“How’re you doing, Baby?” inquired a familiar voice behind me … needless to say I gave a bit of a jump and executed a fairly professional pirouette … never turn your back on the likes of Louis, as Mother used to say.
“I’m doing just fine, killer,” I said, showing my upper teeth.
“Such good boy,” said Louis, holding my arm for a minute in a vise-like grip. “Some muscle!”
“I got it from beating up faggots in Central Park,” I said slowly; he doesn’t understand if you talk fast.
Louis roared. “You kill me, Baby.”
“Don’t tempt me.”
“Come on out on that balcony … just you and me. We look at moon.”
“Not on your life, killer.”
“Why’re you so afraid of me?”
“Just two guesses.”
“But I tell you you won’t feel nothing. You’ll like it fine.”
“I’m a virgin.”
“I know, Baby, that’s what I go for. Last night …” But before he could tell me some lewd story concerning his unnatural vice, Jed Wilbur approached us, pale and harried-looking, like the White Rabbit in Alice in Wonderland. He too was got up in a dinner jacket … it was the first time, I think, that I had ever seen him in a suit, wearing a tie. I was not able to continue my sartorial investigation, however, for Louis broke off what had promised to be our big balcony scene and rushed off in the direction of the main hall, as though he had to get to the john real fast. I could see that Wilbur was in some doubt as to whether to chase his beloved and corner him in some barricaded lavatory or to tarry a bit with me instead. He chose the latter course.
“I wonder where Louis is off to?” he asked.
“Call of the wild, I guess.”
“What was he talking to you about?”
This was abrupt and I was almost tempted to remind Jed Wilbur that it was none of his business. But then he is the leading choreographer of the minute and I am, for this minute at least, a minion of the ballet and so I swallowed my thimble-sized pride and said, “Just idle chatter.”
“In other words making a pass.” Wilbur sounded bitter.
“But that’s natural. I mean for him it is. He has to get into everything he sees.”
“Male and under thirty.” Wilbur sighed and I felt sorry for him … unrequited love and all that. He fidgeted with his ready-tied bow tie.
“Well, that’s the way he gets his kicks,” I said, idly dropping into an Army attitude; while I talked to Jed I looked over his shoulder at the room, recognizing several famous faces, one of whom, belonging to a Senator, was talking very seriously to Jane who obviously had no notion of who he was. I smiled to myself as I recalled the day before when she asked me, very tenderly and shyly, whether Truman was a Democrat or Republican.
“Why does everyone at parties look over everyone else’s shoulder?” asked Wilbur suddenly, capturing my attention with a bang.
“Oh.…” I blushed. “Bad manners, I guess.”
“Some commentary on our society,” said Wilbur, in a voice which smacked a little of the soapbox. “Everyone trying to get ahead every minute of the day … rushing, rushing, rushing, afraid of missing a trick.”
“This is a competitive town,” I said with my usual profundity, sneaking a glimpse over his shoulder at Eglanova who was surrounded by some rich-looking bucks, laughing as though she was quite prepared to slip off a shoe and guzzle champagne from it.
“You’re telling me,” said Wilbur and he looked over his own shoulder in the direction that Louis had taken … but our Don Juan was nowhere in sight. No doubt he was having his way with one of the busboys behind a potted palm downstairs. Thinking of Louis always puts me into a good mood … that is when he’s not around to make me nervous … he just makes me laugh, for no particular reason. But then Lady Edderdale, surrounded by outriders, rode down on us, diamonds whispering against green satin.
“Mr. Wilbur? We haven’t met. I must have been in the other room when you arrived. I’ve so much wanted to meet you.”
Jed took her outstretched hand, bewildered. “Yes …”
“I am Alma Edderdale,” she said, smiling a blinding smile, like sun on a glacier; she withdrew her hand.
“We’ve met,” I said quickly, to cover the moment’s confusion. “With Mr. Washburn.’
“Of course. Can I ever tell you in words, Mr. Wilbur, my reaction to Eclipse?”
Wilbur suggested in a confused voice that she give it a try … stated more politely of course.
“It was my one wonderful, mystical experience in the ballet … not including the classics which I have seen so long that I can no longer remember how they first affected me. But in modern ballet … ah!” Words failed her. They failed Jed, too.
“It’s generally thought to be Mr. Wilbur’s best work,” I gabbled.
“And of course what happened that first night! Mr. Wilbur, I was there. I saw.” She opened her eyes very wide, great golden orbs, swimming in jaundiced tears.
“Very awful,” mumbled Wilbur.
“And to have had it happen then … at that wonderful moment! Ah, Mr. Wilbur …” The passage of several boisterous guests made escape possible; I slipped through them and wandered off to find Jane. But she had vanished … the Senator, too. I settled for Eglanova who was seated on a love seat with an old man and surrounded by younger ones, all rather sensitive I noted with my shrewd and merciless eyes … I can tell one of our feathered friends at twenty paces: a certain type anyway. The Louis kind nobody can spot until they’re coming at you … then flight is in order, if they’re bigger than you.
“My darling Peter!” Eglanova was mildly lit, not yet weepy and Czarist the way she gets when she is really gone on vodka … twice a year: at Russian New Year and backstage the last night of every season in New York … her last season, she always moans, so they say. She gave me her hand to kiss and, feeling good on all the Pommery I had drunk, I kissed it soulfully.
“I have had such good time with young men.” She waved to include them all. They giggled. “I never go home now.”
“It’s late, Anna,” said Alyosha, suddenly joining us.
“Tyrant! Tomorrow I do one pas de deux … no more.”
“Even so.” Then he spoke in Russian and she answered in Russian, both speaking rapidly, seriously, the good humor of the party-mood gone. I thought Eglanova’s face went quite pale though it was impossible to tell since her make-up was like spar varnish … perhaps, it was the way her eyes opened very wide and her face fell, literally sagged, as though whatever force had been holding it tight across the bone suddenly gave way. Then, with a stage gesture, she got up, swept a half-curtsy to her admirers and, without saying a word to any of us, left the room on Alyosha’s arm. I saw them at the door saying good night to Lady Edderdale.
I looked about the room for Jane but she was gone. I wondered if she had gone home early … or perhaps had decided in a puckish mood to have a Senatorial fling. Well, she could look out for herself, I decided, and went downstairs to the bathroom. I was just about to go in when I saw Mr. Washburn come trotting across the black and white marble floor.
“I was looking for you,” he said, stopping short, breathing hard. “We’ve got to get out of here.”