“I’ll think of something,” I said with that same air of quiet confidence which has made a fortune for any number of movie actors, con-men and politicians.
Eglanova, in a summer dress and a set of sables (the day was hot but she wouldn’t be Eglanova without sable), swept into the office. We both rose and Mr. Washburn leaned across the desk and kissed her hand.
“Such wonderful last night!” she exclaimed, glowing with pleasure. “Such applause! Such loyalty! I weep to remember it.”
But her narrow mascaraed eyes were dry, the lashes as artfully curled as ever.
“Darling Anna! You are the prima of our time … the ultimate.”
“Such nice thing to say, Ivan. Of course last night I tried. That makes difference. But those awful people!” She scowled, looking like Attila the Hun or maybe Genghis Khan contemplating traitors. “Who are these people anyway? Who are people who throw things when Eglanova dances? Ivan, you must do something.”
“They weren’t throwing things at you, Anna. They were throwing them at Wilbur.”
“Even so they hit me when I dance Swan Queen. If they don’t like Jed why don’t they throw things during Eclipse?”
Mr. Washburn laughed. “I expect they intended to but they got their signals mixed. In any case, we won’t have trouble with them in Chicago … rest assured.” Eglanova did not look as though she were resting assured but she changed the subject.
“Dear Peter,” she said, turning to me and smiling a dazzling smile, “I must thank you for not telling police about those big scissors. It was sweet of you … very brave. I thank you.” And she patted my arm.
“I told her,” said Mr. Washburn. “I told her that you didn’t want to incriminate her.”
I mumbled something graceful and incoherent.
“So strange,” sighed Eglanova. “Why would Miles want to put scissors in my room? I who am last person to harm fellow artist.”
Both Mr. Washburn and I expressed wonder at the murderer’s intention; then, aware that some ballet plot was afoot, I excused myself. I was sure, even then, that Mr. Washburn had told the police about having seen Jane at Miles’ apartment.
2
Jane and I were very cool with one another that evening and even cooler the next morning when we got up early, at ten o’clock, and made breakfast. She was angry at my having scolded her and I was alarmed at her bad sense; the fact that the night had passed without love-making didn’t put me in a very good mood either.
It wasn’t until we had finished a pot of coffee between us, that I told her what Mr. Washburn had said.
“Well, there wasn’t any reason for him to say I was there.” She looked sulky and she wore her dressing gown which was a bad sign … usually neither of us wears any clothes around the apartment.
“Except that he could get into trouble, too, for not mentioning it … but I’ve got a hunch he did tell them … if only because they know already.”
“I think you’re making an awful fuss about nothing … that’s what I think,” said Jane, massaging her calves.
“How was the rehearsal?”
“Tough.” She sighed. “It isn’t like a rehearsal with Alyosha … I’ll say that. Wilbur screams at you and half the time I think he makes up the ballet as he goes along.”
“I wonder if it’ll be any good?”
“I suppose so. They say this is the way he always works.”
“He wasn’t like this during Eclipse, was he?”
“He was pretty noisy … of course I wasn’t there too much of the time. He worked mainly with the principals … especially Louis.”
“How’s the big affair coming?”
“Not so well … I don’t think Louis likes him very much.”
“But he likes Louis?”
“Madly. You should see the way he looks at him, like a spaniel or something.”
The telephone rang. Jane answered it. She said “yes” several times then she said, “Come right over.” And hung up.
“Who was that?”
“Magda. She’s given up her apartment and she’s going to move in here.”
“I see.” I turned to ice, thinking of my own lonely apartment downtown.
“I thought I’d let her stay on here after we go to Chicago. She’ll look after the apartment and everything.”
“And for the next week?”
“Well, I mean it’s only a week …”
“And I can go home?”
“But think of all she’s gone through … not a friend in the world except me. As a matter of fact, she may be pretty sick starting tomorrow.”
“Why?”
“She’s found a doctor who’ll … you know … fix her, take care of the baby.”
“What about her family?”
“They’ve gone back to Boston, thank God.”
For a number of reasons, none charitable, I thought it best not to complain. With the air of a martyr surveying the flames, I packed my suitcase while Jane telephoned all her friends to discuss Magda, the ballet, Jed Wilbur and the doings of rival companies.
We were both dressed and ready to leave when Magda appeared, looking dumpy in a linen suit and carrying a suitcase. The two girls embraced tenderly.
“I hope I’m not being too awful … I mean moving in like this,” said Magda, looking at me with red-rimmed eyes. She had obviously been weeping steadily for over a week now. I never felt more uncompassionate toward anyone in my life, at that moment anyway.
“Of course not,” I said, with an attempt at cheeriness. “I think it’s wonderful … now that your family’s gone.”
“We were just going to rehearsal,” said Jane. “Why don’t you make yourself at home. I’ll be back at five.”
“Do you think they’d mind if I went too? I’d like to sit and watch awhile … see what the new ballet’s like.” She sounded very wistful. “I can get my other bags later.”
“That’s a fine idea,” said Jane who seemed more pleased with this new arrangement than she had any reason to be. So I grabbed the suitcase, bade the ladies farewell and took a cab for my Ninth Street apartment. Then, after a visit with Miss Flynn at my own office, I walked to the studio.
The Grand Saint Petersburg Ballet operates a school over in Hell’s Kitchen, on the West Side. They occupy the fifth floor of a terrible old building which should have been condemned long ago. Their section, however, has been done up handsomely, very modern, and they have four classrooms as well as a large studio which is often used for rehearsal, sparing Mr. Washburn the unnecessary expense of hiring halls which he occasionally has to do during the season.
I arrived at about three-thirty and visited some of the classes before I went to the room where Jed Wilbur was creating like mad with Jane and most of the company.
There was a very chic-looking reception hall where the dancers often sit about in tights waiting for their hour in class, a long hall decorated with mobiles and paintings of dancers, with a desk at one end where Madame Aloin, formerly of the Paris Opera, sits in splendor and receives visitors and incoming telephone calls.
I said good afternoon to Madame Aloin who gave me a stately nod; then I wandered into the nearest classroom. Here a number of dismal tiny tots were being run through a set of exercises by a bored, overweight dancer who had once been celebrated before his thyroid had begun malfunctioning. The mothers, a row of somber ladies, gray and determined, glared at me as the piano plunked one two one two. I shut the door.
The next two classrooms were more interesting: lovely blond girls in black tights practicing intricate variations with a group of muscle-bound sissies. Somewhat aroused, wanting to be aroused since I was angry at Jane, at the celibacy she had arranged for me, I went to the fourth classroom which was empty, a cube of a room, like the rest, with mirrors at one end and a waist-high bar at the other end where the dancers did exercises, and tall windows which went almost to the floor. In one corner of this room is a door which opens into the rehearsal hall, a sneak entrance often used by the stars when they want to get out quickly, when they see the bores, the balletomanes, waiting for them at the main door.