"Who does she remind you of?" he asked Mulligan.
Mulligan squinted across the room. The actress was standing demurely across the room, listening to something said by Ed Venuti. "Mary Miles Minter?"
"She reminded me of Louise Brooks. Though I don't suppose Louise Brooks's eyes were green."
"Who knows? She's supposed to be a damn fine little actress, though. Cropped up just out of nowhere. Nobody knows anything about her."
"Edward does."
"Oh, he's doing one of his books, isn't he?"
The interviewing is nearly done. It's always difficult for Edward to say good-bye to his subjects, but this time it will be especially traumatic. I think he fell in love with her." And indeed, Edward had jealously joined Ed Venuti, and managed to interpose himself between the banker and the little actress.
"I'd fall in love with her too," Mulligan said. "Once they get their faces up on the screen, I fall in love with all of them. Have you seen Marthe Keller?" His eyes rolled.
"Not yet, but from the photos I've seen she looks a lot like a modern Constance Talmadge."
"Are you kidding? How about Paulette Goddard?" And from there they went happily on to speak of Chaplin, of Monsieur Verdoux, of Norma Shearer and John Ford, Eugene Pallette and Harry Carey, Jr., Stagecoach and The Thin Man, Veronica Lake and Alan Ladd, John Gilbert and Rex Bell, Jean Harlow, Charlie Farrell, Janet Gaynor, Nosferatu and Mae West, actors and films Ricky had seen as a younger man and had never ceased youthfully to cherish, and the fresh memory of them helped to dampen the recollection of what a young man had said about himself and his wife.
"Wasn't that Clark Mulligan?" His second visitor was Sonny Venuti, Edward's wife. "He looks terrible." Sonny herself had changed over the past few years from a slender, pretty woman with a lovely smile to a bony stranger with an uneasy, dazed expression permanently fixed in her eyes. A casualty of marriage. Three months before she had come into Ricky's office and asked what she had to do to get a divorce: "I'm not sure yet, but I'm definitely thinking about it. I have to find out where I am." Yes, there was another man, but she would not name him. "I'll tell you this, though, he's good-looking and intelligent and he's as close to sophisticated as you can get in this town." She had left no doubt that the man was Lewis. Such women always reminded Ricky Hawthorne of his daughter, and he had led her through all of her options gently, outlining all the steps, explaining everything carefully and succinctly, though he knew she would never return.
"She's beautiful, isn't she?"
"Oh, entirely."
"I talked to her for a second."
"Yes?"
"She wasn't interested. She's only interested in men. She'd love you."
At the moment, the actress was talking to Stella, not ten feet away, which seemed to undercut Sonny Venuti's statement. Ricky watched the two women conversing without hearing their words; Sonny went on at some length to explain why the actress would love him. The subject of these remarks was listening to Stella, she responded, both women were lovely, cool, amused. Then Miss Moore said something that visibly confounded Stella: Ricky's wife blinked, opened her mouth, snapped it shut, patted her hair-if she had been a man, she'd have scratched her head. Ann-Veronica Moore, trailed by Edward Wanderley, went off.
"So I'd watch myself," Sonny Venuti was saying. "She might look like a little angel, but that kind of woman loves to turn men into hash."
"Pandora's Box," said Ricky, reminded of his first impression of the actress.
"What? Oh, never mind, I know, it's an old movie. When I came to you that time you mentioned Katharine Hepburn and Spencer Tracy twice."
"How are things now, Sonny?"
"I'm trying again, Jesus, how I'm trying. Who can get a divorce in Milburn? But I still want to find out who I am."
Ricky thought of his daughter, and his heart twisted.
Then Sears James joined Ricky in his corner. "Privacy at last," he said, putting his drink on a table and leaning against the bookshelves.
"I wouldn't count on it."
"An appalling young man tried to sell me insurance. He lives across the street."
"I know him."
Since they were in total agreement on the subject of Freddy Robinson, there was nothing more to say. Eventually Sears broke the silence. "Lewis might need help getting home. He's been a bit bibulous."
"Well, after all, it's not one of our meetings."
"Hmm. I suppose he might pick up a girl who could drive him home."
Ricky glanced at him to see if he meant this personally, but Sears was merely surveying the party blandly, obviously bored. "Did you talk to the guest of honor?"
"I haven't even seen her."
"She's highly visible. I think she's over-" He lifted his drink in the direction he had seen her, but the actress was no longer there. Edward was talking to John, presumably about her, but Ann-Veronica Moore was no longer in the room. "Keep an eye on Edward. He'll find her."
"Isn't that Walter Barnes's son standing by the bar?"
Though it was now long past ten, Peter Barnes and a young girl were indeed by the bar, and the waiter who had relieved Milly of her duties was mixing drinks for them. Doctor Jaffrey's housekeeper had clearly not had the heart to send away the teenagers downstairs, and the bolder ones had invaded the upstairs party. The piano music which had replaced Aretha Franklin abruptly ceased, and Ricky saw Jim Hardie juggling several record albums, trying to decide which was least out of date. "Uh, oh," he said to Sears, "we have a new disc jockey."
"That's it," Sears said. "I'm tired and I'm going home. Noisy music makes me want to bite someone."
He moved massively away. Milly Sheehan stopped his progress and spoke agitatedly to him. Ricky guessed that she was in a tizzy over the sodden appearance of the teenagers. Sears shrugged-it was not his problem.
Ricky wanted to go home then, but Stella had begun to dance with Ned Rowles, and soon several of the wives had enticed their husbands to that part of the room nearest the record player. The teenagers danced energetically, sometimes almost elegantly; the adults looked foolishly imitative beside them. Ricky groaned; it was going to be a long night. All had begun to speak louder, the barman mixed a half dozen drinks at a time, moving an upended bottle over a row of ice-filled glasses. Sears reached the door and disappeared.
Christina Barnes, a tall blonde with an avid face, appeared by Ricky. "Since my son has managed to take over this party, how about dancing with me, Ricky?"
Ricky smiled. "I'm afraid I can't be a gentleman, Christina. I haven't danced in forty years."
"You must do something pretty well to hang on to Stella all these years."
She'd had about three drinks too many. "Yes," he said. "You know what it was? I never lost my sense of humor."
"Ricky, you're wonderful. I'd love to give you a backrub one of these days and see if I could find out what you're made of."
"Old pencil stubs and out-of-date law books."
Clumsily she kissed him, hitting the edge of his jaw. "Did Sonny Venuti see you a couple of months ago? I want to talk to you about it."
"Then come to my office," he said, knowing she would not.
"Excuse me, Ricky, Christina," said Edward Wanderley, who had come up on Ricky's other side.
"I'll leave you men to your private business." Christina went off in search of a dancing partner.