stands there. She looks at Claire. She shakes her head. Then, almost as if she can’t control it, her hand goes out. She looks at the hand almost in disbelief. Claire reaches for that hand. Claire takes it. They turn toward each other, hands touching. They almost smile. They walk together out the door. Curtain.” Aaron emptied his glass. “Well?”
For a long time Branch was silent. Then he turned and walked away.
“Where you going?” Aaron said.
“To get someone off my back,” Branch said, picking up the phone, calling Ohio. “Rosie?” he said when she came on the line. “Rosie, it’s happened!”
“Branch?”
“That thing I told you that was on the fire? That terrific thing? Did I wake you? I had to—you had to know. It’s happened, Rosie. I’ve got a play. I’ve just read it and it’s absolutely fantastic.”
“You got a play?”
“Aren’t you excited?”
“Yes, yes, you know I am, you woke me is the thing. Who wrote it?”
“This young writer, Aaron Fire.”
“Brilliant young writer,” Aaron whispered.
“He’s brilliant,” Branch said.
“What’s it called?”
“It’s called ...” He put his hand over the receiver and whispered, “What’s the title?”
“Beats the shit out of me.” Aaron said.
“It’s more or less untitled at present,” Branch said to his mother.
“Madonna with Child,” Aaron said then.
“Madonna with Child,” Branch repeated.
“Sounds religious,” Rose said. “What’s it about?”
“The playwright says it’s about love, Mother.”
“What else?” Rosie said.
“What else?” Branch looked at Aaron.
“What else is there?” Aaron answered.
Part V
XXII
AARON WAS UP.
In the first place, it was a good party. He stood still in the center of the enormous living room and let the people swirl around him. The living room was in the Dakota, at 72nd and Central Park West. Aaron glanced out at the park and smiled. I am going to live in the Dakota, he decided. When I have sufficient argent, home will be here. He was reminded of the fiddler who only played one note on one string and, when asked why, replied, “Everybody else is looking for the right place; I’ve found it.” So the setting was perfect, the April night at least as fine, the women and the whisky beyond reproach, the women being bundled in either Bonwit’s, Bergdorf’s or Bendel’s, the whisky being Chivas Regal, Wild Turkey, Coates Plymouth Gin, plus some authentic imported Polish vodka if you felt the need for being “in.”
The girl he had been talking to said something, and Aaron, not listening, nodded and smiled. She was a religion major from Southern Methodist. University and totally pretty, if you could stand the Dallas accent. Her escort was somewhere across the room and that was fine with Aaron because he liked the way people looked at them, first at her, then at him, then at her again, then a farewell glance at him, usually accompanied by a shrug and a shake of the head.
I deserve her, you bastards, I’m pretty tonight too. “Do you find me ravishing?” he said to the girl.
“Pardon?” the girl said in three syllables.
“Just say yes.”
“Yes,” she said in two.
“How flawless your taste,” he told her. Of course, as he glanced around, he realized again that he was the only man at the party not in a suit, but that only reminded him of Princeton and his yellow corduroy. His trousers were pressed reasonably well and his shoes were shined (Branch had shine
d them) and his dark brown jacket was of the finest
633 tweed. The jacket thrilled him. It was his first Brooks Brothers item. Branch had got it for him. As a surprise gift. For finishing the play.
And that, of course, was the real reason for his mood. The play. Talking it aloud to Branch, winging it—that had been one thing. Writing it was a horse of a different et cetera, and now that it was done, now that his labors were completed, he could only smile. He had swept the stables clean, and brilliantly. The play, the first thing he had written in years, was the best thing he had written, ever.
Aaron was up.
“Are you an actor or a writer or what?” the girl asked him. “Everybody here seems to be one or the other.”
“Neither,” Aaron told her. Then he began to laugh.
“What is it?”
“Nothing,” Aaron said. “I was just thinking of this funny thing that happened to me back in rabbinical school.”
“You’re a rabbi?”
Aaron stuck a cigarette in the far corner of his mouth. “Reform,” he said.
“Good for you,” the girl said.
“I try not to think of it as being noble. A job is a job. May I get you a drink?”
She held up her glass. “It’s just ginger ale. I’m a Baptist.”
“Good for you,” Aaron said. “Excuse me.” He started for the bar. The room was crowded and he made his way slowly, pausing for a moment by the piano. The piano player, handsome but turning to flesh, was singing what must have been an original composition:
“Your touch
Is just too much
For such as I ...
“This party is a drag,” the girl sitting by the piano player said. She pointed to a fat balding figure lurking behind the curve of the piano. “That’s my boyfriend. He’s afraid to come out. He’s a worse drag than this party is.” The piano player nodded and went on singing:
“Your touch
In our small hutch
Would make me cry:
Heaven.”