The Sight of the Stars

  “We don’t live an exciting social life,” he explained truthfully. “Our friends don’t go out in formal clothes every week.”

  “That’s not what your brother Leo says.” Blanche laughed. “He puts you on a par with the Prince of Wales.”

  “My brother Leo? What does he know about me? As a matter of fact, I’ve scarcely seen him since Pa died. He used to visit the boys a lot, but he hasn’t done it much lately.”

  “Do you know why? Because Rudy said something about your boys growing tall. ‘Tall, like your daddy,’ he said, ‘and smart like him, too.’ And Leo took that as a slap at him, so he stopped visiting your boys.”

  “Good God,” Adam groaned. “Poor Leo. How often do you see him?”

  “Fairly often. He lives only three blocks away from me, so he walks over. We like to speak German together.”

  “German! He knows it through broken sentences that he picked up at home. That’s all he knows.”

  “On the contrary, he speaks an excellent, fluent German.”

  “He does? Are you sure?”

  “Of course I’m sure. Why else would I say so?”

  “This is all a puzzle to me. Not that that’s anything new, because Leo has always been a puzzle that no one seems able to solve.”

  “One thing I can tell you. He needs a woman.”

  “Surely somewhere he should be able to find one.”

  “He wants a pretty one. There’s a girl in his apartment house who would go out with him, but he says she’s too homely.”

  Dumbfounded, Adam could only shake his head.

  “He wanted to kiss me until I made it clear that I would be his friend and nothing more.”

  “So you’re still his friend?”

  “Why not? He’s no bother. He always telephones before he comes over, so if I don’t want to see him, I simply say he can’t come.”

  “Maybe you can find out what he’s doing with all those books.”

  “I’ve tried, but he won’t tell. He refuses to tell me anything about himself.”

  Under the glittering chandeliers, the great room was filled with animation. People moved among the tables, greeting one another; waiters bustled about with platters of food and glasses of champagne; the orchestra’s lively tunes brought couples to dance in the cleared space at the center. This was neither the place nor the time for sad speculations about Leo Arnring, and thinking so, Adam drank down the champagne and invited Blanche to dance.

  She began to sing along with the music. Who stole my heart away . . . you stole my heart away . . . The lilting voice lifted his mood and cleared, if only for a little while, the tangle of his thoughts: death, stocks, Cace Arnring, and James’s poor little broken arm. Just dance, feel good.

  “You’re a wonderful dancer,” he said.

  “You haven’t seen the half of what I can do.”

  When she smiled, he seemed to be seeing a double row of upper teeth; then it occurred to him that he had perhaps had too much champagne, and he told her that he’d better sit down.

  “I’m not much of a drinker, Blanche, never was. But I don’t remember having so much tonight.”

  “You didn’t. It works fast, though, faster on some people. Let’s finish dinner, have plenty of coffee, and leave. It’s been a long day.”

  Adam had not been more than five minutes in his room when the telephone rang.

  “I hate to bother you,” Blanche said, “but the tiny hook and eye at the back of my neck is caught in the lace. I can’t unfasten it without tearing everything, and I hate to tell you what that lace cost. So can you help me?”

  He was tired and he had already taken his shirt off, but he couldn’t bring himself to refuse. So he replaced his shirt and went.

  The room was perfumed with flowers. Dan Cace would have seen to that; when a company had a winner like Madame Blanche, it held on to her. All kinds of feminine frivolities were spread around: a jewelry case, a sheer yellow nightgown, and a pair of marabou slippers to match.

  In a corner, in the pink light of a lamp, Blanche stood while he labored over the hook and eye. When he had finally succeeded, the whole dress, fragile top and heavy silk skirt, fell slithering to the floor. Three pieces of silk, each one no larger than a tiny handkerchief, covered her nakedness.

  Adam stared. “Well!” he gasped.

  Her eyes laughed. Like black opals under a light, they shimmered and glowed.

  “Well?” she replied.

  Awake in his room, he lay trying to reconstruct the scene. It seemed to him at first that what had happened was simply an unthought, automatic reaction to an abrupt situation, much like the use of the brake to avoid an oncoming crash. The difference was that this time, the brake had failed. And now the aftermath was nausea, fear, and a leaping heart.

  Soon it would be time to get up and face the day in which he was supposed to keep Dan Cace’s appointments. There was nothing difficult about conferring with a few manufacturers except that his head was churning. He remembered his father’s explanation of his, Adam’s, birth: Things happen. It’s nature.

  He remembered, too, that someone had told him Blanche was a “pushover.” In fact, there had been several such people, on several occasions, who had told him so. But how did that excuse him? A little wine, a little music . . . that hardly excused what had happened.

  And what if she should be pregnant as a result of “nature”? Vaguely he recalled that she had murmured something about love. Could she really believe herself to be in love with him? Or even worse, believe him to be in love with her?

  Somehow, he got through the day. In the wholesale offices, at least, he would not be encountering her. But sooner or later he would have to face her, and face what he had done.

  He was not yet ready for the inevitable meeting. He needed time to think things through. Therefore, he would not risk any accidental encounter in the hotel’s restaurant. Instead, he went to a double feature at the movies, only to find that neither Charlie Chaplin nor Harold Lloyd could make him laugh.

  He had only one more of Dan’s appointments to keep. An intense need to get home—as if there could be any salve to his conscience there—overwhelmed him, and deciding to catch the early train in the morning, he got ready for bed. He hoped he would be able to sleep. He tried to tell himself that he had only done what many men did all the time when they were away from home. But he didn’t feel any better. He wasn’t just any man.

  There came a knock on the door. Something said to him: Don’t answer it. But he couldn’t keep avoiding Blanche. Sooner or later, he would have to face her. And maybe it was better here than at home.

  The knock, light but persistent, was repeated.

  He opened the door and there she stood, wearing her black winter cloak that was lined in red velvet. She was naked underneath it.

  “No,” he said.

  Her eyes seemed to sparkle at him. “You don’t mean that. You know you don’t.”

  He was not sure what he meant. A queer feeling flashed through him; if I run I can get across the street before the light changes. . . .

  “We’ve got a long night ahead of us, Adam. We can make it a night to remember. Go on, don’t keep me standing here. There’s a good boy. Let me in.”

  Late the next afternoon, when they met in the crowded lobby after another showing, he told her he was sick. “I have a fever. I’m taking the train tonight.”

  “For home?”

  “Where else? I was able to get a compartment, so I won’t spread whatever it is I’ve got.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” She kissed him slowly on the cheek. “Take care, Adam. I’ll be back Friday. I’ll see you then.”

  The train clicked, clanked, and rattled its way west. He did not recognize his own body as it sweated and froze through the meaningless hours and the dreary landscape that, the nearer it reached home, became more ominous.

  He realized that he was desperately afraid of Blanche. He knew that he would have to make it clear to her that there would
be no further relationship between them, but he kept thinking of the old adage about “a woman scorned” . . . and the words she had very definitely spoken the previous night: “I love you.”

  Love! Love had had nothing to do with what had passed between them the last two nights. Not for him. But for her?

  So now he was Blanche’s creature. She could break him. She could break Emma.

  Then, after a while, he remembered how she had loved Jonathan. Perhaps he might speak of that love and ask her never to let anything slip from her lips, even by accident, about what had happened. Yes, that’s what he must do. He would go to her and make his honest appeal, in memory of all the goodness that was in Jonathan.

  At the railroad station, Emma was wearing a particularly lovely smile.

  “I feel as if you’ve been away for a year,” she cried. “I couldn’t wait to give you the surprise. Darling Adam, we’re having a new little addition to our family. I wasn’t sure about my dates, so I didn’t want to say anything to you until I had seen the doctor. But it’s true. Next December, in time for your birthday.”

  He felt . . . he didn’t know what he felt. But he leaned over, kissed her, and chuckled as people do when they’re given a wonderful surprise.

  “Congratulations to us. Do the boys know?”

  “No, it’s way too soon. They’ll have to wait so long that they’d get bored with the whole business. I’m praying for a girl because I know you want one.”

  “Yes, it would be a change, wouldn’t it? Dolls instead of trucks and guns.”

  He must be joyful, glad to be home, delighted about the baby, and prepared for questions.

  “The paper had some marvelous photographs of Blanche’s show. Ball gowns fit for a princess, and ski jackets. Skiing’s the new sport, isn’t it? She really knows something about the haute monde, doesn’t she? I think she’d love to be a member of it herself, don’t you think so?”

  “How would I know? I hardly ever see her, much less talk to her.”

  “I can’t help thinking how lucky I am. First I think of Sabine, who would have given anything to have a baby of her own. And then I think of Blanche. She’s still young enough, but has no husband. With all her success, I still feel sorry for her. Sometimes she seems to look wistful, or discouraged or something. I think that’s why she never visits us anymore. Haven’t you ever noticed?”

  “No. I just said I hardly ever see her. How’s James’s arm? Did they say when the cast will be off?”

  “Next week. The bones heal fast at his age.”

  Past the crest of the hill and down toward the plateau on the other side, it was often a pleasure to slow the car midway for a view of the house. As if gilded, it lay now in this afternoon’s sunlight, but the pure joy that the sight always brought was not there.

  It was early, so the boys were still in school. Having had a sleepless night on the train, Adam lay down on the terrace and closed his eyes. Some men, especially those who keep a mistress, would laugh at his fears, but many others would not; he wished he knew one of these well enough to talk to him. He condemned himself. He had lost his integrity. She could cause him to be the butt of whispered jokes, or unthinkable ruination, if that crazy episode should come to Emma’s ears.

  Emma! The other half of himself from whom nothing, nothing at all, is ever hidden! He lives in the world. He looks and listens and reads, so that he knows how rare is a marriage like theirs.

  And now comes that woman, whom he neither likes nor dislikes, that woman who means nothing to him, who has no shame . . . She laughs, she dances. She laughs in front of his eyes, and he cannot get rid of her.

  He drowsed and woke in horror from a dream that she had just told him she was pregnant and that she hoped for a girl.

  The boys must be home from school because the phonograph needed to be rewound; it sounded like a person who is starting to yawn. They were always putting on records and forgetting about them.

  It was time for him to jump up wide awake, and be a father to them, a jolly, strong, and fearless father.

  Blanche’s room was what one would expect, both comfortable and elegant, very French and floral, peach-colored, brown, and green, with well-tended plants at the windows. Blanche, who expected him, was wearing a negligee. A thought passed through his mind as he took his seat: I would rather be having dental surgery.

  They looked at each other. He wondered whether he would always envision her, no matter how she might be dressed, as she had looked without her clothes. Then he wondered whether she might be thinking the same about him.

  “So,” she began, “I suppose it is you who deserves my thanks for that nice bonus I’m to have.”

  “Not at all. It was a unanimous decision. You earned it. You put your name, and the store’s name, in all the newspapers, and next month, in the magazines, we’ll have all the photographs.”

  “True, but I’m still sure you had a whole lot to do with the bonus. You did it to buy me off, didn’t you?” And the black eyes twinkled.

  Rarely, perhaps never, had Adam found himself without the right words to meet a tough situation. Anything, anything would do, if only to break this awful silence. And he said the first thing that came into his head.

  “I never buy anyone off, as you put it. I’ve never needed to.”

  “But you need to now, don’t you? Come on, Adam, loosen up. It would be quite a mess if your wife were to know, wouldn’t it? Proper ladies like her usually get hysterical when these things happen. You wouldn’t like that at all.”

  This is the enemy on the dark street, the man with the gun. Don’t argue with him.

  “No, I would not like it, especially now. Emma is pregnant.”

  “Domestic bliss. How nice for you. Shall I congratulate you?”

  This is a bitter woman. Why should she hate me so? What have I done to her? Ah yes, I distanced myself from her after we returned home. I made it clear that I did not love her. And that I did not want her.

  “Let’s talk about you,” he said. “I have news for you. It’s still confidential, but I trust you, so I’ll tell you. We’re going to open a store in New York. The custom-made salon there will undoubtedly be yours.”

  “Do you have to spend all those millions just to get rid of me?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Blanche.”

  “It’s you who are being ridiculous. What makes you think you can move me around as you please? I don’t care whether you open a New York store or not. I don’t want to go to New York. I like it here. I never thought I would, but I do. I’m satisfied.”

  She was teasing him, prolonging the game, enjoying the game until she was ready to give the blow that would end it.

  “I’m glad you’re satisfied here,” he said. “But—”

  “But nothing. What I’d like is to hear something about your satisfaction.”

  “Mine? I don’t understand.”

  She was laughing. She was going to have her story all over the store from highest to lowest, if she hadn’t already done so.

  “Your satisfaction. How was it the other evening . . . when the hook got caught in the lace? And then the next night—our night to remember? Did you enjoy it?”

  My God, he thought again. What had he done to deserve this? A little music, a little wine, and now this woman had such power over him. He wanted to say, “You disgust me,” but he didn’t dare. Perhaps he disgusted himself.

  And he looked around the room at the picture frame, the calendar, and all the gold-rimmed objects that had come from Sabine’s house, then back at the woman, who was looking at him with amusement in her face.

  Sabine hadn’t liked her. . . .

  “Let’s get to the point,” he said. “Just tell me what you are going to do so I can prepare myself.”

  “Do? Why, Adam, what in the world do you think I’m going to do?”

  “I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking.”

  “Well, dear man, I’m not going to do anything. I have no intention of washing dir
ty linen in public, as they say, although frankly, I don’t consider this particular linen to be especially dirty. But many people would say it is, and certainly your wife would, so I’m not going to do it. You can rest easy.”

  He was stunned. Should he believe her? He asked her whether she truly meant what she said.

  “Oh, I certainly do. You’re a very decent person, one of the best, and everybody knows it. Your wife has always been nice to me, but it’s really for the children’s sake that I will not embarrass you. Besides, you’ve had enough troubles in your life. You lost Jonathan, and for God’s sake, you still have Leo. So you see, Adam, I do have a heart after all.”

  This sudden inclusion of Leo was startling. “Why? Is Leo making any trouble? I thought he was still immersed in those books.”

  “He is. But that doesn’t mean he won’t make plenty of trouble before he dies.”

  “Well, I can’t worry over that. One trouble at a time. Can I truly depend upon what you’ve just said, Blanche?” he pleaded.

  “For your children’s sake, you can. I had a miserable childhood, and I will never hurt a child in any way, or disrupt a child’s home. Never.”

  Looking at her, he saw that her face was earnest. The taunting had been her vengeance. . . . But he had to believe these last words about the children because the alternative was to live in anguish. He decided, then, to believe.

  When Blanche stood up and extended her hand, he took it.

  “Let’s have a truce, Adam. You’ve been sick over this foolish business, haven’t you? But now go home and forget it. I’m sorry that I worried you. It was a nasty mean little game, and I shouldn’t have played it. I was merely amusing myself.”

  There was a lump in Adam’s throat, a mixture of emotions: the receding fear, the relief, the gratitude, and, abruptly, a thought of Jonathan. Was this really the woman his brother had so loved?

  You were an adult, you were in the world and met all kinds, the good ones who do terrible things and the ones who seem bad but do good things. How is one to judge? How is one to know?

  Tired beyond description, he thanked her again, and breathing normally now, went home.