“Just like that?”
“Just like that.”
“Where do you want to meet, and what time?” Meredith asked.
She set a time and place, and then hung up. She did not know quite why she was doing this. It’s time he met David, she told herself. She dialed David at the library. When he came to the phone, she said, “David, I’m having lunch with my father. I’d like you to join us.”
There was only the slightest hesitation on the line. Then David said, “Sure. I’d like to.”
They talked a bit longer. She listened patiently and then said, “I have to get dressed. Twelve-thirty, don’t be late.”
“I’ll be there,” he said.
She hung up and stood staring at the receiver. When the telephone rang, it startled her. In the few seconds before she picked it up, she thought, It’s one or the other of them calling to cancel. She lifted the receiver.
“Hello?” she said.
“Sweetie, this is Marian.”
“Hello, Marian.”
“I’m glad I caught you. Have you got a minute?”
“Yes, sure.”
“What’s the matter, sweetie?” Marian asked.
“Nothing.”
“You sound... distant.”
“No. What is it, Marian?”
“Sweetie, do you remember my telling you about this man who’s going to shoot a pilot film in the Bahamas? Bimini, or some damn place, I can never remember the names of those islands.”
“Yes, I remember.”
“The underwater stuff, you remember. He’s trying to get Sterling Hayden or someone like him for the male lead, and he needs a girl to play the part of this trouble-shooter sort of broad, but she’ll be in every sequence, assuming they sell the pilot, of course.”
“Yes, Marian.”
“Well, he came into town Saturday, trying to tie up his financing and all that, and looking around for talent. I called ABC and arranged for a showing of that half-hour thing you did, the one with—”
“I remember it, Marian.”
“Well, he liked it.”
“That’s good.”
“He’d like to talk to you about the part. He’s one of these guys who likes to meet the actress personally and exchange ideas. He has the peculiar notion that actresses should be intelligent as well as talented. He’ll probably want to discuss the Berlin airlift — so brush up on your I.Q.”
“When is this, Marian?”
“Today. For lunch.”
“I can’t make it.”
“What?”
“I said I can’t make it.”
“That’s what I thought you said. Why not?”
“I’m busy today. Anyway, Marian, I couldn’t possibly go charging off to the Bahamas. That’s out of the question.”
“They’ll only be down there for a month or so — to get the underwater stuff and to do the location work. They’ll be shooting all the interiors here.”
“Here? In New York?”
“No. Probably on the Coast.”
“Well, I can’t go to California, either.”
“Why not?”
“I just can’t, Marian.”
“Sweetie, there’s something I ought to tell you.”
“What, Marian?”
“I’m not complaining, but—”
“What are you doing?”
“Look, don’t be so damn touchy. This is Marian you’re talking to.”
“I’m sorry. What is it, Marian?”
“Oh, the hell with it.” Marian paused. “But look, sweetie, I just about break my neck setting these things up for you, and this is the third one you’ve turned down. Now what gives, would you mind telling me? Are you still interested in acting?”
“Of course I am!”
“Then why—”
“I don’t want to go to the Bahamas. That’s that, Marian.”
“The Ivory commercial had nothing to do with the Bahamas.”
“I don’t think I’m going to learn anything by doing soap commercials.”
“It’s exposure,” Marian said.
“Yes, but it’s not acting.”
“I know a girl who cashes a dozen residual checks each week. She earns five hundred bucks while she sets her hair in the morning, just opening her mail.”
“I’m not starving, Marian.”
“You’re not working, either.”
“Something’ll come along.”
“Honey, things have come along. Would you mind telling me why you turned down the summer-stock job?”
“It was in Ogunquit.”
“So?”
“So I asked you to get me either Westport or Easthampton, or the Paper Mill in New Jersey. You—”
“The Paper Mill does operetta and musicals. How could—?”
“I sing, Marian.”
“Not that good. What was the matter with Ogunquit? It’s a great showcase.”
“It’s too far from New York.”
“When did you fall in love with this city, all of a sudden? You can’t go to Maine, you can’t go to California, you can’t go to Bimini, where the hell can you go? Can I book a job on West Fifty-eighth, or is that too far uptown for you?”
There was a long silence on the line.
“What do you want me to do?” Gillian asked. “Get another agent?”
“Argh, who’d have you?” Marian said. “Will you do me a favor? Will you please see this guy today? Even if you won’t go south, he’s a producer, he’s got his fingers in a lot of pies, There may be something later on.”
“I can’t today,” Gillian said. “Make it tomorrow.”
“He’s leaving for Hollywood tonight.”
“I can meet him after lunch, maybe. For a drink.”
“What time?”
“Two o’clock is the earliest I can get away.”
“I’ll try. Will you be home for a while?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll call you back.” Marian paused. “We still friends?”
“You know we are.”
“I’ll call you later, sweetie.”
“Okay,” Gillian said, and she hung up.
Her father was a half hour late. She made desultory small talk with David, certain her father would not show up, pleased when she saw him come into the restaurant at last. He looked around with that bright twinkle in his eyes, saw her, and went immediately to the table. He kissed her and then turned to David.
“Dad, this is David Regan. David, my father.”
David rose and took Meredith’s hand. “How do you do, sir?”
“How do you do?” Meredith said. “Sit down, please. I’m sorry I’m late, but we had a lunch-hour rush.” He paused. “I run a shoe store,” he said, watching David, as if anxious to get this piece of information out of the way.
“Yes, sir, Gillian’s told me,” David said. “Would you like a drink? We’re one ahead of you already.”
“Yes, I would,” Meredith said. “You’re looking well, Gillian. You should come to see us more often. The Bronx isn’t exactly the end of the world.” He looked at David. “Bring your young man. Your mother won’t throw him out.”
Gillian smiled. “I didn’t think she would, Dad.”
“Come for dinner some Sunday.”
“And will you be home?” she asked, and then wondered instantly if the question had not been too pointed.
Meredith raised his eyebrows quizzically. “Why yes, Gilly,” he said, “I’ll be home.”
“Would you like to go sometime, David?”
“Sure,” David said uneasily.
“I’m hoping your hair is prematurely gray, Mr. Regan,” Meredith said. “Otherwise my daughter’s seeing a man who’s far too old for her.”
“Would that matter very much, Dad?” Gillian said, and again Meredith raised his eyebrows and studied her, but said nothing this time.
“I’m twenty-four, Mr. Burke,” David said.
“That’s a good age. Are you studying acting, too?”
“No, sir, I’m not.”
“I saw Gillian on television a few months back. She didn’t tell us she was on, but I happened to catch the show by accident, anyway. You were very good, Gilly.”