The rehearsal looked like a panic. Most of the corps de ballet was there, in tights and T-shirts, drenched with sweat, as the piano banged out a phrase of Poulenc, over and over, while Wilbur shouted excitedly at them, his thin gray hair on end and his face flushed.
“Lift with the music! Lift with the music … it’s not that difficult. Listen … there is your phrase. Lift the girls on the second beat, start it then, finish on the fourth. Da da dum dada … hear? Da da lift … da da lift! Now try it again.”
I sat down on the long hard bench by the door and watched the corps de ballet go through its paces. They all looked tired and wretched in the heat. I was glad I wasn’t a dancer.
Jane seemed worried as she did her solo in front of the company who were, in the meantime, doing a complicated movement behind her. Louis, who was not in this particular part, came ambling over to me with his usual grin. “Hi, Baby … long time no see.” For some reason, Louis, when he learned English, absorbed a great deal of Nineteen-twenty slang which sounds very funny coming from him, with his French accent and all. He sat down beside me, his knee shoved hard against mine. I moved away.
“You want to go up to Harlem with me tonight? I got a couple cute numbers there … oh, you like them fine.”
“I got enough where I am, Honey,” I said, falling into his way of talking.
“That’s too bad. We could have a swell time, you and me … up in Harlem.”
“Not my idea of a swell time.”
“What sort of boy are you? American boys all like …” and he made an obscene gesture. I glanced around nervously but nobody was watching us … the music covered our voices and Wilbur was giving the dancers hell.
“I guess I’m un-American,” I said.
“Maybe you like real young boys … maybe I’m too old for you.”
“Louis, you’re my idea of heaven … honest to God you are, but I’d feel selfish having you all to myself when the fellows in the company need you so much more than I do. Why I wouldn’t even know how to begin to appreciate you.”
“I teach you in one plenty fast lesson.” And I moved away as that sinewy leg slammed against mine. Then Wilbur saw his love and with a look of real alarm said, “Louis! That’s your cue.” And our hero bounded to his feet and joined Wilbur and Jane in the center of the room. “Adagio!” shouted Wilbur to the pianist; the boys and girls relaxed, wilted in decorative attitudes against the bar, talking to each other in low voices while Louis and Jane did their pas de deux.
I got up and stretched my legs. Magda came into the hall and smiled wanly at me.
“How is it going?” she asked.
“Damned if I can tell. Looks like a riot from where I’m sitting.”
“It usually works out,” she said vaguely, sitting down.
“How does Jane look?”
“Worried,” I said, flatly; I was angry with Miss Garden.
“Such a responsibility, having a new ballet being made for you.”
“And a few other people.”
Eglanova and Alyosha entered the room, like an old king and queen come to watch the heirs-apparent at play. They nodded regally to Wilbur and the company and then they sat down on the bench, very straight. I joined them.
I chatted with Alyosha while Eglanova and Magda watched Wilbur at work.
“Such great confusion,” said Alyosha. “No one can tell what it is. I hope he is nearly done, though.”
“Why?”
“He must go to Washington on Wednesday.” Alyosha did not bother to disguise his pleasure. “To be investigated?”
“Exactly … very secret hearing, but I found out … now it is not so secret!” Alyosha laughed. “Does Wilbur know?”
“I’m sure he does. So I hope the ballet will be ready in case he doesn’t come back from Washington for a few days.” Or years, I could hear our regisseur say to himself. Old Alyosha was, I knew, afraid that he would be retired one of these days, be replaced by one of the bright young men, like Jed Wilbur.
“Looks like the veterans have carried the day,” I said.
“Pretty girl!” said Eglanova as Jane did some glittering chené turns into Louis’ arms.
“In ten years she will be ready to take your place,” said Alyosha gallantly.
“Dear friend!” said our star, her eyes black slits as she watched Jane do her stuff.
Then the door to the hall opened and Mr. Washburn peered in at us; he gestured for me to join him. I slipped out of the hall and joined him in the reception room.
“More trouble,” he said with a sigh.
“About the hearings in Washington?”
“Exactly. I think it’ll be in all the papers tomorrow. I was trying to hush it up but now it’s too late. The F.B.I. is mixed up in the case.”
“He’s not guilty, is he?”
“I don’t think so. I don’t think that they have anything important. They only want to question him … but that’s enough to get all the witch-hunters in this town against us. Not to mention Chicago.”
“What can we do?”
“Make it appear that he’s testifying of his own free will … which I suppose he is, in a way. We’ll try and make a big thing of his turning informer … you know what I mean: ex-liberal telling what he knows about Communism in the theater.”
“Seems kind of sick-making.”
“So what? We’ve got a long tour ahead of us and I’ve tied up a good deal of money in Wilbur.” You and Alma Edderdale and twenty other patrons, I thought.
“Have you talked it over with Wilbur?”
“Oh yes … just before rehearsal this afternoon. He’s going to follow the same line. He doesn’t want trouble … especially if he’s innocent, and signed to do the new Hayes and Marks musical in the fall …” he added irrelevantly.
“What do you want me to do then? Get in touch with the papers directly? Or work through the columnists?”
“Get to the papers directly; but first you’ll have to handle Elmer Bush. He’s on his way over to look around, he says, but of course’s he’s going to try and get some kind of exclusive out of Jed or me. Now I’m going to keep out of sight and I’m going to keep Jed away from Bush, if possible. Your job is to head him off … even if you have to hint that Jed has got some wild revelations for the committee in Washington.”
“I’ll do what I can,” I said, like the Spartan youth with the fox at his vitals.
“Good fellow,” said Mr. Washburn, hurrying down the hall to the classroom of tiny tots where he intended, obviously, to hide out until Elmer Bush, a symphony in blue: shirt, suit, socks and tie, appeared in our reception hall, causing a bit of a stir among the dancers who were sitting on the benches waiting to go into class … it was five minutes to the hour.
“Why hello there,” said Mr. Bush, flashing that television smile of his, the dentures superbly wrought and fitted. “Washburn or Wilbur around? … old friend of mine, Ivan Washburn.” In spite of his fame and power he still had the reporter’s nervous habit of trying a little too hard to establish friendship with persons in high and interesting places, for the moment interesting, for the moment news.